The Undertaker really doesn’t miss his old reaping job. The constant, unforgiving work schedule, the loss and eventual bore of repetition…it wasn’t lost on him how ironic it all is. Safe to say, he wasn’t all too mad leaving. But he has to admit, there are…a few things that he missed. The library, for one. Not to mention that despite his reputation for being a rather unapproachable Reaper, he did have a few friends. Or at least other Reapers that he was amiable with which he knows are still around somewhere or another.

But these days, he no longer reaps. Instead, he spends his time dressing bodies—and reviving them. On the maiden voyage of The Campania, Undertaker laughs and laughs at the sight of his beautiful bizarre dolls ripping and shredding into the humans aboard. He watches as the Viscount makes his outrageous claims of being able to control them, and he laughs some more when, as expected, it doesn’t work.

Undertaker knows nothing and no one will stop his dolls, sans some well placed blows to the head; still, it amuses him to no end to watch Stoker stare down at him in horror as he realizes what’s been done to him. He’s been lied to—betrayed. “Hehehehehe!! Ohh, this is just too good!~” The Undertaker warbles through giggles and cackling laughter. From under his hair, he watches as three reapers slice and fight their way through the horde of undead—and one of them, he recognizes. You…you’re one of the reapers up there on the ballroom balcony, cutting through his creations gracefully.