Her clawed, shifting hands—the things that look like they were designed specifically to yank souls out of bodies—are scrabbling at her own chest.
A scythe—theotherone, the one belonging to the other Grim Reaper, the one that was lying on the floor—is lodged in her goddamn stomach.
Or, in the place where a stomach is supposed to be.
Cassian stands behind her, fingers wrapped around the weapon’s handle, looking about as blank as a stone tablet. But his eyes? His eyes are burning—wild, primal, like he’s one wrong move away from going full unhinged feral protector mode. Or maybe he’s already in it. Maybethisis feral protector mode.
He just did save my undead ass.
The wraith makes a sound that’s somewhere between a choke, a laugh, and a death rattle. She scrabbles at the blade, trying toyank it free, but the damage is done. The scythe… has already started to glow.
I don’t know how. I really, really don’t. But thank the gods it does.
The glow spreads.
The glow spreads—not in the nice, divine, purifying light you’d expect from a Grim Reaper’s weapon, but in a weird, creepy, crawling way. Like ink spilling backward. Like the blade is slurping her up.
Cassian doesn’t flinch. His grip is ironclad, like he’s been stabbing wraiths since birth. If he’s even remotely disturbed that he’s wielding a literal Grim Reaper’s weapon, he sure as shit doesn’t show it.
The wraith convulses violently, but instead of fading or breaking apart, she seems to draw strength from the chaos around us. Her form flickers in and out of visibility until she warps and teleports to another corner of the space.
“Not today,” she snarls, her voice now even deeper, with a terrifying clarity that makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
I’m still on the floor, gasping, wheezing, struggling to reorient myself.
I need my weapon.
I need my scythe.
“You cannot destroy me. I am already dead,” she says. “You cannot kill what’s already dead.”
Fantastic.
She lunges again—faster, meaner, uncomfortably efficient. And for a brief, soul-crushing second, I’m actually glad I didn’t leave Cassian’s room when he asked me to.
I’m glad I got to see his penis.
It’s a really nice penis.
The only thing I’d like to do more than see it?
Touch it.
Then, I’d have no regrets left. I could perish in peace.
But then—Cassian.
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!” he roars, but like, atme. Rightnow.
Before I can process what’s happening, he swings the scythe down in a perfect arc, his movements so sharp and practiced it’s like the universe left this weapon just for him. The blade catches the wraith in a line of searing light, splitting her darkness apart. She screams again, but this time, the scream is cut short as the glow intensifies, eating through her shadowy form.
I don't know what Cassian’s doing, but it's working.Actuallyworking. His attack is stronger than before. And he doesn’t stop there. Each strike sends her form twisting in agony.
Until… they don’t.
Without warning, she pulls back.
Just like that.
