“What a hassle,” Death muttered to himself.

  It was an unusual situation. Valkyries were not known for aggression…... well, that wasn't entirely accurate. While they were associated with war, Valkyries had never been known to attack souls in the afterlife. Instead, they selected the warriors worthy of joining Odin in Valhalla. So, why would they suddenly launch an assault without warning?

  Then there was the matter of the Shinigami. Since it was Hel who had called for Death, this issue fell within the domain of the Norse pantheon. Regarding the Crossroads, the souls under attack were most likely of the Asatru faith. It made some sense for the Valkyries to be present, but the appearance of Shinigami? This was a direct consequence of the Supreme Divinity's slumber.

  "Faster," Death murmured to Vesper. The horse huffed and increased its pace.

  You may wonder why Death needed to ride Vesper. Surely, as the omnipresent force of nature, Death could simply appear or teleport anywhere he desired. Well, it wasn't quite so simple.

  Though Death's concept is universal, not all of his avatars are the same. This is primarily due to the vast array of cultures around the world. Everyone, regardless of religion, ethnicity, or belief, knows what Death is—the end of life, in its simplest form. However, the specifics of Death vary. Some view him as a terrifying, unavoidable presence with a sharp scythe, while others perceive him as a natural part of life, greeting him with calm acceptance when their time arrives. This is why there are various gods and personifications of Death: Thanatos, Anubis, and Yama. While Beric saw Death as a tired young adult in a dark robe, others imagined him as one of these gods. And of course, souls don't always encounter Death directly. In modern times, many follow Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, or no religion at all. In these cases, they are sent to the Crossroads, handled by Death’s assistants, unaware of it.

  However, these are mere gods. Thanatos is just a god of death, while archangels assist in guiding souls.

  Death is beyond them. He is a primordial entity who existed before time itself moved. The gods are but avatars, beings who hold fragments of his power to perform his duties without revealing his true form.

  The Death we follow is the original, the true one.

  Yet, there’s a simple reason why Death must travel everywhere.

  Death still recalls the words the Supreme Divinity spoke to him when he first came into being:

  “Death, you are of great importance. You will be both the beginning and the end of life.”

  “The beginning? How?” Death had asked.

  “You will bring about the inevitable end of mortal life, cutting off their dreams and pain. However, you will also plant the seeds of change, inspiring the next generation to live better.”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”

  “I understand it’s difficult for you to grasp the perspective of mortals, so I command you to move as they do.”

  “...What?”

  “While the concept of Death is universal, you will not be. You must walk, traveling by foot, guiding lost souls to their next destination.”

  “Wait, you can’t be serious—”

  “Enjoy yourself!”

  Death still harbors resentment toward the Supreme Divinity for this decree…….though, he had to admit that it was because of this, that he was able to meet Vesper.

  It occurred to him, though, how much his manner of speaking had changed since his early days. Has he truly changed that much?

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The hellhound Garm wagged his tail as Death arrived at the gates of Hel.

  “Well met, my four-legged friend,” Death greeted, scratching under Garm’s neck.

  Vesper snorted in jealousy.

  Garm's massive form towered over Death, his fur as black as a starless night, stained with the blood of intruders. His eyes, dim embers, glowed faintly in his skull as he regarded Death without blinking. Rusted chains encircled his neck, each link carved with scars from long-forgotten battles.

  “Would you be so kind as to guide me to your master?” Death asked.

  Garm’s tongue lolled out as he turned and bounded through the gates, his heavy footfalls waking the nearby Draugr in surprise.

  Recalling Vesper, Death followed the beast.

  The air in Hel was thick with silence, broken only by the distant murmurs of the Draugr. The sky was a perpetual gray, devoid of sun, moon, or stars. The land stretched endlessly, dotted with crumbling stone halls, leafless black trees, and sluggish rivers that moved like thick oil. Green flames flickered in the distance, their origin uncertain. Were they a tribute from the living? An attempt by the dead to warm themselves? No. These flames were still and unmoving, much like the realm itself. This was where souls who hadn't died in glory resided—not punished, not damned, but simply held, as if the land itself refused to release them. Hel watched over them with cold, unblinking eyes, waiting. In Hel, nothing truly ends—it simply waits for Rag-

  Death caught himself. It wasn’t wise to dwell on such thoughts.

  If a soul somehow reached Hel’s gates, they would be swiftly devoured by Garm. And if they somehow slipped past him, the Draugr would surely give chase. The Draugr, reanimated spirits who guarded tombs and their treasure, would kill any trespasser on sight.

  As for Death, the Draugr made a few attempts to approach him, but upon recognizing who he was, they quickly turned their attention elsewhere. Even though they were driven to protect their treasures, the Draugr knew instinctively to avoid Death.

  “You’ve arrived,” a female voice called from a few paces ahead.

  “What’s the situation?” Death asked as he approached.

  “I’ve dealt with the Valkyries, but the Shinigami are still attacking the souls. I’ve tried using Draugr to distract them, but they’re ignoring them,” the woman replied, absently caressing Garm’s belly.

  From a distance, Hel appeared whole—an imposing woman in a dark green gown, her presence glowing like the green flames that flickered around her domain. Her long black hair was adorned with a crown of bones, signaling her rule over the dead. But as Death drew closer, the truth became clear. One half of her face shone with life—smooth skin, sharp cheekbones, and lips stained with lingering blood, a beauty borne from the eternity of her reign. The other half was something far darker: skin stretched thin, mottled in ash-blue and corpse-gray, with a sunken, hollow eye.

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  “Ignoring them, you say? Are you implying that there exists a justification for the Shinigami’s appearance?” Death said.

  Hel glanced at him. “Would it really be that strange if that were the case?”

  No, it wouldn't. Death thought to himself. “Go find a new path for the souls. I’ll handle things from here.” Death ordered.

  Due to a law created by the Supreme Divinity during the Great Split, the gods were forbidden from directly interfering with creatures of other pantheons. That was why it was now Death’s responsibility to handle anomalies like this, when the gods couldn’t protect their realms.

  “Come, Garm.” With that, Hel climbed onto the beast’s back, and the two set off in another direction.

  Death watched their figures slowly grow smaller.

  “…….I should have asked where the Shinigami were.”

  His answer came in the form of a shriek from the right.

  A small group of souls were being tormented by three Shinigami. The creatures flapped their skeletal wings, their hollow cheeks, crooked jawlines, and burning red eyes glaring like embers in a dying fire. Their heads were tilted sideways, forever locked in that grotesque position. Their arms, impossibly long, reached almost to the ground, ending in talons that curved like the claws of predatory birds. Their skin was rough and cracked, a dull grayish hue, with patches of sickly flesh attempting to escape their bones. In simple terms, they resembled oversized, frail, flying bumblebees.

  Waiting for the perfect moment, Death summoned Soulrender, the war scythe materializing into his right hand, its dark blade gleaming with an ominous glow.

  But what would he do with it? These Shinigami could fly, and if he ambushed one, the others would simply escape. What could a war scythe accomplish here?

  Unless, could Death fly? Did he have some secret wings that would allow him to attack them in the sky? No. He doesn’t have wings.

  Is he actually insanely fast in combat? Would the shinigami even blink before Death severs their heads off? No, Death isn’t that fast.

  The thing is, Soulrender is not a typical war scythe. It is the weapon of Death, forged to sever the link between the living and the mortal world. Rather than a mere instrument of battle, it’s designed for the sole purpose of execution, for the swift and efficient end of life. A tool born to bring termination, not conflict.

  “Wings…….a bow will suffice.”

  With a mere thought, Death willed Soulrender to morph into a sleek, steel bow. Drawing it with precise fluidity, he aimed at the head of one of the shinigami, releasing the arrow with deadly accuracy. The shinigami, perhaps momentarily disoriented, touched its head, a strange sensation overtaking it. The other two, noticing the lack of hair on their comrade’s scalp, began to laugh.

  “……..Artemis will never let me live this down.”

  While the two laughed, and the third one cursed under its breath as it clutched its bald spot, Death made his move. Soulrender returned to its scythe form as Death quietly crept through the debris, his movements barely a whisper in the stillness. With a sudden leap, he brought the scythe down in a powerful overhead strike, cleaving the first shinigami in two. The remaining two froze in shock, and Death immediately seized the opportunity. With a fluid motion, he shifted the grip of Soulrender to his left hand and delivered a swift, lethal slash across the second shinigami’s neck. The cut was so smooth that Soulrender had lodged itself into the neck……..or rather, Death had swung it with the intent for this result. As the second shinigami clutched at the gaping wound, the third, panic-stricken, began to take flight.

  Knowing of this possibility, Death released his grip and surged forward, leaping onto the back of the fleeing shinigami. He interfered with its wings, causing it to falter in midair.

  “Greatsword.”

  From below, the body of the second shinigami erupted in an explosion of blood as the massive blade of a greatsword emerged from its shattered form.

  “Recall.”

  Soulrender disappeared, only to reappear seamlessly in Death’s right hand.

  With a single, precise motion, Death severed the third shinigami’s neck. The head fell first, followed swiftly by the body, which plummeted to the ground, its weight cushioning Death’s landing. Rising from the still form of his victim, Death dusted off his cloak and surveyed the carnage. The job here was complete.

  “Step no further, wanderer.”

  The voice of a woman, powerful and commanding, rang out, halting Death in his tracks.

  “The path is sealed, not by stone, but by thought. Answer my riddle……or become part of the dust beneath me."

  Death looked at the souls he believed he had just saved, his gaze drifting upward to the towering figure of the Sphinx.

  The Sphinx was a formidable and captivating creature. Her body was that of a lion—powerful, regal, and sleek, with a tawny coat rippling with strength. Her massive paws left deep impressions in the earth, while her tail flicked with predatory grace. But it was her head that truly commanded attention: that of a woman, perfect and delicate, yet sharp with ancient wisdom. Her eyes, molten gold and piercing, glared at the souls cowering beneath her. Her hair cascaded like a river of night, silver and ebony intertwining, mingling with her eagle-like wings. A predator's grin curled on her lips as the souls trembled in fear.

  Death felt his patience waning. A Sphinx? Seriously? He was going to have a long talk with Thanatos about this.

  Shoving the souls aside, he stepped forward, his presence overwhelming. "I’ll answer for them."

  Normally, a Sphinx would devour any mortal so bold. Yet, upon seeing Death himself, the Sphinx seemed to respect his authority. Her grin shifted to an awkward smile. She clearly hadn’t expected to encounter Death today.

  Clearing her throat, she prepared to pose the riddle.

  "I am the mother of truth and the father of lies,

  I whisper in silence and scream in goodbyes.

  Kings kneel before me, yet beg for my end,

  For all that begins must through me descend.

  I hold no shape, yet all must conform—

  What am I, eternal, both calm and a storm?"

  Both Death and the Sphinx locked eyes. The souls, standing off to the side, felt the intense energy emanating from Death, their fear palpable. The Sphinx, on the other hand, began to twitch nervously, wondering why she had been so unlucky as to meet him here.

  Death stood in thoughtful silence, considering the riddle. Soulrender, after all, was capable of transforming into whatever weapon best suited the situation. In this instance, the most efficient way to deal with the Sphinx was to answer her riddle correctly. The answer had been confirmed long ago, when Oedipus had solved it, and killing a Sphinx was as simple as reciting the right words. Death knew the answer. It was only a matter of time before he spoke it………or so the Sphinx thought.

  "Pass," Death said, breaking the silence.

  The Sphinx and the souls exchanged confused looks.

  "Pass?" the Sphinx asked, incredulous. "Did I hear that correctly?"

  "Yes. Pass. I’m passing the question."

  The Sphinx’s eyes narrowed. "You... aren’t allowed to do that."

  Death glanced back at her with an unreadable expression. "I see." He then turned to the souls. "Can I phone a friend?"

  The Sphinx's confusion deepened. "I... uh... don't know."

  Death pointed to a random soul. "Do you know the answer?"

  The soul shook its head frantically.

  "You can eat that one."

  The soul let out a terrified cry, but the Sphinx was too stunned to act. She blinked, trying to process what was happening. “Do you not know the answer?”

  Death shrugged his shoulders.

  The Sphinx’s head looked like it was going to explode. It was clearly unprepared for a situation like this.

  But before she could compose herself, the sharp cawing of ravens shattered her focus. The group turned in unison, watching as two ravens soared high above them. The sound of hooves, rapid and thunderous, followed, and soon a cloaked figure appeared, riding upon an eight-legged horse. The ravens swooped down, perching on his broad shoulders as green flames flickered, casting eerie shadows over his face. The man removed his hood, revealing his weary one-eyed face. Despite his older appearance, a commanding presence emanated from him, leaving no doubt of his identity. It was Odin, the All-Father, head of the Aesir.

  With a calm and knowing voice, Odin spoke, his words laced with authority. “I believe the answer to your riddle, my dear Sphinx, is ‘Death.’”