Kevin Durant was not happy with how his season had ended. Squandering a 3-1 series lead against the Warriors had left a foul taste in his mouth. He hoped that, in visiting the man responsible for the Thunder’s loss, he could move on from it.
In the form he had just taken, the universal axioms defining the behavior of matter no longer applied. In violation of those basic scientific precepts, he floated effortlessly thousands of feet above the ground, invisible to all but himself and others of his kind, of which there were few. In just seconds, he arrived at the abode of his target.
Kevin lowered himself to the ground and retook his human form. Glancing around to make sure he hadn’t been noticed, he rung the doorbell and waited patiently. His ability to see through and beyond the material world had informed him that his target was currently occupied with a bowl of breakfast cereal and would need a minute to get to the door.
Finally, the door opened and Russell Westbrook’s surprised face appeared in the doorway. “Kevin! I wasn’t expecting you, man.”
“Nobody expects a visit from the Slim Reaper,” Kevin deadpanned.
Russell interpreted this terrifying pronouncement as a joke. “Haha. Yeah. Wait, where’s your car?” Russell was leaning around Kevin, looking puzzledly at the empty driveway.
“I didn’t need it,” Kevin answered simply. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah, man. You’re always welcome at Casa de Westbrook. I was just finishing up breakfast.”
“I know,” Kevin answered, following his teammate into the breakfast nook. The simmering hatred he felt for this man was beginning to boil over, and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep up his friendly appearances.
“You want something to eat?” Russell asked.
Kevin felt a twinge of irritation, separate from the hate, that his human form was still encumbered by a requirement for regular food intake. “Nah, I’m good. I just wanted to talk about how we lost to the Warriors.”
Russell sat down at his place and munched on his cereal. “I know, man. I can’t stop thinking about it. We were just one win away from the finals! It’s driving me crazy.”
“It would drive me crazy too if it was my fault that we lost,” Kevin said coldly. “Luckily, it was your fault, not mine, and I’m not going crazy; in fact, the loss has led me to make perhaps the most rational decision of my life.”
Ignoring momentarily the attack on his basketball skills, Russell exclaimed, “You’re not leaving OKC?”
“No,” Kevin answered, raising his arms to the required position. “I’m going to reap your soul.”
Russell started to react in confusion, but he abruptly stopped moving or talking when his soul was separated from his body. The gleaming silver cloud that represented Russell’s emotions and personality lifted slowly from his chest and floated over to where Kevin was standing. Kevin placed the soul in his soul-chamber to be consumed later.
“It’s my team now,” Kevin whispered. The zombie-like Russell did not respond in any way other than to automatically begin spooning cereal into his mouth while staring straight ahead. Kevin laughed, then vanished and disappeared.
—
Now Kevin floated just above the rooftop of another home. His next victim would not be allowed such pleasantries as a ring of a doorbell. Kevin passed through the roof effortlessly and located the target sitting on his sofa, composing a text message on his phone.
Kevin materialized dramatically in front of Kobe Bryant, but, to Kevin’s moderate disappointment, Kobe did not react in surprise. Instead, he acted as if he had been expecting something like this.
“I’m here to reap your soul,” Kevin announced. “Your killer instinct and unrivaled basketball talents will aid me greatly in my goal of winning a championship.”
“You should reconsider,” Kobe replied calmly. “Reaping my soul may not be as wise as you predict.”
“Silence, you pitiful human,” Kevin snarled. “You know nothing of my craft.” He raised his arms and began to mutter the ritual incantation that would facilitate the sundering of soul and body. However, he felt an unseen barrier between his own soul-taking powers and the soul of his target, as if Kobe’s soul was locked in some inaccessible place. Frustrated, he redoubled his efforts, but still made no progress.
Kobe laughed. “I know more of your craft than you think, for I am like you. I, too, am a Soul-Reaper.”
Slowly lowering his arms, Kevin could only muster a weak, “Really?”
“Yes. As you know, those of our kind possess no soul of their own; instead, we are damned to reap the souls of others for all time. That is why your attempt failed.”
Kevin now realized how Kobe had managed to accrue so many positive traits for basketball. “Join me,” he offered, suddenly. “Combined, we might be able to vanquish the largest target of all, the one that neither of us has dared to pursue.”
Kobe nodded once and stood up from his sofa. “I will join you. MJ won’t stand a chance.”