It is said that one never truly knows how much they believe in something until its truth—or its falsehood—becomes a matter of life and death. Unfortunately, that is my reality right now.
Rihanat and I had begun to grow closer—slowly, cautiously—like two strangers drawn to a familiar song they can't quite place. I had told her stories about what I'd been through, about the countless encounters I had faced in the hands of Death. Of course, I disguised it all as fiction. A "creative mind," I called it. She listened, spellbound, her eyes alight with curiosity every time I spun another tale.
She believed me—at least in the way people believe a good novel—half entertained, half suspicious. But then, one day, I decided to tell her the truth.
I still remember the moment her eyes widened, the way she inhaled sharply. She was flabbergasted, as though I had just torn open the veil between worlds for her to peer through. And then, instead of recoiling, she smiled—relieved, even—because she finally understood. It was me. Me… living in another man's body. She could barely contain herself; she couldn't wait to throw her arms around me.
It was a dream come true for me too. For once, I thought I had beaten Death at her own game. I had managed to find Rihanat again, in this new life, despite all her rules and punishments. And I foolishly believed nothing could take this from me.
Until it happened.
The world turned violent in an instant. A loud screech of tires, the shattering of glass, the crushing impact. My body slammed into the wall behind me, ribs breaking under the force. Rihanat was thrown forward, run over, her body lying unnaturally still on the asphalt.
I lay there, breathless, my vision shaking, my body too broken to move. My eyes found hers—half-open, yet vacant—and pain unlike anything I had ever known seared through me. This was no accident. This was Death's dirty trick, playing her game in the cruelest way possible, right when everything had almost been set right.
I forced my head up, searching for the driver. Through the haze, I saw him—a man stepping out of the car, holding a lighter in his hand. Something about that lighter tugged at my memory. Not from this life… no. From another.
And then it hit me.
It was the exact same lighter I'd seen when I lived as Francis Nganou—the man I had once been before this body. Back then, I had just been released from juvenile detention, and I had refused the offer of his attorney. That same man… that same lighter… stood before me now.
I knew who he was.
CEO Governs Simons.
The man whose agency I had been on the verge of signing with in this life. The same man Francis had taken the fall for in a hit-and-run case. The same man who had mercilessly killed his own brother, Parkenston Simons—the heir to the Simons Group of Companies—when I lived in my first reincarnated life.
I once thought there might be some shred of remorse in him. I was wrong.
He kicked the car tire in frustration—not at the blood on the ground, not at the lives he'd just ended—but at the damage to his precious machine.
"I'm so fucked," he muttered under his breath.
The attorney—yes, the very same one who had lured Francis into taking the blame sometime ago—stepped out of the passenger seat. His eyes swept over our motionless bodies with no more concern than one might give to discarded trash.
"Are you okay, sir?" was the first thing out of his mouth.
Anger roared inside me, even as my lungs fought for air.
Then Governs crouched beside Rihanat's body, tilting his head like a man studying a piece of art.
"Her body looks like a marionette," he said coldly, admiring her broken form before standing up to leave.
But as he turned, I made a sound—a faint groan, perhaps—something that caught his attention. His head whipped around, and our eyes met.
"You're not dead yet? I'll help you then," he said, his lips curling into a smile that made my blood boil. He knelt beside me, pulling out a small cloth from his pocket. The attorney watched from behind him, silent, as though this was just another transaction.
"You see," Governs said as he pressed the cloth over my nose and mouth, "whether it's people or corporations, I specialise in euthanasia."
The stench filled my nostrils, my limbs growing heavier by the second. I could see the sick pleasure in his eyes as my vision dimmed.
And then… nothing.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that damned room. Death was there, lounging in her chair, pretending to read, her face showing no concern for what had just happened.
I was crying—not out of fear this time, but out of raw, murderous rage.
Why was it that men like Governs Simons walked free, untouched, while people like me—vulnerable, unlucky—were punished over and over?
"You enjoy this, don't you?" I spat at her. "Try it for yourself!"
Before she could reply, I lunged forward, grabbing the gun from her table and pointing it at her forehead. My finger squeezed the trigger. The gun fired. Death's head snapped back, and she slumped in her chair.
For a fleeting moment, I thought I had done it. I had killed Death.
I climbed down from the table, turning the gun toward my own head. I wanted control. I wanted to choose when and how I would enter my next life. And above all, I wanted vengeance. The image of Governs Simons laughing over Rihanat's body burned in my mind.
I pulled the trigger. Nothing. I tried again. Nothing. Over and over, I squeezed, but the gun refused to fire.
"What's going on? Why isn't it working?" I demanded, my voice breaking.
"Is there a problem?"
Her voice cut through the air like a knife. I froze. Slowly, I turned. Death was on her feet, very much alive.
"How…? I killed you," I stammered.
She smiled faintly, stepping toward me. "A simpleton like you always ruins everything by overthinking. Fire does not get burned. Water does not get wet. It's obvious, isn't it?"
Her words hit me like a cold wind.
"Death does not die," she prompted.
And I found myself whispering the truth: "Death does not die."
Fear twisted in my gut. But there was more. My anger boiled over again, and I asked her—no, demanded to know—why she had let Rihanat die like that. This punishment was supposed to be mine. Why drag her into it?
"This is cruel, even if you are a god," I said.
She laughed. "I told you before—I'm not a god. I only take this form so you can speak to me without losing your mind. I could change into anything… though I doubt you'd survive looking upon my true nature."
Her body began to shift, morphing into grotesque shapes—monsters, shadows, creatures I couldn't name—until finally, she took the form of Rihanat. My breath caught. I couldn't look at her, not when she wore the face of the woman I had just lost.
"You were just glaring and yelling at me," she mocked. "Why turn away now? Do you feel guilty for her death?"
She stepped closer, gripping my jaw before shoving me back.
"I didn't kill her," Death continued. "I merely read the writing of a woman doomed to die soon. She was destined to die there, at that hour. And you? You were simply the one she happened to die with."
"Are you saying she was meant to be killed by Governs Simons?" I asked, my voice shaking.
She only smiled.
Our argument flared hot after that, words flying like blades. But then she cut through it all with a smirk.
"Shall we begin the second half of our game?" she asked.
"That's what I've been waiting for," I said coldly.
She tilted her head. "Do you still want a quick death?"
"No," I said. "I want to kill that bastard for what he did to her."
Her eyes narrowed. "I've warned you before—if you try to kill anyone, I'll intervene."
"Then try me," I said. "I dare you to stop me if I'm killing him."
"You think you can break my rules and beat me at my own game?"
"Humans sometimes have to fight losing battles," I replied. "And I'm ready for it."
She sighed. "Humans never listen, no matter how much you warn them."
With that, she took the gun from my hand and fired.
Darkness swallowed me.
My next life is about to begin. And this time, my only purpose is to find Governs Simons… and make him pay.