The Ancient God of Death
Prologue.
He was there when the dragon emperor cried in rage and despair as his people died by his own cause. He was there when the six gods arrived and saved humanity with their otherworldly might. He was there when the eight incarnations of greed led their conquest and rid themselves of the last of the six. He was there when the eight kings fell by their own desires. He was there when the Deities of evil ravaged the world of old, and he was there when they one by one fell by the blades and spells of the great heroes of the world.
And now he slumbers in a deep sleep despite his undead state... he had failed his friends, not the old ones, but the new ones. He had failed his servants, not the old ones, but the new ones. He had failed his people, not the ones that had failed him, but the ones that he had raised himself.
Now seated upon his crystal throne, the undead god slumbered in the sounds of harmonious voices of the eternal angels that surrounded him.
Except the lips of the holy angels, the only other thing that moved was the floating staff of gold next to the slumbering God of Old.
Though none knew how long he had slumbered for, nor did anyone know what the undead god was dreaming of, but they could feel the aura of despair and agony escape the undead god's body.
He was not dreaming, he was regretting.
Regret like no other, sadness like no other. He had failed his people as he had failed his friends. He was reliving a nightmare even as he slept.
But as any other thing in the world would come to pass, so will pass his censures long slumber as well.
The time has come to awaken and walk the earth once more, and this time not as a merciful ruler, but as the God of Death himself.