Shane has a weird relationship with death and human souls, not unlike most of the powers that controlled around power.
Shane's muscles vibrated with anticipation as he balanced on the edge of the roof. The moonlight made his skin itch like a string pulled too tight. He fidgeted took in a deep breath to steady his speeding heart, and the stench of rotten trash-filled his nostrils.
His parents told him to be always grateful for the powerful gifts he had inherited. The future king of hell, he had a lot of responsibilities and burdens. He fidgeted at his bowtie as he stood in his chauffeur's uniform, looking up at the moon.
As a creature of the night, the moon was something he was highly attached to. It gave him strength, but sometimes Shane hated being strong. It suffocated him.
Shane scanned the roads below. The streetlights were burnt out and had probably been so for a while. He didn't mind but couldn't help but feel a bit disgusted. He saw as easily in the dark as most did in broad daylight. In his opinion, the broken lights only helped the aesthetic of the buildings. Cracks spread out like spider webs across the crumbling facades, decorated with blooms of mold.
Perhaps a more optimistic soul would see a strange beauty in the pattern, but for Shane, who had grown in royalty, it was nothing but scum.
He pulled out his phone and dialed one of the only two numbers saved in it. He still did not get the point of doing this.
'You found him, I guess?' it was a stern female voice.
"Not exactly." Shane's voice was stern as well, "I really don't get why do I have to do your work, Loralie." he rolled his eyes.
There was an uncomfortable silence for quite some time. However, Shane didn't move a muscle.
"It's not my fault our parents sent you here. I am sick, otherwise, I could have taken care of this. This is the last death in my Death book, I'll start a new one when I'm fine."
Shane sighed audibly, everyone just needed an excuse to make him work.
"This is the last time I will do this." Shane had no emotion in this comment.
"I know," Loralie replied, her voice emotionless as well.
"What's the location?" She asked again, a clear hint of disinterest in her voice.
"I tracked him to the same alley. He's been coming here all week—just haven't figured out which apartment he goes into."
"I am using the phone location app," Loralie said after a long pause, "It says you're right on top of him. Or is that your location? Click on your GPS."
Shane so wanted to tell Loralie to shut her mouth and stick to writing Death Books.
"Wait, now there are two of you."
Shane rolled his eyes. He wanted to choke the life out of his sister but he bit his tongue. Yelling would not help him at all. He knew his sister meant well, but she would go to great lengths to irritate the hell out of him.
To stop himself from pacing, he sat on the edge of the roof and let his feet dangle over the six-story drop. Gaining the high ground allowed him to stake out the area as well as his prey. Shane closed his eyes and counted to ten to settle his nerves.
Before her lay the cityscape of Seoul. The skyscrapers of Cheongdamdong, a mecca of entertainment and glamour, the home of fashion and K-pop. The soaring height of 63 Building, a symbol of the modernization of the capital city, sitting sentry beside the Han River. And the lights of Namsan Tower, where lovers and tourists went to see the world at their feet. Shane looked at himself, dressed as a servant with his legs dangling over a dirty rotten alley.
Soon enough, Shane spotted the target he was looking for.
"Got him," he smirked to himself.
"You did?" Loralie's attempt to hide the shock in her voice was absolutely terrible.
"His record says he goes there every night. His record is too violent, even for the prince of Hell" The girl's words became morose. "He deserves death. His victims need justice."
Shane wasn't sure if what he did was justice. Still, it was better than nothing. And if he had to kill, might as well help a few wayward ghosts settle their grudges.
Shane looked at the full moon again. The full moon increased his senses, helping him extract the souls of his kill much easier. So if he hadn't done it tonight, he would have to wait another month or . . .he'd have to revert to his monstrous form.
'As if I am not a monster already' he laughed to himself, feeling like a hypocrite. He knew that even though the souls he used to take were mostly for vile people- the worst among the worst, that did not change the fact that he was a killer.
But he was the "son of Death" killing a few mortals should probably be nothing for him.
Still, he wouldn't give in to his animalistic instincts like his parents, like tearing the flesh of the human body to shreds. To uncover the energy kept deep within every living creature. To take the soul of the human without the need of the moon to channel it.
Only once had he failed to do this task. And the person who he had torn down to shreds was one of his own friends. Without the moon, his savage and cruel instincts rose to their peak and he was Oshane, the keeper of time and death; not the serious but calm Shane everyone knew him to be.
But his sister Loralie never failed him. She had more than enough victims ready for him to keep up his record.
"Shane?" Loralie's voice bore an unfamiliar tone. Concern.
"What!?" it came out harsher than he meant it to be.
"Be careful, this man puts up a hell of a fight."
Before Shane could reply, he was interrupted by some disturbance.
Shane glanced down at the sound of a door squeaking open. From the loud laughter and music from inside, he could hear before the door swung closed, he could conclude that it was some kind of underground club.
A man emerged. He was short and thick, his balding head pale white under the bright moon. She recognized the tattoo peeking through the wide collar of his shirt, an oversized spider he probably thought made him look tough but just accented his aging body in all the wrong ways.
"Got him. I'll call you back." Shane hung up as he stepped off the roof. He landed lightly on the ground, creating a cloud of dust and stink. Shane scrunched his nose in disgust as he dusted his uniform. Muttering some faint curses, he began to follow the man.
The man stumbled drunkenly and Shane kept pace with him. As he moved out of the shadows, muscles flexing as she prepared for the kill, he dropped a soju bottle he'd been carrying. Cursing, he sneered down at the shattered glass. Shane hid. It was a knee-jerk reaction, but unnecessary. It didn't matter if he saw him. He would tell no one of what happened tonight except other spirits.
Shane was so caught up in his own thoughts, he hadn't noticed that the man was starting to move again.
The salty smell of boiling jjigae and the charred scent of frying meat surrounded him in smoke and steam. Bare bulbs hung from the corners of food stands. Their harsh light distracted the eye from the ruined buildings beyond.
Shane had just moved here and already decided he didn't like it.
It's not like Shane had not been here before, in the towering skyscrapers of Gangnam, or the shadow of the old palace in Samcheongdong. The air was filled with the scents of spicy tteokbokki and savory pastries. Shane's mouth watered despite his disdain for the greasy food.
The man paused to stare at dehydrated jingo. The legs of the dried cephalopods twisted, brittle enough to snap off at the slightest touch, hard and fragile at the same time. It was an interesting thing Shane often pondered. If someone cut out his heart, it would probably be a twisted chunk of brittle meat like the jingo.
The man broke off one of the eight legs and stuck it in his mouth.
"Ya!" shouted the ajumma manning the food stand. "Are you going to pay for that?"
Shane felt like this was the time he should be coming into action. Time to be the chauffeur.
"master!" Shane exclaimed, supporting the old man from the back.
"Do you know him?" The ajumma looked at Shane up and down.
"Of course, sorry about that." Shane put down a crisp orange bill. "I don't need to change."
"Whozit?" The man reeked of stale alcohol. Shane almost winced.
"Master, everyone has been looking for you." He turned them onto a less populated road. Trees loomed at the end of the street, a perfect cover.
"Master? I am a poor man you dumbfuck."
Shane internally facepalmed. He should have thought of something else. Deciding to rely on his imagination, she began to make up a story as he started up a dirt hiking path. Trees rose around them, sparse at first, then thickening as she led him deeper into the forest, winding away from the road.
"No, you are not, master. You are a rich man. You just ran away from home a few years back." Shane tried his best. He wound through the trees toward the more secluded trails. His plan to take him farther up was ruined as he finally took in their surroundings. "Where are we?"
Shane cursed.
"What is this?" The man yanked his arm away, spun around, and ran, clearly disoriented or he'd know he was headed farther into the forest. It almost made Shane feel pity for the old fool. He barely made it a dozen steps before she caught him by the collar. He yelped, struggling to free himself.
He shoved him against the trunk of an ash tree, stepping back before he decided to turn into his true form.
"What do you want?"
Shane smirked. Finally, he was gonna be out of the chauffeur's uniform.
"What do you want?" The man's demand was rough, fed by agitation and the belief that he was not truly in danger. Shane's soon to be prey always made this mistake, every month like clockwork.
"Don't you regret what you did?" he asked as if the question was rhetorical, but he hoped for a sign of repentance.
As always, Shane was disappointed.
"No, I don't."
"Then you've made your choice and I've made mine."
In this last moment, before Shane took a life, he needed to be his true self. No more lies or false facades. He'd show these men what took their lives in the end.
Shane's eyes glowed, his green almond-shaped eyes glowed and turned to a greyish red flame. His chauffeur's uniform began to grow bigger in size and it began to undo its stitches in places to make a grim reaper's robe. The phone in his hands glowed and lengthened until it became a scythe.
The old man squirmed under Shane's intense stare.
"Who are you?"
Shane's smirk glowed creepily in the darkness.
"Oshane Larson Kensington, the child of time and death."
"No-"
Before the old man could finish, Shane swung his scythe. The man lay motionless, the ghost of a fearsome look etched in his face.
A small blue wisp flew out of the man's mouth. Shane was quick enough to catch it and store it in his Scythe which glowed.
Shane's robe glowed and turned into his chauffeur's uniform again. His eyes were back to being bluish brown again. He loved the energy filling him, even as he hated himself for being a monster.