Don't wear a plague mask for corona I ONC 2021

Prologue: Don't look Death in the eyes

"For the last time, I don't need directions!" Kuolema exclaimed, exasperated at his assistant and completely unaware of the impending doom following that decision.

Lilith held his annoyed stare, her own twisting a youthful face into a grimace that let those small fangs show through her curled lips.

She snorted before saying, "See if I will care when you ring with the first problem."

Kuolema snarled at her usual disobedience, prompting an eye-roll from the female demon. Why was he even the boss of this shit hole if his most trusted advisors showed him no respect? Oh, yes. Because none of the Death Master candidates wanted this shitty job and left him to rot.

He merely needed to get this over with, and everything would go back as it should be. If the scouts weren't idiots, Kuolema would've already known the identity of the bastard walking all over his territory. The nuisance of having red alert screaming bloody murder each time question marks appeared on the live-dead map in the control tower was getting old and fast.

It must be one of the segmental supernaturals; others would've been detected immediately. Segmentals couldn't be read by the live-dead map so easily, leaving the control tower workers as much in the dark about the identity of the perpetrator as he was. 

Not to say whoever did this, was very slippery to catch. His reapers should've found them already because, to be honest, he couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that in the last year, four sightings had been reported yet all the scouts came back empty-handed. Someone was making a fool out of him. And that bastard would be missing a head when he was done with them.

Kuolema gritted his teeth as he turned back to the mirror, adjusting an intricate spell that helped him gain a human face and concealed his natural appearance. It was of the highest importance. He couldn't just walk around as a skeleton. Humans had a fit when they saw him and his eyeless holes.

Skin and muscles formed at a slow pace. First, over his lower appendages, muscle fibers elongated and twisted, the skin covering tissue immediately after. Then the torso and hands. In the end, facial muscles settled over the bones, skin following a moment later. The only thing missing was the eyes for he had never managed to master the art of molding the artificial form of this organ without ending up looking like cyclops.

He liked his two sockets looking normal, thank you very much.

He retrieved a slight pink case from the pouch fastened on a leather belt encircling his waist. It had been a gift of unknown origin. Lilith however claimed he had an admirer. Kuolema didn't care in the slightest.

The glasses inside the case had a pitch-black glass, resembling the void of his sockets. The only thing to break the monotony of colorless assembly was a purplish frame.

With glasses covering the lack of regular eyeballs, Kuolema's appearance was finally completed and he was ready to depart. The centennial report needed to be done. And if he found the intruder before the week was over, that better.

-..  .  .-  -  ....

What was his name this time? Mark? Marco? Milan?

He was quite sure it started with the letter M. Or was it F? Ferdinand? Nah. He would go with Marco, but next time he'd read the obituary more carefully. He had fucked up, the ID which should go with the face was not anywhere in the building, and he'd skimmed through the documents without registering the name.

A white shirt slipped easily over his shoulders, the buttons gleaming as he fastened them. There was no brush, so he dampened his hands to slick the shaggy brown hair back. A face looking back at him from the mirror was plain, a regular face one could find virtually anywhere they went, and this one had died just a few days prior from a heart attack.

Marco liked it when he could find a fresh body to wear. More damage inflicted to it, or older the death, it became harder to make it usable. All the power needed to heal the damage was not worth obtaining new skin to wear. Especially since his control seemed to be slipping too much lately.

Once a brown leather jacket was thrown on, Marco made his way out of the morgue with a tune whistled under his breath. It was a shame this guy had had bad music taste when he was alive.

Marco smiled at the sun.

It was such a nice day to be alive.