Beyond Realities

Finally, I made it back from Selera's place. And honestly, I was grateful. Really.

My body felt normal again. No more curse, no more dizziness, no more weird smoke floating inside me. I felt… lighter. Healthier.

But of course—nothing's ever that easy.

Because he was still here.

Yes. The voice. The annoying one.

I tried to relax. My thoughts were spinning after everything Selera said—about the curse, the orb, and whatever darkness surrounded it. And now there's talk of ancient messengers, the dark side, and things I don't even understand yet.

Ugh. My head's going to explode.

"You know," the voice said, casually, "you should really stop thinking so much. I can read your mind like a book."

I groaned and rubbed my temples.

"I didn't ask for commentary," I muttered.

"And yet here I am. Want to know who I am? I know you're curious."

I tried to ignore him.

"Too late. I caught your interest already. I suppose it won't hurt to give you… a little information."

My ears perked up.

"What do you mean?" I asked, finally giving in. "Who even are you?"

"Tch. Impatient brat. Fine. You can call me Grim."

My eyes widened.

"Grim…? Wait, you don't mean the Grim?"

"That's right. Grim. Grim Reaper. The one mentioned in those dusty old ancient books—the Authority of Death, the one who judges souls, the whisper in the silence…"

He said it like it was no big deal. Like he was telling me he was the town barber.

"That can't be right," I said, half-laughing, half-panicking. "You—Grim? Like the god of death Grim?"

"Exactly. Either believe me or don't. Doesn't change anything."

My knees nearly buckled.

"Wait… WAIT. If you're the god of death… are you here to take my soul?! Am I gonna die?! No, please! I haven't even had a girlfriend yet! I'm still—" I whispered in horror— "I'm still a virgin!"

"Oh my gods, you're hopeless," Grim groaned, sounding offended.

"I'm not here to kill you. You're not dying. Not yet anyway—unless you randomly fall off a cliff, which with you? Might actually happen."

I exhaled sharply in relief.

"Okay… okay good. I'm fine. No soul-snatching today. Whew."

Still, I had more questions than answers now.

If he really was the Grim Reaper…

Why me? Why was he sealed in that orb?

And how did he even end up inside my body?

My head hurt again. I rubbed my face, annoyed.

"Ugh, enough thinking. No more questions. I'm going back to training."

Because if I train hard enough, maybe, just maybe, I can forget the fact that a literal god of death is living inside my head—making sarcastic comments and refusing to pay rent.

I was in the training ground again, swinging my pickaxe like usual. Nothing special. Just me, some sweat, and the same trusty old handle I've probably overused since I was ten.

I grunted with effort as I brought it down again—

and again—

and then—

"Wow… your grip is pathetic."

I stumbled mid-swing and almost hit my own foot.

"Oh gods! Stop scaring me like that!" I yelled to the empty space around me. Or well… not really empty, since Grim was always there. In my head. Like an imaginary roommate who never sleeps.

"I mean, really now," he continued, smug. "You're swinging that thing like it's a wet mop. You sure you're planning to surpass your Spade team comrades with those noodle arms?"

I froze.

"Wait… how do you know about them?"

"Duh. I live in your head. I've read every one of your memories. I know your thoughts, your dreams, your nightmares… even your weird little crushes and, uh, other thoughts."

My eyes widened.

"Oh please. Anything but those."

"Right, right. Trust me, I don't want to see them either," Grim said, sounding like he needed brain bleach.

I wanted to melt into the ground from embarrassment.

Anyway, I kept swinging while he kept commenting like some overpaid fitness coach. Eventually, Grim said:

"Alright. Let's try something different. You know the scythe, right?"

"Of course. It's literally your weapon, Mr. Grim Reaper. Why?"

"Can I borrow it?"

"What? No. You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't even hold a ten-kilo sack of potatoes without whining about your back."

"I can too!"

"No. You can't."

"Come on, I let you live in my head rent-free and this is how you treat me?"

"Exactly. And you look like a landlord trying to collect payment from a ghost. Cute."

I sighed.

Still, Grim eventually got a little serious.

"Fine. You want to train? I'll teach you. But you're not ready to wield my scythe. It's a Divine weapon—soulbound and forged by Authority. A mortal can't handle it… yet."

"Okay… but I can train with something else, right?"

"Yeah. Your beloved pickaxe."

I blinked.

"…Really?"

"Look, I get it. You've been using that thing since birth. So let's make it interesting. Since you're good with ropes and you swing like a madman, we'll attach a chain to the bottom of your pickaxe. You'll treat it like a whip-axe hybrid."

I squinted. "You want me to be a pickaxe gymnast?"

"Exactly."

"Hah! That's the dumbest and coolest thing I've ever heard."

"Then let's get to work."

And just like that, something shifted.

My pickaxe glowed faintly, and a chain—no, something like a black glowing rope—extended from the end of its handle.

"I've infused it with aura mana. You don't have any yet, but I have enough for both of us. Think of it as a trial. Now swing."

I took a deep breath and gave it a go.

I swung the axe—this time, it whistled through the air. I could feel the chain drag behind it, almost alive. The added weight changed everything. I stumbled at first, tripped over my own feet, and nearly faceplanted into a tree.

"Oh gods, you're worse than I thought," Grim muttered.

"Focus your feet. Use your momentum, not just your arms. Swing, spin, anchor. Try it again."

I did.

And again.

And again.

Sweat poured. Arms burned. My back screamed. But I got better. Every swing got a little cleaner, a little faster, more powerful. I wasn't just swinging anymore—I was moving. Spinning, shifting, breathing with the rhythm. The pickaxe became an extension of my will.

It felt good. It felt natural.

And for the first time… maybe I didn't feel so far behind the others.

"Not bad, kid," Grim said after an hour. "Still pathetic. But less pathetic than earlier."

"…Thanks, I guess."

"Keep it up. You might actually survive what's coming."

"…Wait, what's coming?"

"Oh. You'll see."

And then, silence.

Why does he always end with creepy stuff like that?

I kept training.

My arms were noodles. My back was screaming. My lungs were filing a formal complaint. But somehow… I kept going.

Every time I swung that rope-bound pickaxe, it felt less like a dumb idea and more like—my thing.

"Not bad," Grim said from my head. "Still looks like a drunk ogre trying ballet, but at least you've stopped tripping on your own feet."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should. Coming from me, that's practically high praise."

I swung the pickaxe low this time, letting the chain whip around a nearby log. I pulled. The log launched toward me, and I sidestepped it just in time. Smooth.

"Did you see that?! That was actually good, right?"

"Eh. I've seen better. But yeah. For a human with no mana, no strength, and no coordination… you're doing okay."

"Wow, you're so supportive," I said flatly.

"Look, Vael. You're still a long way from being strong enough to control my power, but you're getting better at being you. That's good. Don't try to copy your brother. Don't try to impress Seraphina. Just focus on not being dead."

"That's… weirdly motivational. For you."

"I'm trying my best here, okay?"

We both went quiet for a moment. The only sound was the swing of my axe and the faint rattle of the chain. The sun was starting to dip, painting everything gold-orange.

I took a deep breath.

"You really think I'll get strong enough to… to be more than a disappointment?"

"You're already more," Grim said, tone a little softer.

"You just don't believe it yet."

That hit me harder than I expected.

Maybe he was annoying. Maybe he teased me nonstop. But somehow… having him there, even as a sarcastic voice in my head, made me feel less alone.

Then Grim cleared his throat.

"Alright, emotional moment over. Back to work, you soft pancake."

I smirked.

"Roger that, boss."

"And remember," he added, "train like you're about to be hunted by a god."

"Wait, what?!"

"Kidding! …Probably."

He laughed. I groaned.

Training continued.

The air felt heavier. The shadows longer. But I kept swinging.

Because for the first time… I didn't feel cursed.

I felt like I was becoming something else.