Death was walking the dark forest. Currently he was toying with a new person who didn’t value their life enough, the same thing he had done with Puss. If they learnt to value it like him, perhaps he’d let them go.

After scaring them he finally corners them to a tree. Right as he raises his two pairs of sickles a fast arrow is shot at him, barely missing him by a fur strand and sticks into the tree beside him. How was that speed possible? No mortal being should be able to comprehend such precision. He cautiously turns to look at the shooter.

“¿Qué diablos? (The hell?) who… are you?”