A small bald man, standing at around five feet wandered around this beautiful world. He was daydreaming about bacon on toast when the ground disappeared out from under him. He let a short squeak escape from his mouth as he plummeted into the darkness. Landing headfirst, his neck immediately broke with a wince-worthy crack that echoed through out the maze.

He lay there for a moment, eyes open, the mask of death plastered on his face. Then his neck righted itself and he stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. He pondered how he managed to flip upside down and break his neck from a 12 feet drop, but that was probably just the curse.

"Thou shalt die a fuckton, while other would not. But worry not, from here on out, death has nothing on you,"