Once out of his bath, Azrail settled on his lavish bed with a velvet bathrobe bundled liberally around his graceful figure, his frail fingers tapping against a golden slab with crooked writing engraved on its glossy exterior. Gracing his index finger over the first word, Azrail sighed and rolled over, his exhausted gaze nonchalantly studying the sculpted ceilings as the shining slab lay next to his head, glistening with the limited glow that the night moon provided.

From what Azrail could remember; once he had gotten out of his bath, a flying creature floated up to him bearing a golden slab in its hands and presented it to him, notifying him that this is what would help him in carrying out his job as the new God of Death. Soon after delivering the blunt description, the flying creature disappeared, leaving a befuddled Azrail standing on the balcony ground with a massive golden item in his hands.

The floating creature notified him that on this slab was printed what he had to do and how he had to do it, leaving no room for misinterpreting anywhere. Or, at least, that is what the individual had thought. Contrary to the creature's belief, Azrail didn't know what to do because the sloppy handwriting was incomprehensible with the loops and swirls all being in one chaotic disharmony with one other, making it impossible to make out the writing.

Azrail wasn't even certain if it was composed in a dialect that he could decipher. Perhaps the flying fellow he had met an hour ago had lied to him. Groaning, Azrail buried his face with his hands, restless to start his job but uncertain of how to do it. If only the previous God of Death had proper handwriting!

What about all the souls awaiting to be reaped? What will happen now if he doesn't do his job on time? The entire world would go into turmoil more than it already was! The more Azrail thought about the possibilities, the more emboldened he was to learn the mystifying handwriting—but all of that went down under when not even Kallias could discern it.

"Who taught that blasted God of Death to write? I believe not even he could read his own handwriting with how misplaced it was! Though it may appear fascinating and dignified with each stroke uttering words of caution through this piece of stone—what good is all of that if it could only be heard!" Binding out of his bed Azrail wrapped his bathrobe closer to his body and trudged down the halls, a fixed yet angered look on his superbly chiseled face.

Quickly catching up to his god as he ran close behind him, Kallias grew worried. What was his god to do now?

Bearing his staff and golden slab in one hand each, Azrail stalked out of his castle and halted before the silver gates, his eyes steely and intense as he glared up at the starry sky. How dare the past God of Death leave him with such foolishness! You would suppose that if someone was to leave another in their place to handle with the resentments and weeping of others that they would at least consider lighting up their burdens—but no! For Azrail, that was not the case.

Striking down his staff upon the ground, Kallias watched as he observed his god plunge into the ground, sucking him wholly before closing once more, not even leaving a speck of his presence behind. As he was given no orders to follow or stay, Kallias simply remained where he was, not even daring to blink as he only peered down at where his god had last stood.

Oh, what kind of ruckus will his god stir? Whatever it was, Kallias was positive that he would encourage and uphold his god's plan, no matter how ludicrous or foolish it was. How could it be nonsensical or even ludicrous when it was the God of Death himself?

Upon meeting solid ground, Azrail squandered no time as he stormed throughout the black dimension, his vision as sharp as ever as he knew from where he used to be and from where he was then going; this perplexed him for a split second before he hastily recovered his stony face, hands grasping the two objects strongly as he proceeded with his route.

Glowering at how serene it was, Azrail ceased his steps, not preferring to go any further as he noticed that someone familiar was drawing closer from where he stood.

"What is it, oh powerful and benevolent God of Death? Come here to settle scores with me now that I'm helpless and you're powerful? Please, go-Hep!" Seizing the previous God of Death by his cloak, Azrail glared down at the figure, not even troubling to withdraw his hood.

"Do you know what this is?" Showing the previous God of Death the golden slab, the man relaxed down under his iron grip and chortled; his shoulders now drooped as he only swiveled around whilst he was held by Azrail's grip.

"Yeah, made that yesterday. Just for you, too. Was made to help you with becoming the next God of Death; and since I am now on vacation, I may not support you in doing your job in no more than I am obligated." Answering his question with a breezy tone, the previous God of Death yawned, already wishing to go back to his sauna.

This answer only further vexed Azrail, already too done with the casualness of the man.

"Well, you surely did an awful job of that! Who can ever read this! You drag me down here when I was predicting the generous release of eternal loneliness, only to become the very thing that I've been tormented to be all my life? You do all of this, yet, here it is—the only sort of aid that you will ever provide me being incomprehensible! It was as if it was created by a child! With no fingers!" Roughly letting go of him, Azrail 'tsked,' and walked away, the golden slab clenched solidly in his hand as he readied to strike down his staff.

Staring wearily up at the menacing figure, the previous God of Death became apprehensive.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

"Hold on—where are you going with that?" Peering over his shoulder, Azrail gave him a mocking grin. "I am going to bring this here abomination and present it to Birth Mother from where she will chastise you for not implementing the sufficient aid I desired in my ruling as the new God of Death."

He was stunned.

Quickly getting up to his feet, he floated over towards Azrail and kneeled before him, his expression imperceptible, with the only observable sign of any reaction being his shaking figure. "Listen, Azrail—that's just sloppy handwriting! It's nothing to go quibbling over to Birth Mother for! Come on, this is all just so childish-"

"Is the fact that you wrecked my life and slaughtered off everyone that I loved just for the benefit of you living the rest of eternity stress-free childish? You yanked me here and made me become someone I never wished to become—and I had no choice but to play along and all that was asked of you was to provide me with sufficient advice in aiding me into becoming a decent God of Death, only for you not even able to do that right, now attempting to leave me alone while I grapple to govern the dead—tell me, does that seem childish to you? That I'm complaining?" Even when Azrail didn't stare into the previous God of Death's eyes, it was already apparent that he was angered beyond belief; which alarmed the previous God of Death greatly.

"Look, all I wish is for you to help me with a job I had little choice but to accept. You should already know that your handwriting is troublesome to read, yet you still gave this to me, anyway. Haven't you already done enough prejudice for me already?" Silence smothered the two as Azrail stood there, unsympathetic that the previous God of Death was clasping strongly to his silk robes.

After mulling over what Azrail said, the previous God of Death sighed in defeat and let go of his clothing, now staring up at Azrail with a slightly remorseful expression. "I'm sorry, God of Death—wow, that sounds weird, huh? Anyway, I am very much resentful of what I had done, but I know nothing I say or do now could change any of that. So, I can only help you build a new direction slab and give you some things that you better help you." Receiving these words, Azrail pressed down his smile and turned around, his expression impassive as he merely just sneered down at him.

"Though I don't accept your apologies—I will, however, accept your offers." Following as the previous God of Death's body uncoiled lightly, Azrail became amused. This ex-god was more like a man-child than anything.

"Thank you, thank you, I will create a new one-"

"I will write the words down while you tell me them." Interrupting his speech, Azrail went to use the other side of the golden slab only for the ex-god to stop him. "You know, you can use your staff to establish a new golden slab, right? Of course, you can use your staff until you learn how to manipulate and use your capabilities without it. But as of right now, all you have to do is lay your head on the tip of your staff and what you wish for shall appear! Great for beginners, huh?" Avoiding his visible wish for praise—much to the ex-god's displeasure—Azrail did as he was told, and soon after did a golden slab appear on the floor, glowing vibrantly as it awaited for him to pick the silver quill that floated alongside it.

Grabbing the silver quill, the color soon altered into a periwinkle purple. Admiring its revolution for a few seconds, Azrail quickly sat down on the ground next to the ex-god and waited calmly for him to begin.

Suddenly becoming timid for an anonymous reason, the ex-god quickly recomposed his composure and began to resight the words that he had written on the original golden slab.

"Souls can be reaped without the use of the God of Death's presence, but only command..."

After a few minutes, everything that Azrail required was written precisely on the golden slab, its color fading down as discerned that it no longer had any more reason to tolerate for it to be written on.

Watching as Azrail was getting ready to depart, the ex-god quickly got up from where he sat and reached his hand out, calling out his name. Deliberately turning around to meet his gaze, Azrail tilted his head. "Yes?"

"Here," Pulling a bag rammed with objects the ex-god offered to him, his head bowed as he dared to not look into his eyes once more. Their position in existence is too broad that even he knew what to do.

"It's a few things that I've gathered over the years of being the God of Death. I presume it will prove convenient for you in coming times as it did for me." Feeling grateful for the kind token, Azrail didn't allow for it to go into his head as he only thought of it as the ex-god feeling repentant for his negligence.

Making the golden slab levitate, Azrail opened the bag somewhat and peered inside, only to see one cube, two keys, and a wide box.

"I promise you that all four things in there will help you in due time. And when the time is right, all four things will present themselves upon you and aid you better than I personally ever could." Inspecting the objects a little more, Azrail closed the purse and nodded his head while saying a gentle 'goodbye,' before he left.

Finally seeing his god appear before him Kallias kneeled on the ground and wept tears of relief, glad to see that his god appeared more satisfied than angered.

"My god, has everything been as the God of Death had hoped?"

Azrail smirked, his strides long and slow as Kallias followed close behind. "Well, let's just say that I will be guilt-tripping him more in future events."

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ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴅᴀʏ/ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ!

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