He was a man who had everything.

His bidding done as the desire for something to be completed even left his mouth.

He was a man who could command a room just by entering it. His power and influence radiating from him with just a look.

But he was a man who stayed in the shadows. Watched and waited.

A man created from nothing by a power that controlled the very essence of life itself.

Created for one purpose only.

He was a man who did his duty.

Served unquestioningly.

Through time he was celebrated as a god. Loved and worshipped.

Burned in effigies as a demon. Hunted and despised.

He used to walk among mortals, he told me one evening. He had been running from his designed purpose. Seeking his own. No longer.

It was a wish that had destroyed him, made him into a shell of the man I knew he must be.

Those who knew of him told tales of his adventures. Songs, books, plays, written of his life.

He is extraordinary.

Full of love, life and hope.

He is Death.