Background music: Bury a friend Billie Eilish
One moment, there was the shattering impact, the sickening crunch of bone, and the utter darkness of oblivion.
The next, Ren was floating.
He was a formless shape of consciousness, untethered from the broken vessel embedded in the wall. Yet, he wasn't free. A thick, crimson tether of energy—vivid and pulsing—anchored him to the ruined body, a leash of soul-stuff that refused to snap.
Through this new, spectral perception, he saw his attackers. Two men in black vests and camo-green pants stood over his physical form. One wore a mask of pure fury, the other, a look of stark irritation.
"MICHAEL! YOU DIMWIT!" the angry one yelled, his voice muffled as if heard through water. "You killed him! We were supposed to bring him in *alive*. Now we're going to be the ones executed instead of him!"
Michael, the irritated one, stared at the carnage. "SHUT UP!" he stated bluntly. "The intelligence file had described Prince Ren as stubborn level 1 Master- the weakest royal but none the less a Master level royal. I used enough to subdue to subdue a royal of that level, not pulp a civilian. How was I to know a prince was this fragile?"
But then he saw it—the faint, steady rise and fall of the prince's chest. He was breathing! A spark of hope. Michael fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a small, glowing healing pill. He strode forward, then stopped, confronted by the grim logistics of feeding a pill to a man with a neck bent like a pretzel.
Ren could have watched their panicked struggle with detached amusement, but a new, more pressing danger ignited. The red tether anchoring him flared like a stoked furnace. The energy surged through his spectral form and into his physical body, which began to emit a dense, crimson fog. It smelled cloyingly sweet, like rotting roses and ozone, and it poured through the room, seeping under the door and through the walls, a beacon screaming into the unseen world.
This is bad! Is this how mortal reapers find each other?
Driven by instinct, his consciousness shot upwards, expanding beyond the hotel room. His perspective shifted to a bird's-eye view of the city, and what he saw chilled him to his core. Across the spiritual landscape, he saw them—dozens, then a hundred, glowing red dots. Like moths to a flame, they were all converging on his own, thicker, brighter dot.
*Mortal reapers can devour each other's souls. I cannot lose this life just as I got it.*
He was grounded, trapped. No more drifting between stars, no choosing a new vessel. If they found him like this, he was finished.
*I need to kill this signal. Now!* he thought, a wave of panic threatening to dissolve his focus. *What the hell?! One of them is already here!*
A single red dot was already in the building, moving up the stairs with purpose. His identity was seconds from being discovered.
Ren thought fast, his corporate mind cutting through the fear. *The signal flared when my body died. It might die down when I'm fully healed. But if he still finds me... I need an advantage. I need to see my hunter.*
On command, his consciousness plummeted back to earth with impossible speed, zeroing in on the nearest red dot. The view zoomed in, through ceilings and walls, until he saw him—an old man with a scruffy beard and a beaming, avaricious smile that promised he'd just won the lottery. As he walked the hallways, residents greeted him with cheerful respect. He seemed beloved. Ren would never have suspected him if not for the bloody aura radiating from his core.
*There's no mistaking it. He's a mortal reaper.*
Ren snapped his consciousness back into his body. The return was a shock of agony. He felt his jaw dangling, his vision a disoriented blur. With a series of wet, tearing sounds, he began peeling himself out of the crater in the wall, piece by piece, landing in a heap on the floor.
The two military men stared, their faces pale. The prince looked like a mutilated corpse that had decided to get back up.
"H-how can a person even still be alive with his neck that twisted?" one of them stammered, his voice full of bewildered horror.
Ren ignored him. A series of loud, deliberate *CRACKS* echoed through the room as he began relocating his bones, starting with his neck.
"Urgh…." one soldier gagged, stepping back. "That looks awfully painful!"
"Mmhmm," the other nodded, mirroring the retreat. They hadn't realized how close they were to clutching each other for comfort.
***CRACK!***
The final vertebrae slid into place. Ren readjusted his jaw with a grimace, though his face was still a concave ruin. But now, he had the air to scream.
"AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!"
It was a raw, primal sound that tore from his throat, a release for every bone-jarring shock he'd been unable to voice. It was overly dramatic, yes, but the soldiers understood. Tears of pure, stinging sensation streamed down Ren's face.
When the scream ended, the two men realized they were in a full, defensive embrace. They awkwardly sprang apart, clearing their throats with military stiffness.
"Let's never do that again."
"Affirmative."
"Let's never talk about it."
"Affirmative."
They were hardened officers, men who had inflicted horrors without flinching. But this scene of visceral, unearthly self-repair had shaken them to their core.
The cracks didn't stop. Before their eyes, the prince's face restructured itself, the angry red fractures on his neck fading as all his injuries sealed up, leaving behind unblemished skin. He was whole again.
Ren felt it too. The red energy that had announced his presence had burned through him, rejuvenating his body before dissipating. The sweet, smoky signal was gone.
But it was too late. A figure appeared in the ruined doorway. The old man looked in, his face a perfect mask of shock and concern.
"My heavens, is everyone okay?" he asked, his voice dripping with false worry. But Ren saw the truth in his eyes—a hungry, calculating gleam that said, *I've found you, and I'm not leaving until I've had a taste.*
I have been discovered.
The soldiers, professional once more, snapped to attention. Michael stepped forward, his authority returning. "Identify yourself!"
The other officer kept his wary gaze locked on Ren.
"I am the manager of this hotel, sirs," the old man answered, oozing concern. "I heard loud noises... Is everything alright? Did anyone get hurt?"
*Sly old fox,* Ren thought, his mind racing. He was cornered. These men had an arrest warrant, and a mortal reaper was standing guard. His only option was to go with the lesser of two evils.
Pulling out official documents, Michael held them up. "This is an official arrest warrant for Prince Ren. He has been summoned by the king for a court hearing. The kingdom will compensate for the damages. Please, return to your duties."
The old man bowed slightly, the picture of compliance. "O-oh, okay. Alright, I understand. Carry on, sirs…" He retreated, but Ren knew he was just lying in wait, a spider by his web.
Ren's eyes fell on Michael's arm—the lean, unassuming limb that had just delivered a punch with the force of a wrecking ball. His gaze then drifted to the door embedded in the wall.
*Heck, even an arm ten times that size shouldn't be that devastating. And this was a punch I was supposed to casually knock me down? Heck it killed me!!*
His eyes returned to the soldier's stern face. Ren smiled, a polite, cooperative expression.
Both men raised an eyebrow in sync. Why was the prince smiling?
Meanwhile, in Ren's mind, a silent scream erupted.
*SSSHHHH*****T!!! WHAT KIND OF WORLD DID I REINCARNATE INTO?! , He said I was the weakest royal at Master level. I guess that's some kind of ranking in this world to gauge strength... Its seems this body lost that ranking for it to give up its breath from one punch like that. Now I wonder what my current level is. I'm now several times weaker than the rest of the royals. How am I to face the power struggles?!*