Darkness.

A word that can describe a desolate road in the middle of nowhere. The trees partly covered the moonlit sky, casting terrifying shadows. There were no streetlights to illuminate the dark road. Only one light pierced the darkness: a car's headlights.

Damien had no business being on that road, but what choice did he have? It was the shortest route to his destination. A few kilometers back, in an isolated town, he had asked for directions. All the residents pointed him toward the dark road. It was dangerous to travel at night, but it was the quickest way. They persuaded him to stay for the night, but he refused. Time wasn't on his side; he had to reach a business meeting.

Silence.

Aside from the sound of his car, the road was eerily quiet, as if barren of life.

"Lemme turn on the radio," Damien muttered.

He held the steering wheel with one hand while the other hand turned on the radio.

Static.

He turned the knob left and right, but only static came out of the speakers.

"Huh. No radio reception here," he mumbled.

With one hand on the wheel, he tried to find his phone in his bag on the passenger side. He dug through his stuff, not realizing he was about to hit a deer.

It was too late.

He woke up moments later. His car had hit a pine tree. The windshield was cracked from the impact. Groaning in pain, he lifted his head, unbuckled his seatbelt, and tried to get out of the car. The engine was hissing and emitting smoke. He limped away from the car toward the road, hoping to find someone to help.

By some miracle, a bright light approached. A truck stopped, and a man stepped out. Inside was his wife, who wore a worried look on her face.

He was saved!

"Hello? Are you okay?" asked the man.

"Thank God! Please help me!" Damien said, limping toward the man, relief washing over him.

But the man ignored him and walked straight ahead.

Damien was startled. Did he not see me? he thought. He turned to see the man checking someone in the car. Curiously, Damien approached, his heart pounding as he saw who the man was checking.

"Honey, call 911!" the man shouted.

The wife frantically brought out her phone and dialed the number.

"Hello? 911? I'd like to report an accident..."

Damien looked back at the car. The man stood up and walked back to his truck. Slowly, everything fell into place as the man revealed who was in the car.

Damien.

Damien was shocked by the revelation unfolding before his eyes.

He's dead.

That can't be.

"No. No. N-no. This can't be happening!" he shouted.

He was about to approach the couple again, but he felt a dark energy creeping behind him. It was cold and sad, as if all warmth and happiness had been sucked from the place, making it more terrifying than ever. All his happy memories turned into depressing ones.

Slowly, he turned around, fear painting his face. Near his body was a hooded figure in a long, dark robe, emitting dark smoke that rolled down the seams of its garment. In its right hand, it held a long pole with a crescent-shaped blade, so shiny he could see his reflection.

But what was more unsettling were the figure's hands. Damien initially thought the man was pale, but on closer inspection, he realized they were bones.

He could not see who was underneath the hood, but he knew it was bad news.

Damien shook with fear. The hooded figure gripped the bottom part of its weapon and slowly approached Damien.

Without a moment to waste, Damien ran. He didn't care if he was hurt; he just needed to get away from the hooded figure. He blindly ran through the forest, heedless of where he ended up. He just needed to escape.

He ran until he reached a clearing with a dead end. Panic set in. He tried to find a way out, but it was too late. The hooded figure had arrived. Slowly, Damien turned to face it. The figure was already near.

As it approached, he saw its face: a skull.

The hooded figure raised its weapon and reaped his soul.

Darkness.

Early the next morning, the alarm clock went off. Nico groaned as he reached for it. He woke up and stretched, his eyes still tired, but he managed to stand and get ready for the day. On his way to the kitchen, he picked up his cloak and hung it on the clothes rack. Beside it, gleaming in the morning sun, was his scythe.

Nico led a double life. By day, he was an employee at a record label. By night, he was a grim reaper, reaping souls for a living. Despite his dual roles, neither job affected him. Reaping souls at night didn't tire him; being a grim reaper had its perks.

As a being with powers, he could see the lifeline of each person: who would live and who would die. With his scythe, he reaped souls and guided them to the afterlife.