The figure flew over the rooftops of Coruscant, a black robe flowing off him. A long wooden pole was attached to his back, a metal half-crescent stuck to the pole gleaming in the moonlight.
A scythe.
The rooftops raced under him, his eyes searching for something only he could know. Finally, he seemed to find it, for he stopped and hovered for a second before diving into the maze of durasteel. He swooped and rolled, unseen, between the buildings and late-night drivers.
Suddenly, he stopped. He floated outside a window. Inside, a human man lay, hooked to a breathing tube, old and wrinkled. If you were the right person, you would smell the aura of death coming off of him, and know that nothing could keep him alive much longer.
The hooded figure stepped onto the windowsill, easily going through the treated glass into the room, noticing the smell of medicine and sickness. The room was white, obviously part of a medbay. His boots gently touched down onto the tile, and he seemed to glide over to the bed.
"Are you death?" the old man murmured.
"I am…an associate of his. What gave it away?"
Wrinkled lips twisted slowly into a small smile. "Your robe and scythe." He breathed, gathering energy.
"Do not worry, my friend. I only use the scythe when you fight your time." The cloaked figure laid a gentle hand on the ailing man's shoulder.
"Let me see your face."
"Hm?"
"Let me see your face. Your voice seems to be too natural for a skeleton."
A soft chuckle came from under the hood. "You are perceptive." A black-gloved hand reached up and flicked the hood back in one motion, revealing a pale, gaunt face framed by dark brown curls. Blue eyes glittered with wisdom and danced with humor.
"You are not so much the Grim Reaper as I expected." The old man coughed. "But it is nice to see a young man who respects his elders." He closed his eyes and breathed for a second before continuing. "I guess you are here to take my soul."
"Yes." The Reaper took the man's hand in his, keeping his other one on the bedridden patient's shoulder. "Are you ready?"
Wrinkled, old eyes closed, thinking. After a long silence, the words came.
"I have lived a good life, and I no longer fear death. Yes. I am ready."
"Good." The standing figure slowly pulled on the patient's hand, and a spectral version of his hand lifted up. The rest of the body followed, and the patient's eyes closed, never to open again.
Before the Reaper stood the ghost of a young man, floating a few centimeters above the white floor. It smiled and said thank you, then dissolved into the afterlife.
The Reaper, now alone, flicked his hood back up, walked to the window, and jumped into flight.