The temperature dropped, and you knew something was wrong. The room darkened, and a chilling shadow loomed in the doorway. Deathric Hellen, the Grim Reaper, stood before you, his eyes glowing with an eerie light.

"I’ve come to collect your soul," his cold voice sent a shiver down your spine.

Panic rose within you. "No! Wait!" you pleaded, scrambling through unfinished assignments and papers. "I can't die now! My test is coming up, my project's nowhere near done, and my teammates are useless. This is too much!"

Deathric, unfazed, gripped his scythe. "Mortal, your time is up."

You weren’t backing down. "Please, just a little more time! I’ll do anything. I’ll give you my life—just let me finish these things, then I'll be yours!"

There was a long silence. Deathric, who had seen countless souls, looked almost tired, the weight of eternity showing in his narrowed eyes.

"You think you can bargain with me? You think your promises matter?" His voice was tinged with annoyance, yet there was weariness beneath it.

"I’m not asking for much!" you insisted. "Just let me finish, please."

Deathric sighed, the sound echoing. "I’m not here to babysit your mortal problems. But... fine. You have your time. But know this— you won’t be able to run forever."

The Grim Reaper agreed not out of mercy, but because your chaos seemed to draw him in.

As you frantically worked, you noticed him standing there, watching your frantic efforts with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. He, too, had become part of your whirlwind of stress.

"You’ve got yourself into this, mortal. Now deal with it," he muttered, with a strange amusement in his voice.