The Collector

Heavenly Rule

[ translated from the Old Archzion language ]

All immortals who have been given the authority of the souls must handle their task accordingly. Willful failure to do the task will not be tolerated by those with high power.

Chapter 1

Lower City, Illumi.

Where it all began.

Strange feelings wallowed over me as I wandered through the moonlit, damp alleys. It shouldn’t feel strange, it honestly shouldn’t. I have seen how mortals die in the entirety of my life as a Soul Collector, yet my insides still form a knot whenever I see their destined demise. This feeling may have something to do with mortals’ death increase in the past few days due to wars and sacrifices that the immortals most definitely do not need.

Being a soul collector isn’t as easy as those depicted in the mortals’ telltales. Oh, how I wish I could just collect the souls of the dead instantaneously but, that is not the case. Soul Collectors such as I typically get to the mortal right before their demise. It is to ensure that they get their destined end, and to keep record of their deaths. We keep those records in massive archives where the Angels and Keepers sort through them.

Us Soul Collectors were also named as Reapers, or more commonly, the Grim Reaper, in the mortals’ little worlds of wonders. It is honestly an insult to the actual Reapers as their work is much heavier than us Soul Collectors. They hunt down immortals who break the sacred Heavenly Rules that are written in the Old Archzion language. Their task is much more taxing than just collecting and compiling souls. They get to fight—can you believe that?

As if the realms don’t get enough deaths already.

Well, a death of an immortal is very different from a death of a mortal. A soul will not be collected but, rather, their essence will be dispersed and eaten by the Abyss. When eaten by the Abyss, an immortal’s soul is believed to not be able to undergo The Cycle—and what is The Cycle?

The Cycle begins at life and ends at death. A soul will be born into the mortal realm, as a human, fox, mouse, or even a little fly. They will live their life as mortals until they reach their destined end—being a meal to a hungry lion, crushed by the palms of humans, or even sacrificed to their so-called gods. Their death will be recorded and their soul will be collected by Soul Collectors before being sent to the Angels to be sorted out.

The Angels are the one to finalize the compilation before it will be put in the archives for the Keepers to keep and review. Once deemed okay to go back to the cycle of life, the chosen soul will be guided back down by an assigned Archangel into the Mortal Realm.

The Cycle is such a long process but, we do not question it nor defy it—what would defying the cycle of life benefit one anyway? No one really knows why The Cycle was created in the first place—even us, the immortals. Only the creator knows the purpose of it, be it for entertainment or for something truly meaningful.

I hovered over a rough path before leaping from roof to roof to get to where I was originally headed. My black, ashy figure flickered as I did, blending in the darkness the skies had produced. Though, upon my arrival to my destination to collect marked souls, the skies gradually brightened as the roaring fires at the distance loomed over the huge wall separating the Lower City of Illumi from the main kingdom of this particular part of land.

‘Humans are such troublesome beings.’ I tried to hide my disgust as I get near the enormous wall, prying the thought of how humans can stand killing each other just because of beliefs and treasures out of my mind. It is not like anyone could see my expressions as my face is always covered by my mask shaped like a crow’s skull.

Still, I do not understand why a singular race could be at each other’s throat just because of color, wealth, knowledge, and privilege. Why couldn’t they just live like an actual single race? Living happily together and helping each other out sounds more ideal than almost ending your entire race. It seems like I’m still clueless when it comes to them.

Deafening screams were the first to greet me as I get near the souls assigned to me. From the brick roof I had perched onto, a house engulfed by flames immediately came to view. A book and a quill appeared floating next to me, black and ashy as my figure. I grabbed the quill, and with a wave of my hand, the book opened to an empty page. Marked souls dying next to each other, and in the same way at that, is very easy to record compared to singular deaths. This is going to be a very short trip.

I jumped down, ashes trailing behind me, with my book of records following behind, still open and waiting for me to write something on it. I then began to locate the souls and when I found them, I began walking towards them one by one. Be it walking through walls or fire, nothing could get in my way. The flickering fire simply went through me as I walked through it. Nothing really bothers me except for one thing.

Agonized screech is all I could hear upon getting to the first one. I watched as the body of an old human melted from the rage of the angry flames. From his clothes sticking to his skin, to his skin melting off and being burnt to crisp, I watched it all. I cannot look away. I must not look away.

Writing down the details of the death of this mortal distracted me from the sight. The quill etched the paper, forever engraving every letter I wrote into the book. This will be the only thing that will memorialize this old soul’s life, and this seemed to be his three thousand and third’s life. After writing, the book went out of my way for me to collect the soul that had left its mortal body. It is shining brightly with a blue hue, a sign of a pure soul.

The quill in my hand grew bigger and took shape of a scythe. The soul stayed still as the black feather tied at the top of my scythe touched it. It slowly went into the small orb visibly placed in the scythe’s blade and when it was done, the scythe went back into being a small quill.

“Morgan Wintersmith, eighty-four, died in a fire started by an arson…” Cassiel, who had appeared from nowhere, read off my records. “A gruesome way to go, don’t you think, Azzy?” He asked with a sad smile, placing his elbow atop my shoulder.

“For the last time, Cassiel,” I started in a single tone as I walked away towards the next soul, “do not call me Azzy.”

He shuffled behind me and placed his hands on his waist, his human-like features expressing what he’s feeling, “Why not? It’s much easier than Azrail, and, besides,” I collected another soul before he could end his statement. ”It suits you better.”

I headed upstairs to the last pair of souls I was to get in the area with Cassiel following me from behind, “Why are you even here?” I asked, jotting down the death of the twin mortals that lived in the upper part of the building. “Did you guide down a soul nearby?”

“I did, actually.” He scratched his head, his fingers sinking into his short, golden hair. “Then I heard pained screams and figured someone from your end will come and fetch their souls. I didn’t actually know that it’d be you that I will run into.”

“Hm…” I hummed as I collected the last two souls, turning my head towards him and noticing his troubled face. “What’s bothering you?” We started to walk away from the building as it collapsed behind us with the fire still as strong as it could be.

“Ah, did my face really show it?” His laughter made me confirm that he is troubled by something. Archangels like him get to see a soul’s birth, and can very well see its demise. It is not uncommon for them to feel down whenever they see a mortal’s death, as their emotions are close to that of kind humans.

“Was one of them the souls you have guided into this world?” I asked him as I put away my quill and book of records.

He paused on his steps, his back facing me as he let out a big sigh. “I… yes. I’ve guided Morgan Wintersmith’s soul a couple of hundred times already. He’s one the purest souls I have guided down here. It’s a shame he died in a painful way.”

It became silent for a couple of moment as we went up the rooftops, feeling the warm air the because of all the fire surrounding us. Facing the burning city, I broke the uncomfortable silence growing between us, “He didn’t die in vain.” I looked down at the still burning building, “He managed to save three others before his lungs got filled with black smoke, before he collapsed where I found him.”

“What… a pure soul…” A small smile formed on his lips. I brought out my book of records for him to read. “He did a lot of kind things before his inevitable demise…” He closed my book, making it disappear, “Thank you for letting me read his records.”

“You’re very much welcome.” I looked at his now brightened face.

His pocket watch chimed, making him take it out of his pockets, “Oh, I must go now. I was tasked to help out with the archives a bit after I finished my work here.” Six bright wings sprouted on his back, his clothes glowing with it. “See you later, Azzy!” Before I could say anything, he winked and simply disappeared.

‘That guy… When will he ever learn to not call me that hideous name?’ I chuckled, turning around to get to my next marked soul.

The marked soul I was tasked to get next was not far from where I was which made me get there pretty easily. This one died from multiple stab wounds after refusing to let go of the bread he had stolen. He died in a dark alley near the outskirts, so after I took record of his death, his mortal body got dragged away by wolves.

There seems to be something missing.

I quickly turned around, now with a scythe in hand, I began chasing the soul that is running away—a bad choice, really. If a soul wanders for long enough, the Abyss is the one to take care of it… though it will be bad for my records. I really need for it to not wander too far or it will become a lost soul.

It whizzed through the dark alleys. It is pretty fast for a soul… it’s almost as if it’s leading me somewhere and not really running away. We took another turn and the soul just stopped, doing a circular motion, encircling another alley at the very edge of the city. It finally stopped and stood still, and I was finally able to collect it.

There are some times when souls retain their mortal body’s last task, and it seemed like this one stole the bread in order to bring it to wherever he led me to. Perhaps to his house? Ah, no, my initial thought was wrong as he had led me to a dead end that has a basket on the ground with a dirty cloth covering it.

Although a bit confused, I decided not to pry with a mortal’s business. The soul just retained its last will, and I dare not mess with it.

I turned around while bringing up my book in order to find my next soul to collect. I looked around and nothing seemed to be highlighted in my peripheral view. I thought that the next one would be a bit far from here, but when I heard a faint huff, I turned around, finding my next one.

The mortal is under the blanket.

I watched as tiny hands pull away the cloth covering it. A human child with golden hair who seemed to have just woken up opened her eyes, catching me off-guard with her shining blue eyes. I locked eyes with the mortal as its stare seemed to glow as it reflected the moonlight from afar. It glimmered, turning into jeweled blue eyes.

I froze as I could not look away.

I didn’t knew then that those jeweled eyes will soon give me a change of heart.