The God of Death

The voice, deep and ethereal, filled the shadowy plane.

"I am known by many names. The Shepherd of Shadows. The Dark One. The Guide of Souls. But you, Daron Lamb, may know me as the God of Death."

Daron's eyes widened, his knees buckled in shock and his body collapsed to the ground in reverence.

His mind struggled to comprehend the reality before him. A god, here, speaking directly to him. It defied all logic, yet deep within, he sensed the undeniable truth in the entity's words.

This can't be real, Daron thought, his heart pounding against his chest. Gods don't just appear to random teenagers.

But as he knelt there, trembling, he felt the weight of the deity's presence pressing down upon him. The air grew heavy, charged with an ancient power he never felt before.

"Rise, young magician," the God of Death commanded, his voice a whisper that echoed through Daron's very bones. "We have much to discuss."

Daron lifted his head, his green eyes wide with a mix of fear and wonder. He stood on shaky legs, his body feeling small and insignificant before the towering figure of shadows and smoke.

"Why..." Daron's voice cracked. He swallowed hard, then tried again.

"Why have you come to me?"

The God of Death tilted what appeared to be his head, a gesture that seemed almost amused.

"I have watched you, Daron. I sensed your pain, your grief, your desperate search for answers. And I believe we can help each other."

Help each other?

The thought sent a chill down Daron's spine. What could a god possibly want from him? His mind raced with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

The shadows around them pulsed, as if in response to Daron's question. The God of Death leaned forward, his form shifting and swirling like smoke caught in a breeze.

"I can grant you power, young magician. The strength to escape your dire situation, to uncover the truth about your parents' murder, to bring their killers to justice. All I ask in return is that you become my vessel in this world."

Daron's breath caught in his throat.

Become a vessel? For the God of Death himself?

The very idea was unthinkable, yet strangely alluring. Power to avenge his parents...

The God of Death seemed to sense his hesitation. The shadows around them grew thicker, pressing in like a physical weight.

"I offer you a chance, Daron Lamb. A chance to be more than you could ever become."

Daron's mind flashed to the stories he had heard of the Descent. The eight magicians who had become vessels, who had fought against the God of Chaos and saved humanity. Their names were legends, their deeds the stuff of myth.

Could I be like them?

A thrill of excitement mingling with the fear in his gut.

But there was more to the story, he knew. The vessels had paid a price for their power. Some said they had lost their humanity, becoming little more than hollow tools for the gods they served.

Is that what awaits me, if I accept?

The God of Death loomed over him, shadows swirling in hypnotic patterns.

Watching. Waiting.

Daron's mouth felt dry, his tongue heavy as lead.

"Before I accept, I need to know... what strings are attached to this offer? What would becoming your vessel entail?"

The God of Death's ethereal form shifted, shadows coalescing into a more humanoid shape. Its voice was a whisper, yet it filled Daron's mind.

"A fair question, young one. As my vessel, you would wield a fraction of my power."

Daron's heart pounded in his ears.

"But will I still be... me?"

A deep chuckle, dark and rich, echoed through the void. 

"Your consciousness, your will, will remain your own, but forever bound to me, your life tied to my essence."

Daron's brow furrowed, trying to comprehend the concept. "So, I would be immortal?"

"In a sense," the God of Death replied, its tone almost amused. "Your soul will be, not your body. But should I choose to withdraw my power, or should you stray from the path I set before you..."

The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air, and Daron felt a chill run down his spine.

To be bound to a god, was it better than to be tortured? Only a resounding Yes! came to his mind.

"And what path would that be?"

The ethereal figure leaned closer, its form towering over Daron. "You will learn once you accept."

The god remained cryptic. There was something it tried to conceal.

The shadows around them pulsed.

"The truth is rarely a simple thing, young one. But I promise I do not mean you any harm. I have my own interests, so do you. We will help each other… A symbiosis, if you will."

Daron closed his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. This could be his way out of the misery, the way out of the pain. He could get his revenge… The temptation was overwhelming, the promise of power almost too much to resist.

He opened his eyes, meeting the God of Death's gaze once more. The darkness seemed to swirl within those fathomless depths which appeared to be its eyes.

I have to, Daron thought, his jaw clenching with determination. I have to find the ones responsible for their death, our pain… my pain.

He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he faced the God of Death.

"I accept your offer," this time with a steady voice despite the fear and anticipation churning in his gut. "I will become your vessel."

The smoke parted ways, the god seemed to smile. A terrifying, yet strangely beautiful sight.

"Then let the pact be sealed," the god exclaimed, its voice rolling like thunder through the void. 

The swirling black smoke and shadows that made up the gods body intensified, becoming faster, condensing before Daron into what appeared to be a giant hand. With a shaky hand, Daron reached out towards the shadowy limb, his heart racing.

As his fingers brushed against the dark smoke, the giant hand suddenly closed around him, engulfing him in its grasp and filling him with an overwhelming sense of dread. Every inch of his body seemed to be consumed by the darkness, he could feel its cold, eerie energy coursing through him.

As the shadows surrounded Daron, the air grew frigid, biting at his skin with an unnatural chill. The void around them seemed to pulse with a newfound intensity, as if responding to the sealing of their accord. The black mirror he stood on sent ripples through the plane, like drops of water on a still lake.

The God of Death's voice echoed in his mind, a whisper that reverberated through his very being. 

"You have made a wise choice, Daron Lamb," it said, its tone both haunting and strangely comforting.

The god's powerful presence seemed to fill every inch of the space, its essence pulsating and causing the shadows around them to thicken and swirl with an almost tangible energy.

"Do not fear the path that lies ahead."