Friday, August 11th, 2028 | 23:56

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A full moon bathed the night sky in its silvery glow, yet, the eerie silence betrayed the absence of a werewolf's haunting howl.

Though razor-sharp fangs hungered for blood, no vampire lurked in the shadows from above.

And while it carried no written decree, its presence echoed that of a shinigami.

A sense of mortal terror coursed through his body as he ran from the unknown, yet he felt the cold closing in, pulling at the fabric of his very soul. Despite his overwhelming fear, or perhaps driven by it, he dared one more glance behind at a very high risk. To an onlooker, it might have seemed like a swirling mass of shadowy darkness, but to him, it manifested as his deepest fears — an overwhelming dread of absolute starkness.

The shadows slid across the ground, the body concealed behind them covered in blood-red scars—each mark whispered tales of sorrow, beholding secrets, being the undeniable grief of its past.

However, these scars weren’t random; they were precise—forming the patterns of an utterly bloody price.

With horror, the man's eyes locked onto what was etched in crimson script:

G ü n t e r W a l l d o r f

A name - not just plain; it had been his own, written on the creatures chest.

His eyes remained fixated on the letters until he stumbled and fell. Immediately he tried to rise, but found himself paralyzed in every single cell.

Before him, the shadowy entity loomed, its eyes a haunting orange, glaring down in a genuine hue. Despite their warm colors, they crept up like ice on his sight - almost dead, and full of fright.

A shiver of hysteria coursed through the man as he let out a desperate cry.

"P-please! I'll give you anything, everything I‘ve got! Just leave me alive!"

Suddenly, the creature's form began to shift, like a Caterpillar breaking out of its cocoon, though, missing out on the butterflies beauty, instead, carrying a different kind of gift. A face emerged, it was full of youth, arms and legs sprouted from the shadows that had once completely enveloped it. The man fell silent.

"Tell me... what do I look like?" The creature’s voice was muffled, grating against the man's soul, much like chalk on a board.

"Wha-what? Um— I mean— g-great! Y-you’re looking great!"

"I want your honest opinion."

The man's thoughts raced. What did this creature crave of him? What did he have to say to please it?

The creature sighed in disappointment, its tone somewhat hurt. "Seriously…? Is it really that hard to look human? You're almost shitting yourself; I must look awful..."

A nervous gulp escaped the man before mustering his voice. "Human...? Uh— y-yes! Absolutely! You look just like a human— a-a boy!" Then, he pressed his head to the ground, extending his arms in a gesture of submission. The 'boy' raised an eyebrow in confusion, interpreting it as some sort of bow. His expression shifted to annoyance, the only thing bright remaining his blood-orange glow.

"That's not going to work on me... You humans have such misconceptions about gods. We're not nearly as cool as you think."

'Gods'? Confusion flooded the man's face, quickly replaced by horror. What did that mean; praying wouldn’t work? He tried to rise, to flee again, but his legs felt numb. Not just his legs—his entire body felt frozen and lifeless, as if he had been dead for hours already. Exposed, like a wounded lamb, he lay helpless before his predator. Tears welled in his crystal-clear eyes, as he realized; this was his demise.

"I... I don’t want to die," he sobbed, consumed by terror. Was he hoping for mercy? To the 'boy' felt like a desperate child's final plea to coax a treat from their parents at the checkout.

Could he not, perhaps, find some solace in the fact that his life was finally coming to an end? Sure, he wasn't exactly ancient, maybe around 40, but compared to the Shinigami, humans had it easy when it came to death. Fate just made the choice for them. Yet, they still wasted their precious time pondering life's meaning or what awaited them beyond the veil of death.

They simply didn’t realize their inability was a blessing.

As soon as one gets the choice to determine their own fate, that's when the real challenges arise. That much was clear to him. He had felt it firsthand—the daily struggle of asking oneself, ‘How much longer do I actually want to keep living?'

"You know how it is," the ‘boy’ mused. "Imagine you walk into an ice cream parlor with your mind set on a scoop of chocolate and a scoop of strawberry. But then, out of nowhere, they introduce a bunch of mind-blowing new flavors. At first, you're like, 'Wow, this is amazing!' But before you know it, you're stuck in indecision, thinking so long that the entire ice cream melts away, leaving you empty-handed... Do you catch my drift?"

The man stared at him, utterly bewildered. Clearly, he didn't understand.

"Never mind, not that important... Um... did you have anything else to say?"

It took a moment for the man to realize the 'boy' was serious. He tried to speak up, his lips were left with only a soft hue, as they were turning almost blue, his face white as snow; shining bright in the moonlight. "D-d-do I-I... g-g-get..." he stuttered, his voice nothing more than a faint whimper.

"Hmm? What's that?" the ‘boy’ leaned in, cupping his ear mockingly. "Speak up! My hearing's not what it used to be, hehe."

"Do I at least... get to go... to heaven?" The man locked eyes with him, a glimmer of hope still flickering within.

The 'boy' recoiled, studying him intently. “Um...”

Then, he shrugged, genuinely perplexed. "How should I know?"

With these words, the man's eyes froze.

"But I hope you do," he added, as the man slumped forward, lifeless, crashing to the ground without any visible wound. The pain was just within.

The ‘boy’ glanced at his wrist, wrapped with what appeared to be some kind of watch. It was black, adorned with red markings, pulsing with each beat of his heart. Unlike typical watches, this one didn't display the time; instead, it showed his remaining lifespan.

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Age: 1573 years

Remaining Lifespan: 1233 hours

Mission accomplished!

'Günter Walldorf' eliminated.

+ Their Remaining Lifetime (32 years)

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

- Taxes (99,9%)

= Credit (280 hours)

New Remaining Lifespan: 1513 hours

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The ‘boy’s’ eyes widened in disbelief. "280 hours? What?! Are they kidding me?"

Seeing this surprisingly low income, he once more felt like a cog in the machine—a worker trapped in society's relentless grind, destined to eventually collapse from exhaustion. But unlike humans who perished from overwork, he would only kick the bucket if he stopped working. Unfortunately.

Gripping his head with both hands, he let out an exasperated sigh. While doing so, he squeezed his cheeks together, contorting his face into a comical grimace, his lips puckering like a fish gasping for air. In a slightly skewed tone, he began to speak.

“Look at me! The great Shinigami God, always deserving the biggest slice of the cake!" Suddenly, he extended his index finger. "No, wait—"

He quickly clenched it into a fist, gesturing toward his... "Better yet, I might as well shove the ENTIRE cake right up my ass!! Yeah, that's right!"

Pretending to carry out what he had just proclaimed, a woman passed by the alleyway and froze upon witnessing his act. Looking at his fist, her eyes slowly went up, meeting his. The boy blinked a couple of times at her, uncertain about what to say. Her gaze then shifted to the lifeless body lying before him. She let out a horrified scream before running away.

Thrown off balance, the 'boy' looked into nothingness for a moment. Then his demeanor shifted to one of offense, as he pouted, cheeks puffing out in a huff. “I can't be looking THAT bad, lady! Y'hear me?! That's body-shaming!!”

Although he was already accustomed to the screams of humans, seeing them as nothing more than background music in the game of life, they could still be hurtful sometimes.

“Anyway... Where was I?”

“Oh! Right.” He then continued his rage with full commitment, waving his hand dismissively, adopting a condescending tone. "You mere mortals can scavenge the crusty crumbs that remain on the plate. Now, get out of my sight!"

Pleased with his impression, his voice brightened slightly, sounding amused. "Like, what's next? Are we gonna eat his crap, or what?! I can't believe it..." He sank to the ground with a deep sigh. Then his gaze shifted to the man next to him. The 'boy' observed him, almost marvelling at his composure. He lay there so peacefully, liberated from all the burdens of existence.

"You know, in a way, I envy you... Truth be told, I've been ready for retirement for at least a thousand years already." He chuckled lightly, but his voice took on a somber tone. "How much longer can this go on? ...I'm growing weary of the constant whining of humans... and my own as well. Maybe Hanaki was right after all..."

The ‘boy' cast a questioning glance at the man, who returned it with the same hollow emptiness he felt within. "Guess you're more the silent type, huh?" He flashed a smile, even though he knew no response would come. He felt lonely.

They sat in silence for a moment. Only the gentle flow of a nearby river punctuated the stillness of the night with its constant motion. It reminded him that the world around him was alive—always moving. No matter what happened, it would persist. And even if everything ceased to exist someday, time would still march on. Time... it was the only thing truly immortal.

Suddenly he noticed something. A golden shimmer caught the moonlight, twinkling enticingly at him. "Huh? What's this?" Its brilliance was so intense it nearly blinded him. Curiously, he picked it up from the ground, locking his gaze onto it.

"Looks pretty fancy," he murmured, noticing a small piece of paper peeking out from the side. A surge of excitement coursed through him as he unfolded what seemed to be an amulet. It reminded him of loot boxes in video games; you never knew what to expect. Lately, it was the only thing that had kept him entertained and in good spirits. But upon seeing what was inside, he became motionless. He just stared at it in silence. Suddenly his mind was racing. What was this feeling?

"...You know... Supposedly, when a Shinigami collects a certain amount of lifetime, they're due for a promotion... to become immortal," he explained to the man. "But no one really knows the exact number needed. And until you hit that mark, it's hardly true immortality... I mean, look at me. I'm fighting for survival every single day," he said, casting a questioning glance toward the man, as if expecting some response.

"I just need to hang on a bit longer... and then I will finally be able to find happiness..."

Suddenly, a strange yet familiar sensation coursed through him—a piercing feeling akin to that of a tattoo needle. Slowly it circled above his arm like a vulture above its prey before striking down with force, delving into the deepest depths of his soul. However, he was accustomed to this pain already. Far too often had he endured it before. Yet, it still hurt. It hurt so bad, feeling as if each layer of his skin had been peeled off one by another, followed by the searing touch of a heated blade sliding across his bare flesh. All of that was done especially slowly and meticulously, carrying out a certain sadistic desire.

Blood trickled down from his elbow, forming droplets on the ground, while fine cuts etched themselves onto his forearm. These incisions were precise, as if each one had been made with deliberate intent. To an outsider, it might have looked like the ritualistic practices of an ancient civilization, summoning the powers of a sacred deity. But the ‘boy’ knew exactly what was going on.

It was a message from his master — his ruler — to whom all Shinigami owed allegiance. He was the one who granted the Shinigami eternal life, or at least the chance for it. Yet, this came with a price. On one hand, it demanded loyalty; on the other, it claimed its share of the spoils—or rather, it 'generously' offered its subordinates a minuscule portion while reserving the lion's share for itself. And all this, without lifting a single finger, assuming it even had such. None of the Shinigami had ever laid eyes on their God, yet each knew, without a doubt, of its existence.

Why, despite its divine power, it still relied on the Shinigami, the ‘boy’ couldn't fathom. He had pondered this question for as long as he could remember. Was their God truly immortal? He just had to be. How else could he promise the Shinigami eternal life?

In this very moment, his God inscribed the name of his next victim onto his arm. Now, only he held the authority to execute the chosen one. And if he dared to defy this directive... He wasn't certain of the consequences. There were countless rumors, but only those who had truly defied the God of Shinigami would know the answer. And most likely, they took that knowledge to their graves.

Finally, the task was complete, relieving him from the unspeakable pain that only led one to speculate about the power their God truly beheld. Etched in a blood-red script now lay a name upon his flesh. When the ‘boy' directed his gaze to it, he gleaned further specifics about his mission. Suddenly, a chuckle escaped him.

"What?! No way! That's their day of death? Talk about sheer misfortune. And at such a tender age... Well, nothing to be done about it."

Even though the victims' days of death were specified, the Shinigami weren't bound strictly to them. The only crucial stipulation was not to exceed that date. Of course, there were more rules than that, but this one stood paramount among them.

Some said, however, that their God preferred it when they executed their victims precisely on the appointed day. This was despite the fact that doing so, gathered less lifetime than if they acted swiftly. Especially since they could only bear one name at a time upon their bodies.

Yet, the scars of the past kept lingering—though they gradually faded over centuries.

The 'boy' stretched leisurely, emitting a hearty yawn. "Well then... no time to waste! I better get going and release that poor, unfortunate soul from its misery as quickly as possible."

He pat the man on his head a couple time. "Rest well, buddy. I'll see you some day... if I don't make it." Leaving his previous victim behind, he trotted away.

The man still lay there, motionless, but now, clutched tightly in his hand, was a piece of paper. Yet, it wasn't just any piece of paper; it was a photograph. Depicted within its frame were a woman and two children. Just entering the frame was the man himself. All were laughing, their eyes gleaming with joy. Without a doubt, they seemed to be truly happy.