Days had passed since my first collection. Seven days since I'd confronted Malachai about Gregory Harmon's death, demanding answers.
"The process is more taxing on the human vessel than I initially explained," he had admitted, his dark eyes revealing nothing of his true thoughts. "Some survive, yes. The strongest ones. But many... their bodies simply cannot withstand the extraction of darkness that has become so deeply intertwined with their essence."
I'd stormed out of his apartment, disgusted with him and with myself. I had taken a human life, regardless of how corrupted that life had been. The justifications I'd built up seemed hollow in the face of death. And who knows if he was just saying... at first he says only their souls will be taken and now some might die along? his words aren't to be trusted.
Yet here I was, a week later, sitting across from Malachai at the same upscale café, another folder placed between us.
"Why did I come back?" I asked, more to myself than to him.
Malachai's lips curved in a slight smile. "Because the hunger returned. Because you've begun to change in ways that frighten and exhilarate you. Because deep down, you know there's no going back to your old life."
He was right about the changes. They had started subtly. Heightened senses, increased strength, strange new cravings. But in the past few days, the transformation had accelerated.
Yesterday morning, I'd shattered my bathroom mirror with a casual swipe of my hand after becoming frustrated with my hair. The glass had splintered against my skin without leaving a mark. Later that day, I'd caught the scent of someone's fear from across a crowded subway car—a teenage girl being followed by a man with predatory intentions. I'd found myself between them before I even realized I'd moved, my eyes locked on the man until he'd hurriedly exited at the next stop.
"The physical changes will continue," Malachai said, as if reading my thoughts. "Each collection accelerates the process."
I leaned forward. "What exactly am I becoming?"
"You know. Something more than human," he replied. "Something ancient. The ability to collect souls is just the beginning."
He slid the folder toward me. Another target, another darkness to consume. Part of me wanted to refuse, to walk away and try to reclaim my humanity. But another part—a part growing stronger by the day—hungered for the power, the euphoria of collection.
"This one deserves it," Malachai added softly, knowing my weakness. "He's hurt many children."
I took the folder.
***
Three days later, I stood in my bathroom, staring at my reflection with a mixture of fascination and horror. Something had happened when I was about to collect my second collection, something profound.
The man had been a teacher at an exclusive private school, respected in the community, trusted by parents. Behind that façade lurked a predator who had been abusing his position for years. His darkness had been so thick I could almost taste it before I'd even touched his mind.
The collection itself would had been easier this time. More fluid, more instinctive. The darkness had nearly leapt from him to me, eager to be consumed. And when it was about to be done, when he collapsed to the floor of his meticulously kept apartment, I hadn't felt the expected guilt or remorse.
I had felt exhilarated. before I got distracted by his so called wife.
Walking home through the night, I'd discovered another new ability quite by accident. Passing through an unlit alley, I'd sensed someone following me—likely a common mugger seeking an easy target. Instead of fear, I'd felt irritation, then a strange pulling sensation. Suddenly, I was no longer at the mouth of the alley but at its far end, having seemingly traveled through the deepest patch of shadow.
Now, as I examined my reflection, I noticed other changes. My skin seemed paler, almost luminescent in the harsh bathroom light. My hair appeared darker, with a sheen that caught light in ways that seemed unnatural. But it was my eyes that truly gave me pause.
As I watched, they briefly flashed solid black—pupil, iris, and whites all consumed by darkness before returning to normal.
"What the hell?" I whispered, leaning closer to the mirror.
My phone rang, making me jump. It was Malachai.
"Did you feel it?" he asked without preamble when I answered.
"Feel what?"
"The shift. The acceleration of your transformation."
I looked back at my reflection. "My eyes just turned completely black for a moment."
"Ah," he sounded pleased. "It's happening faster than I anticipated. The soul you collected yesterday must have been particularly potent."
"What else should I expect?" I asked, unable to keep the tremor from my voice. and not telling him that I wasn't able to collect it. Just halfway.
"Enhanced strength, heightened senses, shadow travel... they're just the beginning," Malachai explained. "Your physical form is adapting to contain the power you're accumulating."
"And the people whose darkness I collect," I said quietly. "They all die, don't they?" I asked again, hoping he would change what he had said before, but he didn't.
A brief pause. "Most do, yes. Their bodies simply cannot survive without the darkness that has become integral to their existence."
I thought of the teacher, how I'd left him unconscious on his living room floor. By now, he would be dead if i had succeeded in complete collection. Then, another life would have been ended by my hand.
What disturbed me most was my lack of remorse about it. Something inside me—something growing stronger with each collection—whispered that he had deserved his fate, that the world was better without him.
"Is this changing who I am?" I asked. "Not just physically, but... inside?"
"The exterior reflects the interior," Malachai replied cryptically. "Meet me tonight. There's much more you need to learn."
***
That evening, as I prepared to meet Malachai, I noticed more changes. I could lift my solid oak dresser with one hand. I could hear my neighbor's whispered phone conversation three apartments away. I could smell emotions now—fear had a sharp, acrid scent; desire was musky and sweet.
And I was hungry again, despite having fed just yesterday. The hunger was different this time—more insistent, more specific in its cravings. It didn't want just any darkness; it wanted particular flavors of corruption. The thought of consuming the darkness from someone driven by greed or lust left me cold. But the prospect of tasting the bitter darkness of cruelty, of deliberately inflicted pain—that made my mouth water.
I tried to ignore the implications of these new preferences as I dressed in black jeans and a dark sweater, appropriate for the autumn evening. Glancing in the mirror one last time, I froze.
For just a moment—a heartbeat—my reflection showed something else entirely. Not the woman I recognized as myself, but a creature with obsidian skin that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Eyes like pools of liquid darkness. Hair that moved as if alive, writhing around a face that was both beautiful and terrible.
Then it was gone, my normal reflection staring back at me with wide, frightened eyes.
My phone buzzed with a text from Malachai: *I sense your distress. What did you see?*
My hands shook as I typed: *Myself. My true self.*
His reply came immediately: *Not yet. But soon.*
I put the phone down and leaned against the wall, suddenly dizzy with the implications. The creature in the mirror—that wasn't just a vision or a hallucination. It was what I was becoming.
What I'd agreed to become the moment I allowed Malachai to awaken the power inside me.
I'd told myself I was doing this for justice, to punish those who deserved punishment. I'd convinced myself that my intentions were pure, that I could control this power rather than letting it control me.
But as I stared at my hands, half-expecting them to transform into the obsidian claws I'd glimpsed in the mirror, I wondered if I'd been deluding myself all along. With each soul I collected, with each darkness I consumed, I was becoming less human. Not just physically, but in my heart as well.
The soft, empathetic woman I'd once been was fading, being replaced by something that found the suffering of the corrupt not just justified but exhilarating. Something that hungered for the next collection with an eagerness that should have disgusted me but instead thrilled me.
My phone buzzed again. Malachai: *Your hesitation is natural, but ultimately futile. This is what you were always meant to be.*
I closed my eyes, feeling the hunger gnaw inside me, the power pulse beneath my skin. I thought of the teacher's darkness flowing into me, the rush of strength and clarity that had followed. I thought of moving through shadows as if they were doorways, of hearing and seeing and smelling things no human was meant to perceive.
I thought of the creature in the mirror, waiting to emerge.
When I opened my eyes, they flashed black in the reflection of my phone's dark screen.
*On my way,* I texted back to Malachai.
I didn't know if I was embracing my destiny or sealing my damnation. All I knew was that there was no turning back—not now, not after what I'd done, what I'd become.
The hunger called. And somewhere in the night, another corrupt soul waited to feed it.
* * *