In the bustling night of Los Angeles, in a quiet alley, two figures wobbled forward — a man and a woman, clearly drunk. The distant city hummed, the air was warm, and the smell of the day still lingered.
The man and the woman were happily chatting when they reached an alley. Suddenly, the man pulled the blonde woman inside, shoved her against the wall, and started forcing himself onto her.
'What...?'
The woman froze, confused and terrified. All she could think was,
'Why is this happening to me?'
She had thought this man was funny, approachable — harmless. Never in her wildest dreams had she guessed he was a predator.
The man kissed and groped her, his hands roaming all over her body. She tried to resist, but her strength failed.
His hand slipped into her pants. Fear and disgust clawed at her. He pressed his hand around her throat as he pulled down his pants, ready to defile her dignity.
When all hope seemed lost, an amused voice came from the side.
"Having fun?"
Both of them turned. The woman looked at the newcomer with desperate hope, the man with irritation.
The figure stood in the shadows, clothed in a hood, trousers, and simple boots. But what set him apart was the weapon he carried.
A massive scythe slung casually over his shoulder. Its black body seemed to undulate darkness itself, while its blade's edge shimmered blood-red.
The man, at first irritated, now felt his heart skip. He quickly adjusted his pants and barked,
"Who are you?"
The woman collapsed to the ground, trembling as she tried to fix her clothes.
The hooded figure tilted his head.
"Me? I'm just your friendly neighborhood reaper."
In the blink of an eye, he vanished, only to appear crouched in front of the man. Towering over him, his blood-red eyes blazed as he smiled.
"Who will reap your soul."
The man stumbled back, startled.
"W–what? What kind of trickery is this?"
Even the woman stared in disbelief.
"Trickery?"
Morvathos grinned.
"No, my friend. This is what I call… justice."
The man fell on his butt, breathing heavily. His face twisted into a frown, trying to mask fear with bravado. He even forced a smirk as he pulled a gun from his jacket and pointed it at Morvathos.
Morvathos chuckled, leaning forward until his forehead almost touched the barrel.
"Wuia~ Wuia~. What are you gonna do with that little toy? Kill me? Go on, shoot. Right here. Do it."
He even steadied the man's hand, helping him aim at his own forehead.
The man's hand shook. His eyes darted, panic battling stubbornness. Never in his life had he faced such lunatic. But his pride forced him to hold his ground.
"I'm gonna shoot you, bastard! Back off, or I swear I'll do it!"
"Then do it."
Morvathos smiled wider.
"I'm telling you. Shoot."
With a shaky breath, the man closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The bullet rang out, but strangely, no one in the nearby buildings stirred. Not a single window opened. No voice complained. It was as if the sound had been swallowed by the night itself.
The man's eyes flew open, only to widen in horror. Morvathos still stood there, smiling, the scythe casually slung on his shoulder. Untouched. Unharmed.
"Oh my,"
Morvathos said.
"Looks like it doesn't work, huh?"
He was from a top-tier divine race. Mortal weapons meant nothing to him. Bullets, blades — all passed through unless he willed otherwise.
"Well, well, my friend. Looks like the gun didn't work. So…"
Morvathos tilted his head, his blood-red gaze narrowing.
"What are we going to do now?"
The man's bravado crumbled. He raised his hands, stammering,
"Wait, wait, please! Forgive me! I–I'll apologize, okay? I'll never do anything like this again, I swear!"
Morvathos straightened, his grin fading.
"No can do. I gave you a chance. You wasted it. Now, it's your fault that you're going to die."
The man crawled back, desperately shaking his head.
"No, no, you can't do this! Who are you?! What are you?!"
Morvathos smirked.
"Me?"
He leaned closer.
"I am God."
He said it without hesitation. If he had been his mortal self, he would have cringed from the shamelessness. But now, as a god of death, pride surged naturally. He was a god. And his ego would not let him call himself less.
The man, now cornered against the wall, trembled like a leaf. Seeing him wither in fear filled
Morvathos with grim satisfaction.
'Sinners must be punished, And what's more satisfying than delivering judgment myself?'
He thought.
He raised his scythe and slammed the shaft into the man's ankle.
Crack!
Bone shattered. Flesh tore.
"AAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHH!!!"
The man screamed like a dying pig, clutching his mangled leg.
Morvathos crouched, frown darkening. Then, with a sharp punch, he struck the man's skull. The impact was devastating. His head exploded like a watermelon — bone fragments, blood, and brain matter splattering across the wall. Even the brick cracked from the sheer force.
Morvathos calmly watched as the blood and gore dissolved into black mist, dissolved by his Reaper's armor. The divine garb erased all filth from his body. Not a single stain remained.
He planted his foot on the corpse and pulled his scythe free. With one clean swing, he scattered the blood from the blade before storing it into his authority seal.
Only then did he glance at the woman, who had crawled near the trash cans. Her body trembled, her eyes wide with terror as she stared at him.
Morvathos rubbed his chin, debating. Kill her? Or let her go?
As if sensing his thoughts, the woman whispered shakily,
"P–please… let me go."
He sighed, walked closer. She recoiled, pressing against the trash bin. He crouched down, snapped his fingers in front of her face.
Her fear melted instantly. The trauma that had scarred her moments ago evaporated as if it had never existed. Her body loosened. Her breathing steadied. She blinked, looking at him with clarity instead of terror.
"I think you shouldn't party so late. Don't hook up with random men. Try to keep your dignity. Chase one man worth chasing, not every stranger you meet."
Morvathos said.
His words carried weight, a judgment of morality. In his eyes, modern women had lost too much — too careless with their lives, too reckless with their choices. He shook his head, disappointed.
Then, with a wave of umbral dissolution, his body dissolved into black mist. In an instant, he was gone, vanishing into the night.
The woman sat frozen, stunned not just by what she had witnessed but by his strange advice. She stared at the empty air where he had stood, then slowly turned to the bloody remains of her predator.
Her stomach lurched. She covered her mouth, staggered to her feet, and scrambled home.