As the black mist gradually dispersed, the cloaked figure holding a scythe within it became increasingly distinct.
Once Death had fully appeared before them, everyone immediately noticed the many unnatural details of his form.
First was his cloak, which was no ordinary garment. Its fabric appeared to be woven from countless strands of black mist. Thick, viscous droplets continually fell from its lower edge, eating deep holes into the ground like concentrated acid.
His scythe had also become completely solid. Hazy gray mist coiled around its dark-purple blade, which was covered in twisted runes.
As Death gently swung the scythe, the runes shifted almost imperceptibly. It seemed as though countless tiny souls were struggling inside them, releasing faint, distant shrieks.
Keir remained enveloped in black mist, his body bound by invisible chains so tightly that he could not move even a fingertip.
He watched Death emerge from the shadows one step at a time. Terror reduced his pupils to pinpricks. The veins bulging across his temples had yet to recede, but every trace of color had already vanished from his face, leaving behind nothing but pale despair.
"No, I haven't lost yet. I still have a chance to defeat him. You can't…"
His voice was as hoarse as though his throat had been scraped with sandpaper. Every word brought the metallic taste of blood into his mouth, but before he could finish speaking, Death silenced him with a cold stare.
Death stopped in front of him. Within the shadows beneath his hood, a pair of eyes glowing with ghostly green light finally appeared. His gaze pierced into the depths of Keir's soul like poisoned icicles.
"Silence, ignorant insect. Under the terms of our contract, the price of failure is the surrender of your soul to me."
With that, Death paid Keir no further attention. He raised his scythe, and the runes along its blade suddenly lit up. The surrounding black mist became even thicker, wrapping tightly around Keir like boiling tar.
The instant the mist swallowed him, Keir released a bloodcurdling scream that came directly from his soul. The sound had barely begun before it was smothered by the darkness, leaving only faint, broken gasps like air escaping from a damaged bellows.
The next moment, Death swung his scythe downward.
There was no earthshaking crash. The only sound was a sharp sizzle as the blade cut through the black mist, like a red-hot branding iron pressed against bare flesh.
The scythe did not strike Keir's body. Instead, it landed precisely over his chest.
A faint cluster of gray light was struggling there. It was Keir's soul, moments away from being completely consumed by the black mist.
"Your soul has been contaminated by far too much power that never belonged to you," Death rasped, his voice deeper now and filled with naked greed. "It is time to return it to me."
His grip tightened around the scythe. The runes carved into its blade began absorbing the light from the core of Keir's soul. The gray glow unraveled into fine threads that were drawn along the blade and into the weapon. The scythe's previously dark-purple surface gradually became stained with an eerie shade of gray.
Keir's body began turning transparent at a speed visible to the naked eye. First, his skin lost its luster. Then the outline of his bones slowly faded, until nothing remained but the soul core that Death was steadily draining away.
Keir wanted to beg for mercy. He wanted to plead with Death for one more chance, but he no longer possessed the strength to open his mouth. All he could do was watch helplessly as his soul was devoured piece by piece.
When the scythe absorbed the final speck of gray light, Keir's body completely dissolved into a wisp of black smoke and vanished into the air.
Only a puddle of black liquid remained on the ground, still releasing wisps of freezing vapor, as though nothing had ever happened.
Death lowered his scythe. The runes across its blade gradually dimmed, leaving only a faint gray light flowing within the weapon.
He glanced down at the puddle. A flash of cold satisfaction passed through his glowing green eyes before he turned and began walking back into the dense black mist.
At that moment, however, a cold voice came from behind him.
"You're leaving just like that? Aren't you going to say hello?"
Death suddenly froze, his entire body becoming perfectly still.
Only after several seconds did he turn around and stare in disbelief at Harry, who had been standing in the distance from the very beginning.
Death's movements were as stiff as rusted machinery. The shoulders beneath his black cloak pulled taut, and every trace of the composure he had displayed while devouring Keir's soul disappeared.
His ghostly green eyes, capable of seeing the true nature of souls, locked firmly onto Harry. His pupils widened slightly in absolute shock.
Harry stood beside a dead tree a dozen paces away. The hem of his black coat fluttered gently in the evening breeze, and both hands remained tucked into his pockets. There was no unnecessary emotion on his face. He looked like nothing more than a passerby who had happened upon the scene.
Yet within Death's perception, Harry did not exist at all.
As a being who reaped souls, Death possessed a sensitivity to life far beyond that of any living creature.
Whether it was a magical beast hiding in the depths of the ocean or a tiny spirit curled up inside layers of stone, anything possessing a soul would leave an impression within his senses, like the flame of a candle in the darkness.
But Harry was different.
The warm fluctuations of his soul and even the faint energy produced by the workings of his life seemed to be completely isolated behind an invisible barrier.
Whenever Death's perception swept across Harry's position, it encountered only a cold emptiness. It was like trying to grasp air with his bare hands, nothing could be caught or retained.
"You…" For the first time, a crack appeared in Death's voice. A barely perceptible tremor slipped into his hoarse tone as he instinctively tightened his grip around the scythe. The golden specks remaining on its blade flickered in response to his agitation. "Why can't I sense your soul?"
Harry raised his eyes slightly and looked at the scythe in Death's hand. His voice remained cold and indifferent, as though he were discussing the weather.
"Is it really so strange that you can't sense it?
"You can reap the souls of others because you can trace their movements. But what happens when a soul has never existed within the range of your perception in the first place?"
Death's breath caught, and he instinctively retreated half a step.
Since the moment of his birth, this was the first time he had felt an instinctive fear of a human.
He expanded his perception again, using every ounce of his power to probe in Harry's direction.
The result remained unchanged.
Nothingness.
There was no radiance from a soul and no vibration of life. The man was clearly standing before him, yet he seemed like an incorporeal phantom. At the same time, that cold voice and those utterly calm eyes were so real that they filled Death with dread.
"What exactly are you?" Death's voice dropped lower. A wary gleam flashed through his ghostly green eyes as he slightly raised his scythe and pointed its blade at Harry. "There is no soul in this world that I cannot sense, unless…"
He suddenly stopped.
A terrifying possibility seemed to occur to him, and his pupils abruptly contracted.
"You are not a being from this world at all?"
At those words, the faintest curve appeared at the corner of Harry's mouth. There was no warmth whatsoever in his smile.
"Whether I belong to this world is irrelevant.
"What matters is that I know you ordered the goblins to steal the Deathly Hallows.
"Now, we need to discuss the price you're going to pay."
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