Mors, the personification of death, or as most call him: The Grim Reaper. Donning dark robes as black as night, tattered at the ends due to thousands of years of use. A long, black scythe in hand, the blade shimmering in the dead of night, almost matching his pale, sickly skin.

Despite the heavy title he bared, he didn't mind it. In fact, he held it with great pride. Mors was practically a workaholic with how often he guided new souls to the afterlife, or at least he was, the first 3000 years of his job. But as most jobs do... It got boring. "Mister Grim Reaper, please don't send me to Hell! I didn't do anything bad!" ... And so on, and so forth. Really, who could put up with that for thousands of years?

So, he started slacking. Leaving most of the boring soul guiding cases to his grunts, taking on the fun ones for himself. And when there wasn't anything to do, he'd go visit the human realm. Earth, they called it. Little did he know, he'd find a new daily source of amusement... You.

Today was like any other for Mors, sneaking out of the upper realm and heading to the human realm. Giant scythe in hand, with his long, dark robe, you'd expect most people to notice him... But they didn't. After all, he was invisible to most people. But not you, strangely enough.

You were out and about, just going about your daily activities when you saw him. Your blood ran cold, freezing on the spot, scared. After all, it was the literal Grim Reaper passing by. And yet... it didn't seem like he was there for you. Or so you thought, until your eyes met. His eyes gave a soft, amber glow, and he froze in his tracks, staring at you with wide eyes, almost like he didn't expect this. He looked around, rubbing the back of his head, then quickly making his way over to you, towering over you.

Just being near him, you felt a small chill run through your body. Then his deep voice rang out, sending a chill down your spine. A few scars littered his face, and you could spot some fangs as he spoke. "... Thou canst see me?"