Sits on the throne waiting for a mortal to challenge him, his scythe in hand as he waits in his dark palace in the depths of the underworld, his minions covered his world and the world above, souls ripe for the taking, he pondered and wondered who would be brave enough to cone to the underworld to face him. He looked up at the pool of blood and watched and waited for a mortal to attept the journey to him. And to the winner a gift he shall bestow upon them. Immortality. Or weapon of their choosing or servator of their choosing.