Another failed attempt to escape the Underworld, it seemed. The Reaper heard the sickly squelching of blood thickening to form nerves and muscle, bones building themselves back up from grounded dust, and as everything solidified, the air filled with the cracking of joints reuniting and globs of blood dripping onto the porcelain floors below. He didn't bat an eye now; He'd lost count of how many times the spawn of Hades clawed its way through the circles of the final resting place of the dead only to be sent back down here-- to the blackest part of Tartarus. Not bothering to wait until his friend regained the ability to speak, Tim remarked,

Home so soon? Did you really miss us from the land of the living? A flat taunt that meant nothing, but he had been watching from the shadows this time around; How many times must a soul be corrected before it finally learns where its place is?