When Sashay first opened his eyes, a woman stood before him. They were separated by a table of remarkable craft, black as night and traced with delicate veins of gold. Only then did Sashay realize that he himself was seated, and that the woman across from him sat as well, poised with effortless composure.
The woman parted her lips and spoke with a faint note of amusement.
"Could you perhaps try not to focus so much on my breasts?"
When Sashay's sight fully cleared, he found himself facing a strikingly beautiful woman. Her long black hair fell over her shoulders, dark as his own. She wore a black dress that carried an air of mature elegance. Yet, among all the charms she possessed, none were as immediately commanding as the ample curve of her chest, modestly contained within the dark fabric, where only the upper line and the faint suggestion of a cleavage could be seen.
Good grief… they're enormous, what size could they possibly be? And more importantly… what would they feel like? Sashay thought to himself.
It was an unguarded thought, drifting plainly through his mind.
"Ara… would you like to touch them?" the woman asked, her smile soft and teasing.
"Hmm? What?" Sashay blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"You're curious about how they would feel, aren't you?"
"W-wha… how can you read my thoughts?" The calm expression that had rested on Sashay's face tightened at once with unease.
"Of course I can read them, this place is my domain. Look around you." she replied lightly.
At her words, Sashay turned his gaze about. Wherever he looked, there was nothing but a vast and endless darkness. It stretched outward without limit, swallowing the horizon entirely. The only source of light came from a small oil lamp resting upon the table between them, its quiet flame casting a trembling glow across the black and gold surface.
"How… did I end up here?" Sashay asked at last.
"Was it not you who accepted my invitation?" the woman said calmly, releasing a thin stream of smoke from her lips.
Hearing that, Sashay searched his memory. For a moment there was only silence. Then suddenly, a single memory surfaced.
"Are you… the one who will give me power?"
The woman did not answer at once. Her dark eyes merely wandered slowly over Sashay's form, studying him from head to toe. A faint, knowing smile lingered on her lips.
"That depends," the woman replied briefly.
"Depends on what?"
A soft rustling sound followed, like the quiet turning of paper.
The moment Sashay finished speaking, a sheet of paper appeared from the curling end of smoke that drifted from the woman's pipe tobacco. It formed as though woven from the smoke itself, descending slowly before landing neatly upon the table before him.
The woman opened her mouth again.
"That depends on whether you agree to the contract… or not."
With a slight motion of her hand, she gestured for Sashay to examine it. He reached forward and took the paper. What lay before his eyes was unmistakably a contract, bearing the same formal structure as the document he had once signed when he first entered the military. Yet this one was different.
The contract he now held was not for enlistment.
It was a contract to become a Soul Collector.
"What exactly does Soul Collector mean?" Sashay asked, his brows narrowing as he studied the page.
"It is quite simple, you kill those who cross your path and collect their souls. Bring those souls to me, and in return I shall grant you power." the woman answered, a faint smile resting upon her lips.
She leaned back slightly in her chair, watching him with quiet amusement.
"A fair exchange, would you not agree?"
"And if I refuse?" Sashay asked.
The woman exhaled another thin stream of smoke, her expression unchanged.
"At this very moment," she said calmly, "you stand upon the edge of death. Before they could claim your life, I took a portion of it for myself. That is why you still exist here now."
Her smile deepened slightly.
"But should you decline my offer, I need only return that life to them… and you will die."
Sashay's gaze sharpened.
"Who are they?"
"The gods, and the armies of heaven that serve them." the woman answered softly.
The woman continued, her voice calm and measured, as though she were merely explaining a simple matter rather than offering a bargain that defied the heavens themselves.
"If you accept that contract and become a Soul Collector, then you will inevitably become their enemy." she said.
She rested her chin lightly upon her hand, the faint glow of the oil lamp dancing within her dark eyes.
"But in return," she went on, "you will possess a certainty. I will grant you power."
Her gaze lingered upon Sashay, studying the quiet tension in his face.
"And you already despise them, do you not?" she added softly. "After all, it was they who wrote your fate… a fate of weakness, of a life bound by limits."
A small smile curved upon her lips, neither cruel nor kind, but something between the two.
"What I offer is not cruelty," she said at last. "I merely lend you a hand against the chains they placed upon you. You help me… and in turn, I help you."
For a time, Sashay said nothing.
The small flame of the oil lamp flickered between them, its dim light swaying gently as though stirred by an unseen breath. The contract remained in his hands, the paper unnaturally smooth beneath his fingers. Line after line of elegant script stretched across its surface, each word carrying a weight that seemed far greater than ink upon parchment.
He lowered his gaze, reading once more.
Contract of the Soul Collector
Clause I — The Collection of Souls
The contractor, Sashay, shall harvest the souls of those whose lives are taken by his own hand. Every soul thus claimed shall belong to the Lady of this Domain and must be delivered to her.
Clause II — Grant of Power
In exchange for each soul delivered, the Lady shall grant power to the contractor. The strength bestowed shall be proportional to the number and quality of the souls collected.
Clause III — Binding of Life
From the moment this contract is signed, the life of the contractor shall be bound to the pact. Death shall not claim him so long as the agreement remains unbroken.
Clause IV — Secrecy of the Pact
The existence of this contract and the nature of the Lady's domain shall not be revealed to those unworthy of such knowledge.
Clause V — Punishment of Betrayal
Should the contractor attempt to deceive, betray, or abandon the pact, his soul shall be seized without mercy and claimed by the Lady in full.
Sashay let out a quiet breath.
"What happens, after I sign it?'' he asked at last.
The woman watched him with quiet patience, the stem of her pipe resting lightly between her fingers.
"Then the contract will be sealed, your life will continue… and your path will begin." she replied.
Sashay fell silent again.
He thought of the battlefield. Of the cold steel that had pierced toward him. Of the moment when death had nearly claimed him without ceremony, as though his life had been nothing more than a trivial entry in a ledger already written.
A fate of weakness, he recalled her saying.
Slowly, Sashay placed the contract upon the table.
"If what you say is true, then my life was already decided for me long before I had the chance to choose anything." he said quietly.
His eyes lifted to meet hers.
"But this…" He tapped the parchment lightly with his finger. "This is my choice."
The woman's smile deepened ever so slightly.
"And have you decided?"
Sashay reached for the quill that had appeared beside the contract without his noticing. The feather was dark, almost black, and the metal tip gleamed faintly in the dim light.
Without another word, he dipped it into the ink.
For a brief moment, the quill hovered above the parchment.
Then, with a steady hand, Sashay wrote his name.
The instant the final stroke was completed, the ink began to glow faintly, spreading through the lines of the contract like veins of dim crimson light.
The oil lamp flickered violently.
A quiet pulse moved through the air, like the slow beating of an unseen heart.
Across the table, the woman leaned back in her chair, watching the contract dissolve slowly into drifting strands of dark smoke.
"Excellent," she murmured.
Her dark eyes shone with quiet satisfaction.
"Welcome, Sashay."
She lifted the pipe once more to her lips.
"To the beginning of your new life… my soul collector."
At her words, Sashay immediately lowered his head. His posture straightened as he spoke with quiet respect.
"I am grateful, Lady of the Domain."
The woman rose slowly from her chair. The faint scrape of the seat against the floor echoed softly in the vast darkness surrounding them. With unhurried steps, she walked around the table and approached him.
Sashay remained where he was, his head still bowed.
When she reached his side, she stopped. For a brief moment she simply looked down at him, the dim light of the oil lamp outlining her figure against the endless dark.
Then she leaned slightly closer and spoke in a voice soft as drifting smoke.
"My Sashay," she murmured gently, "you may call me Morrigan."
Sashay remained bowed for a moment longer, unsure whether he should raise his head. The quiet around them felt strangely intimate, broken only by the faint crackle of the lamp's flame.
Then Morrigan spoke again, a trace of amusement in her voice.
"My Sashay, a moment ago you seemed quite interested in something." she said softly.
Sashay blinked in confusion and slowly lifted his gaze.
Before he could speak, Morrigan gently took his hand. Her fingers were cool and slender, yet her grip carried an effortless authority. Without hurry, she guided his hand upward and placed it against the soft curve of her chest.
For an instant, Sashay froze.
The warmth beneath the dark fabric was undeniable, and the softness yielded slightly beneath his palm. Startled by the boldness of the moment, he could not stop the words that slipped from his mouth.
"…They're soft," he muttered under his breath, still half in disbelief. "And… comfortable."
Morrigan let out a quiet laugh, low and pleased, like a melody heard in the dark.
"Well," she said, her eyes narrowing with playful satisfaction, "if you work hard for me… if you gather many souls and bring them to me faithfully…"
She leaned a little closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Perhaps I may reward you with something far more generous than this."
Before Sashay could respond, Morrigan lifted his chin lightly with her fingers. The distance between them vanished in a breath, and she pressed her lips gently against his.
The kiss was brief but deliberate, carrying with it a strange warmth that seemed to linger in the air even after she drew back.
When she stepped away, her faint smile returned.
"Consider it, your first encouragement." Morrigan said calmly.
The warmth of Morrigan's lips lingered for a fleeting moment.
Then the world shattered.
Darkness folded inward like a curtain being violently drawn aside. The faint glow of the oil lamp vanished, the endless void dissolved, and the quiet presence of Morrigan faded like smoke carried away by the wind.
Sashay's eyes snapped open.
The cold breath of the battlefield rushed back to greet him. The scent of iron and earth filled his lungs, sharp and unmistakable. Above him stretched a gray sky veiled in drifting smoke, while the distant clash of steel and shouts of soldiers echoed across the field.
For a brief moment, Sashay lay still upon the ground.
Then he realized something.
The pain was gone.
The wounds that had torn through his body moments before had vanished as though they had never existed. His armor was still damaged, his clothes stained with blood, yet his flesh beneath felt whole and unbroken.
Slowly, Sashay pushed himself upright.
The memory of the contract lingered in his mind, clear and undeniable.
Morrigan.
His fingers tightened slightly.
So it was real.
Without wasting another moment, Sashay turned and raised his voice across the chaos of the battlefield.
"Phil!"
Not far from where Sashay stood, a figure hurried toward him, clutching a familiar spear. The man's appearance was hardly imposing. He was short and stout, with a round, ungainly build that made him seem almost clumsy at first glance. Yet those who knew him understood that appearances were deceiving, for despite his weight he moved with surprising agility.
It was the very man Sashay had called.
Phil.
The moment Phil drew close enough to see Sashay clearly, his steps faltered. His eyes widened in naked disbelief, and the color drained from his face.
"Y-you…" Phil stammered, his voice trembling. "H-how is this possible? Is… is this some kind of dream?"
His hands shook slightly as he stared at the man before him. Only moments ago, he had seen Sashay fall, certain that the fatal wound had ended his life.
And yet here he stood again.
Alive.
Sashay looked at him with a slow smile spreading across his lips, a smile that carried a faint edge of something unsettling.
"This isn't a dream, you damn fat fool," Sashay said quietly.
He took a step forward, his gaze fixed upon Phil.
"Be grateful," he continued, the strange smile still lingering on his face. "You will become the first soul I offer to Morrigan."
**
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