"I can't interfere with the matters of life and death."
The Grim Reaper finally spoke, his voice low, ancient, like it had scraped its way up from the bottom of time.
"But I owe one to your patron. The Creator."
He paused, staring down at Rae's stubborn little glowing form.
"I can see why he chose you for his bidding. Reluctantly. Begrudgingly. But I get it now."
A sigh, hollow and tired, slipped from his skull.
"So be it. I'll give you a chance. To settle my debt with that guy. Even I don't want to mess with him."
Then the Reaper turned slowly, his black cloak dragging silence behind him. He faced the twin doors again.
"Good luck, little one. You'll need it."
Rae blinked. His non-existent heart pounded.
'What the actual fuck was going on?'
But hell, opportunity was opportunity.
And so, without a second thought, he swam. Hard. Fast.
Straight back toward that ugly, gaping brown star, the cosmic whore-asshole portal he'd originally been shot from.
