Despite the incredible progress he had made in recent days, things were becoming more and more tense in the lab. More and more often the Handler disappeared, until eventually he was left all but alone with the Sanguist, who seemed quite happy with that.

He was simply glad that he could work without distractions. The sheer amount of progress he made was staggering, even if not all went towards the goal of controlling monsters. After a few days he figured out a few more interesting things about the mana imbued animals, for example he managed to reverse the entire procedure entirely and with only a small mortality rate.

However, the moment he told the Handler about it, the man briskly told him to forgo that research and return his focus back on the main topic at hand, more or less threatening Clive that he should burn all the notes on his findings.

That didn’t sit well with him, and despite his usual tendency to just do as he was told and to avoid all complications, the man had started to truly get under his skin, so he buckled against the orders. Hard.

And of course that resulted with him standing in front of the Leader of the Lab, once more in the Head Researchers office, the Handler and the Sanguist behind him while the Leader read through Clive’s Lab notes.

“Mister Bohart”, the man finally spoke after minutes of silence, “I do believe we were quite direct in our orders, were we not?”, he asked, without looking up from the notes in his hands.

“Yeah. But at the same time it is always helpful to have a backup plan should things not go to plan. I believe this research is very helpful!”, Clive countered, still angry, although now he regretted the situation. He should have just kept his mouth shut and carried on as usual.

“That is not your concern, Mister Bohart”, the man said, finally meeting his gaze, which made Clive shutter. “You have a job, you do it. If you can’t, simply tell us and we will find someone else more capable.”

It didn’t take a genius to hear the threat in his tone. Clive bit back a retort, simply nodding, before turning around.

“Good. Then return to your laboratory post haste. We do not have much time.”

And with that he was back on his way to his lab, although inwardly he had already made a choice. He would continue to work on this in secret, there was no way in hell he wouldn’t. Clive was not a good man, but he wasn’t stupid. And only a dumbass would research any kind of phenomenon without an effective oh-shit button.

After that incident the Handler was much more present, although not always. It made researching in secret a challenge, especially since he didn’t know if he could trust the Sanguist, so he didn’t.

Although from the way she always turned away when the Handler left he was pretty clear that she wouldn’t mind his work. He didn’t know how the entire hierarchy worked, but by this point he was sure they had some ways to get information out of her somehow. The more he worked here the more he realised just how corrupt the research here had gotten.

The next day remained quiet, work went as usual, the Sanguist always turned away once the Handler left, and he made some amazing progress.

He was pretty sure that should he have just a little more time he might actually perfect the transformation back to normal animals, although the side effect of magical events in the surroundings would never truly vanish. Magic couldn’t just poof out of existence, it had to go somewhere, and mana was the same after all.

Unbeknownst to him, he would never get that chance.

It was early morning on the next day and Clive had just gotten to the Lab with his coffee. He liked to start early, to prepare everything for the day, before the Handler and the Sanguist arrived so that they could get started quickly.

Today, however, they were late. Which was annoying. He was just about to call someone up the chain of command when the door burst open with a bang and the Handler rushed in, quickly followed by the Sanguist.

Shocked and surprised Clive jumped around, already fixing the Handler with a glare to ask him what the hell that was about when he took the two in.

The Sanguist was shaking hard, the robe barely keeping its hood over her head, and her eyes filled with pain and regret as she looked at him.

Then the Handler spoke, “Kill him!”

The voice was quiet but stern. There was a moment of silence, then, despite the rising panic in the Sanguist eyes she moved.

By the time Clive registered what was happening she was already half-way across the room, arms sliding out of the sleeves of her robe, claws extended and ready.

In desperation and running purely on instinct and panic, he grabbed for something nearby to defend himself with. The first thing he saw was a nearby knife, one he usually used to prepare various materials for his research. It still had bits and pieces of various magical materials stuck to it.

Fumbling in his desperation he missed it, cut his fingers slightly, before finally getting a hold on a different one. With no time to spare he hurled around, knife held out in front of him defensively.

He didn’t want to fight, he had no training nor did he have any intention to harm anyone, but he also didn’t want to die. His way out was blocked, so he had to somehow find a way through.

Trying to dodge the rushed attack he attempted to jump over a table, sending multiple cages, vials, materials and notes scattering across the floor, while also nearly knocking the table and himself over in the motion.

Getting up from the ground he chastised himself for making a mess of his Lab, then mentally slapped himself for getting distracted in a situation like this.

As those thoughts went through his head a sudden raspy scream, or maybe a loud grunt, rang through the room and everything around them went to shit.

The animals, so far hostile yet quite docile in their cages, started to jump around, hammering at their cages with a sheer unnatural strength, putting actual dents into the metal within moments.

Looking around at the cages he missed the girl rushing towards him, jumping over the table he had just vaulted with much more grace and aggression than he would have thought possible.

With no way out he held out the knife in front of him, hoping against hope that he would somehow survive. He could see the glinting metal rush towards her, while her claws flashed towards him.

By sheer dumb luck he hit something. But before he could even register the outcome properly a burning anguish pierced his chest. A dim part of his mind registered his scream, and the scream of the Sanguist.

In pure contradiction of how things were just a moment ago, too quick to even realise, now it felt like time stood still as he looked down at himself. One of her hands was halfway through his chest, while the other had desperately tried, and failed, to block his own arm with the knife, which was stuck deep in her abdomen. Blood pooled out of both wounds, tainting their clothes with crimson.

He looked up at her, mind utterly blank, failing to even register his own wound properly. She was similarly stunned, gaze locked at the knife in her abdomen, trailing thick waves of blood onto his shaking hand still clutching the handle.

There was a small moment before his mind finally caught up with everything going on and pain settled fully into his mind.

This is it. I’m dying.

The thought was a surprisingly calm one. What stunned him however were her words as she looked at the knife buried in her stomach.

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“I… no… no why… I wanted to die… Why am I afraid…”, she mumbled, then she raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes.

For the first time he got a good look at her, naked under the robes. The hood had fallen back, revealing dirty hair with just a hint of its natural red colour, two fox like ears on her head, and green eyes full of freight in a face much too young for anyone in her position.

He remembered when they first exchanged glances. He remembered the look in her eyes, the willingness to die. He remembered how it made him feel, uneasy and guilty.

Now there was nothing but fear. The fear of death of someone who was not yet ready to part with the world.

His hand let go of the knife in her stomach.

He knew there was nothing he could do. He would be dead within moments. Yet something in him stirred and he raised his arms to embrace her awkwardly.

He wanted to tell her everything was going to be fine, if only to wash that look from her eyes.

Clive Bohart was not a good man. But he wasn’t heartless, and this woman, no, this girl, was too young to meet her maker so soon.

He wanted to tell her everything was going to be okay, but his lips produced only gurgles as the light around him slowly faded.

He wanted to tell her everything was going to be alright, but his mind became too light to think.

He wanted to…

He wanted…

Clarity washed over him. He was still where he died, the girl in his arms, looking horrified, yet he could move. Actually, his body couldn’t move, as he got up he saw himself lying in his own blood, eyes glazed over and bereft of all life. Looking down at himself he couldn’t make out his own form. Time seemed frozen in this place, wherever it was.

Then he heard footsteps, unhurried and calm. Turning to the direction he heard those steps from he saw a massive gate leading into an endless abyss of nothingness, and he felt a sudden wave of calm roll over him. He was dead and god was going to take him into the heavens.

A person stepped out of the gates, a person both male and female, young and old, frail and muscular. It was a picture of contradictions, yet somehow it fit perfectly to this being.

“Lost Soul, I am Altis, although most prefer to call me death. I assume you know why I am here?”, they spoke with the most beautiful of basses and the most grotesques of sopranos.

“I… I died. Are you god?”, Clive couldn’t help but ask. He was surprised how calm he was, or maybe that was simply a result of his death.

“I am one of them, yes, although not the one you think of. Are you disappointed?”, the being asked in that wonderfully horrible voice.

“Uh… I guess? I’m not sure… I thought… I thought I’d be more… panicked? I did die, yeah?”

“You did indeed, killed by blood loss induced by poor Lucy over there.”

It was strange. He knew he died, of course, but hearing it like that was… strange. Yet he remained calm and collected.

“Lucy? She is going to die too?”, he asked, looking at the girl frozen in time. The light of life hadn’t yet gone out, but if that was truly the case or he simply lacked the ability to perceive it he wasn’t sure.

“Yes, your knife left deep internal wounds. Unless she is healed within the next few minutes there is no way for her to survive.”

“Huh… Okay… Are you going to take me to heaven then? Or Hell?”, he asked, not quite sure if he wanted to know the answer to that.

“In due time, yes. However, first I want to ask you a question. Do you have regrets?”

That question surprised Clive a little. Did he have regrets? Sure, he had a lot of things he regretted. He regretted getting so far removed from his family. He regretted never making the move on Seline in University. He regretted never building up the courage to talk to his peers when he first started and he regretted getting involved with the Church to this extent.

But none of those regrets really bothered him. No, there was only one thing he really regretted.

“Yes… I think… It’s nothing I could have done anything about, but I do regret killing her. She attacked me, sure, but obviously against her own will. She has her own worries, not too few I would guess, and the way that asshole over there treated her… I guess I regret not stopping him too. Nobody deserves that.”

He wasn’t quite sure why he admitted to it, Clive wasn’t a very talkative person, he preferred not to be involved with such things. But it didn’t really matter anymore, now did it?

“Do you not resent her for your death?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Not really? I mean, I would have preferred not dying, but at the same time… I don’t know what she went through and I wasn’t exactly a beacon of selflessness. Maybe it would be different if I was still alive, but right now, I can’t say that I do.”

The being regarded him for a moment, “If you had one final wish, what would it be? Anything you could want.”

That brought him up short. But, after a moment of bewilderment, he thought about it seriously. “Huh… A wish… I don’t know. Not dying maybe, but failing that… I would want to know what the Church is really up to, I know it’s not all sunshine and rainbows, despite their teachings. And if they are indeed responsible for Lucy’s state and others like her, I would want them safe. Animal experiments are one thing, it's a necessary evil, but I don’t like human experiments, and from the rumours I heard there was a bit of that here too.”

“Good and evil are always subjective. There cannot be a clear and unbiased judge when it comes to these topics.”

“Isn’t that your role? To judge people for their lives?”, he couldn’t help but ask.

To his surprise the being shook their head, “No. I merely accompany souls to their final rest. It is your own self image that will judge you, not me. Contrary to popular belief there is no heaven and there is no hell. What you make of your afterlife is your own choice.”

“Seriously? What about mass murders and serial killers? Rapists, paedophiles, unhinged murderers? Did Stalin or Hitler go to hell? What happens to those who routinely abuse others on a daily basis? They just get away scott free?!”

This was ridiculous! Clive was not a good man, but he would gladly go to hell if it meant people like those were sent there too.

“As I said, it is your own self-image that judges you. In the face of death there is no grandeur. It lays bare your deepest sorrows and regrets. Many feel very little they are truly concerned with, but there are also others who suffer greatly, even for things others would praise them for.”

Clive didn’t like it, but it’s not like he could change anything. That’s just how life works, or death. With a deep sigh he shook his head, then once more he looked at the girl that killed him.

“So, care to fulfil my wish? Was the Church responsible for her? Are there others?”

The being nodded, “Indeed. They did many things you would consider amoral, she is the result of a few of those. She does not remember anything about her life, all she knows is a life inside the cells. I sense a hint of darkness around her, a result of a lesser god it seems, although not strong enough to protect her.”

“So there are others then?”

Once more Death nodded, “Yes, many in fact. Although Earth is quite barren in comparison.”

Another thing that was fascinating to know, yet utterly useless. “I see… Well, unless you can save her somehow I think we’re done here. Time to face myself, I guess.”

“It is possible, if you wished for it.”

That pulled him out of his thoughts. “Really?”

This had to be a joke, right?

“Yes. While weak, she has the protection of a lesser god, one I am familiar with. If you wish to save her you could pray to them and save her.”

“Wait, but aren’t you death? Isn’t that kinda your entire reason for being?”, Clive asked flabbergasted.

“I exist to guide the souls to the afterlife, I don’t seek nor wish for death, and as long as she isn’t dead yet, she is outside of my domain.”

He thought about it, but he wasn’t sure what he should do. She had wanted to die, yet at the end, she knew only fear. If what death said was true, and he believed them, she deserved better. If he could help, should he really deny it?

“Can I ask her what she wants?”, he asked, pointing at the girl, although he was almost certain that he knew the answer.

“The dead are not meant to speak with the living.”

“What about that god that can help, then? Or do you guys ignore the rules?”

The being chuckled, a sound that was utterly terrifying.

“We all must follow the rules. And yes, a part of her is, in a way.”

That’s about as cryptic as it can get… He took a deep breath.

Clive was not a good man, but he wasn’t evil either. He had done many things he could be judged for, many things he would do differently if he could, maybe this was his final chance of redemption. Even if heaven and hell didn’t exist, he at least wanted to feel like he did some good at the end. Maybe it was meaningless, but he was already dead, what was there to lose?

“Very well. How do I ask this god, or uh, goddess?”

Then he was elsewhere, a velvet veil before him, death nowhere to be found.

The curtain moved aside and he stared into a long throne room filled to the brim with weapons of all shapes and sizes. At the end was a throne, easily bigger than most modern shopping malls, and on top of that throne sat a giant black dragon.

As he stepped through into the throne room an immense pressure assaulted his entire being. It felt domineering, indomitable, dangerous yet protective, but strongest of all, divine.

Halfway to the throne he stopped, kneeling as if on instinct, and the massive dragon raised its head, purple irises locked onto him like a cat spotting a mouse.

Speak, mortal, for what reason have you come?

In this moment he realised that the rumours he heard had neither been exaggerated or imagined. Each word of them had been true. And he had just gotten involved with it somehow, even in death.

Outstanding…