Kurt swallowed hard as the Reaper stepped halfway into the sigil. Almost there.
She needed to be fully inside it, just one more step, but she'd stopped, tapping the edge of her sickle with black manicured nails in a rhythm that made his skin crawl.
So he had to do what he did second best: keep talking.
"Alright." Kurt raised his hands slowly, stepping directly in front of the sigil's opposite edge where the trap would snap shut. "You win. No point running anymore, is there?"
He gestured at his friends suspended in mid-air, their bodies slowly withering under the black aura. "But please, let them go. They've got nothing to do with this. It's me you want."
The Reaper tilted her head, studying him like he was a particularly interesting insect. "Kurt, you don't really get to make requests now." Her voice carried a hint of amusement. "Perhaps they'll experience the beauty of death alongside you. Wouldn't that be poetic?"
