I have to give it to him—he does an admirable job pretending to go along with the group, even though I know he’d prefer to prolong the Candy Maker’s death for as long as humanly possible—just to commit some extra vile sins to her in the name of justice.
Must be difficult for him.
In a way, we’re both suffering right now. Me, because I cannot stand this anymore. Him, because it’s simply not sadistic enough.
“You see, my friend here thinks you don't deserve even that,” Nathaniel murmurs. “And I quite agree with him. But alas, we are mere mortals, bound by the limitations of our feeble existence.”
He clicks his tongue, cocks his head, and gives Laura a look so chilling it should be illegal in several dimensions.
“Maybe once we get to the beyond, we’ll give you what you really deserve.”
And then, finally, he slams down the plunger.
Laura’s body jerks. A little. A weak, pitiful tremor as the poison invades her system. No dramatic screaming. No writhing. Just her eyes widening and face contorting against her will.
And then, silence.
The soul is a fragile thing. It clings to the body even as the heart slows, as the brain flickers and dims. For most, it's a gentle, inevitable separation. A quiet fading into whatever lies beyond.
But not for her.
Talon flicks the Skystone into the air one last time before catching it in his palm. He holds it over Laura’s chest, his grin widening.
“And now, Laura,” he murmurs, “let’s see what a monster’s soul looks like.”
I brace for the usual tug—the pull of a departing soul snapping toward me like a rubber band. But, as expected, it doesn’t come.
Nothing.
Laura’s soul isn’t mine to take. We’re outside my jurisdiction, which means—for the first time—I’m standing at the scene of a death, not as a Grim Reaper, but as some helpless, irrelevant spectator.
It feels weird.
I’ve seen souls leave bodies at least a thousand times, and not once have I felt any satisfaction from it. But this… this is different.
The tiny blue light of Laura’s soul drifts upward, slow and serene, like a balloon someone forgot to tie down. It looks just like every other soul I’ve seen—pure, luminescent, soft around the edges. No ominous red glow, no cursed aura screaming serial killer energy like Talon seems to think there should be.
And yet, I can feel her Karma now. It’s heavy. Rotten. Thick with the weight of over a hundred deaths—some children, some parents, some just unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Laura Collins didn’t just kill. She collected lives like trinkets, leaving only sick mementos behind.
Talon tsks, rolling the Skystone between his fingers.
“Yup. No different than the rest,” he mutters. “That’s why we’re here.”
And then everything goes to hell.
A sharp gust sweeps through the basement, kicking up dust and sending a prickle up my spine like I just licked a battery. Talon moves his hand toward the flickering blue light, and Pain caws so loud it sounds it rattles my bones.
Then I feel it.
A shift. An intrusion.
The air distorts, bends inward like something is pressing into the world from the outside. A whisper of something cold, something inevitable, something I shouldn't really feel, but do anyway.
And then she appears.
A Grim Reaper.
Talon’s fingers are just about to brush Laura’s soul when the flicker of blue jerks, like a fish yanked on a line. The shadows stretch unnaturally across the walls, curling toward the center of the room.
