Lucas's lips trembled. "No…"
The ghost blinked. "Excuse me?"
Lucas took a shaky step back. "Don't hurt them. I'm… I'm used to it."
"Exactly my point," the ghost replied, rolling his eyes. "That's your whole problem. You're used to being kicked around like a stray mutt, and no one's scared of a mutt."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only Lucas could hear.
"You want them to stop? Make them afraid. Make them think twice before they breathe in your direction."
Lucas shook his head violently. "That's not who I am."
The ghost sighed dramatically and looked toward the ceiling. "Great. I get the one human in the universe who still believes in turning the other cheek. Who trained you, Sunday School Jesus?"
Lucas blinked again. "Who… who are you?"
But the ghost just smiled.
And then—vanished.
Poof. Gone.
Lucas stumbled backward, eyes wide. Had he hit his head? Was he hallucinating?
Was this what finally broke him?
The bullies groaned on the floor, still dazed. But he didn't wait for more chaos. He turned and ran—bolting down the hallway, his heart thudding like a war drum.
[Somewhere Else — Not Earth]
The sky was black. Not night—just an endless dome of ash and storm.
Sand drifted over cracked stone. The ground felt ancient.
And standing at the center of it all was a scale.
One side empty.
The other side, stacked with jagged rocks—
A massive bird-headed figure loomed over it, his body cloaked in layered tattered robes . His eyes glowed gold beneath his falcon mask.
He was still. Like a statue carved into eternity.
The Judge of the Afterlife.
A crackle sparked in the sky—and with it, the ghost appeared, boots crunching against the sand as he dusted himself off.
"Hey, Feathers," he called out, lazily. "Miss me?"
The Judge didn't move.
"You are back," he said, voice low like thunder muffled under sand. "Again."
The ghost raised both hands. "Whoa, whoa. Don't get that tone. I didn't do anything this time."
The Judge simply stared at him.
The ghost shifted awkwardly, then cleared his throat. "Okay. Fine. I might've knocked out three bullies."
Silence.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "They had it coming. Still, they're not bad guys. More like… medium-bad. Quarter-evil. Y'know, light seasoning."
The Judge finally moved—his clawed hand gesturing toward the scale.
"Look."
The ghost turned his head toward it.
A single grain of sand had been placed on the left tray.
On the right? A mountain of glowing, cursed stones. Heavy. Eternal.
The scale tilted violently under the weight of his sins.
The ghost winced. "Oh, come on. That's not even fair."
"The grain represents your latest act," the Judge said. "A whisper of redemption."
"Yeah," the ghost said hopefully, "and look how pure it is! Sand from the Egyptian plains, I bet."
"It is light," the Judge said. "But your sins are not."
The ghost folded his arms. "I'm trying, alright? I could've snapped their necks. I didn't."
"You used a human's body to unleash revenge," the Judge replied. "That was not the assignment."
"I call it improv," the ghost muttered. "Creative freedom."
The Judge's eyes narrowed.
"I warned you. Assist the boy. Train him. Guide him."
"I am guiding him. I'm just doing it my way."
"There is no your way. If the scale does not balance…" He paused, voice deepening. "You will vanish. No reincarnation. Enternal damnation"
The ghost—Kade—grimaced.
He looked back at the scale, then up at the dark sky.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll behave."
The Judge's cloak rustled against the black sand as he turned fully toward Kade.
"You have three months, Kade," he said slowly. "No extensions. No loopholes. No second judgments."
Kade huffed. "Yeah, yeah. I got it. No need to send me calendar reminders."
He turned to walk away, muttering, "You ever heard of a wristwatch, big guy? Maybe tattoo the deadline on my forehead next time."
The Judge raised a hand.
Snap.
In an instant, Kade vanished into thin mist.
The storm clouds overhead rumbled.
A low growl echoed from the darkness nearby. A tall, crooked shadow stood watching — claws scraping the desert rock.
The Judge glanced at the demonic figure in the distance.
"It is better he remains among the living," he murmured. "The souls in Hell still haven't recovered from his last 'training program.'"
[Earth – Later That Night]
The rain didn't fall — it slammed.
The streets were puddles of grief. The sky, a broken faucet.
Lucas trudged through it, soaked to the bone. His uniform clung to his skin like second regret. Water streamed down his neck, into his shoes, down his spine.
His house stood at the corner like a forgotten box. The lights were on, but they gave no warmth.
Lucas stepped inside.
No one noticed.
Not at first.
"GIVE IT BACK!" one of his younger siblings shouted from the living room.
A crash followed.
"I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU, DAVID!"
"YOU'RE ADOPTED!"
Typical.
Lucas sighed and stepped deeper into the hallway.
His father sat on the worn armchair by the stairs, flipping through a glossy magazine with half interest and a bobbing head.
"Good evening, Dad."
A nod. No eye contact.
That was it. That's always what it was.
Lucas peeled off his wet backpack. Water dripped onto the floor in slow taps. His arms trembled from the cold, but he kept walking.
As he passed the kitchen, a voice called out—sharp, casual.
"Lucas."
He stopped mid-step.
His mom didn't turn. She was elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing plates with the kind of frustration that had nothing to do with the dishes.
"Yes, Mom?"
"Wash the rest of the plates before you go to bed."
A pause. A sigh.
"Okay, Mom."
He climbed the stairs halfway… then turned toward the wooden hatch under the staircase, pulling it open.
A thick rope hung down.
The cellar.
His room.
Not really a room. More like the basement's unwanted corner. But with seven people in the house and not enough walls, it was the only place that didn't require sharing.
Lucas pulled himself down the rope and shut the hatch above him.
Click.
Dark.
His mattress was uneven. His bedsheet, a crumpled ball. Books and clothes formed small hills. A cracked lamp buzzed faintly in the corner.
Lucas collapsed onto the bed without changing. The cold still stuck to his skin like glue.
Plop. Plop.
Rainwater dripped from the ceiling into a bucket beside his bed. The sound echoed louder than the storm outside.
He stared at the leak.
His ribs ached.
His fingers trembled.
And in the back of his mind… he saw him again.
That man.
The one from school.
The one no one else could see.
Was he losing it? Hallucinating?
No.
No way.
Derrick and his gang were on the floor. That wasn't a coincidence. That wasn't a dream.
Was it… a ghost?
Suddenly—
"Knock knock. Anyone home?"
Lucas sat up so fast he almost hit the ceiling beam.
There, standing beside the leaky bucket with arms crossed and a smug grin, was—
Him.
Same leather jacket. Same glowing blue tint.
Same irritating smile.
"You!" Lucas shouted, scrambling back against the wall. "W-What the hell?! What are you doing here?!"
"Wow," the ghost said, feigning offense. "This how you greet guests in this house? No snacks? No 'Hey, cool dead guy, want some ramen'?"
Lucas pointed. "Get out! You can't be here!"
"Too late. Already here," the ghost said, casually sitting on the edge of the bed… or at least, pretending to. His body hovered slightly above the mattress. "Also, chill. I don't haunt houses. I freelance."
Lucas's voice cracked. "You're a ghost."
"Technically, yes. But I prefer 'spirit with attitude.' Sounds sexier."
Lucas covered his face. "I've lost my mind…"
"Or," the ghost added, "you're finally opening it."
Lucas lowered his hands. "Why me?"
The ghost shrugged. "You were in the worst condition at the exact right moment. Destiny's a coin flip sometimes."
Lucas looked at him, eyes raw. "What do you want?"
Kade leaned in, his expression suddenly serious.
"I want to help you."
Then the smirk returned.
"But also, I've got this whole redemption deadline. Long story. You'll love it. Includes cosmic judges, murder, and maybe a magical sword if we're lucky."
Lucas just blinked.
Kade grinned.
"Welcome to your afterlife internship, Lucas."