Chapter 1

The first thing Kibo saw was an open-palmed hand held out in front of him, as if it was trying to stop something, floating in solitude against the backdrop of grassy hills.

He recoiled—or tried to, but found that he couldn’t move.

What is that?

An arm materialized next, bits of flesh-colored sand being pulled out from thin air, settling and coalescing onto the limb attached to the balled fist. No bone, no blood, no tissue to be seen—just a skinny, abnormally pale arm trickling into existence, bit by bit.

Is that mine?

The hand balled into a fist, then flexed open again.

How is that possible?

Trying to look further down proved impossible. The best he could do was shift his eyes towards the ground, and what he saw confirmed his suspicions yet again: the torso he expected his eyes to land on instead landed on a field of gently swaying grass. When the sensation of the rest of his right arm came, Kibo took advantage of it by moving it around. Feeling his arm pass right through the area his torso should be confirmed to him that, indeed, it seemed the rest of his body wasn’t there—or at least, had yet to form. When his arm traveled upwards, he found it bumping into what he could clearly tell was the side of his head.

This is so weird. So my head already formed … that makes sense, considering I can see. If it formed before my head—

A nervous skittering ran down his non-existent spine at the terrifying realization, quickly returning the free-roaming hand back to his side as his left arm finished materializing.

His attention soon after fell into a large patch of dirt amidst the seemingly infinite plains before him, a solid white line outlining a perfect circle drawn into the dirt. But that wasn’t the strangest part—that accolade belonged to the light turquoise light shooting up from the white circle up as far as his stationary, non-existent head allowed him to see.

That is not normal. What is that? A hologram?

When the sensation of his left arm came to him, Kibo tested it by waving it around with similar results. As he felt his torso form, namely the rise and fall of his chest in correspondence to his breathing, the rest of his senses came to him: the occasional howling of the wind and the gentle ruffling of the grass in response, the refreshing, invigorating feeling of the air on his exposed arms, the gentle hum of the light turquoise light—forcefield, perhaps—dying down as it began to dissipate, eventually petering out of existence.

Then came the dread.

It smothered him, every square inch of his materializing body. Suffocating, all-encompassing, like he was underwater amidst a sea of sheer terror. The hairs on his body stood straight up, every nerve in his body screamed at him to run!, but he couldn’t move—his legs had yet to form. The sinking feeling deep inside his stomach pushed his heartrate up and up, but he wasn’t even sure what he needed to escape from until his gaze landed on it: a tall, looming figure, clad in wispy black robes covering what Kibo would normally classify as a ‘human-shaped body’ if it wasn’t so massive. Its face was indistinguishable, covered by a hood made from a dark cloth that spanned its entire body. It floated a few centimeters off the ground, slowly advancing towards him as if it had all the time in the world. What seemed to be its arm was outstretched at a low angle, a sleek, black pole attached to the end of the limb—and at the end of that pole was the wicked, curved blade of the scythe, its length well surpassing that of its arm.

Death.

It could be nothing else. Kibo knew nothing else but his own name, yet that much was clear—what was slowly advancing towards him was Death itself.

I need to get away.

I can’t let that thing get closer to me.

That thing is going to kill me.

When the sensation of his legs came to him, he immediately felt his knees buckling, sending the rest of his now fully materialized body collapsing onto the ground. His eyes widened to the size of saucers, a terrified scream never making it past his parted lips.

I can’t move.

I’m going to die.

I’m going to die—

“You there! Get on your feet and run!”

The crisp, feminine voice slicing through the air was the invigoration that Kibo needed. His arms pushed against the ground, propelling his body into the air, his left foot taking a hasty step back in a failed attempt to stabilize his balance, his body falling back onto the ground with the backwards momentum his arms had created.

“Why is he outside of the spawn area?”

“It doesn’t matter! Get up!”

Kibo pushed against the ground again, this time succeeding in stabilizing his balance. However, by the time he made it on his feet, the looming, dark figure was just a few feet in front of him. Just as his legs started to work again, the arm of the looming figure raised.

His heart plummeted to the depths of his chest, the gleam of the scythe’s blade capturing the sun’s rays.

Move, Kibo. Move!

Despite being able to muster the strength to take a few steps backwards, he could tell it was pointless. He could only watch as Death’s scythe came swinging down, and—

“Valerie!”

In the very next moment, a blur of grey and white flew past him, a sharp clang! of clashing metal following.

“Get going.”

The strained voice of the dark-haired, pale woman standing about his height returned the strength in his body, taking backwards steps with more haste.

In each of the woman’s hands were blades hooked at each end like an umbrella handle, her hands slotted inside a crescent-shaped bladed guard. With one blade intercepting the scythe’s handle and the other reached up and away from her body to intercept the blade, she twisted her arms and pulled outwards so that the hooks attached to the end of her swords caught the scythe’s handle. She let out a yell, rotating her upper body and sending the weapon flying out of the hooded figure’s hands.

What?! Did she just—

“We’re getting out of here! Valerie, get back here!”

Kibo felt a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump and his head to swivel backwards, finding himself face-to-face with someone’s neck. A slight adjustment to his gaze let him glance at the owner of the hand on his shoulder and the deeper voice that had just spoken: a massive man with blond, spiky hair and hazelnut eyes, whose well-built body screamed of resolute strength but whose welcoming smile, shot quickly at the shocked Kibo, spoke of warm kindness.

The dark-haired woman, apparently named ‘Valerie’, obeyed, taking advantage of the brief reprieve she granted herself to turn around and sprint back in their direction.

Why is she running away? Why not finish it off?

Kibo’s eyes shifted back onto the woman, his eyes landing on hers the moment they started to widen in fear. And all it took was to shift his eyes a little bit past her to see why: the same scythe had reappeared in his hand and was already mid-swing, the curved edge closing in on the turning figure of the woman who had just saved him.

“Valerie—!”

The sight sent his heart once again plummeting to the depths of his chest. Seconds suddenly stretched out into minutes, every desperate step she took more than being made up for by the slow, yet sure descent of the bladed weapon.

I can’t let her die. Not when I owed her for saving me just now.

In that brief moment, the overwhelming fear Kibo had was replaced by another feeling, surging forward and filling every pore in his body. “Get away from her!” the scream, the first noise he had made since materializing, ripped through his throat and out his mouth, his arm outstretched.

I can’t let her die.

Kibo shook the taller man’s hand off his shoulder and ran towards Valerie, but even he could tell that he was helpless to do anything. As his legs pumped against the softly swaying grass, Kibo could only stare in horror as he watched the bladed scythe inch closer to Valerie, his heart sinking in parallel.

That blade—

“—No!”

Then it disappeared.

Death’s arm continued swinging, but the scythe had vanished from his hands.

“—…What the—”

He didn’t even notice the thing that appeared in his hand until its unexpected weight caused him to nearly fall forward, stabilized only by the sturdy hand reappearing on his shoulder. His fingers subconsciously tightened around it, his eyes darting to the cold, metallic, slender pole in his grip, widening when he saw that it was the very scythe that the hooded figure was carrying.

Kibo nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping it from sheer shock.

Following the clang! sound as the weapon clattered against the dirt was a confused, “What—…?”

While Kibo was thinking the same thing, the shocked words hadn’t come from him. The turn of events seemed not to only stun himself and the taller man behind him, but the hooded figure as well, as it had completely stopped, the hood pointed at its scythe dropped by Kibo’s feet.

“Owen, get us out of here!”

With barely any hesitation, Owen’s hand tightened around Valerie’s and in an instant, everything disappeared.