Chapter 6:The Hierarchy
Note: Based on Historical Fact
The first Western journalist to enter Hiroshima and report on the full scale of the devastation was an Australian correspondent named Wilfred Burchett. He arrived on his own initiative on September 2, 1945. His famous dispatch, filed for the London Daily Express, was headlined "THE ATOMIC PLAGUE" and began with the sentence, "I write this as a warning to the world." He described people who were seemingly unhurt now dying from a mysterious "atomic sickness," challenging the official U.S. line that the bomb was "just another weapon."
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Thus,Me saying Arthur was the first is nothing more than a fictional reference
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The words dimmed in his ears as his eyes traveled across the alley, past the cacophony of footsteps and silhouettes—scanty and almost devoid of children, as thousands of them had probably been evacuated. But some still remained... forced to say goodbye to their parents at such a young age. The city was now blanketed in darkness—no light, no power, just dead silence and brooding blackness. An order by the government. Everyone was scared of the bombs, though they probably hadn't landed yet, like the intense firebombing in Tokyo. The news of it still had the power to compel folks to blanket themselves in the night.
[Reaper Lynch, how do you wish to allocate the Physicality Points? Or should I perform the allocation autonomously?]
He trailed the damn annoying bot in his mind, who was disturbing his retrospection. Such moments were hard to come by—he just had the feeling he was about to deliver a generational philosophical quote.
"Add seven points to speed, five to strength, four to agility, and three to stamina," he muttered.
[Points Assimilation Completed.]
[New Stats:]
Name: Arthur Lynch
Identity: Grim Reaper
Rank: Juvenile
Physicality: 27
Strength: 1 (+5)
Speed: 5 (+9)
Agility: 2 (+4)
Stamina: 1 (+3)
Intelligence: 22
Attributes:
Death
Soul
Illusion
Soul Collection: 1/1000
Weapons: Death Scythe, Grade Mythic
Title: Hope of the Fallen
Fate: Ascended
Threat: None
His eyes scanned his intelligence—it had dropped from 23 to 22. Wait, hold on. This meant he could also accumulate negative points in intelligence, which would deplete it. So, if he continued to kill more, by the next 22 kills, he would become a moron with zero intelligence.
"Hey, system... can Physicality points be attributed to Intelligence?"
[No, Host. Intelligence is not something to be increased by Physicality. I suggest you broaden your knowledge via literary works and others. That is the only way to increase it.]
He facepalmed. Here we go again. This reaperhood was proving to be a living contradiction of what he had expected reapers to be. Even a reaper had to read books and stuff? Ugh... he groaned. That Paradise better be fuckin' worth all this.
[Host, I suggest we begin the Q&A session. You have one more soul to reap tonight. Countdown: 00:15:45...]
Fuck, the Death Rate system. How the hell could two people die in just a few minutes? This was akin to being overworked. That Eternal Paradise better not be some joke... His eyes darkened. *It better not be.
[Reaper Lynch...? ]
"Argh... alright," he heaved. "Let's see. First question: As a reaper, can I die? Like, I had these two holes on me earlier..." His voice froze as he looked at his form to see the holes gone.
[As a Reaper, you can't die in a common sense, but you can be devoured by a Soulless if it is of higher hierarchy than you. And also, your soul can be reaped by the Scythe of higher Reapers.]
"Wait... wait..." he muttered subconsciously, his form standing as he made his way out of the alley. Last thing he wanted was to be seen by an officer near a corpse. "There are other Reapers? And hierarchies?!"
[Did not your Predecessor speak all about that? It was necessary orientation.]
His mouth broke into a whistle. Tilting his head to the dark skies, he was already out of the alley by now, merging into the crowd—a throng of shadowed figures shuffling under flickering lanterns, faces gaunt with fear, whispers of air raid sirens lingering like ghosts in the humid night air. Women clutched bundles of belongings, men scanned the horizon warily, and the occasional sob from a child pierced the tension.
[He did not...? ]
Well, concerning the most important stuff, it did... and he, the dumb fool, never really asked deeper. It was consensual mental failure.
[Oh... I see. Well then, I shall brief you on the Ranks. As explaining more would eclipse the remainder of the time. Yes, there are a multitude of other Reapers roaming this planet as you... some designated to a specific city like you, some a country, whilst others freely roam around. It is a difference in power levels.]
Oblivion: Beyond a million reaped souls
Harbinger: Million reaped souls.
Specter: Hundred thousand reaped souls.
Phantom: Ten thousand reaped souls.
Wraith: Thousands of reaped souls.
Apparition: Hundreds of reaped souls.
Juvenile: Tens of reaped souls.
[Currently, you rank at Juvenile. There exists also a rank for the Death Scythe and levels of authority. But time seems to hold no favors.]
Wait, he speculated—then the guy who passed him the mantle was a Phantom, since his scythe had reaped tens of thousands of souls. Which meant it probably had tens of thousands of Physicality points, since one point per soul reaped. And he just looked like a common folk... well, if you removed the facelessness, the tattered cloak, and the crimson eyes. He seemed perfectly normal for someone who had witnessed tens of thousands of deaths. Or was that sly nature of his a coping mechanism? Would he someday be like that?
[Your speculation is correct, Reaper Lynch. I must say, given your childish nature, you still possess a mental prowess hard to find. Your Predecessor was a Phantom—a cessation of connection with the mortal world. You become a ghost at that level... only seen by the chosen one to bear the mantle.]
"Every man has an inner child. We just suppress it with morals and societal expectations."
His eyes first wandered to the countdown...
00:04:12
Then to the people. Could they see him? His doubt was answered when a little boy, no less than five, stood before his silhouette, looking into his eyes. Could he see him? He beckoned his hand for a wave... or so he wanted to do.
"Ma... ma!" the boy screamed in elation, tearing through his visage like he wasn't there, running to his mum who now stood meters behind him, grabbing her son in a hug.
The truth struck him. They couldn't see him... But back at the bar, he was certain Kenji *did* see him. What... what changed?
[No need to be dejected, Lynch. You are not yet at the level of Phantom, thus the Angel of Death has not severed your bond with the Living World. You can still be seen in normal circumstances... and invisible when you seek the Reaping. Which is as of now... ]
He heaved a sigh of relief. Him just disappearing from his job, a life without whiskey... that would be depressing.
"One more question..."
His voice was trailed by the system... or whatever it was.
[Time's up, Lynch. A soul beckons for reaping.]
[Projecting Spatial Bypass.]
[Trajectory attained... ]
"Hold up, bot. What are you going on about...?" His voice broke as his eyes locked on the time.
00:00:59
[Spatial Bypass calculated.]
[Speculated Sucess: 100%.]
[Buckle up, Lynch.
All his brain could form was a "Huh..." and a half-finished "Whaddahell..." before the environment around him warped and spun, ushering before his eyes a new view
A dimly lit hospital ward, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and despair, where a frail figure lay gasping on a cot, the monitors beeping erratically in the shadowed room.