ONE YEAR LATER...

Hell had always been the place where he did most of his thinking, except lately he could hardly think at all. The Capturer of Souls knew something was wrong, and it was not because he was in Hell but rather because his skull would bleed every time he tried to remember where he had been these past months. And he knew for certain he hadn't been in Hell this entire time.

Or so The Capturer of Souls believed for the hundredth time.

There wasn't anything out of the ordinary. He performed his duties regularly and served his purpose as The Capturer of Souls. He went to the living world and collected souls, and then brought them to the realms of the dead. Hell, Peace, and Dark Paradise. He walked them as he always did and took their souls where they belonged. Not a single soul was out of place.

Yet, there lived a vicious madness inside his head like a shadowless beast. He was fighting in the dark, and he could only make it darker. For the first time since he lost the power of light, he wished someone could shed some light. He wouldn't mind the moon—a rawness purged his skull, annihilating the thought.

He obliged.

The Capturer of Souls turned his gaze to a certain blue-eyed demon standing near the edge of a cliff. He stared off into the distance as damned souls were being dropped into Hell's unforgivable flames. Another soul fell into it and released desperate screams. Hans remained unfazed by the now perished soul, and solely focused on the rising fire shaping into wings as it consumed all existence.

The Capturer of Souls approached his friend who appeared disappointed by it. He looked at him as the fire quieted down. "Have you seen better?" he asked, genuinely curious.

The demon snapped his gaze at him, confused then quickly fixed his displeasure. He straightened his posture and fully faced him in his black attire of silver chain links across his chest and button skulls sowed into his coat. All precious silver had been forged in Hell's fires. Except, he was missing the first silver button and a loose thread poked out. Hans either pretended he didn't notice it or he chose to ignore it.

Hans then answered him, coolly as he lowered his head. "Of course not, Your Majesty."

It was the first time he felt like Hans was lying to him, but he had no reason to distrust Hans. He had proven his loyalty over and over again through time. The Capturer of Souls' would never admit it aloud but Hans had always been more than his most loyal demon—he was even more than a friend. He had always been there by his side, and he couldn't imagine anyone else standing beside him. He knew Hans wouldn't let anything happen to him as he wouldn't either.

But, Hans was clueless in not knowing his king's mind was slowly resembling an old man.

The demon quietly waited for his order. Hans never lied. Perhaps, he knew nothing. The Capturer of Souls steeled himself into the king he should be. "We leave in ten minutes." The king added quickly. "And Hans, fix that missing button. You need to look presentable when meeting with the dead. They deserve your respect even when you drop them into the pits of Hell." Hans' eyes shifted into a crimson red as he gave him a curt nod.

With that, he turned away leaving his demon to continue watching Hell's pathetic flames and forging a new silver skull button.

He passed souls placed in six-foot-deep pits begging for forgiveness. He kept his walk down a deserted path within the shadow lines of obsidian rocks. This was his solitude. He thought of his lost memories again. He knew deep down in his rotten soul he was supposed to be somewhere else other than with the dead.

Sometimes, in the living world, his footsteps would lead him to the most ridiculous places. He once ended up at an ice cream parlor. But there were no souls to be collected. Only he and the empty ice cream parlor stood there. He remembered a shocking pain shooting down his left knee and nearly leaving him incapacitated if he hadn't summoned his scythe.

Once his pain lessened, he looked at his surroundings for any demons or souls. No one was around. A rush of relief went through him. He couldn't suffer another humiliation.

When he had lost his wings and true power, many of the demons and souls lost faith in him. They didn't think he was fit to be a king anymore. His brother and Morrígan had left him with an incurable poison. But they were dead, and he was not. He was The King of Souls and no one could take that from him.

Except now, he had lost his memories. Who was to blame for this? Who did he need to kill for his memories to come back?

He kept walking on the colorless path until he felt a sudden gust of darkness swirl beneath him, relentlessly. His body stilled. He let out a curse. "No. Not right now," he murmured as if the shadows cared for anything he said or wished.

Winds of black smoke flooded all around him till his vision went pitch black. But he could still feel the shadows—twirling and swirling as they grasped him from all directions until they lifted him from the ground and carried him into the abyss.

He steadied himself knowing what was coming next.

He hit the ground, slamming the end of his scythe on it. The shadows dispersed. He slowly lifted his head, meeting the large pale moon. The cast of her light glittered on a nearby tiny pond. Hues of blue washed over by the forest. It all looked like a lovely dream. Quiet and serene. But he didn't know where he was. He had never been here.

The shadows stirred beneath him.

They silently rose, taking on a solid structure and shaped into a woman in a dress. The moonlight pierced through her scattering hundreds of stars all over her. He sucked in a breath. She was the dust of the moon. Radiant. Celestial. The mockery of his madness.

Ever since he lost his memories, The Capturer of Souls' shadows took it upon themselves to taunt him. They conjured this woman out of nothing. Faceless and voiceless. Yet, she danced.

She spun around him like a ravenous bird circling its prey. She grabbed the sides of her dress as she moved them into swift arcs and twirls. He closed his eyes. He could sometimes pretend to feel the fabric of her dress brushing his arm. He shivered.

He opened his eyes, letting her do her mischief dance. "Where have you brought me this time?" he uttered.

No one answered him. Not the shadows. Not the woman. Not even the moon.

Suddenly, the shadow woman stopped dancing. She miraculously stretched her hand out to him. He looked at her hand. Could she be real? He moved his head slightly, his eyes caught the moonlight's transparency running through her. He knew he wasn't talented enough to create such a graceful dancer.

Still, after months of inexplicable pain and being taken to random places—he placed his hand above hers. An inch apart. But her fingers—firm and vicious pulled him to her. His eyes widened. A ruthless coldness plummeted into his heart. He gasped as if an icicle had cleaved him in two. His knees buckled and his hand weakened as his scythe collapsed.

Barrels of pain and agony flooded through his mind as a memory fainter than smoke blinded him. "I will..." The Capturerof Souls tries to hold onto this voice like the night begs the moon to stay. "...be your..." The shadow woman kneels beside him and the darkness starts to pull away at her hands, returning where all dark things go. He couldn't let her go. He couldn't leave without an answer.

He violently trembles as his tongue seethes as if a ferocious poison clawed his throat. "Who are you?" He sounded so hoarse.

But the darkness disfigured the woman's shape and twisted itself into something else before vanishing into the night. A circular structure with tall spears and sharp ends like a beast's teeth. It was the tallest crown he had ever seen. Taller than his crown.

"Yeowang." he carelessly spoke, and the shadows spilled into a pool of ink.

He cried out. "No!" The memory—the voice was fading and being torn to shreds inside his mind. He gritted his teeth and held onto it desperately, shamelessly. Then the memory was gone.

The Capturer of Souls screamed and screamed under the beautiful moonlight. It was the closest he ever got to say her name.