Consider, if you can, that you are an immortal being tasked with one of the most important jobs in caring for the mortals; soul collection, and assignment. Now, imagine that you have done this job for a countless number of lifetimes. You know every detail of the work more than you know the cracks in your bones, or the spider that lives in your skull. Would be rather tedious, no?

Perhaps, it is simply that time, or someone has injected the idea into his head, but Death is rather tired of the mundane. Whatever brought the change about is, at this point, hardly worth mentioning. However, since the change…

A man awoke in a small room. It was dark, small, and damp. The walls, what could be seen of them, were stone, quite old. Other than a pair of torches, there was no light to be seen. They straddled an opening several feet in the air. As he gazed into the darkness, and attempted to get his bearings, a pair of eyes lit up in this opening.

A voice rattled in his brain, “You, mortal, are dead. However…”