The alarm yanked me out of sleep. I slapped it off, annoyed at the relentless noise. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, dark circles under my eyes—they told the whole story. It's been a week since Bagley put a countdown on my life. Seven days of killing rats every single day just to stay alive. Calling it sleepless nights would be putting it mildly.

I splashed chilly water on my face, hoping to wash away the exhaustion. Then I went through my usual morning routine: brushed my teeth, showered, used the toilet, and grabbed some breakfast.

Ever since that day in the kitchen, Mom and Fariya have been telling me to see a doctor. They think I'm hallucinating. Honestly, I wish they were right. If this were just one big hallucination, it would solve so many problems. But as I watched Bagley floating around reading a book, I knew that wasn't the case.

"Chop, chop, Zak. Early bird gets the worm—or the rat, in your case," he said with a grin. I

I sighed, throwing the towel aside. Him reminding me of what I needed to do, wasn’t what I needed.

After breakfast and a quick goodbye to Mom, I headed to the park. The same one where I... dealt with those thugs. It's become my go-to spot for finding rodents to eliminate. Funny how a crime scene became my hunting ground.

Speaking of those thugs, the two I killed made the news. The police think it was gang violence, according to the forensic reports. I sighed with relief when I read that, but Bagley wouldn't stop reminding me how he "saved my day."

At the park, it didn't take long to spot a rat in the bushes. I quickly took care of it and walked away from the tiny corpse like it was nothing. Just part of the routine now.

I decided it was time to check my profile.

Profile:

Name: Zakir Osman

Class: Apostle of the Death Lord.

Lesser Souls: 9

Normal Souls: 2

Greater Souls:

Absorbed Souls:

Abilities:

I had just one soul left to collect. One more rat to kill before I could combine all ten souls into a normal soul and consume it. Bagley told me about this feature after my fifth rat kill. Once I did that, I'd have three souls to use.

That meant I could absorb their skills and abilities, adding them to my own strength. If I consumed all three, I'd have the strength of four men, including myself. That would make me pretty strong, maybe strong enough to handle what's coming.

But something strange has been happening. Those other two souls—the ones from the thugs—I keep seeing one of them in my dreams. They try to reach out to me, try to talk. But an invisible wall pops up whenever they get close.

I can hear their voices, but it's all warped, which freaks me out. I wake up as soon as their voices start getting clearer. It's unsettling, and I don't know what it means.

I arrived at the shop feeling chilled to the bone. My feet hurt; the socks and shoes I wore weren't enough to keep the cold from seeping in. Luckily, Harleen had installed a fan heater under the desk to keep herself warm. I've been using it too, but not when Mr. Mann is around—he gets cranky when he sees me costing him money.

I stood at the till as Mr. Mann walked up to me. "You're here early for a change, Zakir," he said, a bit surprised.

"Yeah, had some stuff to do this morning, so I thought I'd get that done and come straight here," I replied.

"He was out on his morning kill, Mr. Mann!" Bagley shouted into his ear, knowing full well the man couldn't hear a spirit yelling at him.

Mr. Mann seemed satisfied with my answer and left the shop; he had some errands to run. I bought a bottle of water from the store to quench my thirst before starting my day. I sat down and waited for the stream of customers to come in.

The first batch of customers came from the local secondary school. The students stocked up on their essentials—sweets and chocolates. Their parents grabbed newspapers and some soft drinks.

By 10 o'clock, Harleen showed up, and the next wave of customers rolled in. A real mix this time—older kids, adults grabbing cigarettes, and married women on their daily run for milk and eggs. Harleen jumped in to help me with the rush until noon. Between customers we chatted about school and college while we worked. She was surprised when I told her I'd attended Edmonton School. She knew how exclusive it was, even for rich kids, so finding out I got in on a scholarship seemed to impress her.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

But when she hinted at needing help with homework, I had to come clean—I was terrible at studying and didn't have much free time since starting this job. Of course, I didn't mention the other reason.

Even though I was suspended, I still had exams to prepare for, so during my lunch break, I decided to use whatever free time I had after eating to study. But it was all through my phone. I found pirated copies of the books we had in school, after searching a bit and then got to work. For some reason studying felt easier, like my comprehension in understanding the words increased.

Though Bagley’s repeated nagging, telling me to kill the customers, surpassing my kill quota for the day. I tried my very best to ignore, but he eventually got to me.

"Don't lie to me, Zak. Plenty of people came into the store today who deserved to die," he said.

"First, I didn't say anything. Second, who?"

"That old brunette—she said she likes pineapple on pizza. What kind of blasphemy is that? The Italian in me is disgusted. She deserves swift death. I'd be doing her a mercy since she's on her last legs."

I knew he was joking, but could he stop being annoying for once? Since his "threats," things had slightly improved between us. Still, I'm keeping my distance. I can't trust him completely. But playing along is my only option, seeing as he holds my life in his hands.

I really don't want to kill anyone. Seriously, no one. But if it comes down to choosing between my life and someone else's, I'll pick mine every time. I just hope he doesn't push me into taking out the wrong people. I mean, I owe him—he did save my life at the park. But that help came with a hefty price tag. For now, and probably for the foreseeable future, I'll have to keep footing that bill.

After lunch break, I headed back to my spot behind the counter. The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. Well, except for a few customers who got mad when I wouldn't give them beer on credit. They stomped out, swearing they'd never shop here again. But I doubt Mr. Mann will lose sleep over losing them as customers.

Speaking of Mr. Mann, he popped into the shop for a bit and then left carrying a big duffle bag. On his way out, he mentioned he had some errands to run but didn't say where he was headed. That was odd because usually, whenever he goes out, he tells me exactly where he's going and why. He doesn't have to, but he does it to make me feel like part of this little shop—or at least that's what Harleen says.

I really hoped he'd be back before my shift ended since there'd be no one else to watch the shop. Harleen was done for the day, leaving just me and Mr. Mann. Luckily, he returned just in the nick of time before I was supposed to leave. But something was off about him now.

"Hey, Mr. Mann. I'm heading home. I've locked up the till and put the key in the usual spot," I told him.

He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Thank you, Zakir," he replied. It caught me off guard.

Mr. Mann never thanks me for anything, even though I've been working here a while. And he was drenched in sweat. That either meant he'd been hitting the gym, or something had gotten him worked up. Considering it's only four degrees outside, it wasn’t the weather.

"He's acting weird," Bagley echoed what I was thinking.

I nodded and decided to ask him. "Hey, Mr. Mann, you okay? You're sweating."

He looked up and gave me that forced smile I recognised from people around me. "Yeah, yeah, Zakir. Everything's fine. You can head home now, and don't forget to be on time tomorrow."

"That was weird," Bagley said as we left the store. "He never smiles at us like that."

"And he usually warns us about being late," I added.

Mr. Mann pulled the key from under the desk, opened the register, and grabbed that same duffel bag. He hurriedly stuffed it with all the cash inside. I wanted to know what was going on, but if he didn't want me to ask, I had to let it go.

"Can't do much if he won't tell us, Zak. We'll have to leave him to it."

I sighed. "I guess that's all we can do for now." I left the shop. Stepping out into the dreary weather. The sky was dark and a light drizzle began to fall. On my way out, I noticed two guys with hoodies entering the shop just as I was leaving. We brushed past each other, made brief eye contact, then went our separate ways. Even with the hood, I could make out some features. One had piercing green eyes and a triangle tattoo on his temple, half-hidden by a mask. I didn't see much else before he was gone.

The sky was dark, and light rain turned into steadier rain as it continued to fall across the road. Bagley hummed a tune I didn't recognize, but it calmed me against the cold wind stinging my cheeks and nose.

"Is that melody from your world?" I asked, eager to learn more about it.

"Yeah," Bagley replied with a nod. "We sing it when hard times are coming."

"That sounds kind of gloomy," I said, raising an eyebrow.

He gave a small laugh. "It does, but it helps us get through. Brings us comfort when things get tough."

I felt my cheeks heat up a bit. "Well, it's not so bad, especially with this cold wind biting at us."

Bagley opened his mouth to reply, but a sudden loud crash made us both jump. We spun around to see one of the guys from earlier smashing the shop's window with a bat. Mr. Mann was being thrown to the ground, his bag ripped right out of his hands. Even from where we stood, I could catch snippets of their shouting.

"Where's the rest of the money, old man?" one of the masked men demanded angrily—it was the guy with the tattoo we'd noticed before.

Mr. Mann's voice was shaking. "Please, this is all I have for this month. I know it's not the full amount, but if you give me a little more time, I promise I'll get the rest to you."

"More time?" The man let out a harsh laugh. "We've already given you six months! You've had plenty of chances."

He kicked Mr. Mann square in the face, and I couldn't help but flinch as Mr. Mann collapsed onto the wet pavement. The man grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up as blood started to trickle from Mr. Mann's nose. "You should be thankful it's not my dad here collecting," he sneered. "He's not as nice—or as gentle—as I am."

I clenched my fists, feeling anger and helplessness churn inside me. We needed to do something, but what could we do?