He sits on his throne, hell hounds curled around his ankles.

It was a quiet day in the underworld, well quiet for him. He had long tuned out the pleading of souls and their screaming.

He was fair, always in his judgement. Good souls were passed on to something better than this hell hole.

He had long felt like these souls... dead, cold, and begging for something greater, something that made him feel alive.