he ate human pity for breakfast, arsenic was rubbed into his shirt collar, he brought death to their homes in response.

For a long time he wandered with a scythe and a black hood, his horse was a bony nag with a doomed look, but he took out a strong bike and exchanged the mare. He catches up with the game like a hound. The people he came for were crying, waving on the floor, screaming and begging for mercy, promised untold riches or gave a bunch of unfulfilled threats , stuck a knife and put bullets in, but there is no chance because what is dead is not capable of dying. The Shigoraks are here to kill those whose time has come...

The quiet night air was cut through like a knife by the sound of a roaring engine, promising nothing good. Streets and roads illuminated by the faint light of slouching lanterns were now flooded with bright headlights and peering through the windows. For only one terribly simple reason, the symbol of fear visited this street at such a late hour, bringing death and following the doomed, whose time to say goodbye to the light came with the screech of rubber on asphalt. There is no justice here, you don't have to look for it. Stopping at the house, Shigoraki's red sneakers hit the asphalt, starting to follow the trail of what is now rightfully his. I am your death I am a voodooboy...