CHAPTER 38: QUILL VERSUS DEATH...

This whole situation is ridiculous. But what can I say? I’m just a simple man, fighting Death for my life.

I don’t move. I can’t, not with my foot in this state anyway. So I wait for the creature to make the first move.

But here’s the problem...

"So, attack me already," I taunt, raising my scythe. The skeleton doesn’t budge. The silence drags on. "What, are you deaf?" I limp a few steps closer.

"You first. I’m in no mood to start a fight," it replies, completely deadpan. It sounds less like a grim reaper and more like some old guy haggling at the market over the price of meat.

I blink. Once. Twice. Can this story seriously get any stupider than this!?

"Nah-uh. You go first. You’re the one who attacked me first," I say, shaking my head and raising the scythe in defense.

"That’s not true at all! I simply invited you on the journey you refused. Hmph!"

...Did it just... sulk?

I swear it looked like it tried to puff out its cheeks—if it even had any. The way it turned its head away... No way. That’s exactly how my sister acts when she’s pouting.

Don’t tell me... Death is actually a woman?!

That would explain the faintly feminine voice...

"Sure, a journey to my own demise. How inviting," I snap back. Woman or not, I still have to fight if I ever want to escape this place.

"How rude! Do you even know who I am?" The skeleton jabs a bony finger at me, its hood wobbling with the motion. "I’m an honorable Death! Nobody in my entire existence has ever dared to slap my hand away! You—you... idiot!"

I blink, lowering my scythe and leaning on it for support. My one good leg is already tired from waiting for this skeleton to finally attack.

"Are you for real? Who in their right mind would just let you take them?!" Honestly, maybe if I were ancient and wrinkled... but even then, I wouldn’t line up to die!

"You’d be surprised... So far, you’re the only one who dared to fight back... how... hateful..." The mist curls tighter with the flick of the skeleton’s finger. It whips into my face, blasting me with the rancid stench of decay.

"BAH—! That’s disgusting! What the hell is wrong with you?!" I gag, waving my free hand like I can push the smell away.

That’s when I hear a low, soft sound, almost like a giggle. It makes me question the logic of this entire scene.

"Are you toying with me?!" I rage. This is ridiculous. Was this character actually created by the dead author? What was he smoking when he decided Death should be a sulking, playful girl?!

"What’s wrong? Can’t reach me? Is that leg of yours holding you back? Haha!" The skeleton clutches its ribs and laughs like this is all some kind of joke.

"Okay... now you’ve crossed the line!" I snarl, raising my scythe—only to wobble and crash straight into the ground. The mist hits me full force, burning my eyes, the stench like rot mixed with manure.

"See? How can you even imagine fighting me like this? Stupid mortal, let me fix that for you..."

Something wraps around my foot. Cold, crawling energy seeps through, pulling bone back into place. I feel every tendon, every tissue knitting together until, just like that, the pain vanishes.

My foot... healed? I stagger upright, twisting my ankle a few times, testing it. It’s real. It’s actually fine.

"You... you really healed it," I mutter, disbelief dripping from every word. Not even in my wildest dreams did I picture this. Death with healing powers? Shouldn’t it be rotting me alive instead? How does any of this make sense?!

I give up. Once I get my powers back, I’m rewriting every single character in this stupid world. This is beyond ridiculous.

Gripping my scythe tight, I step forward.

"You stupid creature..." I dash with all the speed I can muster, my voice cutting sharp. "Thank you for digging your own grave!" A dirty trick? Maybe. But honestly, would you act any different in my position?

The scythe swings. The skeleton stares, laughter gone in an instant.

It’s my win.

Fwoooong—

Huh? Where have I heard that sound before? Time freezes for a split second.

[Congratulations, you have received a gift from reader: Milo4more]

[You have received: One Ice Cola]

The system message flashes right in front of my eyes, and then—crack!—a sharp pain slams into the top of my head. Darkness follows.

Ah, right. That’s why Pa always told me not to be greedy with what I ask for... But honestly, can you blame me? It’s addictive. Even in this mess, I don’t regret asking for another one.

This is delicious! Thank you! But what a timing... I manage to laugh to myself before plummeting face-first into the ground.

...

My head... it hurts like hell. I rub the back of my skull, wincing at the huge bump swelling there. Just touching it makes me want to scream. I force my eyes open, blinking through the haze, and realize I’m lying in a bed. Am I... back home!? Relief floods through me, and for a second, I almost believe it.

But as my vision adjusts to a dim, gloomy light, I know I’m wrong. The bed is massive, the walls pitch black, the floor littered with broken dolls and plushies, all dressed up like they’re ready for a funeral. The windows shimmer with colored glass, the kind I’d only ever seen in a church. Except this isn’t a church. It’s too dark. Too eerie.

Before I can process anything, the door creaks open. And in sweeps Death itself—wearing a black dress, a veil over its skull, and clutching a bouquet of flowers that look like they died a century ago.

"My dear, you’re finally awake!" it chirps, hurrying toward me. "Do I look beautiful?" The skeleton lifts its bony hands to its face like it’s blushing. "Did the cat bite your tongue? We’re now a married couple, say something."

"WE’RE WHAT?!"