My name is Akumu. I'm twenty-two.
I live in a forgotten corner of São Paulo, where everyone is just trying to survive however they can.
Sometimes I think I was born to die. Or maybe death chose me first.
There's not much to say about my life. I work in a small convenience store.
The creak of the door and the beep of the register are my daily soundtrack.
Customers come in, look around, buy something… and I watch.
I watch how their fingers twitch, how their eyes dart away when they lie, how they force their smiles.
The rest of the time? I do what really excites me.
Cutting the rotten flesh out of this city.
People are trash.
I just take out what should've been thrown away long ago.
I see the masks slip when no one's looking.
They rot from the inside, and I just speed up the process.
In the end, I'm just as much trash as they are.
I don't deserve to live, or to enjoy whatever this thing called "life" is… if it even exists.
I spend my days surrounded by all kinds of people.
It makes me sick… but it's still better than starving.
At night, everything changes.
The city shifts.
The lights grow dimmer, the air turns colder, and the shadows stretch longer across the walls.
I spend days studying my targets-watching their routines, their jobs, their every step.
I follow from a distance, listen to their conversations, note every place they go.
I store it all away.
It's like sharpening a blade before the cut.
Tonight's victim was ready.
A young man, about my age.
I'd seen him a few times-serious, always carrying books, keeping out of trouble.
The "good boy" type.
But in the end, all he'll be is a "what if."
I walked through nearly empty streets.
The nearest streetlamp flickered, buzzing faintly.
The stench of sewage drifted up from the drains.
Then I turned a corner and found him.
Standing in an alley, as if begging to be robbed… or killed.
I'm a helpful guy, so I obliged.
He leaned against the wall, reading a Bible.
Flipping the pages slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.
The yellow streetlight painted his face, forcing me to plan each step carefully so I wouldn't be seen too soon.
I approached, my footsteps muffled by the empty street.
I wore my classic Victorian suit-the kind that always draws the right kind of attention.
"Do you believe death is a natural fate? Even when it comes at the hands of another?" I asked, just a few steps away.
"H-huh? Who are you?"
"Forgive me. Call me Akumu. Stage name."
"Oh. I'm Eduardo. I thought you were gonna rob me."
"You should be more careful. Now answer my question."
He turned another page, unfazed. "I think death comes for everyone, even the kindest people. If you're murdered… it just means your time had already come. That's what I believe."
I was silent for a moment. The lamp behind him popped softly, each sound counting down his remaining seconds.
"Then… your time has come."
I pulled my Kris dagger from my coat pocket.
The metal caught the yellow light, showing its sinuous curves-a unique piece, almost like a signature.
The cold hilt fit my hand as if it had been made for me.
I could already hear his blood rushing in his ears before I even struck.
The air froze around us.
Each heartbeat pounded like a drum calling for the final dance.
My fingers trembled-not from fear, but from the rush.
The blade was cold as death, but my body burned from the inside-a silent fever.
I wasn't the monster.
I was the inevitable end everyone runs from.
"W-what?" Color drained from his face as he stepped back, pressing against the cold wall.
The moment fed me. It was like taking a deep breath after being underwater too long.
"Don't kill me! Please!"
"It's fate. You said so yourself. Accept it."
He swallowed hard, eyes darting like a trapped rat.
Sweat slid down his temple, the Bible shook in his hands, but he still tried to keep his gaze on me-like he could bargain with an abyss.
"I-I don't deserve this! I haven't finished my dream!"
A cold smile broke across my face.
"When it's others, you say their time has come. But when it's you… suddenly you don't deserve it? Pathetic."
"I-I'm a good man… What did I ever do to you?"
"You hide behind your good-boy image, but you're rotten inside. Just looking at you makes me sick. I've watched you closely. I saw your stains. Flirting with children. Don't pretend to be a saint."
"W-what the hell? You think you're some kind of vigilante?"
"I'm just a reaper of filthy souls. Do you think you'll go to heaven after I end you?"
He looked around for anyone-anything—but the street was dead silent.
"S-somebody help!" It came out more as a whimper.
He tried to run, but the wet ground became my ally. He fell hard, squirming like a worm at the edge of death. I grabbed his neck.
"No one's going to help you. This is your fate."
I began to squeeze, ready to end it, when-
Sirens tore through the night.
"Police! Step away from that man!"
The sound left a bitter taste in my mouth.
The tables had turned. I released him and charged toward the officers.
"It's not his time yet," I muttered.
"Drop the knife!"
"Who are you to give me orders, worm?!"
Then I heard it-"Lethal force authorized."
I ran. Not for my life-I didn't care about that-but because my justice couldn't die yet.
A bullet tore through my gut. Hot blood poured between my fingers.
The pain was familiar-the same pain my targets felt.
Justice… was flawed. Even mine.
There was nothing left for me.
With the dagger still in my hand, I pressed the blade to my throat. Pierced the skin. The world blurred.
The last thing I saw were the officers running toward me.
Then… nothing.
A voice echoed in my mind.
Renatus, Deus Mortis et dux Mortalium.
What? A language I didn't know. Or maybe I'd gone insane.
The abyss swallowed me whole.
Cold sliced through my body, like thousands of invisible blades cutting me at once.
The darkness was absolute, but I felt a light pulsing somewhere deep inside, pulling me, draining everything I was.
The world crumbled like smoke.
No pain. No weight. No sound. Just silence.
Then-light.
Weak, but growing.
I hit the ground on my knees. Hard dirt.
I opened my eyes.
No buildings. No cars. No cracked concrete.
Just a vast gray sky, scattered trees, and a dirt road leading to a few simple houses.
It looked like a normal village-one of those small-town places where time moves slow and no one ever leaves.
The air smelled of grass and wet earth.
I stood, my body heavy, strange-like I'd been asleep for days.
My hands were clean, my skin lighter than I remembered. My clothes had changed to a worn coat and simple trousers.
I had no idea how I'd gotten there.
Footsteps approached.
An old man walked past, carrying a sack. He glanced at me like I was something he couldn't quite understand.
"You alright, son?" he asked, voice rough.
I didn't answer.
All I felt was a strange mix of confusion… and relief.
I was somewhere else.
Another world, maybe.
But here… there was no weight of the city.
No stench of asphalt and rot.
Only silence, dirt, and ordinary people.
And I had no idea what to do next.
To be continued…