10

The next soul appeared quietly — a young man, maybe 19 or 20, with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a worn hoodie hanging loosely off his frame. His sneakers were scuffed, his hair messy, and his expression... lost.

He blinked at the Angel of Death, confused. "Oh. I... guess I didn't make it, huh?"

The Angel tilted his head. "Your name?"

"Ryan Brooks," the boy answered softly. "College student. Well... was." He laughed awkwardly, but there wasn't much humor in it.

"Cause of death: drowning," the Angel read aloud. He glanced up. "You were trying to save someone."

Ryan's eyes widened. "Yeah... my best friend, Jake. We were at the lake. He slipped off the dock. I didn't even think — I just jumped in after him." His voice wavered. "Is... is he okay?"

The Angel nodded once. "He survived."

Ryan let out a breath of relief, a genuine smile breaking through his worried expression. "Good. That's... good. He's terrible at swimming. Always said water was 'too unpredictable.' I told him I'd be there if anything ever happened. Guess I wasn't lying."

The Angel studied him for a moment. "You knew you might not make it out. Why didn't you hesitate?"

Ryan blinked, surprised by the question. "Because... he's my best friend. That's what you do, right? You don't think about yourself. You just... do whatever it takes to keep them safe."

The Angel was silent for a moment, then spoke quietly. "Loyalty like that is rare. People say they'd die for their friends... but few ever do."

Ryan looked down, his voice quieter now. "Jake's always been there for me. When I flunked my first exam. When my mom got sick. When I was too scared to even leave my dorm for a week because everything felt like too much. He never gave up on me — even when I kinda gave up on myself."

He swallowed hard. "How could I ever leave him behind? He's family. Blood or not."

The Angel nodded slowly. "Friendship like that isn't something death can sever."

Ryan looked up, his voice barely above a whisper. "...Do you think he'll be okay without me?"

The Angel of Death's voice was steady, but there was a flicker of something gentler beneath it. "He won't be okay. Not for a long time. But he'll keep going — because you did. And because the kind of loyalty you gave him... it doesn't just disappear. It stays. It shapes people. He'll carry you with him."

Ryan was quiet for a moment, taking that in. Then he let out a shaky breath and nodded.

"Alright," he said softly. "I'm ready now."

The Angel extended his hand. "Let's go, Ryan."

Ryan hesitated for just a second, glancing back over his shoulder — like he could still see the world he left behind.

"...Take care of him, Jake," he murmured. Then he reached out, took the Angel's hand, and stepped into the light.

For a long moment after Ryan was gone, the Angel of Death stood still, gazing at the spot where the boy had been. He exhaled slowly — not quite a sigh — and murmured to no one in particular:

"He would've done the same for you."

---

The next soul appeared with a flicker of something cold in his eyes — not fear, but anger. He was a man in his late 30s, dressed in a dark coat, with a sharp, calculated expression. His jaw was tense, his fists clenched. He looked around sharply before his gaze landed on the Angel of Death.

"So this is it, huh?" the man said bitterly. "Didn't think I'd go out like that."

The Angel tilted his head. "Your name?"

"Marcus," the man said flatly. "Businessman. Strategist. Survivor."

The Angel glanced at the list. "Cause of death: stabbed... by a former ally."

Marcus gave a hollow laugh. "Former ally? More like a snake in the grass. I made him everything he was. Pulled him out of the gutter, gave him power, respect, a future — and that's how he repaid me." His voice turned sharp, bitter. "I should've seen it coming."

The Angel studied him for a moment. "You sound more angry than surprised."

Marcus scoffed. "Surprised? No. Betrayal's just business. Everyone has a price. I knew that better than anyone — taught it to him myself." His voice dropped lower, eyes narrowing. "Guess he learned the lesson a little too well."

The Angel was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke evenly. "And what about your price, Marcus? How many people did you leave behind when the offers got better? How many trusted you, only to end up abandoned when they weren't useful anymore?"

Marcus's jaw tightened. "That's different. I did what I had to do to survive."

The Angel's voice stayed calm — but there was a weight to it now. "And so did he."

Marcus froze. His breath hitched for just a second.

The Angel stepped closer. "Betrayal isn't born from nothing. It festers in the shadows we create — in the promises we break, the loyalty we exploit. You taught him to value power over people. In the end, he listened."

Marcus swallowed hard, his voice quieter now. "...I didn't think he'd turn on me."

"You taught him that betrayal was strength," the Angel said softly. "He believed you."

The anger in Marcus's eyes flickered... then cracked. He looked down, his voice raw now. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I never wanted it to end like this."

The Angel of Death was quiet for a moment longer. Then he extended his hand. "It's over now. Come on, Marcus."

For the first time since he appeared, Marcus's shoulders slumped — the weight of everything finally crashing down on him.

He let out a shaky breath. "...Yeah. Alright."

He reached out and took the Angel's hand.

And as he vanished into the light, his last words hung in the air, barely a whisper:

"I'm sorry."

---

The next soul appeared slowly — a woman in her late 20s, dressed in a long, elegant coat that looked more practical than stylish. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly, and her eyes were sharp, guarded. She scanned the room with the precision of someone who was used to sizing up situations quickly.

She didn't look afraid. She looked… tired.

The Angel of Death tilted his head. "Your name?"

"Selene," she answered. Her voice was steady, but there was something hollow behind it. "Spy. Negotiator. Thief, depending on who you ask."

The Angel glanced at the list. "Cause of death: assassination. Poisoned."

Selene snorted softly. "Figures. Poetic, really."

The Angel studied her. "You don't seem surprised."

She met his gaze evenly. "I've spent most of my life lying to people. Pretending to be someone I'm not, telling them what they want to hear — all to get what I needed. Information, leverage, safety. In the end, it caught up to me."

"Did you regret it?" the Angel asked quietly.

Selene was silent for a moment. Then she sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. The people I worked for weren't good people. But neither were the ones I stole from. Some deserved what happened to them. Others... maybe not."

She looked down. "I told myself I was doing it for the greater good. That one less warlord, one less corrupt official, one less crime syndicate was worth whatever it took. But the lines blurred after a while. People who trusted me died because of those lies. People who didn't deserve it. I told myself it wasn't my fault."

Her voice faltered. "...But it was. At least part of it."

The Angel's voice was calm, but there was no judgment in it. "So were you a hero... or a villain?"

Selene laughed softly, though it wasn't a happy sound. "Does it matter? I survived. Until I didn't."

The Angel stepped closer. "It matters to you."

She looked at him for a long moment. Her mask slipped — and for the first time, she looked vulnerable.

"I think... I just wanted to believe I was doing the right thing," she admitted quietly. "Even when I wasn't sure what 'right' meant anymore."

The Angel nodded slowly. "Sometimes, there is no clear right or wrong. Only the choices we make... and the reasons we make them."

Selene exhaled shakily, like a weight had finally lifted off her chest. "Yeah. I guess that's all anyone can do, huh?"

The Angel extended his hand. "It's time to go, Selene."

She stared at his hand for a moment — then, finally, she reached out and took it.

As the light began to pull her away, she spoke one last time, her voice softer than before:

"I hope I wasn't the villain."

The Angel of Death watched her go, his voice barely a whisper in the quiet that followed:

"Most people never mean to be."