He wasn’t the only soul hunter, but he was the only soul hunter in the Tobin County. Clad in a white fabric, which was wrapped around his burly physique like a shroud, he stood outside Batty’s (most popular pub of the Tobin County); he wasn’t invisible but no one could see him, no one alive could. Volk, as Yenwe, the lord of souls, would call him; was one of the oldest soul hunters serving the lord; so old that he would sit at the same table for supper as the Ancients, the elite race of soul hunters, would. That day, he waited patiently for one Robbie Jack, a man who’d murdered an old couple and had got away with it; the moment Robbie would step out of the pub; Volk would hunt his soul.
The shrill creak of Batty’s rotting wooden door, told Volk that his ‘game’ was out under the night sky. Volk squeezed his eyes, at the sight of Robbie Jack, as he felt an urge to drag his soul out of his pygmy mortal body.
The bullet that hit Robbie’s skull, didn’t take long to kill the murderer; but it freed his soul from the clutches of his mortal self, too. Volk stared, in disbelief, at the lifeless dummy of the man, which lay before him; he didn’t know where the bullet came from but he did know that Robbie’s soul had escaped.
‘The soul travels fast,’ thought Volk, ‘It could be anywhere by now’; he then began walking down the road; each step he took expressed his flair for gait. Soon he was walking behind a drunken man; that man had just shot Robbie Jack.
“I’ll have to take your soul son ‘cause you’re the one who killed Robbie. Now your soul would tell me, where his soul is…that’s how it works pal, nothin’ personal,” whispered Volk.
And Volk knew, that day he’d take Robbie’s soul to Yenwe; the shooter’s soul, didn’t count though, so it could serve Volk.