The Crossroads - Communication ChamberNext Morning
Marco had prepared the chamber carefully.
It wasn't just a video call setup—TARS had constructed something far more sophisticated. A dimensional communication array that would allow near-physical presence across universes. Not quite hologram, not quite portal, but something in between.
Jean Hope sat beside him, as promised. Her presence radiated calm that Marco found deeply reassuring.
"Are you nervous?" she asked softly.
"Terrified," Marco admitted. "I'm about to try to convince someone to die. That's not normal sales pitch."
"But you're not selling death. You're selling peace. Release. There's difference."
"I hope Viktor sees it that way."
[Connection established. Earth-616, Prague. Viktor's location confirmed. He's... in cemetery. Of course he is.]
"Of course he is," Marco echoed. "Initiate contact."
The air in front of them shimmered. Colors bled together, then resolved into image.
A cemetery at night. Old European style, with weathered tombstones and gothic architecture. And standing among the graves, a man.
Viktor Drakov looked... tired.
Not physically—vampires didn't show fatigue that way. But his eyes. His posture. The way he moved.
Everything about him screamed exhaustion.
He appeared mid-thirties, though Marco knew he was 847 years old. Dark hair, pale skin (obviously), wearing modern clothes that somehow still looked dated. Like someone trying to stay current but not quite managing it.
He was reading tombstone when the communication array activated. A soft chime—TARS's version of doorbell—made him turn.
"What—?" Viktor's eyes widened as he saw Marco and Jean Hope's projected forms. "Who are you? How are you doing this?"
"My name is Marco Antonio Durán. I'm... this is going to sound strange, but I'm multiversal merchant. And I've been sent to speak with you."
"Merchant? I don't need anything."
"I think you do. May I have five minutes of your time? If after five minutes you want me gone, I'll leave immediately."
Viktor studied them suspiciously. But there was also curiosity. Probably first interesting thing that had happened to him in decades.
"Fine. Five minutes."
Marco took deep breath.
"Viktor, I know you're vampire. I know you've lived 847 years. I know you feed only on animals because you can't bring yourself to kill humans anymore. I know your coven abandoned you in 1634. I know everyone you've ever loved is dead. And I know..." Marco softened his voice, "...I know you're tired. So incredibly tired of existing."
Viktor's face went through several emotions. Shock. Anger. Fear. And finally... resignation.
"How do you know all this?"
"I was sent by someone who knows everything about everyone. Someone who cares about natural order of things." Marco paused. "Viktor, when was last time you wanted to wake up in evening? When was last time you felt joy? When was last time existence felt like living instead of just... continuing?"
Viktor's jaw tightened. For moment, Marco thought he'd refuse to answer.
Then, quietly: "1873. I met woman. Maria. She was dying of consumption. I thought... I thought maybe I could turn her. Save her. But she begged me not to. Said she'd rather die human than live as monster." His voice broke. "She died in my arms. And I've been going through motions ever since. That's 152 years of just... existing."
Jean Hope leaned forward, her presence seeming to cross dimensional barrier somehow.
"That's not living, Viktor. That's suffering. And you don't have to suffer anymore."
"What are you suggesting? Suicide? I've tried. Dozens of times. Sunlight? I heal. Stake? I pull it out. Holy water? Burns but doesn't kill. Nothing works."
"Because you're not supposed to kill yourself," Marco said gently. "You're supposed to choose to die. Accept it. Willingly. And when you do, Death herself will come for you. Gently. Peacefully."
Viktor laughed bitterly.
"Death doesn't exist. There's no reaper, no afterlife. I've lived 847 years. If there was something after, I'd have seen signs."
"You've seen signs," Jean Hope said softly. "Every time someone you loved died peacefully. Every time you've seen acceptance in dying eyes. That IS Death. She's real. And she's kind. Much kinder than continuing this way."
"How would you know?"
"Because I'm fragment of Phoenix Force. I AM life, death, and rebirth. I've died and been reborn countless times across countless hosts. And I can tell you with absolute certainty: death is not end. It's transition."
Viktor stared at her. Really stared.
"You're not human."
"No. But I understand suffering. I understand wanting peace." Jean Hope's eyes glowed softly golden. "Viktor, let me show you something."
"Show me what?"
"What death feels like. Not the pain. The peace. The release. Just for moment. If you hate it, I'll stop immediately."
Viktor hesitated. Then nodded slowly.
Jean Hope closed her eyes. Her aura—visible even through dimensional barrier—reached toward Viktor.
Marco watched as golden light touched the vampire.
Viktor gasped.
His expression transformed.
Wonder. Peace. And something Marco hadn't seen in any of the images TARS had shown: hope.
The light faded after five seconds.
Viktor stood there, trembling.
"That was..."
"Peace," Jean Hope finished. "That's what waits for you. Not oblivion. Not punishment. Just... rest. True rest. After 847 years of exhaustion."
Tears—actual tears—ran down Viktor's face.
"I'd forgotten what peace felt like."
Marco spoke carefully: "Viktor, I can't force you. I won't even try. But I can offer you choice. You can continue as you are—existing but not living, going through motions for another few centuries. Or you can choose to rest. To let go. To finally be at peace."
"And if I choose death? What happens?"
"Death herself will come. She'll be gentle. Kind. She'll guide you to what comes next. And whatever that is—I can't tell you exactly what, because honestly, I don't fully know—but it will be better than this."
Viktor looked around the cemetery. At all the tombstones.
"I've stood here so many nights. Envying them. The dead. They get to rest. And I'm trapped. Forever."
"Not forever," Marco said. "Not if you don't want to be."
Long silence.
Finally, Viktor spoke:
"If I say yes... how does it work?"
"You accept death. Truly, completely, willingly. You lie down somewhere comfortable. Close your eyes. And wait. She'll come. Probably within minutes. And it'll be over. Peaceful. Easy."
"That's it? No ritual? No magic words?"
"Just acceptance. That's all she asks. Willingness."
Viktor laughed, but this time it wasn't bitter. It was almost relieved.
"You know what's funny? I've spent centuries trying to die. Throwing myself into situations that should kill me. And all I needed was... permission. To just... stop."
"Is that what you want? Permission?"
"Yes."
"Then you have it. From me. From Jean. And from Death herself. Viktor Drakov, you have permission to rest. You've lived long enough. Suffered enough. You're allowed to let go."
More tears.
Viktor wiped his eyes, then smiled—genuinely smiled—for first time in maybe decades.
"Thank you. I don't know why I believe you. Maybe I'm just desperate enough to hope you're telling truth. But..." he took deep breath, "...I accept. I choose death. I choose peace."
The moment he said it, the air around him changed.
Even through dimensional barrier, Marco could feel it.
Presence.
Death had heard.
And she was coming.
"She's here," Viktor whispered, looking at something Marco and Jean couldn't see. "She's... beautiful. Kind. Just like you said."
His smile widened.
"Maria is with her. Maria is..." his voice filled with joy, "...Maria is waiting for me."
"Then go to her," Jean Hope said softly. "Be at peace, Viktor."
Viktor lay down right there in cemetery, among the tombstones. Closed his eyes.
And just... stopped.
No dramatic transformation. No burning or dissolution. Just... stillness.
After 847 years of unwanted life, Viktor Drakov was finally, peacefully dead.
The dimensional connection held for another moment. Long enough for Marco to see figure he couldn't quite make out—Death herself—gently touch Viktor's forehead. And then both Death and Viktor's spirit faded, going somewhere else. Somewhere beyond.
The connection terminated.
Marco and Jean Hope sat in silence.
Then Jean Hope started crying.
Not sad tears. Something else.
"That was beautiful," she whispered. "After everything he suffered, he got to see Maria again. He got his happy ending."
Marco felt his own eyes wet.
"Yeah. He did."
[Well. That was... unexpected. I calculated 67% chance he'd resist initially. But Jean Hope's peace demonstration was stroke of genius. And finding out Maria was waiting... that sealed it.]
"She was really there? Maria?"
[According to Death's presence signature, yes. The dead can wait for loved ones, apparently. Who knew death had such romantic element?]
A notification appeared:
[IMMORTAL #1: VIKTOR DRAKOV - CONVINCED][Status: PEACEFULLY DECEASED][Time Taken: 18 minutes][Payment Processing: +1,666,666 MC (1/12 of total)][Current Balance: 5,436,666 MC]
Marco stared at the number.
Almost 1.7 million credits for 18 minutes of conversation.
But it wasn't about money.
It was about Viktor's smile at the end. About him finally seeing Maria again.
"TARS, how do I feel about this?"
[You're conflicted. You helped someone die. That feels wrong on instinctive level. But you also ended someone's suffering. That feels right. Welcome to moral complexity.]
"Yeah. That's... accurate."
Jean Hope composed herself.
"Who's next?"
"Lady Yuki Himura. 1,247 years old. Cursed to live until she completes impossible task."
"What's the task?"
"TARS?"
[Accessing... Oh. Oh no. This is sad.]
"What?"
[She was cursed by rival sorceress to live until she creates something of 'perfect beauty that will last eternal.' She's been trying for 1,247 years. Painting. Sculpture. Poetry. Architecture. Nothing is ever 'perfect' enough to break curse.]
"That's cruel."
[Extremely. Especially since 'perfect beauty' is subjective. There's no objective way to complete task. It's Sisyphean punishment.]
Jean Hope's expression hardened.
"So we help her. If curse can't be broken by completing task, we break it another way."
"How?"
"By convincing her that curse doesn't matter. That she can choose death anyway. Curses only have power if you believe in them."
"Is that true?"
"For beings with enough will? Yes. And if she's lived 1,247 years trying to complete impossible task, she has iron will."
Marco considered this.
"So this isn't about selling death. This is about selling freedom from curse."
"Exactly."
"That's... actually easier sales pitch. I can work with that."
[Contact information loading. Earth-928, Kyoto. She's in her studio. Painting, as usual. Ready when you are.]
"Give me ten minutes to prepare. And Jean Hope?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For helping with Viktor. You made that possible."
"We're team," she said simply. "You handle business. I handle hearts. Together, we can do this."
Fifteen Minutes Later - Connection to Earth-928
The dimensional barrier shimmered, revealing Japanese-style art studio. Sliding paper doors, wooden floors, and walls covered in paintings.
And sitting in center, painting with focused intensity, was Lady Yuki.
She appeared to be in her late twenties. Traditional Japanese features. Long black hair tied back. Wearing modern clothes but with traditional elements—fusion of centuries of fashion evolution.
But her eyes.
Her eyes were old. So impossibly old.
She noticed the dimensional shimmer and sighed without turning around.
"If you're another art critic telling me my work is 'beautiful but imperfect,' please leave. I've heard it thousand times."
"I'm not art critic," Marco said. "I'm merchant. And I'm here to offer you something you've wanted for very long time."
Yuki paused mid-brushstroke. Turned.
"What could you possibly offer me that I haven't tried to buy, trade, or steal in past millennium?"
"Freedom."
She laughed bitterly.
"There's no freedom from this curse. Believe me, I've tried everything. Counter-curses. Divine intervention. Temporal magic to undo original casting. Nothing works."
"Because you're trying to break curse. I'm offering something different: ignore it."
"You can't just ignore curse."
"Why not?"
Yuki opened her mouth. Closed it. Frowned.
"Because... because curses don't work that way."
"Says who? The sorceress who cursed you? Why would you believe anything she said?" Jean Hope leaned forward. "Yuki, curses only have power if you accept their terms. What if you just... refuse to play?"
"Refuse to—that's not how magic works."
"Isn't it?" Marco asked. "Magic is about will, belief, intent. You've believed for 1,247 years that you can't die until you complete impossible task. But what if that belief is the real curse? What if you could die whenever you chose, and you just... never tried?"
Yuki stared at them.
"That's insane."
"Is it? Or is spending over a millennium trying to define 'perfect beauty' insane?"
"I..." Yuki faltered. "I have to try. If I don't complete the task—"
"Then what? What exactly happens if you don't complete task? Did curse actually say you can't die? Or did it say you will live until task is complete?"
"It said... it said..." Yuki's eyes widened. "It said I would live until I create perfect beauty. But it didn't say I CAN'T die. It just said I WILL live."
"Exactly. Will live. Future tense. Prediction. Not prohibition."
"So if I just... chose to die anyway..."
"The curse would have no power. Because you'd be choosing to override its prediction."
Yuki stood abruptly, pacing.
"This is—how did no one think of this before? I've consulted with greatest magical minds across three universes!"
"Because they were trying to break curse magically. We're suggesting you break it through choice. Through will. Through refusing to be bound by someone else's punishment." Marco softened his voice. "Yuki, do you want to keep trying? To keep painting, sculpting, creating, hoping that someday something will be 'perfect enough'? Or do you want to be free?"
Yuki looked at her paintings. Hundreds of them. All beautiful. All 'imperfect' by curse's impossible standards.
"I'm so tired," she whispered. "I've created so much beauty. Poured everything into art. And it's never enough. It will NEVER be enough, because perfect beauty is subjective. There's no objective measure."
"So stop trying. You've already created beauty. Maybe not 'perfect' by curse's standards, but beautiful by any reasonable measure. You've fulfilled spirit of task, even if not letter." Jean Hope's voice was gentle. "You've earned your rest."
Yuki's hands shook.
"If I try this and it doesn't work... if I try to die and curse prevents it... I'll know I'm truly trapped. Forever."
"But if you don't try," Marco said, "you'll wonder forever. Better to know for certain than to live in fear of possibility."
Long pause.
Yuki walked to her latest painting. Gazed at it for full minute.
"This one is called 'Cherry Blossoms at Dawn.' I painted it this morning. First attempt, actually. Usually I spend months on single piece."
Marco looked at the painting. It was stunning. Delicate pink petals against golden sunrise. Simple but evocative.
"It's beautiful."
"Is it perfect?"
"I don't think perfection exists. But it's honest. It's real. And it speaks to something true about transience and beauty."
Yuki smiled sadly.
"That's more praise than any critic has given me in centuries." She turned to face them fully. "If I do this... if I choose death... what happens?"
"Death comes for you. Gently. She guides you to what's next. And your suffering ends."
"And my art?"
"Stays. Legacy of 1,247 years of creation. Proof that you lived. That you made beauty, even if curse said it wasn't perfect."
Yuki nodded slowly.
"Okay. Okay. I'll try. Not because I believe it will work, but because..." she laughed, "...because I'm too tired to keep painting. I've painted everything. Seen everything. There's nothing new left to create."
She sat down on her floor, cross-legged.
"How do I do this?"
"Accept death. Truly. Completely. Let go of the curse. Let go of the task. Just... let go."
Yuki closed her eyes.
"I, Yuki Himura, reject this curse. I reject the impossible task. I choose freedom. I choose death. I choose..." her voice broke, "...I choose peace."
For moment, nothing happened.
Then Yuki gasped.
"It's working. The curse—I can feel it loosening. Like chains falling away. How—?"
"Because will is stronger than magic," Jean Hope said. "Especially will of someone who's fought for over millennium."
Yuki opened her eyes, tears streaming down her face.
"She's here. Death. She's..." wonder filled her voice, "...she's showing me something. My art. All my art throughout centuries. And she's saying..." Yuki started crying harder, "...she's saying it was always perfect. That beauty was never about technical perfection. It was about honestly expressed. And I did that. Every piece. For 1,247 years."
"Then you completed the task," Marco said softly. "Just not the way curse expected."
"I completed the task," Yuki repeated, smiling through tears. "I created perfect beauty. I just didn't realize it because I was looking for wrong thing."
She lay back on her floor, still smiling.
"Thank you. For showing me the way out. For helping me see."
"Thank you for being brave enough to try."
Yuki closed her eyes.
And like Viktor before her, she simply... stopped.
Peacefully. Smiling.
After 1,247 years of cursed existence, Lady Yuki Himura was free.
The connection held long enough for Marco to see Death again—clearer this time. She was kneeling beside Yuki, gentle hand on her shoulder. And she looked at Marco through dimensional barrier and nodded. Approval.
Then both figures faded.
The connection terminated.
Jean Hope was crying again.
"Two for two," she said. "We're actually doing this. We're helping them."
"Yeah," Marco said, his own voice thick. "We are."
[IMMORTAL #2: YUKI HIMURA - CONVINCED][Status: PEACEFULLY DECEASED][Time Taken: 23 minutes][Payment Processing: +1,666,666 MC][Current Balance: 7,103,332 MC]
[Also... I have message from Death herself.]
"What does it say?"
[Thank you. That's it. Just 'thank you.' She doesn't often thank anyone, apparently.]
Marco leaned back, emotionally exhausted.
Two immortals in one morning.
Both freed from suffering.
Both at peace now.
"Who's third?"
[The Wanderer. The mysterious one. Almost no information. Just known to drift between dimensions. Estimated age: 3,000+ years. Unknown species. Unknown powers. Unknown motivations.]
"That's... concerning amount of unknowns."
[Extremely. I suggest we take break before attempting contact. This one will be more complicated than first two.]
"Agreed. Jean Hope, thank you again. I couldn't have done this without you."
"We're partners in this. And Marco..." she smiled, "...I think we're doing something truly good. Death isn't enemy. She's mercy. Release. And we're helping people understand that."
"Death as mercy," Marco mused. "Never thought I'd be selling that concept."
"But you are. And you're good at it."
"Because it's true. That's the secret. It's not sales pitch. It's truth. Viktor and Yuki weren't ready to die because they feared oblivion. Once they understood death is transition, not end... they were ready."
Jean Hope nodded.
"So our job isn't to convince them to die. It's to show them death is okay. That what comes after isn't scary."
"Exactly."
[You two are getting philosophical. Which is fine. But you have ten more immortals to convince and 3 months, 26 days left. Break time, but not too long.]
"Right. TARS, schedule attempt with The Wanderer for tomorrow. Give me rest of today to recover. This is... emotionally intense work."
[Scheduled. Also, the five Jeans heard about your success. They want to celebrate. Something about 'death party' which sounds contradictory but they're very enthusiastic.]
"A death party. Why not. My life is already weird enough."
As Marco left the communication chamber, he reflected on the morning.
He'd helped two people die.
And somehow, that felt like most alive he'd ever been.
Purpose. Real purpose.
Not just making money.
Making difference.
"TARS?"
[Yes?]
"I think I understand why Death chose me now."
[Why?]
"Because I died. I know what it's like to leave everything behind. To face unknown. And I came out other side into something better." Marco smiled. "I can tell them honestly: death isn't end. Because I've experienced it. And here I am."
[That's... surprisingly profound. Also correct. Your unique perspective—dying and being reborn—makes you ideal for this job. You're living proof that death can lead to new beginning.]
"Exactly."
Marco walked toward the celebration the Jeans had organized, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.
Ten more immortals.
Ten more chances to offer peace.
He could do this.
He would do this.
Because some things were worth more than money.
And freedom from suffering was one of them.
[END OF CHAPTER 23]