"Oh, my Lord…" Upon one knee, this young man prayed while his palm rest upon the parched earth beneath him. As he prayed, the bass of a lively beat could be heard coming from those headphones he wore. This was a familiar place to him, for nearly a decade beforehand he lay at this very same place, praying for death to ease his suffering.
Justin Law slowly rose to his feet, his hand grasped the crucifix which hung from his neck. Death City stood quite a distance away, the place where God dwelled to seal away evil, standing out in this unforgiving place as an oasis of people which kept the harmony of existence in balance. He finished his prayer, closing his eyes to recall the last time he looked upon the city in such a manner. "Grant these people comfortable lives and deaths."
The young weapon ran aimlessly in the desert for his very life. The wind made bullets out of normally harmless grains of sand. This sandstorm was quite unusual for the month of January, and the temperature of the desert remained unforgiving to this frightened child. On his own in the world, he wandered toward the only beacon of hope in this endless desert: a faint, dark outline of a figure which stood out amongst the sand, which appeared quite unlike the mountains off in the horizon.
As Justin inched closer and closer, his knees gave out beneath him. At first, he sat up within the sand, but soon after fell face first upon the ground. Cuts from sand carried by the wind stung mercilessly as his cheek rest upon the ground, and the last thing he recalled seeing was that dark outline in the distance. Maybe he'd closed his eyes, or maybe he blacked out from exhaustion: his memory couldn't recall that detail. Yet, he knew the one thing he hoped for; a release from this hell, even death itself.
The boy, however, was spared such a fate. For in the evening, a group of travelers headed toward that very beacon of hope stumbled upon a head of curly blonde hair sticking out from beneath a blanket of warm sand. They were surprised to find him still alive, and he was rushed to their destination: a monastery nestled within Death City, built to house those who devoted every aspect of their lives to serving their Lord, Shinigami-sama.
The lost little boy of the desert, named Justin Law, was accepted into this place as if he were any other brother who took up their own home in this place. After a few days resting in a comfortable bed and taking nourishment into his weary body, he was met by a saintly man who helped him climb out from his place of rest. "Today, Justin…" The man donned in priestly garb spoke to him, "I will introduce you to someone very important."
Justin's eyes were wide as he walked swiftly to keep up with the priest's stride. He held onto the man's hand tightly while following him the entire way through several rows of pews, curious to the grand surroundings of this cathedral. He left a dusting of sand behind him as he walked, still dirty from his time spent wandering in the desert. He bumped into the priest when he stopped to look forward at the altar. Behind the great altar stood a grant mirror embellished with a stunning gold frame, which held the reflection of the Lord. "This is our Lord, we devote our life to serving His cause," the priest spoke, "We are the instruments of His will." The boy's eyebrows furrowed as he squinted to study this image: it appeared to him awfully similar to the vision he wandered toward in the desert.