Soul Collector

Collecting souls isn’t the most fun job in the world. In fact, it’s the most boring thing to do, definitely more boring than mundane human jobs like accounting and housekeeping.  He remembers visiting people who literally die of boredom during their work hours (probably the most sad and humorous thing he’s ever seen in his entire existence.)

But, yes. It’s still boring. Watching as someone unsuspectedly walks in front of a truck, or trips on the carpet down the stairs, or even electrocuted by the toaster, it’s all the same. He comes, sees the last moments of their fragile lives, and swipes their soul with his scythe. That’s it.

He doesn’t stay for anything more, well, he can’t physically stay to see the aftermath, he’s immediately teleported back to his realm.

That’s just the way it is.

But then again, Death was never meant to be fun.

-X-

He rarely thinks about his physical state, or really, the state in which he can communicate with the physical world.

It’s not important to him, he’s not a mortal after all. No one can see him anyway, it’s not like he goes through trivial things like being judged by others based on superficial things like looks.

It’s just him and his scythe, his huge and terrifyingly magnificent scythe.

However, once (only once) while collecting the soul of a girl who had drowned in a lake, had he pondered about his appearance. He was searching for her in the depths of the water, when he caught sight of his reflection on the moonlit surface.

He couldn’t help but be startled. The hood of his cloak hid only part of the black mist that would be known as his “face”. His hands of grey bone cricked sickeningly as he unconsciously tightened them around his scythe. The lake rippled harshly at the movement, as if it was recoiling away from his putrid aura of death.

No wonder humans weren’t allowed to see him, they would probably die prematurely from his hideousness.

He peered closer into the water, now intrigued, having never noticed exactly how looked.

However, the blue face of a dead girl was only thing he saw in return. His scythe pulsed in his hand, reminding him of the job he came to do.

He left that lake with an abnormally empty feeling.

-X-

On a rather normal day he receives a familiar twisting sensation of a summoning in his chest.

Another soul to collect.

He locates the place of the death, but unusually, he doesn’t have time to get ready to transport himself there. In the blink of an eye, he’s been teleported to a room, a traditional study room with desks and bookshelves, and a weird little glass bowl in the middle of the carpet. Apart from that, it seems normal enough.

And the fact that the room reeks of black magic.

And how there’s a woman slung lazily over an armchair staring directly at him.

“Hello.” She has a trademark Cheshire cat smile, wild green hair fanning over the back of the chair. She has a slight mischievous glint to her eyes, and his first thought is how there isn’t any dead person around here.

The second thought is that she is talking to him.

He pauses, bones locked in place.

She can see him.

She summoned him, but how?

“…Uhm, what are you doing?” He demands, and if he could experience emotion, he would definitely be at unease. It's been centuries since he's spoken to anyone, not even other reapers.The woman looks defenceless, wearing only a red robe and slippers, but her unafraid composure smells like trouble.

“Oh!” She pipes enthusiastically, straightening her back. “So, you do speak! Oh, that’s good.” She rubs her hands together and looks at him intently, trying to peek under his hood. He doesn’t back down from her gaze, offended that she would assume that he can’t communicate. He’ll have her know that he knows how to speak any language at command.

“I had prepared a way to force you to speak if you didn’t… ah, it took ages.” She reaches into her robe and reveals a small vial full of purple liquid. “I guess it’s useless now.” She pouts and carelessly chucks the vial behind her, he expects it to smash it one of the bookcases, but to his surprise, instead it levitates in the air and moves swiftly to fit into one of the many holes filled with glasses.

His hand clenches.

She’s a witch.

“OH dear, how rude of me.” She continues, not noticing how the reaper was near seconds away from vanishing away from her. “My name is Eto,” She grins lazily and points a foot at him, “Do you have a name?” She asks, “Other than "Reaper", of course.”

“Uh- No.” He shuffles on his feet, wondering how on earth he’s gotten into this situation.

“That’s rather depressing, eh?” Not really. “Too bad, but that’s not why I summoned you.”

“Yeah, h-how did you do that?” No one ever has been able to summon him, he thought he wasn’t really summon-able to begin with, because he is Death.

She waves him off, moving out of the chair onto her two feet.

“Details, details…” Eto mumbles offhandedly, moving over to her desk, which is covered in a mess of papers and potions. It looks as if she’s searching for something, with the way she rummages through the clutter “One second,” She holds a finger up, signalling for him to be patient.

After a minute of her searching, he decides that he doesn’t have time for this.

“Uh, excuse me-” Her curse as she knocks over a bottle of pills of some sort interrupts him, “It seems like you aren’t going to die anytime soon, so I’ll be heading-”

“AH-HA!” She cries, lifting a palm-sized black box triumphantly in the air. “God, next time I’ll put it somewhere better.” She mutters, before focusing her eyes back on the cloaked figure standing awkwardly in the corner. He doesn’t like how her eyes narrow dangerously, small smirk still present, as if she’s caught her prey.

Even though she’s a witch, surely, she’s nothing compared to the power of death?

“You underestimate me, dear.” She says.

“W-what?” He stutters. Did she just-!?

She ignores him, stalking up to him purposefully, until the only thing between him and her was the glass bowl on the floor.

“How do you feel about doing a little something for me?” She asks, feigning coyness. He finds it weird that he’s intimidated by someone so small.

“Well-” A high-pitched laugh cuts him off.

“Who am I kidding?” She snorts, inspecting the black box in her palm, before holding it out for him to see. “Your answer means nothing to me.”

He wonders how she can be so brave to insult him. Maybe he’ll have to show her what he can do.

He holds his hand out, calling for his scythe.

But it doesn’t come.

He tries again.

“Ah, ah, ah.” She shakes her head at him disappointedly. “You think I’m stupid enough to allow you to get your little friend to help you?” He steps away from her as she steps forward.

“How are you doing this?” He looks around the room, checking for any source of hindering magic, but even if there was… how is it managing to effect him?

He tries to teleport out of the room. As soon as he tries to, there’s a painfully crackling feeling throughout his body, causing him to crumple to his knees.

 It doesn’t work. Nothing works.

“Wow, this is actually quite upsetting to witness.” She sighs from above him, he  tilts his head up to glower at her, pain still wracking his limbs.

“Don’t worry, everything will be fine.” She assures, bending over the glass bowl and taking out a knife from her pocket. “As long as you just sit still.” She cackles quietly to herself, bringing the knife to her wrist and slicing a line through her pale skin.

He can only stare as crimson flows down her hand and trickles into the bowl, slowly filling it until it is a centimetre thick.

“And now,” she wipes the remaining blood on her robe, before discarding the knife and holding the black box above her head.

“Creavi et alligans ad me servum tuum ad alligandum morte. Introduc me in virtute.”

As she chants in a foreign language, hair billowing around her, he understands exactly what she’s doing. However, he’s at her mercy, not able to move, or speak all of a sudden.

The room begins to vibrate, potions rattling on their shelves, and there’s a loud click from the black box in her hands. Swirls of light crawl up its side, until the top opens, green orb shooting out of it and landing straight into the bowl of blood.

“Ha! It worked!” Eto puts the box to the side and claps her hands, “Isn’t this exciting!?” She looks down at him with wide eyes, and when he doesn’t respond (because he can’t respond) she rolls her eyes.

She bends down again to consider the bowl. The blood starts sizzling, the orb burning brightly as all the blood is soaked in to it. She makes a satisfied sound in the back of her throat, and retrieves the orb, still glowing green, between her thumb and index finger.

“This is very pretty.” She moves to hold it out against his cloak, making him cringe away from her. “It suits you.”

He can only growl deep in his throat as Eto then whispers, what sounds like a spell, into the orb.

A black, velvety sort of substance materialises from the sides of the orb, forming what seems to be a… collar?!

“Just for you! ♥” She smiles sickeningly sweet, eyes closed and head tilted to the side.

Without warning, she reaches a hand down to push his hood off.

No… Stop!

“What a handsome face, hm.” She trails a finger around the black mist, with her other hand she brings the collar up, and almost like another magic trick, it flies out of her hand and clasps around his neck.

He immediately chokes, the collar tight around him, and crumples in on himself.

He feels his power draining, flowing from his hands into the glass bowl, filling it to the brim.

She only laughs as he squirms and whimpers on the floor, until all his energy leaves his body.

Until he’s just a weak mess on her carpet.

“From now on, you work under me.” Eto announces, standing back up and looking over him proudly. “But we can’t have you looking like that, can we?” She points at him with a crinkled nose.

He can only imagine what he looks like; a pile of rusty bones laying under a flimsy cloak.

Useless.

“Hm..." She puts a hand to her chin thoughtfully, "How do you feel about looking human?”

-X-

He opens his eyes to a grey sky and droplets of rain hitting his face. He can hear the hustle of city life from somewhere, but it’s quieter where he lays uncomfortably on the wet ground.

For a moment, he doesn’t remember anything. He thinks he’s just been teleported to collect a soul, but then why is he laying down-

Then he remembers:

Your name is “Hide”

You must find Kaneki Ken

You must kill Kaneki Ken

If you want to get your powers back ♪