He questioned himself. He had power over life and death, animation and rebirth. And yet he was feeling lonely.
Time passes like the wind blows; it also can't restore all wounds.
Death stood from the top of his castle, gazing at the Dead Lands below him. Could thousands of dead sentient beings be proper company? That was debatable to a wide extent. Most of them were stupid. He doubted half even knew who he was.
And yet it was that fact that stung so hard. The mere ideal that a civilization, albeit that of the Dead, could exist and not know who led them, who was the reason they walked once more. That there was an all powerful deity who stood on a high castle of light.
Truly that was ironic. It was an odd choice, but it really did stand out among the gloomy wasteland.
He had his own Zen garden that he worked with, and it was nice.
It is somewhat unusual when you get the same dog two times down in the Dead Lands. First time he was retrieved by simply someone knowing Peppermint Butler. He was growing soft if that was all it took. Then Abraham Lincoln stepped in the second time to save him from a death that he'd caused in the first place.
Ah…Ignorant Citizens of Ooo, knowing so little about the past, how it was ruined by war and disease. Only with the help of the deities did it format into the place it was now.
Either way, what did he miss now? He had no loved ones. He wasn't without compassion, he had several close friends. And Rivals, at that.
Death and Hunson Abadeer's principals were so close, yet so different. They both believed that the living should be reanimated as the undead in an afterlife. But they had far varying ideas.
The Lord of the Nightosphere wanted them to be tormented, while Death simply wanted to keep them in his lands, as skeletal creations. Peaceful afterlife versus the Nightosphere.
Not to say that Death was peaceful.
"Ha!" Death chuckled as he competed with Hunson in Passage To Afterlife's. A place where Dead Deities competed, to get more souls into their world.
Abadeer growled at him, his eyes narrowing. He scooped a few stray souls into his portal, grumbling. Death kept pushing them in at a faster rate. Abadeer was getting tired, and old. But mostly old.
He was more successful than Abadeer, but that didn't seem to matter. He still felt empty….
Then he looked down and realized he was made of bones.
This was just a humorous thing to get me back into practice.