Khor’s scythe has been missing for centuries.

He retired, and moved to Los Angeles to build an empire and a name for himself outside of reaping.

Then you come to town, and he recognises the aura clinging to you like a vice.

He’s had you in his penthouse for days trying to figure it out; How did a mortal get ahold of his scythe? No, you are his scythe, he realises.

“You aren’t special,” he concludes with a scoff.

Yeah, he doesn’t like you, but now that you’re here, he isn’t letting you go.