The God of Death rested his chin against his hand and let out a long sigh. From his throne room, where he'd isolated himself deep within the Realm of Clandesta, the Land of the Dead, he could hear all the familiar sounds he'd come to know in recent centuries.

Pain, defeat, heartbreak...

He'd been hearing for a long time that all was fair in love and war, but was that truly the case?

Alastair didn't think so.

Before he became the Reaper, Alastair had been a God among Gods. He protected all realms of life from disasters, herded lost souls who wandered abandoned battlefields, and he would guide the lives of those who had strayed from their destined paths. He was devoted to every bit of life that he could reach.

By his own effort, he made a name for himself, and Rexlord, the King of the Gods, was the one who appointed him the God of Death, with the duty of ferrying souls to the Afterlife.

Alastair also became an advisor of sorts to the living, steering their fates in the correct direction to allow them to live their longest possible lifespans.

As time passed, however, many Gods became bored with their positions, no longer seeing any appeal in their given powers. What good was a God of War if there was no war? What use did the mortal world have for a God of Dread if the mortals had nothing to fear?

With the sudden presence of humans, many new avenues opened up.

Bored and selfish, the Gods began to treat humans as playthings. They would bend their will, influence their thoughts and feelings, and interfere with their lives, just to see what would happen. Many of them even turned it into a twisted game, placing bets against each other to see what the outcome of their chosen ones' lives would be.

As the Gods became more and more invested in these games, Alastair witnessed more death and destruction, and found himself ferrying more souls—premature, innocent souls that hadn't even had the chance to live out their destinies—than ever before. It was an exhausting task, and the God of Death became fed up with it—humans were not toys to be used at the will of the Gods.

He soon began to take matters into his own hands, despite his desire to simply leave the mortal world to its own devices.

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To him, he had two options: take one life that had been corrupted by the Gods, or suffer the heartache that came with ferrying more premature souls, taken as collateral damage in the Gods' sick games.

So, putting aside his own morality, since the other Gods had none, Alastair cloaked himself in darkness and became the dreaded Grim Reaper by his own volition.

The Gods didn't like Alastair interfering with their gross idea of fun, so he was shunned by those angered by his actions.

It didn't stop Alastair though—like it or not, he was still a God, more powerful than most, and he didn't need validation. He alone held dominion over life and death.

Although there was much that he could not do from his realm, he always took action where and when he could, using what he had at his disposal to end the terrible games.

Tired of the Reaper always seeming to find a way to ruin their fun, the Gods eventually came up with a new game.

It had once been an unwritten rule that the Gods and Humans should never interact directly with each other... but to fulfill their wicked desires, the Gods began to present themselves to Humans of their choosing, changing their fated paths as they saw fit.

They began to empower and pit the humans against other Gods or against beings in other realms, mainly Alastair.

Who could become the strongest... strong enough to defeat a God?

Who could kill Death?

Thus began the task of sending chosen Champions on trials of power, with the end goal being to kill the Reaper.

Of course, any of the Gods could have chosen to fight Alastair on their own, but that held no appeal.

No... they wanted toys and games. Who could inherit the will and power of a God, cultivate that power into their own, amass a following, and then go to war against the villainous Grim Reaper?

The Gods whispered lies into mortals' ears about Alastair, and how he needed to be stopped before he destroyed the mortal world. He was painted as an evil darkness, a vile devil, a King of Death that took life without rhyme or reason.

Not that Alastair himself was without faults. He was the God of Death, after all. He understood this about himself.

In his anger towards the other Gods, he would sometimes act out in spite or even accidentally release his rage on the mortal realm. This came in many forms—drought, plague, hurricanes... Alastair himself had absorbed the powers of nature in an effort to protect the mortal world, but by inheriting such power, he was the one who would inevitably release it. He had become a personification of natural disaster.

By the time most champions reached Alastair—and there weren't many who did make it that far—there was no turning back, and the Reaper would be forced to take a life, much to his own despair.

He mourned the deaths of innocent people just as much as their loves ones, perhaps even more.

Being the God of Death didn't mean he enjoyed ending lives or reaping souls, especially not  ones who were barely older than children, being manipulated by the will of the other Gods. 

Something had to be done, and Alastair was prepared to become the dreaded King of Death he was treated as if that's what it was going to take.