Chapter 8: Chapter 8

S A V A N N A H

HAVING A PHOENIX visit was not a good thing —in fact, it was on par with being fired. Such a visit was one of the highest forms of a severe warning at best; otherwise it brought ominous news.

“It’s likely here because of that,” Søren continued, pointing at my sword on the floor. I immediately went to pick it up, very aware of the Phoenix’s stare. “…Don’t make any other sudden movements,” Søren warned, narrowing his steely eyes at the magnificent creature.

It squawked indifferently and poked at its feathers again.

“It’s so beautiful,” I sighed. “I didn’t know they existed until you mentioned their fire. It’s amazing to see one with my own eyes.”

“It’s a bad omen,” Søren corrected me, before walking in slowly; putting one hesitant foot in front of the other. Once he had reached the spot where I was, the Phoenix’s red eyes glowed and it tilted its head back.

It breathed fire, a meter into the air —along with something dark that then landed on the windowsill —before sounding as though it were choking. It did cough up a few sparks and dying embers, but it recovered soon after and went back to preening itself. It reminded me so much of Ron —which sparked a small aching pang in my chest.

I glanced up at Søren, but he was making a move for the thing on the windowsill beside the Phoenix. I squinted and made out a small black envelope. I gasped, recognising the stamp.

“What is that?” I murmured suspiciously as Søren carefully tore the envelope open before disregarding it and keeping the letter. The paper was dark red instead of white; unlike the letters from my father.

“An inquiry,” he murmured, his eyes darting from side to side as he quickly skim-read the letter. “…And a pretty damn serious one if it had to be delivered via a Phoenix.”

“What’s an inquiry?” I frowned, glancing back at the bird. It was now less bright than before, and staring at us. At this distance I could now see little flecks of molten gold streaking in its crimson irises.

URGENT

Based on the request made from your traced account, there is reason to believe that there may have been a system glitch, or it may have been intercepted and altered. In order to eradicate such suspicions, the owner of the request must prove a legitimate connection by reaping one mortal soul. This must be done by sunset. If the task is not fulfilled, further and undesirable action will be taken.

Signed, Obsidian Carrier Corp HQ

“It’s from Obsidian Carrier Corp headquarters. They’re asking about your sword,” Søren grumbled, before his eyes widened as he then read the letter properly, “—they want to see if the order wasn’t a glitch in the system. You have to prove the sword is indeed a match of yours. They want you to reap one soul by sunset.”

He turned to me and I blinked, mildly shaken.

I shook my head. “I can’t do that —I’m not ready. All I know is how to dodge and parry. I haven’t had any training for that yet,” I protested.

“The best way to learn is on the job,” Søren quipped, winking at me as he went to grab a set of arrows from the wall. “Relax. Reaping is not as hard as you might think. I’ll teach you how to do it with a sword on the way.” He then tossed me a leather sheath roughly the length of my sword. “Here. So that you don’t have to carry it around in your hands.”

I scoffed, bewildered, before grabbing the sheath and fastening it to my hips. I limply slotted my sword into it by my side, before swinging it lazily and getting used to the heavy feeling. Then I looked back at the Phoenix. It stared back at me, cooing softly. “…What’s going to happen to the bird?”

Søren glanced in its direction and clicked his tongue. “It’ll turn to ash when it’s ready to leave and go back to the Hell out of which it flew. It’ll hopefully be gone by the time we get back.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, a little disappointed. It looked like my time with a magical creature would be drawing to a close before it really had the chance to begin. I then gasped as my Trainer proceeded to shoo the Phoenix away with a broomstick.

“Hey!” I rushed over to grab it from him. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s vermin, Savannah,” Søren said firmly. “It’s not staying here.”

“But if it’s going to be gone by the time that we get back then why can’t it stay in the meantime?” I reasoned.

“Because it will turn to ash all over the floor. My floor,” he hissed, his face contorting into a frown, “Are you volunteering to clean up afterwards?”

I dithered, weighing out my options. “…Yes,” I decided. “I’ll do it. Just don’t treat it the same way as everyone else does,” I said, hoping that my big pleading doe eyes would work on him. His frown deepened and narrowed into a glare —probably scrutinising my expression for any ulterior motives —before he finally relented and dropped the broom. “…You had better clean up,” he grumbled. “Or there will be hell to pay.”

“Yes sir,” I grinned, even adding a salute.

He smirked, indicating that he quite liked the display of obedience. “Indeed. Now come on. Sunset isn’t very far from now.”

“So, you’ll really let Phee-Phee stay?” I paused, looking back at the Phoenix. It had resumed its self-grooming session, now going at it with increased vigour; littering the air with luminescent feathers that disintegrated into embers before they could land on the floor and set it alight.

Søren turned to glare at me. “…You named it Phee-Phee?”

“Yes,” I pouted, sticking my nose up in the air. “It deserved a name. The poor thing has probably been called ‘it’ for all of its life.” I looked at Phee-Phee sympathetically.

“For a good reason,” Søren clipped, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s a giant bloody rat with wings. On fire,” he emphasised. “And why Phee-Phee? What made you assume that it was female?”

“What made you assume that Phee-Phee was a female name?” I shot back, raising an eyebrow. He blinked and sheepishly hesitated, which gave me time to continue. “…I suppose that it could be classified as a female name,” I admitted, “But I didn’t name it because of its gender. It’s spelled p; h; e; e —as in, referencing the pronunciation of the name of its kind. It will not be raised to conform to such binary confines. It’s going to be Phee-Phee whether it’s male

or female.”

Søren gave me a look before stomping over to the Phoenix and standing next to it. Phee-Phee edged away from him rapidly as though he smelled bad.

“…It’s a male,” Søren stated.

“How do you know?” I frowned. “You didn’t look underneath.” I then blushed as I said this, hearing my words aloud.

“No need to,” he dismissed. “All that you have to do is look at the pattern of its feathers. Males’ flow left, and females’ flow right.”

A sly grin spread across my face. “…That wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the fact that females are always right —would it?”

Søren frowned in annoyance as I chuckled at my own joke.

“Okay, okay, let’s go.” I moved towards the door. Then I paused again. “…You wouldn’t happen to have any birdseed, would you?”

“Even if I did, for whatever odd reason, we’re not feeding it,” Søren sang, walking out of the door. I drooped but heeded to his words.

“Bye, Phee-Phee,” I sighed, trudging away. The bird turned his head to the side and seemed to look at me sadly, like he did not want me to leave. That, or my imagination was playing up again.

In a few minutes we were then heading out, but not before Søren made sure to snap at me to double check the door was locked.

“Do I look like the one who owns this apartment?” I snapped back, mustering all the attitude I could.

He looked me up and down before meeting my gaze again.

“…Temporarily,” he muttered, shrugging as we headed for the elevator.

I scoffed and kicked at the hallway carpet. “What is the big deal?” I spoke up again, lifting my head to meet his eye. “Do people steal old newspapers?”

To my surprise, Søren chuckled softly in response as the elevator opened up for us. I stiffened as the male with the chainsaw from Saturday morning came into view. I hesitantly pressed the ground floor button before shuffling past him to stand on the other side, as far away from him as possible. His red gaze followed me and did not waver.

“Mel,” Søren then said, noticing the Reaper. A slight flush appeared in the Trainer’s cheeks, startling me. He looked at the stranger with a strained nonchalance —as though he wanted to seem indifferent, but he was doing it very ostentatiously. The Chainsaw Guy’s glare finally left me and turned to Søren in one smooth fluid movement, but his lips remained clamped shut. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” Søren continued, decidedly oblivious to the poisonous atmosphere. His gaze challenged the other Reaper’s, as though the smaller male believed himself to be far superior.

There was a dangerous, unnerving air in the elevator. Whatever petty resentment it was that was between the two Reapers beside me ran deep, and it ran cold. Rivalry did not quite encapsulate it. There was painful regret in Søren’s gaze. Shameful and begrudged guilt in the other’s.

They towered at almost the same height —but that was where the similarities ended. Søren had the physique of a toothpick. I could see that this ‘Mel’ was built like a fortified tank; his limbs thickly corded with muscle and straining against the confines of his clothes.

The Chainsaw Guy snorted in response to Søren’s taunt, his arms folded and expression hard. “…Melchior,” he said, and his deep, even voice resonated in my chest. I shivered, and I might have reflected my discomfort outwardly, because he then shot me a look. “Who is she?”

Søren opened his mouth to answer, and I gasped, outraged that he would just share that information without a second thought.

“Oh. It’s not your place to know, but this is —”

He did not manage to finish, because I sharply elbowed his side before my name could be said, making him wince.

“It most certainly is none of your business,” I quipped, turning my nose up at the Chainsaw Guy.

I may have caught his name, but it did not mean that I needed to use it. He raised his eyebrows at me, and his garnet eyes travelled down to my sword.

“Is that yours?” he murmured, a surprising look of intrigue etching in his stony, flawless features.

I panicked, thinking about what he would say if I confessed. “…No. It’s not mine. That would be…weird, right?” I scoffed dubiously, making more of an effort to hide it behind my back.

“It’s weirder if it’s not yours,” he countered. I lowered my head slightly in shame. He then turned back to Søren. “…She’s painfully and obviously just a Turned Reaper. You certainly have your work cut out.”

“Actually, she’s a fast learner,” Søren surprised me with a compliment. “And despite the rather advanced weapon that she has, I think that she will be ready to handle herself in due time.”

The Chainsaw Guy sucked on his teeth before turning to the doors as they opened. I glanced at the buttons before realising that we were on the second top floor. I internally groaned and slumped against the elevator wall as the Chainsaw Guy looked back at us with a smug expression on his face.

He picked up his weapon and swung it over his shoulder, before pausing.

“Such a pity that the elevator was going up when you decided to enter it,” he smirked. Then he walked down the hallway, just as the doors began to close. “…Good luck or whatever!” he called, flippantly raising his hand in a way of saying farewell.

I scowled, folded my arms and tapped my foot rhythmically against the diamond patterned metal flooring in newfound irritation.

“I’m sorry that you had to witness that. He’s not usually…so rude,” Søren said a little knowingly, and a little dejectedly. “Just…hot headed.”

I snorted and shook my head. “Sure —seemed that way,” I muttered as I closed my eyes to neutralise the sinking feeling. “Did you train him, too?” I asked out of curiosity, then opening cautiously one eye as the elevator stopped and the doors opened.

“No,” Søren quipped and shook his head as we then walked out into the lobby. “We, uh…used to date.”

My eyes widened and I nearly choked on my saliva as I moved to walk out after him and fall in step beside him. I was in no way weirded out; I was simply genuinely surprised. “Wait —are you being serious or are you just pulling my leg?” I demanded.

He glanced down at me with an expression that would not give anything away, his lustrous eyes eerily dark. “No.”

✠

“So,” I breathed as we walked out into the pleasant warmth of the late afternoon, “Where are we off to?”

“65 Walter Place, Terrence Centre,” Søren answered. “It should be nice and easy for you. It’s a man called Martin Smith. He’s eighty-two and has a prolonged history of smoking, as well as some nasty back problems. Lives with his care-worker, Nancy King.”

“Wait, but what about showing me the ropes? You can’t really expect me to just waltz in through his front door and stick a sword in him with this Nancy being right there,” I reasoned.

My Trainer chuckled and turned to face me; his silver irises now twinkling. “I’d fucking pay to see that.”

“I’m serious,” I said firmly. “I need some practical demonstrations.”

“All right,” he sighed, stretching his arms up over his head. “Let’s see who else needs to die today.”

Louise Hansen’s time was also up. She was going to die of a trauma induced seizure, in the later hours of a Tuesday evening when she needed to work extra shifts to pay the bills for her and her alcoholic unemployed boyfriend. She was scheduled to die in a fight with him.

“I can’t believe that you’re reaping the soul of a victim of domestic violence,” I rasped after Søren had finished briefing me. He did not say anything straight away, which kept us in a brief silence.

“…It happens,” he eventually sighed. “It’s a sick, sad world full of sick, sad people who aren’t mature enough to get their shit together.”

“I’m with you there,” I agreed. “I hope that her death will teach him something,” I murmured.

“If not, I certainly will,” he growled, clenching his fists. I doubted that he actually could, but I let him have the moment.

Once we had reached Louise’s apartment building Søren decided to use the fire escape to enter. He replied that it was the stealthiest way to get inside when I had asked why. I shrugged and nodded, intent on just observing. The window to the bathroom was open, so we squeezed inside. Søren expertly landed on his haunches on the tiled floor.

I landed on my face on the closed toilet lid.

It did not hurt as much as I thought it would, but I still managed to bend my nose in an unnatural direction. I whimpered, panic rising up inside me.

“…Son of a —!”

“Seriously?” Søren groaned, eyeing my face. “Right now? You’re going to be a walking disaster, aren’t you?”

I screamed with my mouth closed and widened my eyes in an imploring way. “…Hold still.” He grabbed hold of my nose and jerked it the other way, straightening it out. I yelped and covered my nose with my hands, with tears collecting in my eyes. I mumbled profanity under my breath as he told me to shut it and hold a wad of toilet paper over my nose to minimise the bleeding. I reluctantly did as he said and tried to focus on the task at hand.

We made our way across the hallway, heading to where the screaming match was in full swing. “Aren’t they going to see us?” I whispered, my voice sounding horribly nasally.

“She will. He won’t,” Søren hissed back.

I nodded slightly and walked into the living room after him. Louise was crying, hunching over as her boyfriend screamed at her. Her short summer dress was torn at the seam on the side, making me flinch at the thought that he had already recently done something to her. I looked at Søren as he looked at me, and we exchanged the same look of fear and disapproval.

“…You never listen to me!” Louise screamed, straightening up slightly. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she could not stop shaking as she backed away from her boyfriend. “I’m trying to keep a damn roof over our heads but all you want is for me to stay in bed all day. Well, news flash, Tucker. We won’t have a bed to fuck in if I don’t go to work!”

My eyes widened and I turned my head to the side, suddenly uncomfortable with the feeling of intruding —in more ways than one. My Trainer glanced over his shoulder at me and frowned, but he did not look all too comfortable either.

Tucker-The-Girlfriend-Abuser turned red and opened his mouth to scream again. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your jobs, Louise! It’s your damn job to keep me satisfied and that’s it!”

He then raised his fist, causing Louise to start violently. Having seen enough, Søren growled and stood next to the Walking-Pile-Of-Garbage. Louise let out a strangled gasp as her gaze landed on the Grim Reaper. But no words came out of her agape mouth.

Søren reached for an arrow behind him and slotted it into his crossbow. I needlessly held my breath as I prepared myself to watch from the safety of the doorway. He poised his crossbow, and took aim, before releasing the trigger. The arrow whistled through the air, before hitting Louise right in the chest in the same instant that Trash-Head’s punch struck her face. My jaw and wad of tissues dropped as Louise fell to the ground and landed on her side; he hair obscuring what was obviously a bloodied face. Then she began convulsing. Tucker-The-Jackass froze and seemed paralysed as he watched his girlfriend shake as though she was being electrocuted.

Søren lowered his crossbow and stepped back; not a glimpse of regret or remorse showing in his frown. I had always had a pretty clear picture in my mind as to how a Grim Reaper would reap a soul. But seeing Søren do it, nullified almost every shred of innocence I had had left. Seeing the soul rip its way out of the body was enough to make me want to gag. It was because Søren’s weapon was semi instant in efficiency —that meant that the lapse between hitting a target and the soul being reaped was as long as ten seconds, minimum.

After that, the soul would be experiencing so much pain, that it would have no choice but to claw its way out.

Gruesome.

“Louise? Louise —oh my God, I’m going to call an ambulance. Louise!”

A-Disgrace-To-Humanity then panicked, tripping over his own feet as he stumbled to the telephone. I looked on as Louise in spirit form stood up and glanced at her body. She looked the same, but she was now a transparent white wispy entity; her eyes ablaze with white light and her body faintly aglow.

The soul looked at us, and then down at herself again, before hanging her head solemnly. Sudden-Remorse looked up in mid-dialling and glanced over at Louise’s body.

The convulsing was coming to a gradual tremble. “…Louise?”

My eyes flickered to her, as sympathy welled up inside of me. My Trainer met her gaze and nodded importantly.

“…Rest in peace, Louise Hansen,” Søren said.

Louise nodded, before she closed her eyes and her form faded before us, dissipating in the stale air like magic. A glow then came from Søren’s crossbow —what I assumed to be his count of reaped souls. From the angle at which I was standing, I made out MXCIX.

I blinked, but before I could say anything I was interrupted by the sound of wails. Ugly, borderline showy cries that made me stiffen and want to rip off my own ears. The bastard was crying. He knelt down, bent over Louise’s dead body, and held her shoulders against him and howling out apologies. I wanted to scream at him. I could not understand why he suddenly felt bad. Then I realised something. Maybe he had not wanted her to die —the weight of his actions had only been pinned on him now that he had gone irrevocably too far.

And there was no taking it back.

I looked at Søren, shock paralysing my face. He sighed and swung his crossbow, “…Always aim for the heart,” he murmured, before walking towards the door, back to the bathroom window.