"The world, as you all know it, didn't exist. Everything was nothing, and that nothing was nonexistent. There were no moons, no stars, no suns—nothing. Time didn't exist, and neither did life nor death. Then, from the static darkness glazing everything, there came an explosion—abruptly an unusual being materialized, wafting inside of the blackness. This being is called Sabaru: The Creator of All. Seeing all the darkness and lifelessness of reality, Sabaru rocked his head and professed: From where darkness hithered, life shall follow."

"So with a wave of his mighty hand, Sabaru conjured the original god: The God of Life. Just after the God of Life came into existence did he bow down and worship his maker. So the God of Life said: Whatever the Almighty Father pleases, I shall pursue. With these words being expressed with goodwill, the Creator of All ordered that the God of Life was to produce planets, cosmos, comets, and all life forms. With these words, the God of Life immediately went to work to fulfill his father's requests, establishing the ground from where life could be developed. However, there was one obstacle—life couldn't remain forever if there was no light to guide their way. So the Creator of All agreed and with a wave of both of his hands came the God of the Moon and the God of the Sun. Without a second to lose did both of the gods supply the unfilled areas of the universe with moons and stars. Once life attained its own moons and suns, did life prosper; feeding off of their energy and light with satisfaction."

"Yet even with the moons, suns, and life by creation's side, they didn't flourish. They didn't propagate or expand. So with another murmur in the Creator of All's ear did he wave his potent hand—and out came the God of Nature. With the presence of care of kindness the God of Nature beamed down to the ground and took their first step—and with that first step mountains and flowers, trees and rivers, volcanoes and fruit—they all sprang forth from the ground and rose fruitfully without displaying signs of ceasing. For a while, all was favorable—that was, until the God of Life recognized that all of his creations—like the birds and the fishes—stopped trying to survive. They avoided being who they were and, one by one, did they battle with one another. Yet as none of them knew of death, none of them ceased their actions; and so the gods were fixed with seeing their cherished creations discard blood one after the other without demonstrating signs of halting. With the tenderness for their creations deep in their hearts, all the gods pleaded for the Creator of All to build a new being capable enough to stop the madness."

"As the Creator of All watched his precious offsprings plead day and night for this did the Creator of All subsequently favor their prayers. With a hesitant wave of his hand out surged darkness like never before; and for the first time, did any of the gods know what genuine fear was. Like a plague, the new God of Death sailed across the lands and slaughtered without prejudice. Young, old, smart, dull—none of this affected anything to the God of Death, as he knew no distinction. And so he slew whenever he regarded their time was served. Once the deaths were eventually producing significant progress in decreasing the hysteria that expanded throughout their creations did the gods finally relaxed and looked upon the God of Death as a grim equal. Now all of creation knew how precious and limited life was, and now they wished to uphold and cherish every second. No longer did they dance around madly with no regret or consideration for others, for they now saw the delicacy of life and appreciated it much more."

"So, this is how the cycle of life has been circulating since the dawn of time. And now you are to take the original god's places as their position in existence. So, as the respected God of Death wished to have it; his successor shall collect a hold on their position in existence first." Following as Birth Mother's attention was brought over to him, Azrail gulped, somewhat alarmed by her presence as he was cautious to accept whatever demand Birth Mother was choosing for him.

Though he already knew that he couldn't say no.

"Azrail; since childbirth did you have death on your brow, and since birth has the God of Death been observing you; priming you to become a true God of Death. You regard everyone as equals and hold no ties to no one, for you cherish very little, yet hold enough understanding for others to not view them as meaningless. You recognize the importance in life yet know with an open mind that it won't last forever. Now, you are to bear the weapon of Death and let it remodel itself to become who you are. You will hold the conclusion of every existence on your shoulders, and you will be the decider of every story ending. You determine the outcome of history. Now—come and follow your destiny." Receiving stares, his body stiffened, unsure if he preferred to go where Birth Mother lay.

With a restless sigh, Birth Mother twirled her hand, this producing a gush of air to force him forward. With a flustered face, Azrail unwillingly surrendered for her intentions as he let himself be moved by the wind. Now standing in front of her, Azrail observed as the ground in front of him took up and away from Birth Mother, a staircase being formed as it whirled around the base of the freshly constructed landscape. Feeling the expectant eyes of everyone on him, Azrail turned his head to the left and peered cautiously at Yeong-Hui, who in turn gave him a heartening smile.

Knowing that he had little choice, Azrail drew in a sharp breath and blew it out shakily. Stepping up the hovering staircase, Azrail summoned his finest deadpan face, struggling not to show uneasiness in his features or movements. He had to be relaxed and collected; unsympathetic of the scene before him, as if it was just another day in the playground.

But it wasn't. That was what made him even more nervous.

As he took the last step, Azrail glanced up at the floating orb that was hovering over a narrow protruding base; the ground beneath it portraying the story that Birth Mother had recently informed everyone of. Taking a minute to calm his nerves, Azrail peered down at the ground for a second, taking in the story of the present God of Death. Once he was to retire, would his legacy as the God of Death be presented there as well?

Only time could tell.

Walking closer to the floating sphere, Azrail felt surprisingly calm. It was as if something had come over him, soothing his nerves, muttering in his heart that everything was going to be okay and that even though he didn't wish to become the next God of Death, this was what was best for him. Was this really what was best for him? He didn't know.

Silence halted the once vigorous hall, with even the birds no longer presenting their lustrous wings or serenading their captivating songs. Everything was still; impatiently patient as they waited for Azrail to go to the ball and touch it.

"Touch the ball. Everything should unravel from there." Not offering much heed to the advice of Birth Mother, Azrail shuffled closer to the ball and stood before it, looking down at its hollow outer features as only grey glazed the exterior.

This was it. Just touch the ball and everything will be okay. You were educated for his moment, Azrail. This is what he kept on telling himself. Yet he felt as if this wasn't right. Like this wasn't his purpose in the afterlife, or during life!

Yet whether or not it was out of foolishness or anonymous courage, Azrail hastily placed his hand on top of the ball, anticipating for the worst. While Azrail lingered for an explosion to happen, he was cheerfully astonished when he witnessed that instead of an outburst the ball instead enlarged, this creating a gaping hole in the middle as it was now just a circle with no filled middle.

To him, it looked like an extravagant donut.

Chuckling at the thought Azrail's eyes enlarged as he saw the ball stick to his hand before converting into a staff taller than himself, black painting its exterior as a withered willow tree popped up on the top, its lifeless twigs swinging side-by-side as tear-shaped diamonds hung from the end. The roots of the dead willow tree twirled around the staff until near the end before being cut off by a small sphere diamond.

Once he seized his staff, Azrail was uncertain of what to do. Either that was because he didn't dare think, or that he was too occupied with the delicacy of the staff. Even though it was a clear representation of death, Azrail found there a peculiar charm to it. And the willow tree... that was his grandfather's.

"I am Azrail. Your master." These words slithered from his tongue without a second thought. To him, it felt right to affirm this; it was like he knew what to do next. While he was praising the refinement of his new staff, Azrail neglected the insufferable agony coursing through his veins as his entire body developed from the inside, discarding anything that would bring an produce an inconvenience. First, his blood was taken away, then his heart, then his organs, and then everything else that no one could see from the front.

Only when he felt a chill breeze pass across his skin did he look away from his staff and down into his clothes. And just when he glanced down did he silently withdraw back in shock.

A flowing long skirt covered his legs with a slit on the right end of the skirt revealing his right leg showed, the color being a midnight black as little clocks were trimmed with gold on the hem, glittering lightly under the ethereal sun. There was a more revealing skirt with only two pieces—one in the front and one on the back—colored a lilac purple embroidered with an hourglass on both sides. A silver tear-dropped chain dangled on his hips, rattling against each other, sounding a somber tone. Down on his feet he wore gladiator sandals tinted black with gold trimmings that encircled up to his kneecaps. He wore gloves on his hands, reaching up to his elbow with only his four longer fingers, leaving his thumb exposed. On both the right and left shoulder was an attached pitch black cape that was draped over his shoulder, enclosing half of his body. His chest was exposed along with his abdomen displaying a silver tear-shaped necklace swinging next to the claw-like attachments resting on his chest. On top of his hair was a black halo crown with jutting out spikes, one more extensive than the other. On his shoulders were silver shoulder-blades that were linked with his cape, with the shoulder-blades encircling around his neck protecting his skin.

With his new attire, new body, and new power, Azrail could only ogle at his appearance on the pond next to him in astonishment.

I, Azrail, have actually become the God of Death.