I Die to Rise: Resurrection System-Chapter 71: Death’s Artist!

"Here it comes," Zaza’s flat and distant voice drifted from the shadows.

The air tore open with a sound like silk ripping, and reality split apart. Through the rift stepped the Reaper, but it wasn’t the same one.

At that moment, Kurt felt like a bucket of ice cold water was dumped on his back.

This Reaper was different. Feminine. Her skin was pale, not like Cassandra’s cool alabaster, but chalk-white, bloodless, like she’d never seen sunlight in her existence.

She had short, messy black hair and she moved with a laid-back ease that felt deeply wrong for something that existed to end lives.

She wore a white mask identical to the first Reaper’s, but everything else was casual, almost human. A black tank top clung to her frame, revealing toned arms covered in intricate tattoos.

She had black jeans on and her nails were all painted black. If Kurt hadn’t just watched her step through a tear in spacetime, he might’ve mistaken her for someone he’d bump into at a dive bar.

But the tattoos gave her away.

On her right shoulder, a skull and crossbones marked her skin, a stark emblem of mortality. Just below it, etched onto her forearm, lay an ankh.

Across to her left shoulder, a black raven pecked on the socket of a skull. Beneath the raven, an hourglass with its sand trickling down was tatted.

And on the forearm of one hand rested a coffin, a silent reminder of mortality, while on the other, a black rose bloomed all the way to her wrist.

Each symbol was crisp, dark, and intentional. Death catalogued in ink. She was an artist, and death was her canvas.

The rift sealed behind her with a soft hiss, and she reached up, pulling off her mask. Black eyeliner framed her eyes, and her full lips were pale with a piercing below her lower lip.

And to describe her expression? She simply looked bored.

"What you did to the other guy?" she said, tilting her head. "That wasn’t cool, Kurt. Banishment sucks."

Kurt blinked, caught off guard by the casual tone of her voice. "Yeah, well, forgive me for not fancying an endless stream of agonizing murders."

The Reaper sighed, rolling her shoulders. "Murder’s such a strong word. Death is beautiful, Kurt. And you’re ruining that beauty." She took a step closer, slender hands hanging loose at her sides. "All things gotta come to an end. In your case? It’s gonna hurt like a bitch."

The way she kept saying his name, Kurt, felt intimate, personal, like she’d known him for years. And frankly, it was both settling and disturbing.

Kurt took a step backward toward the barn entrance, trying not to pay heed to how informally she conversed with him. "You’re gonna have to catch me first then."

The Reaper reached into nothing, her hand disappearing into empty air, and pulled out her scythe. Unlike the first Reaper’s long, traditional blade, hers was a single sickle: wicked sharp and compact.

"Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Kurt," she said, her tone still casual, almost friendly. She started walking after him, slow and unhurried.

Kurt backed into the barn, and the sigil, drawn in his blood, glowed faintly just inside the entrance.

The Reaper stopped at the threshold, looking down at the symbol. She stared at it for a long moment, then looked at Kurt, then back at the sigil.

"Really, Kurt?"

In an almost lazy motion, she swung her scythe once, and the sigil died. The lines withered, its entire design dissolving in seconds, leaving nothing but bare ground.

"Imprisonment," she said, stepping over where the sigil had been. "That’s your plan?"

Kurt forced a grin, backing deeper into the barn. "You’re gonna have to give me a break here. It was a decent plan at the time."

"Whatever you say, Kurt." She kept walking, slow and inevitable.

Kurt lunged backward and hurled a fireball at her chest. The flames roared forward, heat scorching the air, but she swatted it aside like a fly, and the fireball dissipated mid-flight, snuffed out instantly.

Then, from above, Cassandra and Emma dropped from the rafters. Cassandra’s blade flashed downward, aimed at the Reaper’s neck. Emma’s Dragon King descended like a guillotine, flames roaring along its edge.

A black aura erupted around the Reaper, and both women froze mid-air, suspended like insects in amber.

Cassandra’s blade hung inches from the Reaper’s shoulder. Emma’s cleaver stopped a foot from her skull. Neither could move. Neither could breathe.

Their bodies began to wither very slowly as color drained from their skin. Their eyes dimmed. Death crept into them, slow and patient.

The Reaper didn’t even look at them, her attention still on Kurt. "Give me a break, Kurt. You think I didn’t see your friends waiting for a sneak attack?"

Kurt’s face paled. "Let them go!" He could see it happening, slow but inevitable. Cassandra’s pale skin turning grey. Emma’s vibrant eyes dulling. They were dying. Right in front of him.

"Should’ve taken the other guy’s warning seriously," the Reaper said, shrugging. "About not interrupting."

Kurt raised his hands, taking frantic steps backward. "Let’s talk about this!"

Rook charged from the side, his fist encased in stone, swinging with enough force to take down buildings, and the Reaper caught his fist in her palm.

She slammed her other hand into his chest, and Rook flew backward, crashing through a support beam. His stone form receded instantly, and he hit the ground hard, groaning.

The Reaper took another step forward, then stopped, her foot hovering an inch above the ground. She looked up slowly, eyes narrowing at the ceiling that held another sigil, hidden just above her.

She grinned. "Give me some credit, Kurt." She tilted her head, sidestepped the trap, and kept walking.

"You don’t have to do this!" Kurt shouted, desperation creeping into his voice.

In another futile attempt, Zaza emerged from the shadows, her hands stretched out towards the Reaper, a blood sigil drawn across her palm. Lizzie fired her gun, the green projectile streaking toward the Reaper’s head.

The black aura caught them both mid-motion. Zaza froze, her outstretched hand centimeters from the Reaper’s face. Lizzie’s shot stopped inches from her body, suspended in the air, before withering into nothing.

The Reaper swung her hand lazily afterwards as Sam and every other guild member still standing were hurled backward, slamming into walls, crates, the ground.

Bodies hit hard, groaning, struggling to stand, and the Reaper stopped in the center of the barn, directly in front of the final sigil, hidden beneath loose hay.

"It’s just you and me now, Kurt."

Kurt’s heart hammered. His eyes flicked to the hay in a momentary instant as his thoughts began to spiral. ’Does she know? Fuck, she knows. Of course she knows!’

The Reaper stood perfectly still, one foot hovering inches from the hidden trap. Then she rubbed her chin thoughtfully, head tilted like she was considering something.

"Hmmm... I suppose I could hear you out." She looked at Kurt, her black lips curling into a faint smile. "What do you say?"

Kurt opened his mouth, but before he could respond, she ran a hand through her messy black hair and shook her head.

"Forget it," she said with a sigh and took a step forward.