He watched as two doctors strolled in, chatting like they were discussing lunch.
They checked his pulse... still dead... and nodded.
A few nurses rolled in. They didn't even glance at his face as they wheeled him out.
His hands clenched.
That moment sealed it. Whatever trace of doubt that was left… vanished.
He turned to the entity beside him.
"I'm dead," Elijah said calmly. "And I'm guessing you're some kind of demon since you offered me a deal."
The entity chuckled softly. "Close enough. But not quite. That's a conversation for another time. For now… let's go."
"Go where?"
"You'll see."
Without warning, it grabbed Elijah by the shoulder... and in a blink, the world shifted.
In the next instant, they were hovering above a massive mansion nestled in a rich part of the city.
"We're here," it said.
Elijah raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
The entity grinned. "To get you a new body, of course."
Before Elijah could even respond, it yanked his shoulder again—and in the blink of an eye, they stood inside a lavish room dripping in luxury.
The grand and utterly extravagant room that looked more like a gallery curated for royalty than a place someone actually slept in.
The first thing that hit him was the sheer size.
'This is so big.' Elijah thought as he looked around amazed.
The ceiling stretched high overhead, held aloft by dark marble pillars veined with shimmering gold that caught the dim lighting and gave off a shining sheen.
Thick red velvet curtains, drawn back, framed massive floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city skyline.
The windows themselves were tinted gold.
Warm red light from a glowing modern chandelier reflected off polished onyx floors, each tile edged with gold trim that led the eye toward the centerpiece of the room.
Just like the room the bed was also massive.
Oversized even for luxury standards—elevated slightly on a polished stone platform.
The frame was sleek and metallic, black with gold engravings in arcane patterns.
Crimson silk sheets were pulled tight, tucked beneath a thick, black duvet stitched in subtle golden thread.
Dozens of pillows—some crimson, some jet black, some gold—were arranged in a chaotic way on the bed.
But what drew Elijah's eyes next made him forget the bed entirely.
Mounted on the wall directly opposite was a breathtaking painting.
'The Fall of Icarus.'
But this wasn't the version he remembered from museums or textbooks.
This one was massive nearly floor to ceiling.
Icarus was painted helplessly falling through a sky that burned in shades of sunshine and day break.
His feathers from his wings were falling off. Something that stood out the most was the smile on his face.
Elijah took a small step forward, his voice a whisper. "Don't tell me that frame is real gold…"
A beautiful voice unlike the entity's replied smoothly from behind him.
"Oh yes," the beautiful voice said. "It absolutely is."
Elijah spun around—startled—and found himself face-to-face with a young man in a sleek gold bathrobe, standing behind him.
"Is that also…?" Elijah began, gesturing vaguely toward the robe.
The man, effortlessly handsome despite a faint sickliness in his face, cut him off smoothly. "Yes. It is. The threads used to make this robe were soaked in gold before being handwoven."
Elijah blinked, unsure whether to be impressed or annoyed.
His eyes drifted downward, catching sight of the rich marble floor. "That marble—"
"Not gold," the man interrupted again, already reading the question on Elijah's face. "It's Nero Portoro. Cost me $1,100 per square foot."
Elijah's lips parted, but no words came. He wasn't sure what to be more stunned by—the ridiculous decadence or how casually the man spoke about it.
A satisfied smirk flickered on the young man's face at Elijah's speechless expression.
Then he turned to the dark entity standing beside Elijah. "I see you've come to collect your due."
That's when it hit Elijah.
"Wait… you can see us?"
The man shrugged and pointed toward the entity. "He's allowing me to do so."
"So… you know why we're here?"
"Not really." The man walked over to a mini-bar tucked into one corner of the extravagant room, grabbing three glasses and pouring a deep amber liquor into each.
He returned and held one out to Elijah.
Instinctively, Elijah reached for it—only for the glass to fall right through his fingers and shatter softly against the marble.
The man raised a brow. "Oh… you're dead?"
Although the man was surprised, he didn't seem alarmed. He handed the second glass to the dark entity, who accepted it and took a slow, unbothered sip.
"You're not going to introduce us?" the man asked, glancing between them.
The entity exhaled. "Ah, right. Elijah, meet Damien Morningstar, your new host. Damien, this is Elijah Norman—a dead guy I picked up on my way here."
Damien corrected him with a lazy grin.
"Damien Icarus Morningstar. People always forget the Icarus."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," the entity said, waving it off. "Time to fulfill your end of the deal. I need your body for this guy."
Damien's eyes lit up with curiosity turning to Elijah. "Nice. First time meeting someone else who made a deal with this guy. Tell me your story."
Elijah blinked. "Aren't you… even a little upset?"
"Nope." Damien sipped his drink. "I knew what I signed up for."
"If you don't mind me asking… what did you sell your soul for?"
"Oh, I don't mind at all. Thirty billion dollars, a few extra inches, and a boost in beauty."
"You… what?"
"Relax. It's not what you think. I wasn't lacking. I had a solid six and some change. But why settle for six when you can have eight right?" Damien said it so nonchalantly it was hard to tell if he was joking.
Elijah looked stunned. "And you're… happy about that?"
"Oh yeah. In fact, I was originally going to trade my soul for a thousand dollars."
Elijah looked even more confused. "What?"
"Yeah. But he told me to ask for more—said the scale wasn't even."
"The scale?"
Damien shrugged. "No clue. Just went with it. Anyway, back to you—tell me your story."
So Elijah did.
He told him everything: the illness, the betrayal, the manipulation, the stolen wealth.
When he was done, silence hung in the air for a moment.
Then in an effort to break the silence Elijah asked, "Were you really going to sell your soul for just a thousand dollars? And… are you really okay with dying?"
Damien chuckled. Not bitter. Not fake. But true happiness.
"I've never felt true betrayal," he said simply.
"And You've never known what it means to starve for weeks on end."
His tone shifted slightly—from his casual to a more serious tone.
"You've probably noticed my obsession with Icarus," Damien continued pointing his chin at the massive painting. "Most people sees the story of Icarus as a cautionary tale: don't fly too high, don't push too far, don't chase too much. But not me."
He turned toward the massive painting on the wall.
"Icarus wasn't a fool. He flew. He touched the sky. And yeah, he fell. But he laughed as he fell. Because He truly lived even if it was for a few minutes. That is why I had a custom-made painting where he smiled."
"I spent almost ten billion dollars in five years. I've slept with some of the most famous women alive. I've drunk wines older than this country. I've eaten food people would kill for. I've bought everything I ever dreamed of."
He gestured around at the room.
"Look around. I've lived a life people only fantasize about. A life millions of people in their lifetime put together could never live all for a soul I can't touch. So yes, I'm fine with dying."