Chapter one
The lost soul of a Hero

In the depths of his mind, he could remember distant words being whispered to him. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more..." it would say, helping him up from some sort of bed. "If I had done something about it sooner..." it continued, but the words would stop there, long lost in flashes and blurs that invaded him when he tried to think further back.

This was one of his earliest memories, for the rest felt darkened by some sort of veil that he could only sometimes cross. In his head, he knew that it was the voice of his predecessor, the voice of Death, who had mentored him for many years after he had been created -at least, that's how Hecate referred to his 'birth', ten years ago-. He couldn't remember much of that time either, only snippets of it.

He was taught that, as an avatar of death, concepts such as time were supposed to be impractical and inconsequential. Every day was merely a second in their existence and every soul was a cycle that would repeat itself eventually, a process that even the gods would sometimes have to go through after the thousands of years of life they were gifted by the original aspects of light and dark.

But he, Death would say, was different from the rest. He was special, something that had never been seen before. He thought that it had to do with the fact that, to him, time didn't feel quite as brief. Each day felt absurdly long and painful. Compared to the other gods, time was a concept that he was awfully familiar with.

Maybe, he thought, it had to do with the fact that he wasn't unaffected by the souls in the way that his creator was. Or, better said, he was affected by them when Death wasn't. Every time that they visited a warzone to help the angels collect the souls, his heart would ache and his head would be filled with the sound of screams that would last even after the fact, ringing in his ears while he was resting and making his dreams become terrifying nightmares.

To calm himself down, he liked to look into the alternate universes where he didn't live as Death's protegé but as a human. Some were a little calming, showing him living a happy life, working at some shop or helping animals. Some were more intriguing. He became a creature of darkness, those that, in this life, he was told to watch closely so that he could cleanse their soul when they died.

Many, however...weren't reassuring at all. The other versions of himself would be lied to, betrayed, hurt and even killed in the most painful ways. Whilst watching these specific universes, a part of his memories would spike in protest, making him think that maybe, just maybe, he had lived a similar life.

With this idea in mind, he slowly started to recover some of the lost fragments of his past. He remembered people, mostly. He remembered some of his friends. Draco, a boy with blond hair and storm-colored eyes that always carried a handsome yet superior smirk, like he was always on top of the world. Luna, a dreamy girl with eyes full of stars who seemed to know more than what she let on. Neville, another boy who was the bravest he had ever known, who had never left his side, even when he faced his greatest fears. Hermione, a smart woman with incomparable analytical skills and the one with the wisest of words, always willing to speak her mind.

It was when thinking of these four that most of his memories resurfaced with the years. The next thing that came to mind were colors and strange names. Silver and green for Slytherins, the red and gold of Gryffindors, the blue and bronze of Ravenclaws and yellow with black for the Hufflepuffs. After a while of remembering these, he started to use the first pair in his clothes, since they were the ones with which he felt the most comfortable.

Although he had been a blank slate when he was created, his personality started to become a bit of every memory he could think of. He tried to act like those four people who he looked up to so much; if Death noticed these changes, he never really commented on them, if anything, he seemed to encourage it, giving him the occasional smile when he demonstrated one of the traits that he learned from the memories.

And then, there was magic.

Thinking about it made his head pound even more than before, as if something was warning him against remembering, but he had to. He had been feeling restless, feeling like a beast was trapped inside him, inside his veins, rushing and trying to break out. At first, it had been small and almost unnoticeable, ignorable if you will, but he could feel the monster yearning to be let out. When he told Death, he showed him how to control it and encase it in his body, though he never dared to do much more than that.

Two years ago, his mentor had disappeared, leaving nothing but his blessing and gifts behind. A stone capable of calling souls to him, a wand with the greatest of powers and a cloak that could distort light to hide him inside it. His personal favorite was the invisibility cloak, so he liked to wear it tied to his waist. After that, however, he only continued doing what he had been taught, feeling satisfied by the routine and easily getting lost in what little he could remember, managing to dull the screams of those he carried to the cycle.

Today, the day was not different from the rest. It had been almost a year since he had decided to somewhat settle in Afghanistan, one of the places where his help was most needed because of the ongoing war. He wasn't really fond of the heat, only managing to survive thanks to the cloak and the scarce use of the Elder Wand.

"Master." A distant voice called, but he was too busy walking to notice it at first. "Master!" He didn't show any reaction other than a small, empty glance to the side. There was a very nervous-looking angel staring at him, although he flinched under his emerald gaze.

"What?" He mumbled, seemingly apathetically, but, in truth, he wasn't used to dealing with the angels since they rarely spoke with him.

"Th-there's a problem with the souls." It started, speaking so fast that he barely had time to process what it meant. "There are a couple of them that, we noticed, are unaccounted for. We are unaware of how long it has been since they disappeared since the last time we took a look at the blessed souls was about ninety years ago."

He blinked and stopped walking completely, frowning in thought. The blessed souls were the most important ones under their care. They were always destined to fulfil great destinies and, with enough determination, they could even go against the currents of fate. It was their duty to protect them both as souls or as living beings regardless of the decisions they took because they were the ones that kept the tides changing -that is, until they accomplished their purpose-. Assuming a calculating persona, he drew a quick breath before speaking.

"Do we know who took them?"

"Not really, sir, but we did find Asgardian traces of magic in the area. We suspect that it might be Lady Skuld." The name didn't correspond to any face in his own memories, but he thought that Death might've mentioned her once or twice. Something about keeping a low profile?

"What can we do about this?" He asked softly.

"We are still searching for some of them, but, as one might expect, they aren't very difficult to find when looking into the right places." It started, pulling out some sort of file out of thin air. "It just happens that one of them was recently found not too far away from here, but we fear that the fates might've put it in a path of danger." It handed him the document, pulling its hand back as quickly as it could.

"I'll see what I can do." He said, opening it with uncertainty. He gave it a quick overview before glancing at the angel of golden locks and sunset eyes. "May I know your name?"

"It's Gabriel, Master."

"...Thank you, Gabriel."

"I-I…" The angel stuttered, confused. "I-It's nothing, Master of death." It gave a quick bow before shadows rose from the earth, engulfing it and disappearing. He did the same, feeling the coldness of darkness wash over him as he did.

Barely a second later, he stood in front of a new location, although he couldn't quite tell at first since it was still only sand. He would've dismissed it were it not for the fact that, when using a part of Death's power on his eyes, which made them turn golden, he managed to spot the weak whispers of one of the blessed souls. He wrapped himself with the silvery cloth that was on his waist and trudged forward, fearing the worst.

After a while, he found himself in front of a metal door. When peeking through it with his golden eyes, he saw that the soul was supposed to be there. Entering when one of the many people inside opened the door, he walked up to the bearer of the soul, deactivating his vision so that his gaze would return to normal.

In front of him was a man who looked in a horrible condition. He was resting, eyes closed but pale beyond belief, as if he had lost a lot of blood. There was some metal in his chest that was connected to a big block of metal that flowed with energy, probably some sort of battery. As he pressed the other's wrist with his fingers, however, he felt a steady pulse.

"He will live." A voice stated behind him, making him jump, after all, he hadn't expected someone to speak to him. "His vitals seem to be stable, but I did what I could."

As he lifted his eyes to understand who it was that could see even through his cloak, he saw someone who had his back to him. He was in front of a very small mirror, carefully shaving his beard or, at least, that was what he had been doing before speaking, for he had stopped, staring intensely at him through the reflection. It didn't take him long to notice how similar his presence was to that of his angels.

"...Who are you?" The person spoke after a couple of seconds of pure silence. At first, he didn't answer, but, when he did, it was in the form of another question.

"How can you see me?" The male turned around completely, frowning with confusion in his general direction.

"I can't. I can merely feel you." He said calmly. "Now, will you answer my question?"

"...Harry Potter." The emerald eyed male announced, although the name sounded foreign, even to him. When was the last time that he had even said it?

"So you're a new one." The statement took the Master of Death by surprise.

"New one?"

"A new angel. Do they tell you guys nothing before sending you over?" When Harry didn't respond, the man sighed and resumed his task, squinting to look at the dirtied mirror. "I'm Yinsen, although you probably knew that."

As a matter of fact, no, Harry didn't know that. He also wasn't aware of the fact that mortals could be able to sense him or other angels...But, by the way this man talked, he could guess that it was something that had been going for a while now, because he was more frustrated than bewildered by the disembodied voice..

"...When will he wake up?"

"I can't really tell...He's been asleep for a couple days now, he could be up any minute, now."

He nodded to himself and slowly sat down beside the unconscious man, shifting until he found a comfortable position. Once he settled, he took out the folder that Gabriel had handed to him in order to figure out more about his situation. The first thing that he read was this soul's name, scribbled with golden ink like the color of this specific soul. Anthony Edward Stark.

The name sent chills down his spine.

There were a couple of facts here and there. Where he was born, who his parents were, some important life facts and alike. Most of the hurriedly gathered information was about Yinsen. They had started contact with him about a week ago, giving him an angelic blessing so that he could listen to their voices and, every day, an angel would come to check up on them.

He set down the file and closed his eyes, trying to think of how to get this man out of here, after all, the old gods had told him that they were incapable of interacting with humans without severe consequences, whether they were good or bad was up to chance. For example: Lachesis, the goddesses that could see into the future, had given her powers to a select few who, in turn, caused great peril when making a prophecy.

The scion of death looked back at Anthony with his tired eyes, wondering why the man was connected to this huge battery...Whatever the reason was, it probably had to do with his weakened spirit, quickly recovering by taking part of the energy that inhabited the earth. The energy of life...or was it magic? It certainly felt a little like it…

As he started to doze off, deep in thought, a pair of blue eyes opened, shining, for a brief moment, as if they were fluorescent. As soon as the glow came, however, it disappeared, leaving in their stead a disoriented Tony Stark.

A/N: (Updated on May 14 of 2018)

Woah, this chapter is vastly more different than the original, but this is how I wanted it to start so that the character fits more with what I had in mind. From this point on, many other things might change, although it will mostly stay the same...Hope you enjoy reading!