The Reluctant Reaper

Life before Death.

In the depths of Hell, time loses its meaning. Years, decades, centuries—they all blend together in an endless cycle of torment and despair. For Darius Thorne, the passage of time was marked not by the ticking of a clock, but by the screams of the damned.

He had fallen far since his days as a mortal soldier, a man driven by duty and honor. The choices he made, the lives he took—they had led him here, to this realm of eternal punishment. But even in Hell, there was a hierarchy, a system of power and control.

Darius had started as just another lost soul, subjected to the same torments he had inflicted on others in life. But there was something different about him, a resilience that caught the attention of his demonic overseers. They saw in him a potential, a capacity for cruelty that could be honed, shaped into a weapon.

And so began his training, a twisted apprenticeship in the art of inflicting pain. Darius learned quickly, his natural aptitude for violence finding new purpose in the pits of Hell. He rose through the ranks, from a lowly torturer to a master of his craft, feared and respected by the other denizens of the underworld.

But even that was not enough to satisfy the ambitions of his masters. They had greater plans for Darius, a role that would test the limits of his newfound skills. They called it the Reaper Initiative, a program designed to harvest souls from the mortal world, to bring fresh suffering to the halls of Hell.

Darius was chosen, hand-picked by the archdemons themselves to be one of first, of the fifth generation Reapers of DoSA. It was a position of great power and responsibility, a chance to prove his worth in the eyes of his infernal rulers. He accepted without hesitation, eager to embrace this new purpose, to leave behind the monotony of endless torture.

The training was intense, a grueling regimen that pushed him to the brink of his endurance. He learned to move between worlds, to track and claim the souls of the dying. He was given tools, ancient relics imbued with dark magic, to aid him in his grim work.

But for all his newfound power, Darius could not escape the memories of his past, the echoes of the life he had left behind. In the rare moments of quiet, when the screams of the damned faded to a distant murmur, he found himself thinking of her, the one person who had ever truly mattered to him.

His mother, a frail figure lying in a shelter bed, her life sustained by the machines that surrounded her. He had gone to see her, on the eve of his final mission, a desperate attempt to find some measure of peace before the storm that awaited him.

Darius sat beside his mother's bed in the shelter, the room illuminated by the soft glow of the medical equipment. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the silence, a constant reminder of her fragile state. She was the only family he had left, the only connection to a life outside the force.

They talked, Darius putting on a brave face, but deep down, he was scared. Not for his mother, not for himself, not even for the mission that loomed just hours away. It was a fear he couldn't quite place, an unease that settled in his gut like a lead weight.

His mother spoke at length, her voice weak and faltering, about Darius's childhood. She recalled moments of joy and sorrow, painting a picture of a boy who had grown up too fast, who had always been driven by a sense of duty and purpose.

Finally, Darius broke the news. "I'm going to be away for a while, Ma."

She looked at him, her eyes searching his face. She could see the uncertainty, the unspoken fears. "It's a dangerous mission, isn't it?"

Darius didn't answer, but his silence was confirmation enough.

She smiled sadly, her mind drifting back to another time. "Do you remember when you first told me you wanted to join the force? You were so determined to follow in your father's footsteps."

"Dad was a great man," Darius said, a note of pride in his voice. "He was respected, a hero."

His mother nodded, but her eyes held a deeper truth. "But he's dead, Darius. He died."

The words hung in the air, a heavy silence descending over the room.

She continued, her voice soft but insistent. "You've always wanted to be like him. He was your role model, and you have every trait of his, including his stubbornness. But none of my gentleness."

Darius looked at her, a flicker of defiance in his eyes.

She smiled, raising a hand to his cheek with visible effort. "It's fine, dear. You were never meant to be like me. I'm weak. That's why I'm here now."

She turned her head, gazing out the window at the city skyline, the buildings casting long shadows in the moonlight. When she spoke again, her voice was distant, thoughtful. "Taking a life like your father did... it only means one thing."

Darius looked away, the implication hanging heavy between them.

"At least you'll die a good man," she said, a sad smile on her lips. "But I doubt heaven accepts your kind."

Darius nodded, a grim acceptance settling over him. Maybe hell wasn't such a bad place after all.

The beep of his watch broke the moment. It was time to go. He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. As he pulled away, she grabbed his wrist, her grip surprisingly firm despite her frail state. Her skin was cool to the touch, almost unnaturally so.

She pulled him close, her voice a whisper in his ear. "Remember your promise, dear?"

Darius felt his chest tighten, a lump forming in his throat. "Ma, I..."

"Unplug me, Darius," she said, her voice barely audible. "You won't leave me alive while you go to your death. That's what you promised."

He shook his head, the words sticking in his throat. "I'll be back, Ma. I will."

"No, you won't," she said, a quiet certainty in her voice. "Your father said the same thing. You can't do that to me, Darius. It's selfish."

"I can't, Ma. I can't do what you're asking."

Her eyes met his, a depth of understanding and sorrow in their faded blue. "I'll be gone before you return, one way or another. I won't be here waiting for you. You'll be alone, no matter what."

Darius felt the sting of tears, a deep, aching pain in his chest. He hated this, hated the cruel twists of fate that had brought them to this moment.

"Do it," she insisted, her voice fading.

He stood, turning away from the bed, from the weight of her plea. Her words followed him, a whisper that cut through the silence.

"My boy, my little boy. I hope you find something out there, something more than this, more than I could ever give you."

A single tear traced down his cheek as he reached for the life support controls. His hand hovered over the switch, trembling.

"Darius," she called, her voice a thin rasp.

He turned back to her, his face a mask of stone, his eyes betraying the storm within.

"Hell is real," she said, a final, cryptic warning.

With a shuddering breath, Darius flipped the switch. The machines fell silent, the steady beep replaced by a flat, endless tone. He stood there, watching as the life faded from her eyes, as the last tether to his old life was severed.

"I'm already there," he whispered, the words echoing in the stillness of the room.