Chapter 2: Facing Death Shouldn't Be That Hard

Trad was in a bad situation right now. There was still a way out behind him, but the guys searching for him were blocking his path. And right in front of him, a strange figure stood, holding a sickle aimed directly at him.

"Well, this is it, huh?" Trad chuckled, even though a weapon was pointed at him. His breath came out in a ragged laugh, and the sound of the rain crashing down only added to the eerie atmosphere.

"You're not scared?" the creature asked, its voice low and almost like a whisper, but it was clear and firm.

"Hmm? Well, it's not like I'm not scared," Trad replied. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, his legs still trembling from the chase. "Things are just... too unreal right now. I mean, what even are you? What is this? Some kind of joke?"

The creature took a step forward, its shadow engulfing the alleyway. "I am a..." it began, but its words were foreign to Trad, too strange to understand.

"What? Say that again?"

"Uhh... honestly, what am I doing trying to have a conversation with a human? Maybe the crazy one here is actually me..." The figure sighed, almost in frustration.

Trad blinked in confusion, his eyes narrowing. "What... are you talking about? Are you really... real?"

The creature stepped closer again, its sickle raised, the black cloak billowing behind it like a storm cloud. The air seemed to grow colder with every passing second. Trad could feel a shiver run down his spine, but he refused to show weakness.

He tried to get a glimpse of the creature's face, but the darkness, coupled with the hooded cloak, left only shadows. Nothing of its true form could be seen.

"I shouldn't be doing this again, but... what are you thinking right now?" the creature asked in a voice that was oddly human. "Usually, humans try to run or beg for their lives. But you... you're just standing there."

"I'm just tired of running..." Trad muttered, a sigh escaping his lips. "I mean, running is fun, but it has its right and wrong circumstances, you know?"

The creature paused. "Does that mean you don't care about your life?"

"What? No! I'm just saying, I can't do anything anymore! What do you expect me to do? Run like a madman, panicking for no reason? It's like trying to get to a toilet that's always out of reach... Everything has its limits, man."

The creature took a long, heavy breath. "Oh... poor creature."

"What?" Trad frowned, his confusion deepening.

"I can take you out of that torment," the creature said, its voice almost soft now.

"What? I already told you, I'm not one of those depressive maniacs!" Trad's hands clenched into fists at his sides, frustration rising in his chest.

"What? Then what do you want?" the creature asked.

"Don't you think you're talking too much for a... reaper?" Trad raised an eyebrow, the tension still thick in the air.

"Reaper?" The creature's voice faltered for a moment.

"Yeah... I mean, black cloak, a sickle. You're wearing a reaper costume, right?"

"Costume? ...Enough talk." The figure snapped, sounding almost offended.

"You're talking like I'm the one asking questions..." Trad shot back, his frustration mingling with the weirdness of the situation.

Finally, the reaper raised his sickle, the blade gleaming in the dim light. Trad instinctively closed his eyes, bracing for the worst. He had no idea if this was real or just some fever dream. But what did it matter? He was already trapped, wasn't he?

He kept his eyes shut, waiting for the blow to land. The seconds felt like hours.

He clenched his fists tightly, preparing for the impact. His throat felt dry as he swallowed, but no matter how much he tried to calm himself, his body was on high alert.

So he waited.

Nothing happened.

"What?" Trad thought, still trying to make sense of the situation. He wondered if he'd fallen asleep or if this whole thing was some kind of joke. It felt like he'd been standing there for much longer than it had actually been.

When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself still standing, the reaper only inches away. The sickle hadn't touched him, and the creature was still swinging it around as if nothing had happened.

A strange realization struck Trad. "Wait... shouldn't I have, like, some white light or something by now?"

The reaper scowled. "Uh... shut up!"

"What?" Trad asked, genuinely puzzled.

The creature continued to swing its sickle, but again, no blow landed. The reaper's movements grew more frantic, but still, nothing touched Trad. After a few moments, it seemed the creature grew tired of the useless motions and stopped.

"Argh... this is exhausting," the reaper groaned, its voice tinged with frustration.

"Hey, c'mon! Weren't you about to do your job?" Trad called out, a smirk tugging at his lips. "What's going on now? Was this just some fake fantasy?"

"I am real!" the reaper snapped, its voice rising in anger.

"Hmm... maybe you are," Trad muttered. "But it's not normal for a weapon to just... pass through my body." A shiver ran down his spine as he processed what had just happened.

"So you just realized that now?" the creature asked, sounding almost condescending.

"Uh... I'm not fully convinced," Trad responded, a frown crossing his face. "If you were real, I shouldn't still be alive right now."

"Well, that's because you weren't blacklisted," the reaper explained, its tone flat.

"Blacklisted?"

"It means I can't kill you, since your death wasn't confirmed in the Black Agenda."

"The Black Agenda?"

"You're not supposed to die."

Trad blinked, trying to process what the reaper had just said. "Oh... really?" he asked, a grin spreading across his face. "That's pretty good!"

"...Until now," the reaper added, its tone darkening.

"What?"

"You shouldn't be in a place like this, watching me do my dishes..."

"So what are you going to do?" Trad asked, raising an eyebrow, unsure of what was coming next.

"You'll have to come with me," the reaper said, his voice heavy with finality.