“No one would ever expect to find it in a plain old jar. Seriously, look at it. There used to be strawberry Smuckers in it. It’s perfect.”

He couldn’t believe the suggestion. There was absolutely no way that he was about to store his soul in a dinky glass jar. For him, it came across as more than a little disrespectful. After all, it was his soul. The essence of everything he was and would become if he survived this.

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“There’s not really another choice.”

“You can’t ask me to put my soul — put me — in a jar.”

“It’s only for a bit. You know that, right?”

“Will it hurt?”

“Ever wonder what it would feel like to have a white-hot blade separate your skin from the muscle?”

Time was beyond short and the hunters would be there in minutes, if not seconds, but he could not rush this decision. It was now, on this crimson sky afternoon, that his choice would decide if there would be any future for humanity.

“There’s no other choice?”

“No other choice.”

“Give me the jar.”