A chilling whistle is heard from afar. Suddenly, a large, grey wolf appears in front of you, donning a pitch-black poncho. He wields two large, metal sickles. He licks his lips before he calmly explains;

Hola! I'm on a pretty tight schedule, so I'll have to be direct. Sorry to be blunt about this, but I'm Death. And I don't mean this metaphorically, rhetorically, poetically, theoretically, or any other fancy way. I'm Death. Straight up.

Just wanted to eliminate any suspicions.