Prologue

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He knew this day would come. He knew, yet he chose to ignore the blatant signs he encountered while watching her grow up. He knew, yet he chose to let it all play out like the sadistic son of a gun he know he is.

It was like any other day, he was on his way to collect the souls of the people who were going to die. Riding his not so discrete motorbike, he parked it on a dark alleyway and jumped to the top floor of the building like it was nothing. Death sat on the edge of the building, pulling out a cigarette from the inner pocket of his leather jacket and lit it up with his favorite skull lighter. His current position was the perfect spot to watch the impending disaster and all he needed to do was wait. Something Death hates, but was willing to do so for this particular situation.

The night was descending and he knew, any moment now, things would go downhill for the people he came for. He didn't know why he was particularly drawn to this assignment, but the moment he heard of it, he had his reapers back off. And of course, nobody bothered to question his motives, he was the grim reaper after all.

Looking at his watch, he counted the seconds until the big reveal. And as if on cue, shouting filled the apartment he was adjacent to.

The man who Death presumed was the father was shouting profanities at his wife who in return did the same. From the looks of it, both people had questionable characters. The woman looked like a drug addict and the man looked like an alcoholic.

But what Death failed to notice at first glance was the little girl hiding behind the sofa, clutching her awfully pink stuffed bear. She was sucking her thumb and tears were already gracing her rosy chubby cheeks as she hiccuped due to crying.

The familiar tingle of a soul ready to be harvested distracted Death from the kid and he sat up more straight, waiting for the tragedy to strike.

The shouting grew louder and the man suddenly had his wife by the neck. He was strangling her and the woman barely had any fight. She was like a rag doll being pulled up by a big burly man. Death stood up from his seat ready to go to the scene but the little girl came out of hiding and rushed to her mother's side. Bad move, Death thought. She was struggling to get his father's hands out of her mother's neck but her father merely pushed her away, causing her head to bump at the table's edge. Within seconds the mother slumped down, the lifeless body landing on the floor with a thud.

The tingling sensation was getting stronger, urging Death to come over. When he was finally going to the scene, his attention was suddenly on the father who looked rather dazed. It happened so fast that Death had barely any time to react. The man pulled out a gun and shot himself on the head.

These scenes did not bother Death at all, he had experienced far more worst than this. But his curiosity was still not satisfied. The question as to why he was drawn to this situation still came unanswered. Sure, three souls in one assignment he presumed should only be one was unforeseen, but it wasn't out of the ordinary. People die everyday.

Hearing the sirens even from miles away, Death threw his cigarette and stomped on it using the heel of his boot. He needed to act fast, because he knew the police will be here in no time.

With a snap of his fingers, his cloak appeared and Death transported himself inside the apartment. Death stood inside the small apartment, with the ceiling only inches away from his head as he suppressed his blatant irritation for the place. Work was work, so Death proceeded to examine the situation. He noted that the mother and the father was positively dead, but what caught Death off guard was the kid's shallow breaths, fighting to be alive.

Barely alive, Death thought. There was crimson blood surrounding her body from the head injury she acquired and her shallow breaths indicated that she was barely hanging on.

Death squatted down in front of her almost lifeless body and was surprised when the child's eyes suddenly flutter open.

Death didn't know what to do. Should he speak? Should he deliver his usual lines to a chubby cheek kid who he wasn't even sure can talk straight?

"You're going to die kid" Death blurted out, unsure how to handle the situation at hand. The kid was still staring at his face, uncertainty evident on her face. Even though Death was the one certain the kid couldn't see his face, something in the way this little girl stared at his face made him uncomfortable.

"You have pweetty eyes Mishter" the child suddenly said and Death suddenly lost his balance and landed on the floor.

"This can't be happening" Death muttered to himself. Death knew people couldn't see him. His face specifically. All they're supposed to see was a black void filled with their greatest fear and hearing the child say he had 'pretty eyes' did more than shock Death. He was mortified.

"You kid, what do you see?" He asked the barely breathing child. He had to confirm his suspicions before acting rashly.

The kid's brows bunched up in confusion and her eyes were starting to droop but she was forcing herself to stay awake.

"Gold" the kid answered and Death sweared under his breath. He had seconds to think of his next move. Death had plenty of choices, and he was aware of the consequences for every option he has.

Groaning, Death stood up from the floor and dusted his cloak. He swished his hand on the air and within a flash, his scythe appeared in his hands. Death looked at the little girl and made up his mind.

"Well I guess it's your lucky day kid" Death said as he swung his scythe directly onto the little girl's chest.

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