Chapter 12: Chapter 12

S Ø R E N

“WAIT…WHAT?” SAVANNAH whispered —and in retrospect, she was understandably confused as she sheathed her sword.

The Trainer growled and raised his fist —causing her to flinch —before he lowered it hesitantly. He needed to contain himself; he did not want her to see what his rage truly resembled. After drawing a sharp breath, Søren felt the frustration dissipate minimally. “I can’t actually believe you,” he said in a low voice. “I tell you to stop, and you don’t. You go and carry on screaming like a banshee and kill your boyfriend out of a jealous fit —”

“Stop,” the redhead murmured. Søren paused, frowning at her. How dare she interrupt him. “He is not my boyfriend. Not anymore.”

“You still murdered him, dumbass.”

For a moment the two stared at each other as though time had frozen. The word ‘murdered’ hung heavy overhead in the air, threatening to crush them as the next thought ensued.

That made her a murderer.

Savannah finally seemed to catch on, because her self-pity diminished, and worry flickered in her eyes.

That dark haired human girl’s screaming and crying faded into the background as the air stilled and all motion stopped. Søren’s jaw set, his eyes boring into his trainee’s, which had returned to their normal golden state.

He had noticed that something strange had happened when she jumped from the railing. Pure anger and fire had manifested, flickering out from her eyes —engulfing every part of what made her human.

Something had snapped.

Søren grunted, reached up to hold the bridge of his nose. “You have no fucking idea of the implications of what you’ve just done,” he hissed.

Savannah blinked, then frowned, and shook her head slightly. “I…murdered him?” she choked out.

“You reaped a soul before its time,” Søren reiterated more delicately, realising that the news would take a while to settle.

Then something more important occurred to the Trainer. He quickly surveyed the surrounding area, searching for any shadowy figures.

“What are you looking for?” Savannah asked.

He raised a mocking eyebrow. “…Your demise,” he said in an ironically sarcastic clip. She gave him a look, but he was not joking.

“We need to get out of here. Right now.” He then grabbed her hand and pulled her into a run, before immediately shifting back to Manhattan. Shifting had been a strange concept to him for a while after he had Turned —he could almost feel every molecule in his body breaking up and speeding through the air, before rearranging on the other side. It had taken a while to accustom to, so he was reluctant to let Savannah try it out on her own as of yet. He let out a weary breath when they stumbled along the sidewalk in Manhattan.

After a brief pause to reorientate themselves, they began making their way back towards the apartment building.

The trainee Reaper struggled to keep up with Søren. “What is it? Did someone see us?” she panted. As expected, she would have close to zero energy after the fiery display. He begrudgingly let go of her.

“You would’ve triggered the alarm,” he informed, exhaling forcefully, “Word will reach that you’ve broken the rules. And guess who’s going to come for us?” the older Reaper hinted.

The trainee did not answer; only stared at him blankly.

“The Boss,” Søren said, glancing left and right before crossing the street.

Savannah sighed and then abruptly stopped walking. Søren skidded to a halt and looked at her curiously.

“What the fuck are you stopping for?” demanded the Trainer.

She frowned at him and straightened her leather jacket. “Personally, I don’t see why you’re so afraid of a man who sits on his ass all day and does nothing,” she huffed, sticking her nose up in the air.

Søren was startled by her passivity. “Wha…what?”

“Your words, not mine,” she murmured, shrugging. “Anyway,” she sighed as he stared at her, bewildered, “What’s the worst that he can do?”

He tugged at his hair before turning away from her so that he could think. “You have essentially robbed someone of their life, and you have the audacity to ask what’s the worst that can happen? He could kill you,” Søren warned. “It’s the worst thing you can do as a Reaper and you’ve just done it. Why does it not bother you?”

He turned around and asked her earnestly, looking for some kind of remorse in her eyes. But they remained clouded and aloof, not giving anything away. “…It just doesn’t,” she said quietly, wholly serious. “I’m not sure why, but it feels like we’re getting worked up over nothing.”

She shrugged and moved to sidestep him. Søren was baffled.

Why was she taking it so lightly? Maybe she had no concept of consequence. She had never met the Boss. She had no idea of what he was capable. The Trainer had heard stories; rumours were always circulating amongst the Reapers. Some were wilder than others. Some rung with chilling truth —eye witness accounts. He still shivered to this day of the tales of Death incarnate, swooping from the sky like a shadow in a flurry of ebony wings. The stench of rot felled anything within a ten mile radius, and nothing escaped that scythe, that damned weapon. Human, god and Reaper soul and flesh alike.

It was not that Søren particularly cared about Savannah, but he knew that it would continue to bother him if he let her go in such a way without having done a thing to prevent it.

The Reaper clenched his fists in frustration, before an idea struck him.

What if…they could undo it? Or what if there was a way to disguise or hide the event before the news even reached the Boss?

Time was governed by Kronos —and to Søren’s knowledge, he was in Tartarus, having been imprisoned by his children. Kronos had not reversed time, however; had not tampered with it. How to summon a Titan was not part of Søren’s skillset, anyway. Instead, he considered the gods.

The Trainer did not think that there was a Greek god of time —even if there was, he doubted they would be willing to warp reality, especially for one stupid teenage girl and her flaring emotions. But he had heard that there was a god who was very versatile in his responsibilities. A god known for his cunning and rule bending. If anyone could aid the Reapers in amending Savannah’s mistake, it was the Winged Messenger, Hermes.

Søren did not tell Savannah about planning to summon Hermes —not yet. He did not wish to get her hopes up just in case it was not a feasible option. So, they made their way back in silence and quiet contemplation.

Søren would like to think of himself as a man of few words; he communicated with the world through observation. He did not like that he had let his anger flare earlier —his apathetic mask had momentarily slipped, revealing something human about him. He would not deny that he was human —or had been, once —however, he preferred to maintain some sort of distance from others. He did not want her to get too close.

Savannah then suddenly gasped and grabbed at his sleeve, nudging him in the direction across the street. A squadron of Reapers in what resembled SWAT team uniform with glowing red badges were gathered by an alleyway; their built forms rigid and tense, and their tall obsidian scythes glistening in the hazy glow of the streetlights. They were Grim Reapers, yes —but not like Søren and Savannah. It was as though these males and females had been bred for war; forged and hammered like creations of Ares or Hephaestus.

“Shit,” stated the Trainer, tugging on Savannah’s arm to pull her behind him. She did not fight this time, and actually cooperated by ducking behind him. “Walk in step with me,” he ordered, shuffling along the sidewalk. Her feet matched his rhythm and they slowly inched further and further out of Security’s field of view. Then Søren accidentally tripped on a loose brick and flailed, teetering on the edge of the road before Savannah managed to push him back upright. “God, you’re heavy,” she hissed, digging her elbows into his back as she pushed him with her side. The older Trainer huffed and glanced at the officers —noticing that they were all looking in their direction.

He cursed under his breath but kept his expression neutral.

“Oh hello, guys,” he said in a levelled, unwavering greeting. Savannah stayed still; her hair gathered up in what the Trainer assumed to be her hands and not flowing in the breeze. “Long-time no see.”

Søren then sighed as he realised what he had just implied. He hoped that the officers would overlook the unfortunate choice of words. The burly Reapers all gave him a once-over and raised their eyebrows.

“…Oh. It’s just Søren,” one female said. The others then chuckled lowly, and the Trainer almost opened his mouth again to ask what was funny about it, when Savannah yanked him by his leather jacket, and pulled him in the direction in which they had been heading.

“Keep an eye out for any suspicious activity, won’t you?” the tallest Reaper nodded at Søren, his skin riddled with mauling scars. “We’re looking for a female Reaper who untimely reaped a human soul. She’s about average height; slim; has long dark red hair; and glowing golden eyes.”

“Really?” Søren drawled with disinterest, mocking shock and slowly walking away. “That’s unbelievably disappointing.” He emphasised the word by kicking Savannah’s shin with his heel, making her squeak. “Punishable by the worst judgement.”

“Indeed, Trainer,” another female agreed. Søren almost smirked at the title, feeling like he could get used to receiving respect from the most fearsome Reapers in the organisation. “So, stay vigilant.”

“Certainly,” he replied, walking a little faster, before ducking behind the building to which Savannah had led them. He breathed out a sigh of relief as she re-emerged, tying her hair up in a crude ponytail with stray strands.

“Who were they?” she asked as they resumed their getaway. “And how come they knew you?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Security,” the Trainer frowned, “they know all high ranking Reapers.” Then he paused, realising that he needed to remind her of the severity of the situation. “…Your worst nightmare.”

✠

It was raining when Søren decided to go back outside to complete the list for the day. He had barely managed to sneak Savannah into the apartment building, but luckily for them, there had not been many Reapers in the lobby. Regardless, Savannah had borrowed his leather jacket and pulled it over her bowed head so that no one could see her strikingly recognisable hair.

It was important regardless of their plans to alter the past that he continued reaping the souls which his trainee would have to miss —so as to not rouse suspicion. “I’m leaving now,” he informed Savannah.

She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, staring at Phee-Phee, her lips moving slightly as though she were murmuring to herself. “Those souls aren’t going reap themselves.”

She then looked up at him hopefully. “Could I…possibly come too?” she whispered. “I’ll be super careful —I could even wear a disguise and borrow something from your closet. The more practice the better, right?” she suggested, a small smile forming on her face.

Søren frowned and shook his head. Even though Savannah was obediently deathly quiet and self-isolated —not to mention that she was still in disgrace —she still wanted to help. So, he told her there was no way in Hell that he was going to let her out of the apartment. Not yet.

“And don’t you dare do anything without my permission either,” he warned, without turning to face her. “I need to complete at least half of my quota for the night,” he grumbled, slipping an arrow out of his quiver and slotting it into his crossbow. “Hopefully, they won’t find you here.”

“What if they do?”

He shrugged. “It was nice knowing you.”

“Søren,” she whined, appalled.

“I’m joking,” he sighed, turning around momentarily. Søren looked at her; seeming so small and shameful that he almost felt bad for teasing her. Perhaps what he felt was more along the lines of pity, but he shook his head and promised something that was out of his control.

“…I won’t let them find you.”

He then nodded goodbye and locked the door behind him. If he was honest, Søren preferred leaving her alone and going out solo. She was perky and annoying, as far as he had established. But she was also strong —head-strong to be specific —smart, and vulnerably kind. Her heart reflected itself in her eyes, and Søren’s own heart ached every time that he looked into them.

There was no way around it.

Savannah was almost the spitting image of Angelina. The Trainer frowned at the realisation. He had not thought about her in a while, even though he had named his computer system after her and referred to her by that name. Angelina, though he had nothing good to think of her anymore, was not someone he was ready to talk about —with anyone. He had not even talked about her with Melchior.

He was not sure if he ever would, even if he was somehow close to the blond Reaper again.

Søren’s chest then constricted and twisted at the thought, as though his heart were attempting to break free and escape his ribcage.

There was such a raw pain about the two, that even thinking about him caused Søren to ache. He could pretend that they managed to get along around other people. It was easier to put on a show when it was not just the two of them and their exposed feelings.

It was difficult to hear that the person one had considered spending the rest of eternity with no longer saw one that way. It was wrenching, and it made Søren feel nauseatingly pathetic for caring so much.

It was an unimaginable relief to walk into an empty elevator. The Reaper would not have been able to face Melchior alone. He was too unstable; too raw with anger and too distracted with Savannah’s predicament. If he and Melchior ever did find themselves alone, all Hell would break loose. There was just too much that they had left unsaid; words which they had no right to exchange now that they had broken up. However, it was not as though Søren would indulge any chance of the sort.

A lot of words had already been said and the damage had been done.

Everything would just be simpler if they kept hating each other.

It certainly made it hurt less.