The weight of exhaustion settled upon Devereaux like an oppressive shroud as he flew wearily back home. It had been an arduous day, filled with the grim tasks of collecting misplaced souls, sorting them to hell or heaven as he escorted those that did not fit either with him home.

The long journeys back and forth between the fiery pits of this damnation and the mortal realm had taken a toll on his once-majestic wings, leaving them sore and aching. He glided through the smoky air. The cobbled alleyway snaked below him like a serpentine path of despair.

The Land of Shadows, or the port between life and death that humans named it as Life Beyond , akin to the idea of the underworld in various cultures, was inhabited by individuals without prominent souls: those whose life stories ended in infamy, and those who had been wrongly murdered.

Here, they faced the consequences of their actions or awaited justice for the wrongs done to them in life. Only when their attachments, particularly the unresolved injustices, were rectified could they find passage to the afterlife, whether that meant reincarnation or ascending to a higher plane of existence.

Those lost beings were lying on either side, boring the visible scars of their defiance, their torn rags revealing deep claw marks—a testament to their futile rebellion against the laws of humanity and nature.

Devereaux couldn't help but emit a bitter chuckle, which, in his current bird-like form, sounded just like a harsh croak. It mixed with the hollow echoes of torment and suffering that permeated this liminal space between the worlds of the living and the deceased—a stark reminder of how misguided humans could be in their belief that they had any power to challenge the order of things.

He had once been one of the ignorant masses. But now that he was no longer there it didn't make things feel any better. It was all a consequence of his own merciless behaviour during his human life, mirroring the cruelty he had once imposed upon others. He had been equally unforgiving and unrelenting as a human. And now, as the Deity of Death, he was forever trapped between the living and the departed, a ceaseless sentinel at the crossroads of existence.

Descending further into the abyss, Devereaux navigated through the dense forest, where eerie wisps of smoke danced through the gnarled trees, their ghostly forms illuminated by the crackling of fire. The air was heavy with the scent of sulphur and brimstone, the very essence of malevolence clinging to every breath. The infernal flames cast a macabre glow, casting flickering shadows upon the twisted creatures that lurked within.

Finally, he was at the entrance of his abode, the gateway to his sanctuary amidst the chaos. The heavy stone walls of his dwelling shimmered with a celestial radiance, adorned with intricate patterns that glowed with an otherworldly luminescence.

Beyond the torment and desolation of hell, tucked away in a secluded corner, stood Devereaux's abode-a place that seemed to have been plucked straight from the realm of heaven itself. As Devereaux approached the entrance, the darkness of the underworld gradually gave way to a scene of breathtaking splendour.

The massive doors, adorned with intricate carvings of celestial beings and divine symbols, creaked open, revealing the magnificent interior. A warm, golden light spilled out, illuminating the hallway with a soft radiance. The air was scented with delicate notes of jasmine and lavender, offering a stark contrast to the acrid stench that pervaded the outside world.

Inside, the grand hall stretched far and wide, its high vaulted ceiling disappearing into a haze of opulent clouds that danced with ethereal hues. Rays of celestial light filtered through stained glass windows, casting vibrant patterns across the polished marble floors. Delicate chandeliers, adorned with countless crystals, shimmered overhead, casting a gentle glow that bathed the hall in a celestial embrace.

He crossed the threshold into his celestial abode, the stark contrast between the grand hall's heavenly beauty and the infernal world outside became all the more striking. It was a testament to the intricate duality of his existence-the constant dance between light and darkness, heaven and hell, that defined his being.

The walls of the hall were adorned with ornate tapestries depicting scenes of all the seven realms. Each thread seemed to capture the essence of gore or grace respectively, the vibrant colours and intricate details bringing the stories to life. Marble columns, intricately sculpted with motifs, lined the sides of the hall.

At the heart of the hall, a resplendent fountain gushed forth crystal-clear water, its shimmering surface reflecting the surrounding beauty. The water cascaded down intricately carved demonic figures, their fangs and talons fierce as real. Soft ripples danced upon the water surface, whispering secrets of seven rings of hell.

The space was adorned with a comfortable velvet couch and plush bean bags, inviting guests to relax and revel in the celestial ambiance. Exquisite artwork and rare artefacts lined the walls, each holding its own story of divine origins and cosmic significance.

A symphony of celestial music filled the air, its melodious notes carrying a sense of tranquillity and awe. Harmonious voices intertwined, creating a chorus that resonated with harmony. The echoes of their ethereal melodies reverberated through the grand hall, reaching every corner and stirring the depths of one's soul.

Within this sanctuary, Devereaux found solace-a respite from the darkness and chaos that ruled his realm. It was a home where he could bask in the remnants of heavenly grandeur, surrounded by the delicate remnants of a paradise lost.

Devereaux morphed from his raven form to his human-like guise. Feathers moulted and dispersed into the void, transforming into pale, luminescent particles that gently embraced his figure. The darkness of his feathers faded, replaced by the smooth, alabaster skin of a celestial being. His raven-black locks formed about his nape, and his piercing obsidian eyes shifted into a soft, radiant hue of blue.

With a graceful descent, he landed on the pristine white tiles of the hall, his presence exuding an air of authority as he strode along the path, each step resonating with power and purpose. The denizens of hell paused in their activities, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear and awe as they recognized the Dark Lord. A subtle smile curled on Devereaux's lips as he absorbed their reactions.

It just did not last long.

"Gross," Devereaux recoiled in disgust, crinkling his nose.

Before him, on his plush, velvet-covered couch, sat a familiar creature. Its ivory fur was stained with blood, and it held a grotesque limb in its veiny hand, suspended in mid-air. The stark contrast between the creature's gruesome feast and the opulent surroundings of Devereaux's sanctuary was jarring.

"Gross? My Lord, this is my brunch!" The creature protested, seemingly very offended by its pal's attitude.

"I don't give a damn, just clean up after yourself. I will not tolerate a single drop of blood, a speck of skin, or bone within these walls. You surely will meet your end on the spot," Devereaux warned.

"Excuse you! I'm already dead," the creature retorted, its voice dripping with insolence.

The metallic scent of blood filled the air, adding to Devereaux's growing sense of revulsion. He made his way past the couch delicately, mostly on his toes. Reluctantly, he settled into a beanbag placed on the opposite side of the room, which he saw as the farthest he could stay from the creature's blood-soaked indulgence.

Among the myriad beings who feared Devereaux, there were a select few who did not. The creature feasting in his hall was one such exception.

So, Devereaux Severan, how's it going?" The creature's voice slithered through the air like a serpent, its eyes gleaming with mischief.

"What?" Devereaux replied absentmindedly, engrossed in his own thoughts, fumbling with a button on his attire.

"Stalking that human girl," the creature commented, pausing its feast momentarily to wipe its many-toothed mouth. He met Devereaux's amber eyes with a knowing stare.

"I'm not stalking anyone. She just happened to be where I go," Devereaux replied, sounding nonchalant and still very much occupied with a stubborn button that refused to come off without ripping the fine fabric of his attire.

"Given the fact that I'm Death and I could be anywhere, it's only natural we cross paths." He added as he made a mental note to have a word with her seamstress about her horrible sewing skills.

"Oh ho, I see. Saw her at the alley down by the bookstore tonight. Quite the coincidence."

The creature's statement made the Dark Lord look up from his button. "I don't like stalkers, you know?" His tone was passive as he met the creature dead in the eye.

"In my defence, I'm a messenger. I too would have to be anywhere, anytime when I have a message to deliver to Death." The creature shrugged.

"You have a message?"

"Indeed. I brought you a missive from Lady Moira," the creature taunted—its hairy brows wiggled in excitement.

"Lady Moira?" Devereaux's curiosity piqued.

"Mhm."

The creature began rummaging through its thick, white coat, pulling out an odd assortment of objects—a bird skull, bones of unknown origin, bird feathers, a blue ink bottle, and a crystal ball.

"What message could the Lady of Fate be sending my way?" Devereaux grew sceptical.

"Your next big assignment?"

"I thought she said I could take a break."

"Something urgent I suppose. It's a bit messy in the council. Saw Lady Nova storming out the Aether Hall the other day, smoking like a burning ghost pepper."

"It's only been two years. She promised me a break," Devereaux pouted.

He really had planned a lot for his five years vacation which Moira had promised him for the completion of his nine thousand nine hundred and ninety ninth assignment.

Finally, after searching deep and almost shedding its hairy skin out, the creature fished out an aged parchment, browned by time and neatly rolled and tied with a small red ribbon in the middle. It offered the parchment to the Dark Lord.

Devereaux reluctantly took it from the creature and slowly eased the ribbon off. The parchment unrolled onto his lap. The creature's eyes sparkled with mischief, as if relishing the dance of fate unfolding before them. It playfully twirled the bloodied limb it had not yet abandoned, in the air.

Written in golden letters on the old parchment, just as the creature had assumed, was his last assignment. His eyes scan over the cursives, once, twice, and a very brief thrice.

'Looking forward to successful completion. With love, Lady Moira.' The letter ended just like that.

Random facts from different mythologies and cultures:

Charon (Greek Mythology): Charon is the ferryman of Hades who transports souls across the river Styx to the underworld. He is often depicted as a grim figure, and souls must pay him with a coin for passage, traditionally placed in the mouth of the deceased.