CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE GRIMM REAPER

Lieutenant Colonel Lazenby Collins jumps down from the armored tank, his boots hitting the ground with a sense of purpose. Two sergeants fall in step beside him, their faces set with determination. The mission is clear: apprehend Castiel Wellington and neutralize any potential threats. The president's office has deemed her a danger to national security, and the military has been tasked with eliminating her. The public is unaware of the truth, believing instead that the president is recovering from a viral disease contracted during a visit to an orphanage. But Collins knows the reality: Castiel Wellington is a force to be reckoned with, and he's been ordered to take her down by any means necessary.

"Morris, where the hell is Castiel Wellington?" Lieutenant Colonel Lazenby Collins demanded, his voice laced with frustration, despite knowing the answer. Captain Morris stood tall, his expression unyielding. "Sir, Ms. Wellington is nowhere to be found." Collins sighed, running his hand through his short brown hair, his mind racing with the implications. The orders were clear: apprehend Wellington within 48 hours, and yet, 79 hours had passed with no progress. He knew firsthand Castiel's reputation in the army - ruthless, dangerous, and efficient. Her records remained unbroken, a testament to her exceptional skills. The thought of her having the president in her custody sent a chill down his spine. "We're dealing with someone worse than Bin Laden," he muttered, his fear and respect for Castiel's abilities evident in his tone.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. He turned to Captain Morris, his expression stern.

"Keep searching, and I want the full reports by the next hour, am I clear, Captain?" Morris nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing again as he swallowed hard. "Yes, sir." Collins' gaze lingered on him for a moment before he dismissed him with a curt nod. "You are dismissed." Morris turned and exited the room, leaving Collins to ponder their next move in the hunt for Castiel Wellington.

—_—

Caz and Amelia watched from the top of the building, dressed in dark cloaks. Caz held her twin sickle-shaped sword, while Amelia grasped a scythe, effective for soul reaping. "Can they see us, boss?" Amelia asked.

"No." Castiel answered curtly.

"So what exactly are we looking for?" Amelia asked growing bolder now as a reaper.

"Demons."

"Demons?" Amelia asked, her voice laced with skepticism. "But I don't see anything... or anyone." She frowned, her gaze flicking back to Castiel. "How do you know they're here?"

Castiel's smile was thin and enigmatic. "I can sense them," she replied, her eyes gleaming with a knowing light. "They're hiding in plain sight, disguising themselves as humans. But we can see through their disguise, can't we, Amelia?"

"What, you said they smell like sulfur, why can't we smell them?" Amelia asked, confused. Caz ignored her, focusing on the scene below. It was becoming clearer - Samael's game plan. He was destroying every image she had built previously, shredding them to pieces. And there was only one thing she could do. Play dirty. She could kill the entire soldiers with a flick of her hand, destroy the world's largest armies in a minute. She had the power to, and then she'd beat Lucifer in his own game. If he thought he was powerful, she was better and more powerful. She is Death herself, and it was time she stopped playing the dutiful little angel to God. She was going to become the warrior El designed her to be. After all, she was Death herself, God's own weapon. "Amelia, we're getting out of here. It's time for your first job."

—_—

The door creaked, its sound eerily similar to the whining of rusted metal, despite being made of wood. Hank Dalton stood up, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and switching off the TV. He'd had enough of The Walking Dead for one night, saving the rest for tomorrow's binge. Assuming it was Eddie Carson, his overweight and overly friendly flatmate, Hank made his way to the door. Eddie always knocked at odd hours and had a habit of switching off the hallway lights, claiming he didn't like them at night. Hank was willing to bet his red Austin Martin that Eddie was after sugar again, oblivious to its harmful effects. As he opened the door, he jokingly said, "Lemme guess, Eddie, you want sugar?" But instead of Eddie's usual cheerful response, he was met with silence. "Eddie, what sick game are you playing?" Hank asked, his tone laced with annoyance. He then unlocked his phone, switched on the torch app, and shone it down the darkened hallway. "Oh, probably just some rodent," he muttered to himself.

Hank walked back into his apartment, slamming the door shut and locking it, scratching his neck in irritation as he called it a night. He entered the bedroom he and Judah Browner shared, removing his shirt and tossing it to the floor. However, remembering Judah's OCD, Hank picked it up and put it away. As he turned to switch on the lights, he froze. Judah lay lifeless on the floor, a cut on his throat, blood pooling around him. "No, no, babe, come on, Jude, don't leave me!" Hank cried, falling to his knees and covering the cut with his hands. Hank's ears picked up a feminine voice, calm and detached, "He's quite dead, Martin Hank Dalton. He's been dead for a while now." Hank turned to face the speaker, his hazel eyes locking onto piercing blue eyes. He was struck by the woman's beauty, her short blonde hair, tall stature, and dark cloak. A scythe adorned her left hand, making her resemble a stunning Grim Reaper. Hank's gaze was fixed on her, riveted by her presence.

"Who the fuck are you?" Hank's anger and resentment boiled over, his eyes filled with tears of rage. He took a step closer to her, his voice trembling. "What did you do to my Judah?"

The woman's laughter sent a chill down his spine, her pearly white smile gleaming in the dim light. "Of course, darling," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And it's quite unfortunate, but I'm Death, the Grim Reaper, the real one. And I'd gladly prove it to you." She glided effortlessly to his side, her movement barely perceptible, leaving Hank frozen and petrified. "And you are next," she whispered in his ear, her cold breath sending shivers down his spine.

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