How Much Is a Soul Worth? | Minsung

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For a demon, you're still as young as they go.

We aren't born but made. We didn't fall, but rose. You've only lived upon us for less than a century, so I'm willing to explain minor things to you to speed up your learning.

From the moment we come upon the earth, we are not taught. We don't have a mother or father; we are ourselves. We are not brothers or sisters. But I've considered you a demon closer to a brother than an entity, same as me. I should've taught you more during your time. I'm sorry that I never got around to.

But the first things we learn about ourselves are the place in which we take upon the hierarchy of other entities. We, the demons, feed upon the humans who are below us. The angels do little to protect them, but they still do to the ones that are part of His plan. And the grim reapers send their souls to the afterlife once they bite the dust. It's the basic hierarchy that everyone knew.

There is some sort of hidden, unspoken truce between us. Everyone knew of each other's existence, except for the humans, our prey. They've speculated and contemplated, but they've never concluded, except for those who we choose to show our presence to. Of course, most succumb to insanity, for they cannot handle our actual identities. As an alternative, we hide between them, replacing our hide with their skin and they don't even have a clue.

Even if we see them below us, without their souls, we will starve. Of course, someone as young as you, Seungmin, won't be able to live without eating for a decade. But as you grow older, your tastes will grow more defined as you rise within our ranks and will be able to live for centuries without even a nibble to find that perfect taste.

I had not eaten for three centuries. But I was a picky bitch.

I did not let mere humans summon me for most human souls are tasteless. Think of it as grilling meat. Though, it was left on the grill far too long than recommended, and wasn't even seasoned. It was tough, gamy. I was waiting for that soul that was at least salted. And at last, I was summoned.

Though, it wasn't of a normal cult or incantations or someone provoking my anger as I was used to. Instead, I felt a want.

I was surprised, at first, for a normal human to call for me. Usually, it took a group of people to summon my power, or at least a witch. But as a human? Maybe for you, while you're reading this, might think that it's not that big of a deal. But for me, it was.

The soul that had called out to me was a sad, petty thing. It was small, so close to being dimmed. That soul might be tasteless, maybe even infuriating for all demons, even the lowest among us. But I still appeared before him.

I asked Jisung what he wanted.

He shook before me, gun pressed against his head still shaking so harshly. I only smiled at him, his soul at the edge of its life. Why I appeared at his calling, I did not know. He did not call for me directly. I only felt his soul trying to grasp to the last strands of life, wanting someone to save him from himself.

And so I did.

I placed my fingers on that gun and pushed it away from him. He kept staring at me, his eyes wide, but blank. Humans had a saying, that the eyes were the window to the soul. And as I stared down at them, those windows were blocked by a dark, thick curtain. One that I could not see through, except for the tiniest crack between each draping cloth.

He didn't speak, but I knew what he craved.

So again, I asked him what he wanted.

"I don't know," he replied to me. He didn't know who I was, but he never asked. I think he had an idea to who I was, despite the missing introduction. He kept his gaze on me. But they never questioned. They had fear in them, but it wasn't because of me.

I offered him my hand. He stared at it for a moment, and he seemed to understand, at least a little. He didn't smile, but it wasn't a frown either. His jaw just hung unhinged and his eyes were now glossy. Though he was sitting upon his couch, his lanky body was still limp. My fingers never left the gun, and neither did his around the trigger. They only stayed there, lingering on what could've been.

The future he was mere seconds away from.

I suggested many things to give him some sort of idea. I listed fame, money, power. He only stared down at his hand, still gripping the gun.

Then I asked him:

"Do you want to die?"

"I don't know."

And that was it. I took the gun from him, turned on the safety, and placed it on the coffee table. I offered him my hand again. He didn't say anything more but he knew. He just knew what I offered. Because deep down, his soul begged him to stay. His soul fought his mind and body. It was an internal war within him, and when I held out my hand, I offered peace between them.

He took my hand, shaking it lightly.

And he did not accept because of a need. Most humans asked for selfish needs that they are too lazy to get. Money, power, fame, knowledge. Humans always want the shortest path. After all, their lives are much shorter than us, demons, angels, reapers.

He shook my hand because he had no other choice. Fighting against himself was tearing himself apart. He needed help. And I offered. I was there when no one else wasn't. I was the only one who held out a hand, so he took it.

He asked me if he was crazy.

I told him that he was the sanest person on earth.