3_Sins_Studios

Life from birth has been nothing but hell. I lost my parents to some stupid aristocrats whom they offended. Executed for no good reason.

My relatives abandoned me and pushed me aside. They feared for their lives and left me and my sister to starve and wander the streets alone!

No, this is worse than hell!

I watched my sister die of starvation. Her lips were dry and her feet bloody. Her nails were broken and her fingers riddled with cuts. She struggled in my hands and after a few seconds of struggle she passed away. She seemed joyful in death so I prayed mine will come just as swift and merciful as hers.

So I stayed in the alleyway, alone with her rotten corpse awaiting my fate for God knows how long. I could see it already. The darkness encroaching from all sides

Everyone said death is scary but I say it's the end! Who needs life after death? What is the need for reincarnation?

Who would want to return to this crazy world?

"It's not yet time for you to go... You have one more task to accomplish as my host" A voice called out to me.

I could barely see or speak but how can I miss such a beautiful face? It was an extremely handsome man who gazed at me with tender eyes.

"Haven't I suffered enough? Can't I just rest?" I cried out. Why would I want to stay back in such a cruel world?

"Don't you want to avenge the death of your parents? Don't you want to become something greater? I can make that happen!" The beautiful man said with an alluring voice.

"You... Who are you?" I asked with an anxious heart.

My parents always said God is the only one who cares about me! Maybe in my final hours, he has come to save me.

"Call me Death..."

Paragon of Death

In the dimly lit chamber, Derek sat in a meditative posture, a stark contrast against the dark folds of his robes. His bony frame, draped in black, seemed almost ethereal against the backdrop of swirling souls. The wind danced around him, causing his long black hair to flutter ominously. His pale skin, deadly in its hue, clung tightly to his form.

As his sunken eyes remained shut, a furrow formed on his brow, a telltale sign of the torment plaguing his being. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, a violent cough wracking his fragile frame. A mouthful of blood spilled forth, his body convulsing in a futile attempt to expel the agony.

Todo, Mozan, and Kathrine stood at a cautious distance, observing Derek's plight with growing concern. Each of them, fueled by worry, instinctively moved forward, their hearts aching to aid their leader. However, Derek raised a trembling hand, halting their advance, his weakened voice a mere whisper, urging them not to intervene.

Truth behind the massacre