Soul Collector

Chapter 1- Dead isn't Always Dead

Death is a strange concept, I remember I used to think if I ever died the thing I'd miss the most is music, but now what I really miss is another day. I miss the feeling of the sun burning hotly against my skin, of the rain and the way it felt to hear it fall on glass at night.

Now I think you've got your own thoughts on what happens to you when you, you know -  hit the ground. All I'm going to say is that there is a, sort of, heaven, a hell and the in-between.

Somehow, someone decided to curse me. Now here I am in a very hellish place waiting for my sentence. What I mean by sentence is whether I go up to being one of the in-between - otherwise known as ghosts - or get turned in as a slave to one of hell's demons.

I really hope fate would allow me the first choice, because I really didn't like the sound of the second. 

"Kreya Jameson." 

The sound of my name echoed loudly through the bright light, a light that's so bright it burns. Well, they don't call this place hell without reason, I thought with a laugh. The others that stood in front of me and behind me, shoved and pushed at me, spitting and kicking out. Jealous little mutts.

The judge (at least that would be the human term) gave me one red eyed glare before banging a mallet on it's desk. "Slave." Was his declaration. No jury, no lawyers and no rites.

 No!

My surroundings seemed to blur and then I found myself in a dark cavern that felt like how a bathhouse might feel when it got too crowded. Suffocating.

Another cue of people, demons, etc, to get through.

But since it was branding I was more then happy to stay near the back of the cue. The smell of sweat and blood revolted my nose and the screams were somewhat deafening. There was no mistaking this place for anything outside of Hell.

The human in front of me, a guy in his early 30's, kept mumbling to himself, tucking his tall lanky form into himself. His eyes moving every so often but never seeming to meet anyone's gaze. We stood for hours in that boiling room, but I was thankful for the darkness after being in that white light for so long and the burning floor was a nice burn to me so I just sat and waited there.

So the slave thing is a little more complicated then what you surely have in mind, I should probably explain. Demons and devils work in the same kind of food chain as humans, meaning there are higher up demons and lesser.

Now, this being the case there are rebels that just love to cause trouble for the whole population by messing with the universal balance. There are higher demons called collectors that work by collecting lost souls and sentencing rebel demons. The police force of the dead, you might say.

So what does this have to do with slavery?

Well, the whole slavery thing is worked into groups, some who are chosen will become a means to have children and basically used as a nanny and whatever. Others chosen, will be chosen to work as a partner to collectors and then there are the rare few who get thrown to the pit to rot. They're the ones no one want's to deal with, the ones who've done something so bad they're a lost cause.

But really, I think being a collectors partner is a sweet term, if your chosen to be a collectors partner it means you're their shield and weapon. A servant.

You live only for them and within that vow is a curse that prevents you from ever running away or betraying them. I would rather anything then that.

Too long I've been running for freedom.

"Johnny Blain, step forward."

Looking up, I noticed that most of the line in front of me had dispersed and it was just the guy in front. He looked damn pale and his eyes were filled with panic and full on fear, like a captured animal. He looked too thin and didn't carry much muscle. He wouldn't be used as a contractors partner.

"Johnny Blain, step forward." The blank, unfeeling voice of the slave master rang out sharply.

And just like that the poor guy breaks, he starts screaming about none of this being real and how he hadn't done anything. Just the usual shiz you'd expect, he try's to run for it.

He didn't even make five steps away before there was the sound of a slick, clean slice of a blade and two bloody halves of the man separated.

There were screams and the sounds of heaving.

I think what surprised me and put me more on edge was that the one now wiping his blade clean of the guy's blood was one of the slaves that had stood in the cue behind me.

"Boy, he was noisy." 

The guy smirked, licking the blood from his sword. How the hell did he get that? I know anyone else might be more interested in the dead guy and how insane all this is, but then your not in Hell, so yeah.

"You, GET BACK IN LINE!" The slave master snapped coming down the line toward him.

Stepping from the line I found myself moving to the crazy's defence, an idea forming in my mind. 

"Hey, how long's this gonna take? If you start wasting time on this guy then we'll be here forever. You should be thanking him for ridding you of a loud mouthed crazy." 

What the hell was I doing?

The slave masters attention turned away from the sword swinging crazy and now focused on me with a murderous rage. Guess he didn't like backtalk.

Grabbing my hair in his meaty hand, he dragged me further away from the line and threw me at a devil guard, who's flesh was a bloody crimson and felt slightly scaly.

Gross.

"Take her to the pit. No one talks back to me. You, hope you've said your goodbyes to life, cause it's over." The last part was spat in my face by a very ugly, hairy slave master.

And with that I was dragged away to endure a tortures existence.

AUTHOR: So what did you think? bearable? Want to read more or changing books already? :)

Please let me know if it's worth continuing or not, though I might anyway.