Chapter 2
The roar echoed across the night.
Azrael stood frozen among the graves, the black scythe he had just taken from the coffin heavy in his hands.
The sound did not belong to any animal he knew.
It was deeper.
Older.
Something that carried anger inside it.
The ghosts around him stirred uneasily.
Several of them began drifting backward, their pale forms trembling.
One whispered nervously.
"He's close."
Azrael looked at the woman spirit standing in front of him.
"Who's close?"
Her hollow eyes turned toward the dark road outside the cemetery gates.
"The Soul King's servants."
Azrael felt his grip tighten on the scythe.
"I thought you said the Soul King killed Death."
"He did."
"Then why send monsters after me?"
The ghost's expression was calm, but her voice carried a quiet sadness.
"Because you are holding the Reaper's scythe."
The wind suddenly returned.
Cold air rushed through the cemetery, bending the tall grass and rattling the iron fence.
Something moved beyond the gate.
Azrael saw it first as a shadow.
A tall shape dragging itself slowly through the darkness.
Then it stepped into the lantern light.
Azrael's stomach dropped.
It had once been human.
But not anymore.
Its skin was gray and cracked like old stone. Its mouth hung open too wide, and its empty eyes glowed faintly with a pale blue light.
Its arms were far too long.
Its fingers scraped along the ground as it walked.
Behind it, another figure appeared.
And another.
More shapes crawled out of the darkness, their twisted bodies moving toward the cemetery.
Azrael backed away.
"What are those things?"
The ghost woman answered quietly.
"Lost souls."
Azrael stared.
"They don't look lost."
"They are what happens when souls stay in the world too long."
The first creature lifted its head.
When it saw Azrael, its mouth stretched into something like a smile.
Then it screamed.
The sound was horrible.
Like broken glass scraping together.
The other creatures screamed with it.
And suddenly they began running.
Straight toward him.
Azrael's heart nearly stopped.
"You expect me to fight that?!"
The ghost woman did not move.
"You are the Reaper now."
Azrael looked down at the scythe.
"I just found this thing five minutes ago!"
The first creature reached the cemetery gate.
The iron bars snapped open like twigs as the monster forced its way through.
Azrael turned and ran.
His boots pounded against the gravel path as he sprinted between the tombstones.
Behind him, the monsters howled.
The ground shook with their footsteps.
"Great," Azrael muttered breathlessly.
"First ghosts. Now nightmare zombies."
He nearly slipped on the wet grass as he turned sharply between two graves.
The scythe felt awkward in his hands.
Too long.
Too heavy.
He had never used anything like it before.
The scream behind him was suddenly much closer.
Azrael glanced over his shoulder.
The first creature was only a few meters away.
Its long arm reached toward him.
Instinct took over.
Azrael spun around and swung the scythe.
The blade cut through the air with a sharp whistle.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the creature froze.
A thin line of black light flashed across its chest.
The monster split in half.
Its body collapsed into gray dust that scattered across the ground.
Azrael blinked.
"…That worked?"
The other creatures stopped.
They stared at the scythe.
Then they began screaming again.
But this time the sound was filled with fear.
Azrael lifted the scythe again, slightly more confident now.
"Yeah," he said nervously.
"You probably should've stayed away."
The creatures rushed him all at once.
Azrael swung the scythe wildly.
The blade cut through the air again and again.
Each time it touched one of the creatures, the monster dissolved into drifting ash.
The cemetery filled with swirling gray dust.
Within seconds, the last creature collapsed and vanished.
Silence returned.
Azrael stood there breathing heavily.
His arms felt like stone.
Slowly, he lowered the scythe.
"Well," he muttered.
"That escalated quickly."
The ghost woman floated toward him.
Her expression was calmer now.
"You see?"
Azrael wiped sweat from his forehead.
"I see that I almost died."
She shook her head.
"No."
Her pale hand pointed to the ground.
Azrael looked down.
Small glowing lights were rising from the piles of dust.
Tiny floating shapes.
Souls.
They drifted slowly toward the blade of the scythe.
The weapon absorbed them one by one, the metal glowing faintly with each light.
Azrael stared.
"What is it doing?"
The ghost answered softly.
"Your duty."
The last soul vanished into the scythe.
The blade pulsed once, then went dark again.
Azrael looked at the weapon with unease.
"So that's it?"
"Not yet."
The ghost's eyes turned toward the distant city lights.
"There are millions of souls waiting."
Azrael followed her gaze.
Somewhere far away, sirens echoed faintly in the night.
People were dying.
And no one was there to guide them.
He swallowed slowly.
"This job doesn't come with training, does it?"
The ghost gave a faint smile.
"No."
Azrael sighed.
Then he rested the scythe against his shoulder.
"Well," he said.
"I guess someone has to do it."
Behind the clouds, the moon slowly appeared.
And far away in the darkness…
Something powerful opened its eyes.
The Soul King had heard the scythe awaken.
And now he knew.
The new Reaper had risen.