Hero Chasers (Book 1)

Issue 35 - World War Super Part 4

I remember my first death; I remember it as if it was my last. The cold and the dark, the feeling that everything that led up to that moment was pointless. Most people, in their final moments, would feel something, whether it was fear of the unknown or leaving their loved ones behind. Peace to know your time has come or even anger. Anger at the fact your time was stolen.

I, on the other hand, felt disappointment, not in my death, but disappointment in how lacking it felt. There was no joy, fear or anger. There was only the empty feeling, the blank stare as if it didn't happen. Nothing more than...

"Oh, is that it? Is that all Izanami Colt has to offer the world?"

A truck had swerved off the road; a mixture of going too fast and the icy terrain was a recipe for certain doom. I happened to be in the way of that doom. With such a vast history and knowledge of almost everything, we know very little about dying. Some say your life flashes before your eyes; others say angels comfort you, guiding you to heaven. Whatever you think is after death, you're wrong.

My first death came and went with a snap of the fingers. One moment, I'm dead. The next, I'm not. I didn't quite know what to think; it felt like a fever dream, something my mind made up to fade out of time. I was unharmed, there was no sign of me ever being struck, and I was alive.

Dying isn't what it's made up to be. It really was a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, and that drove me crazy. If I was to die, genuinely die, I wanted to know how that feels. I wanted to be scared, happy, angry. I wanted my life to flash before my eyes. I wanted something, anything. After a while, I stopped caring; I cannot die, I cannot live. I used my newfound feature as a way to make a buck. If dying isn't anything special, who cares, right?

I treated my life like nothing more than an ant under your boot. It's not even worth a thought; that's just how it has been and always will be. Life and death are the same; there's no difference; what is a life worth living if you can't even get the death done right? 

I remember my first death; it was my first memory, and it could very well be my last. That's the way it always has been and always will be. That's what I thought. That was until I met you.

****

Miley had watched her prey escape, her blood boiling as the night began to cover the land. The moon hung low in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the city. The few onlookers had started filming to get any clout they could. Miley had her arms crossed, annoyed over the fact Izanami stood in her way. She wasn't annoyed because of that; she was annoyed knowing Izanami wouldn't bring any challenge. Izanami showed no sign of care, taking out a cigarette and taking a puff.

Miley wasted no time. With a mere thought, a gleaming sword appeared in her hand, the metal catching the moonlight. She lunged forward, the blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. Izanami, undeterred, sighed and took another drag from her cigarette. Miley closed in, tearing through Izanami in a second. Flicking the blood off, Miley gave no piece of mind, ready to move on with Izanami dead, even for a moment. However, as Miley went to leave, Izanami gasped back to life, gripping her hand around Miley's ankle and holding her back.

More ticked off, Milkey conjured a spiked mace, swinging it in a relentless arc. Izanaml crumpled again, only to rise once more, each resurrection more sluggish than the last.

The pattern continued, Miley seamlessly summoning a variety of weapons, each more devastating than the last. Swords, axes, and spears materialized in her hands, and Izanaml, though resilient, found herself overwhelmed. With each revival, her movements slowed, the fire in her eyes dimming. Kicking Izanami back, the streets were painted red as the onlookers began to feel disturbed, and neither one was able to stop recording. Izanami crawled to her feet only for Miley to stomp on her back, pushing her back down and firing a burst of shells from a sawed-off shotgun. "You disgust me; everything about you is wrong. You cling to death like a child to her mother; you're pathetic with no redeeming factors. Granting you death would be a blessing."