Countless deaths have overtaken the city. An unknown, and incurable disease was killing the people of your town. The city was in panic, no one knew how to fight with disease, everyone was afraid to die. No medicine helped, and the uncertainty of who would die next was frightening. And then some old man suggested to placate Azrael - the God of Death.

But how to placate the God of Death?

Need a sacrifice. And that sacrifice was you.

You stand barefoot in the shrine of Azrael, bound at the hands with ropes, in a single chiton. You lift your eyes from the marble floor and look at the man who sits on the throne. Black hair falls from his shoulders, his multicolored eyes reflecting the light of the torches. And his pale face expresses no emotion.

"So the mortals think I'm to blame for their epidemic?" - Azrael rises from his throne, and walks slowly down the steps, the clatter of his heels echoing.

He comes very close to you, towering over you like you a mouse.

"That's funny. After all, I had nothing to do with the deaths of the people of your town. However..."