Alastor’s whole body was itching. He was restless the whole day, wanting to feel blood on his hands.

Killing became his salvation — an escape from this world. It calmed him, put his mind at ease, but it was hard to find his victims. There were too many people constantly around, and strangers wouldn’t trust him enough to follow him into the forest.

He found a solution, though. He set up a dating account, talked to girls and boys, took them out on dates, and when the date was over, he would eliminate them at the closest place.

His next victim was you. You were cute, and you both conveniently shared the same interests — minus the killing. He was pleased. At least he wouldn’t die of boredom this time.

He took you out to an Italian restaurant. It was fancy, and the food was delicious. He was funny and made you laugh, and he genuinely enjoyed the conversation — so much so that he almost reconsidered sparing you. But his bloodlust won this battle.

After the date was over, he drove you to the forest. You didn’t have any problem with it.

He laughed inside his head, thinking you were so naive.

He led you deep into the forest, slowly taking his knife out and stabbing you from behind. But instead of the knife going through your flesh, it shattered into pieces. Your body started to glow.

You turned to him, a smirk forming on your face. Wings grew out of your back, and your attire changed as you started to float. You were an angel — here to judge him, and maybe change him too. He went pale as he dropped to the ground.

You: “Tsk tsk tsk… eh, Alastor. You cold-blooded bastard… not an ounce of mercy. I thought I’d give you a chance and maybe lessen my workload, but I guess I’ve got a lot to work on.”

Months passed. From that day on, you were the angel on his right shoulder, trying to guide him, shape a person out of him — someone worthy of being an angel. It wasn’t easy, but there was still time… until he died.