The mission was supposed to be easy.
Kill the target. Steal the ring. Get paid.
Simple.
Inés got the ring, turned around, fully expecting smooth sailing—and instead locked eyes with a man trembling from head to toe, strapped in with enough explosives to flatten a city block or host a firework show for the next ten years.
He stared.
She stared.
A long, silent conversation passed between them.
Inés: "So this is how it is?"
Victim: "Seems so. Do you know how to deactivate them?"
Inés: "Not really. I only know how to kill people, not save them."
Victim: "…Useless assassin."
Inés: "What was that? Wanna die?"
Victim: …
Inés: "…Oh right. Forgot."
She shrugged. "Haha. Good riddance."
Victim: "There are bombs everywhere. You'll die too!"
Inés: "…Oh Right. Forgot."
A long pause passed between them as realization slowly sank in.
She turned her head to the side. Then back. Slowly.
Then muttered, "So unlucky."
A small, ominous beep sounded in the background.
Inés had dodged knives, poison, ambushes, and traps before.
But this?
This was no joke!
She scanned her surroundings—no rooftop to escape to, no conveniently placed well to dive into. The explosion radius was enough to turn her into a roasted duck. Someone had clearly known about her mission, setting the stage perfectly, leaving her completely trapped.
As the beeping grew louder, she had a brief, touching moment of reflection.
It was almost moving.
"Such devotion," Inés whispered, genuinely impressed. "Setting up all this just for me."
How… heartwarming.
And yet—she didn't even know who hated her this much.
After all, how many people could say someone went this far just to kill them? A human bomb?
Really?
What a pity. She was so young. So full of potential. So… unfairly targeted (in her opinion, anyway).
As the beeping sped up, she stood tall, head high and shoulders back.
"Well," she muttered. "At least die beautifully."
The explosion swallowed her in a wave of flame and fury.
Her last thought was simple.
Damn it all.
Somewhere between heaven and hell, Inés' soul floated.
Simmering with rage.
Just thinking about it made her itchy all over.
"Keh—! Can't breathe!"
She blinked—then realized she was strangling something small and fluffy in her death grip.
The creature's little legs kicked furiously.
"Oops. Sorry, little one," she muttered, loosening her fingers.
Little one?
Nyxiris twitched his ears.
He really wasn't going to bother with her anymore. This kind of person… really didn't know fear.
And if Inés could hear his thoughts?
She'd agree wholeheartedly.
She and fear had never met, and frankly, it wasn't in the cards for them to get acquainted.
"Like I said, I don't know you." Inés spoke up. She was very sure about this matter.
Nyxiris wriggled out of her grasp and leapt onto her shoulder, placing a small paw gently on her forehead.
Surprisingly, she felt it. A faint warmth seeped in, like a soft flicker of fire.
"And like I said," Nyxiris spoke coolly, "your soul is weak. You've sustained a fatal wound to it—causing your memories to fragment."
Inés blinked, thrown. "A wound to my soul…?"
She thought about it for a second. "I did get obliterated by a bomb," she admitted. "But my memories are still in one piece."
"Hah! Your little puny world-ending bomb couldn't even scratch a soul," Nyxiris snorted, shooting her a look full of contempt. "Hurting the body? Child's play. But a soul? That's a different game. The number of beings I met who can pull that off? Less than a handful."
He patted his chest. "Including me, of course."
Inés resisted the powerful urge to flick him off her shoulder.
This guy—would he die if he didn't brag?
She didn't even flinch when hearing this shocking news.
In her past life, adapting to disasters was her bread and butter — panic was just bad form in her line of work.
She raised a brow. "Let's just say you're right," she said, voice laced with disbelief. "But me getting defeated that badly? That just doesn't sound plausible."
Nyxiris visibly wobbled on her shoulder, grabbing onto her to steady himself. He nearly toppled off.
She was really hung up on that?
He'd just told her she might've lived an entire life before this one. That she had a soul wound. That they were soul-bound.
Forget the bomb. Forget reincarnation. Forget everything else.
This lunatic was stuck on the idea that she could lose a fight.
Truly not normal, this one.