Chapter 15: Voidling

Noir approached. “You did well, Morrigan.”

“Then why do I feel like I screwed up?” she asked.

“You should not have chased the killer. As a reaper you have only one job.” His tone then softened as he continued. “However, I had not expected such a scenario on only your second real reaping. Knowing your nature, I should have thought to prepare you for something like this.”

Morrigan looked down, her hands clenched into fists. “I couldn’t let him get away, Noir. Not after what he did.”

“I understand the sentiment, but reapers are not vigilantes or agents of vengeance. You serve a specific function—to guide lost souls, not to administer justice in the mortal world.”

“So we are supposed to just let him go around killing people and do nothing to stop him?”

Noir was quiet for a moment, then answered, “A reaper does, occasionally, have duties that go beyond simply adhering to their list. As I mentioned before, when you come across lingering spirits, you may reap them as well… Lingering means it shouldn’t be here, and demons are likewise entities that should not be here.”

Morrigan stopped and looked at him. He stopped as well and turned to face her. “So you’re saying I can reap demons? I can do something about monsters like him?”

“You will get yourself killed,” Noir stated sternly. “You are far too inexperienced, and I suggest you just stick to the list for now.” His head lowered slightly. “However… one day, yes. Master and I could teach you about dealing with their kind.”

As Morrigan recalled Noir’s transformation, her face would have paled if it were possible to get any whiter. “By the way, what you did back there…”

“Yes?” Noir asked, turning his head.

“That was… crazy…” She wasn’t sure what exactly she was trying to ask, but that felt like something she couldn’t just not address. Monster barely began to cover what Noir looked like; he was closer to some kind of eldritch horror.

Noir looked at her with a mixture of amusement and gravity. “I suppose from your perspective, it must have appeared quite terrifying.” He paused, looking up at the sky, the sun now slowly emerging from behind the clouds. “There are many realms beyond our comprehension, Morrigan, and entities that exist outside of what mortals—and even immortals—understand. That form you saw is my true nature, and I try not to display it unless necessary.”

Morrigan swallowed hard. “So what are you exactly?”

“Not quite like anything that exists in heaven or hell,” Noir said. “We are called Voidlings. Long ago, the existence of my kind were at odds with an ordered universe—a universe that functions with a coherent balance between life and death, with natural law and chaos. It came to be that either my kind were to rule so chaos could reign, or we would have to be eliminated. However, a compromise was reached, and we found a function alongside reapers where we can live symbiotically with the world as you currently know it. Or rather, with the world as you are learning to know it.”

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“Woah, so are your kind of like, the eldritch, Cthulhu and stuff?”

Noir shook his head in amusment as he continued to walk. “It does impress me how human mythology correlates to realms which they could not comprehend even if they were to glimpse it. It tempts me to believe there is a shared subconscious amongst all that exists.”

“Is there?”

“If there is, it is a structure beyond my ability to perceive.”

“So how old are you anyway?”

“It is hard to pinpoint age with my kind, as we are all technically pieces of our originators, what we call the Great Old Ones, who in all technicality no longer exist as they have broken down and scattered over the eons. Yet, we are pieces of them, with our own individuality, our own awareness. As I am now, with this conscious mind, I am far younger than my master.”

“I can’t even begin to wrap my head around that.”

“Nor should you,” Noir replied. “Our roles may intersect, but our existences operate on vastly different scales. Now, you should get back to work. Who is next on your list?”

Morrigan pulled the list out of her hoodie and read, “Jane Hopper, age 82, Belleview hospital, 5:23pm. So, back to the hospital, huh?”

“Yes, you are likely to have daily trips there.”

They walked and eventually made it to the bus stop. With the dip in conversation, Morrigan became aware of the sinking in her stomach. She had been in a constant state of anxiety since waking up this morning and it had only gotten worse with the day’s events. At least the next one on her list was an old woman, and she’d have an easier time rationalizing that it’s her time. That boy, whether Noir said she had done well or not, she did not feel right about it.

The bus arrived after a short time, and as it approached the hospital, Morrigan saw a dark figure standing near where they would get off. It was Death, holding his scythe at his side, each gust of wind blew his hood enough to glimpse the white skull underneath.

“Master…” Noir spoke under his breath, looking out the bus window.

“Is everything alright?” Morrigan asked.

“We’ll find out momentarily.” said Noir. “I was expecting master to leave us to our own devices today. He told me he wished to interfere as little as possible for now.”

As the bus came to a stop and all the passengers stepped off, Morrigan was once again at odds with the fact that nobody seemed to look twice at the ghoulish figure that was waiting there. The most reaction anyone had was rubbing a chill from their arms, despite the hot summer day.

“Master, is everything alright?” Noir asked as he and Morrigan approached.

“Oh yes, no worries,” Death said. “Though, is it true you’ve had a run-in with a demon already?”

Morrigan nodded.

“I see, I see,” Death’s skeletal fingers came up under his hood as he rubbed his jawbone. “Well, you can tell me more about it as we continue on today. I had some other questions I wanted to ask you, particularly regarding the moment of your own death.”

“Okay… what’s up?” Morrigan asked.

“Most likely, nothing,” Death said. “Though in hindsight, there is a certain level of due diligence I may have neglected. Particularly regarding those children who caused the whole mess.”

“You mean the guys who killed me?” Morrigan asked, feeling a slight surge of adrenaline just thinking about it. “What about them?”

Death was silent for a moment, but then turned and said, “You have three names remaining on your list; I will accompany you through them. While we do so, I just want to ask some questions. Then, before going home, I would like to take you back to the graveyard.”

“You mean the one where I died? What’s this all about? Can you just give me the short version so I don’t start freaking out?”

Death was silent for a moment, the wind blowing his cloak as he led the way towards the front of the hospital. “As I said, it may be nothing. However, your death was an anomaly, which by itself is nothing to bat an eye at. However, when an anomaly attracts another anomaly, I begin to wonder…” He turned, revealing a red pupil glowing deep inside his otherwise empty eye socket. “I begin to wonder if the random occurrences—are in fact part of a design.”