I felt the bullets hit, the heat of live ammunition tearing into me, the pain of having my flesh and bones crushed from several angles.
In short, it hurt...a lot.
Fun fact. When you die, time slows to a crawl so that you can thoroughly witness your own end. So if you think a gunshot to the head ended it quick for me, no it didn't, I felt every shot.
I knew that either way I was going to die but when I heard that Lucy was dead, I just felt relieved, relieved that I didn't have to give myself the stress of killing her myself.
It's weird right? Most would be angry for being framed, rage and deny the accusations or break down completely in shock and freeze up in shock.
Not me.
I decided to give that asshole exactly what he deserved.
A good show.
A couple thousand people might have seen my performance and probably have thoughts along the lines of 'what the f*ck has this dude been drinking?'.
Doesn't bother me much.
As a part-time assassin for the local gang, I've been through far worse crap than public opinion. Knowing the gang, they'll probably dig out my record and mix it with some stuff I didn't do for gossip. The news of my 'murder' might go around for a few weeks before everyone forget my name.
Well, except one guy.
Leon, if it's worth anything...I curse you for seven generations, if you even manage to find a girlfriend that isn't someone else's.
Now back to me.
While others are scrambling and realizing that I just got shot because I freaked out the police, I'm dealing with a new problem of my own.
——————
"Shit!"
Sai soared through the night sky, weightless and untethered, the city below a smear of gray light and muted color. Flying as a ghost wasn't half as fun as it sounded—every second he felt the tug, like a leash pulling him backward.
Behind him, a hooded figure kept up effortlessly. No wings. No flapping. Just floating along with that eery terrifying calm like this was just his daily routine.
Yup, an actual Grim reaper
"Quit running," a surprisingly boyish voice called, flat, like he was reading off a grocery list. "You're already dead dude, stop making me work overtime. Reaping is mandatory."
Sai twisted midair, grinning like a lunatic. "Mandatory? That's my favorite word to ignore."
He zipped through an uncompletes skyscraper, glass and concrete passing through him like mist as he stopped atop the open top floor. For one second, he felt the thrill of freedom—until the reaper emerged right behind him, unfazed and unshaken.
Sai's eyes darted to a window's mirrored surface. His reflection stared back: pale, hollow, translucent with a faint silver sheen. A ghost. He felt the truth stab through him.
Dead. Actually dead.
Sai just sneered. The sound was sharp, brittle, but real. So what? He'd been an assassin once—part-time, sure, but death had always been an old colleague, always a step away if he ever slipped.
That didn't mean he was about to clock out for good. Not when he still had unfinished business. Not when his bastard 'best friend' was still breathing.
He couldn't keep flying away forever. He had a hunch that being a ghost didn't really give him infinite stamina. He needed to do something...
"C'mon," the reaper droned. "Don't make me use the scythe. It'll be faster if you—"
Sai slowed for only a moment.
The air hummed. A blade of black light slashed through space, aimed straight at him.
Sai's grin widened.
He rolled sideways, weaving past the arc. Ghost-body or not, his assassin instincts kicked in, sharp and automatic. His hand shot forward, grabbing th scythe even as it threatened to absorb him whole.
His fingers closed around the scythe's shaft, resisting the inward pull, his skin sunk slightly into the abysmal black wood as it erupted with a violent aura that reeked of death.
For a heartbeat, everything went still.
Then came the flood.
Names. Dates. Sins. Virtues. Screaming voices. Silent prayers. Entire lifetimes. The weight of thousands of souls poured into his skull. His vision stuttered with labels that appeared on all the bound souls, each one bearing one of the three—Heaven. Hell. Rebirth.
Sai staggered but held firm. "Well," he hissed, eyes cold yet a slight smirk, "I always thought there was a third option."
Asvorn—the name fell into his mind unbidden, Rank 859th Grim Reaper—went pale, his voice raising in panic. "You don't understand what you're holding. Let it go before—"
"Before you get a pay cut?" Sai smiled, his grin making Asvorn feel even more nervous.
And then—just because he could—Sai leaned in and headbutted him. Hard.
The hooded teen reeled backward with a startled yelp. His hood slipped, revealing tousled dark hair and the pinched scowl of someone who had been handed responsibility he never wanted.
"Are you insane?!" Asvorn clutched his forehead.
"Stop whining," Sai chirped, twirling the scythe like it belonged to him. "Besides, you tried to slice me up first. An eye for an eye. I'll give it back... probably."
Asvorn's expression twisted into panic—not anger, but bureaucratic terror. "I was reaping you dude. Do you have any idea how much trouble I'll be in if you—"
"Well, I don't like bei-"
The air froze.
A new chill swept over the rooftop, sharper, heavier. The shadows thickened, and a second reaper appeared, heels clicking against the air itself.
She wasn't hiding under a hood. Her hair gleamed, long and sleek, framing eyes that glittered with condescending amusement. Her outfit wasn't regulation—leather jacket, skirt, boots, like she'd walked off the cover of a fashion mag. In one hand, she sipped casually from a soda. Behind her, her scythe floated, its aura so suffocating it made the skyscraper's lights flicker.
She looked between Sai and Asvorn, then smirked.
"Well, isn't this precious? Rookie 859 let a waker steal a scythe."
Asvorn flinched, turning his face away slightly. Shit, why did it have to be HER? "Senior, it's not what it looks like—"
"Oh no, it's exactly what it looks like." Her tone was velvet wrapped around a dagger. She leaned closer to him, resting her elbow on his shoulder like a sneering older sister. "One assignment. One. And you already look ready for termination."
Sai, meanwhile, was cackling. "Wait, wait—rookie 859? That's adorable. You're basically a part-timer like me."
She raised a brow at him, then laughed, soft and dangerous. "And you must be the troublemaker who thinks handling a reaper's scythe makes him special."
Sai just shrugged, still gripping the weapon. "Special? Nah. Just stubborn. And stubborn beats dead in my eyes."
Her smile sharpened. "Cute. Maybe I'll let you squirm a bit before I drag you in. Watching 859 panic is almost worth the paperwork."
Sai's grin widened, a manic spark flaring in his eyes. "Sorry, sweetheart. I'm not on anyone's paperwork. Not yet. And if I play my cards right…" His gaze flicked back to the a particular glowing tag in the scythe's data—Rebirth. Cosmic Mage Class. Name: Lucy Halos. His gaze turned cold for a moment before reverting to his usual calm.
"…I'll be writing my own."
SLURRPPP!
A dragged out slurping sound echoed as the female reaper drank what was left of her drink before she casually tossed it out the window.
"Before I reap you, you must know who you're going up against."she said, pressing her hand to her chest as her gaze turned playful. The wind fluttered through the open space.
"I am Veylith, 257th ranked grim reaper, and heir of the Embrial House."