Witnessing people on their knees, beseeching for a final chance, their agonised screams resonating as they burned under the weight of their transgressions, brought a perverse thrill to Devereaux's darkened soul.

While the world saw him as a villain, he saw himself as the hero, his perspective a twisted kaleidoscope of morality but has anyone dared to question him?

In the realm of his existence, where grime was collected and sins were devoured, there were two immutable truths: one could evade anything, but not fate; and one could avoid everything, but not death. It was a mantra Devereaux Severan lived by.

Mercy was an alien concept to him, a word he had long abandoned. Justice, maybe not so much. Those who knew him, even if by name, dared not cross his path, irk his being—save for a select few souls who hailed from the same abyss.

And maybe also that one human girl he used to cherish; Ada Levessa Romersai.

The realm of the deceased who valued their continued existence held little appeal in enraging him. For even if their earthly remains lay six feet beneath the ground already, forever denied the warmth of the sun's gentle rays, they would find no solace in the plains of Life Beyond even in their spectral form.

After reducing that wretched soul , the Reaper who persistently evaded his grasp and the one job he was assigned to, to ashes, Devereaux relished in the satisfaction of his handiwork. A self-satisfied smile played upon his lips as he reminisced about the sheer terror that had gripped the woman's eyes; the so-called human mother of the Reaper whose impudent soul had sacrificed his life's worth of freedom and dreams.

Ruffling his midnight black hair, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. Clad in ebony The Dark Lord was the true embodiment of the adage 'looks can be deceiving.' Though cloaked in darkness, he defied conventional expectations. The absence of contrasting colours did nothing to diminish his graceful presence. Especially those eyes, their hues shifting like the ever-present hellfire.

The newly appointed servant, standing behind him holding his cloak, gazed at him in awe—as she should, of course. Sighing, he recalled his previous servants, who would have looked at him with the same reverent eyes every night as he dressed himself for work. A flicker of a smirk played upon his lips, knowing well that her gaze, laden with unspoken sins, could lead down a path of tantalising transgressions—ones from which redemption might forever elude her grasp. Humans, after all, have a penchant for the bizarrely forbidden.

He ensnared the cloak from the girl, with a motion that was both a caress and a claim, his touch lingering just a moment too long. His gaze, dark and fathomless, held a glint of otherworldly fire, as if he drew power from shadows unseen. The maiden stood transfixed, a shiver of foreboding tracing her spine, as he adorned himself with the night itself.

"Await my return. Tonight's reaping shouldn't take long." He winked, then turned to an ebony veil of smoke, he was gone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On the southern side of the peaceful town of Serenel, a woman clad in a green leather coat stood before a bustling pedestrian crossing, awaiting her impending doom. The city lights gleamed as usual in the wake of dusk and the city buzzed to its usual rhythm.

Three days had elapsed, yet she had been unsuccessful in persuading Death to grant her more time. She knew he would appear at any moment now. Had she not had any luck in reaching out to her children's father. 

She had somehow done as she was asked, writing away Alid and Masa to an orphanage and holding a proper service for her late son. Whether she'd done it out of repentance or in a desperate attempt to scrape her way to a lesser degree of damnation, she couldn't say. But Sara Silvery knew, though she'd never admit it to anyone, that she wasn't cut out for heaven—not when Death had come to her and threatened her with death.

Her face was unnaturally pale, a stark contrast to her surroundings but no one seemed to notice her restless feet tapping the ground, her teeth biting into her painted lower lip, or her darting eyes scanning the street ahead.

A discerning observer might notice her knuckles turning white as she clutched the branded pouch, holding it as if it were her lifeline. Her shimmering manicured nails incessantly scratched its intricate surface.

While concern for the children she was leaving behind might have preoccupied her mind, it was the elusive fortune beyond her grasp and the untapped power promised by her necromantic lover that dominated her thoughts. With a hard swallow, she summoned the depths of her bravery to forge ahead with her plan, even as the seeds of doubt about its success began to sprout.

"If I were you, I wouldn't do that," a raspy voice resonated in her ear, startling her. The person she had been expecting stood close, almost too close for comfort.

She swiftly surveyed her surroundings, aware of the people nearby, but none seemed to pay them any mind. Most were preoccupied with crossing the road, sparing only fleeting glances at her, not even a slightest of the notice of this man they conveyed.

"Well, well. Just be the obedient little thing you are and we'll be over with it fast," the voice breathed, as if reading her thoughts, emanating from behind her.

A chill ran down her spine, and even before she knew it she was running towards the oncoming traffic. Just when she thought it was a success her feet grew numb. It felt as if she was detached from her own limbs and she froze on the spot—right in the middle of a crosswalk on red light.

Her head snapped back and she caught sight of a cynical smirk. "Told ya I wouldn't have done that," the Death God whispered in her ear.

Desperate to return to solid ground, wanting to feel her feet back, she squeezed her eyes shut. All she could hear was the deafening boom that echoed in her ears and then the sound of her bones cracking.

Across the street, Death stood, relishing the sight of her soul writhing over her lifeless body sprawled in the middle of the road, a pool of crimson seeping from her cracked skull. Triumph etched upon his face, for he had finally been granted the opportunity to mete out his punishment as he saw fit.

Greed was a quality he detested with every fibre of his being, for it was one of the many reasons for his existence. And today, this woman was tequila for his thirst, for greed was the very essence of her forty something of human life.

"Once she has concluded her pitiful moaning," he hissed, his voice carrying a chilling resonance that pierced the air, "see to it that she is escorted accordingly."

"And where shall her wretched soul find its destined abode?" A man beside him who appeared to be manifested out of dust flecks floating around, inquired with an air of curiosity.

"Hell," Death proclaimed with a wicked satisfaction, his words laced with a malevolence that echoed through the night. "Hell, of course, for she is deserving of nothing less."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

While it was not his primary duty to escort souls from the human world, there were occasions where Deveraux had to intervene and bring matters to a close on his own.

It took him a few trips back and forth yet he never complained. Instead, he revelled in making his visits interesting and entertaining enough, both for himself and, ultimately, for those petty beings that dared to get on his nerves.

Talking of such trips, his best reason was to visit – the mortal mother of the soul Reaper who had taken his duty so lightly – he was sure their paths would cross once more, even beyond her demise, for she was an insatiable creature driven by greed.

He was responsible for reshaping those wayward, infamous souls, forcing them to confront their misdeeds and harsh realities and she seemed she could use one of his rigorous lessons within the hallowed halls of the land of damnation.

The crosswalk now had become chaos of sirens and wails. Panic-stricken onlookers clustered around the stricken pedestrian, their faces etched with disbelief and horror. Someone had dialled emergency services and the flashing lights of approaching ambulances painted the intersection with a surreal, crimson hue, casting an eerie glow on the dazed expressions of those gathered.

None of these were new to Devereaux. A prolonged look and a sigh later he was striding back down some random alleyway heading toward his next task.

And that's when an inexplicable sensation jolted through his immortal body.

The ground beneath suddenly seemed to perform a peculiar twirl, sweeping him along with its mystical dance. His vision blurred and the world around him seemed to be spinning.

Before he could even grasp the unfolding events, the ground steadied, causing him to stumble a few steps forward, skillfully catching himself to avoid an unceremonious meeting with the pavement.

A second alleyway materialised before him, bearing a striking resemblance to the one he had traversed mere moments ago. This new passage, bathed in the ethereal glow of pale orange neon lights, possessed an air of subtle intrigue.

Bewildered, he scanned his surroundings, half-expecting to find a rival attempting to provoke him. While he had formidable adversaries among his kind, souls audacious enough to challenge his indomitable existence were few and far between.

Though he detected no immediate threat, a figure stood a few feet ahead, seemingly a young woman, her elongated shadow stretching across the path. Oh...she seemed...familiar. 

Curiously, another shadow accompanied it, pale and inconspicuous, lacking a defined form compared to the other. He immediately knew what it was and a smirk appeared on his face.

It was another grim soul, similar to the previous Reaper, preying on a vulnerable human who had ventured into a deserted alley at night. 'Dumb and hopeless, humans...' He scoffed. His eyes shimmered with anticipation as he assessed the scene before him, his hooded cloak obscuring his features.

It had not yet been a single sunrise since he had dealt with the Reaper, consuming his energy so he no longer was what he used. Indulging in another soul's energy did not deter him though—he was forever insatiable, hungering for more no matter the amount consumed. The grimmer the soul, the more delectable its essence—a fact he had learned during his ventures in the Dark Side.

With a self-satisfied smirk, he waited for his target to notice, observed its feeble attempt at escape before striking as chased after the second catch of the day. He was blissfully unaware that this encounter was destined to twist the very threads of his fate. Perhaps it was always meant to be; after all, he was not the one who penned or alter the fates.

Random facts from different mythologies and cultures!

Hades (Greek Mythology): Hades is the god of the underworld and the dead. His domain is often depicted as a gloomy and dark place, but Hades himself is not considered evil. He is more a stern and fair ruler of the dead.

Hel (Norse Mythology): Hel is the ruler of the realm of the same name, where many who die of illness or old age go. She is the daughter of the trickster god Loki and is often described as half alive and half dead, with a body that is half beautiful and half decaying.