It began with a death. A murder to be precise. The city lights reflected off the killer’s glasses and the Knife. As blood dripped onto the filthy street it created a hollow sound.

He stood over the body. Gray eyes looked cooly down at his victim. He knelt to wait in silence next to the dead man.

Minutes ticked by and after a time something started to form in the darkness beneath the corpse. Something that began to take the shape of a man, until what stood before him was a mirror image to his kill, adorned in a pinstriped suit. A shadow of his life, it stood the same height with the same face. But its skin held no color. Its eyes no spark. It leaned and offered a hand over the boy, unaware of the man with the Knife. Impossibly, the corpse seemed to rise, reaching for his Death’s hand. Not aware of what his killer’s plan was. Not aware that what before him was the last thing his eternal soul would know.

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His immortal soul was about to die.