Chapter 1: DASHA: Staring at Death
DASHA PANG POV
"You are dead."
That was one hell of a way to wake up. In front of Dasha Pang was a bizarre woman. Long box-braided black hair, dark skin, and white wings that spanned half the room. A room that was totally blank. White.
Before this, Dasha recalled sleeping. 'Did I die in my sleep? That's preposterous. I was perfectly healthy.'
Healthy didn't fully describe Dasha. He worked out in specific increments and taught himself nearly every single martial art the world had to offer. In his college years, he had been a candidate for the Olympics and declined solely because he wanted to focus on his studies. Recreationally, he did rock climbing, hiking, archery, and escape artistry. He visited different governments. He studied. He influenced.
He did everything in his power to live a long, fulfilling life, pushing the very boundaries between life and death, yet here he was being told that his work and effort was for naught. Dead after falling asleep. His memory was perfect. No gaps in the last twelve hours. He was a university professor and went to bed after grading a whole class worth of assignments. He was neither mentally nor physically drained.
Dasha noticed he was sitting on a chair. He tried to get up. He couldn't. He narrowed his eyes. Everything above his neck seemed to function normally. "Who are you?" he asked.
"I am Azrael, Angel of Death."
Ordinarily, he would call this room and this woman a sham. But he could sense an ethereal power from her. She was steady and unwavering, from her voice to her posture. She wasn't lying, that was for sure.
"I'm dead," Dasha repeated. He craned his neck, the process slow. They were inside a cubicle white room or something of that nature. There was no door. "Where am I then?"
'How did she and I even get in here?'