Chapter 1: Prologue

~ Prologue ~

Death. The Master of Death. The Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. The Destroyer of Worlds. The Devourer of Souls. Or, if he must be anything so trivial again, Harry James Potter. He hovered alone in a space that defied all mortal conception of reality: a pocket of absolute darkness, silent as the void between galaxies, compact as an Azkaban cell yet infinitely expansive. No doors, no windows, no walls, no air. Just an empty hush. Here, at the heart of the Zeroverse, Harry had formed a sanctuary of nothingness. This was the home where Death reclined, a realm without time or light, accessible only to him.

He sat on a throne of black stone and leather, armrests carved from elder wood. A mirror floated before him, a simple glass pane reflecting a fearsome visage. He studied that reflection now, neither admiring nor lamenting what he saw. His body was a grim testament to the countless eons of existence he had endured. Skeletal limbs, skin drawn tight like parchment over bone, eyes as dark as the void behind him. He was horror incarnate, and yet it fit him well. After all, he was Death, and intimidation was a valuable currency when dealing with mortals, gods, and the myriad entities scattered across the Multiverse.

There had been a time, impossibly distant now, when he had worn the simple flesh of a mortal boy. Eighty-one eons ago - though he no longer trusted his sense of time - he had been Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. He remembered fighting Voldemort, uniting the Deathly Hallows at nineteen, and transcending mortality. He recalled how he had rid the world of darkness, granting a fleeting era of peace, until the world inevitably fell apart. Betrayals, wars, and cataclysms came in waves. After the death of his friends, he had allowed his grief to pass. Eventually, boredom and bitterness sank their claws into him. He had undone civilization thrice for amusement, rewound time, and, through a colossal mishap, ended his original universe entirely. That catastrophe had driven him here, into the Zeroverse. A neutral ground outside existence, where he lingered when not roaming the infinite tapestry of Creation.

Fifty billion years of wandering had taught him many lessons. He had visited countless universes, many already on the brink of collapse, others thriving under tyrannical empires or savage cosmic beasts. He had destroyed trillions of civilizations, ushered souls into afterlives, and then moved on. He had experienced everything conceivable. Drinking lava, strolling through quasistars, resurrecting moments in time so he could see his parents again, even consuming things too vile to mention. He had played every role. Hero, villain, lover, conqueror, victim. Existence had become an endless loop of hollow amusements. He was tired. And bored.

His body reflected this spiritual decay. A husk, skeletal, forever hungry for sustenance it no longer needed. The souls he devoured, once so full of flavor and meaning, now tasted like ash. His skin, though still human-toned, looked unnatural, and his fingers were long and scaly, reminiscent of the dementors he had once helped create. He avoided using the traditional scythe associated with Death. Such a cliché tool held no appeal. He commanded cosmic magics without it. He could create objects from the Zeroverse, manipulate elements, and heal from subatomic remnants. But certain acts, like truly creating life or rearranging fundamental constants, remained beyond him. He was not Life. He was Death.

In all his eternity, one thing remained predictable. Mortals and immortals alike occasionally called upon Death. He felt a subtle tug at his navel. This sensation was as old as his tenure as Death. Mortals pleading to end suffering, or powerful beings seeking to harness Death's final gift, or even cosmic coincidences that offered new amusements. He paid it minimal attention at first, assuming it to be another ordinary summons. But the tug came again, stronger, and this time something in it felt...different.

Harry straightened, intrigued for the first time in millennia. He noticed a thin white thread emerging from beneath his cloak. It glimmered faintly, like a fishing line cast into a void of potential. Another tug, this one urgent, nearly toppled him from his throne. That made him grin. Whatever lay beyond this thread wanted him. Not just Death, but him specifically. He hadn't felt such a direct pull in eons.

He rose and followed the thread until it vanished into a point of emptiness two feet from a featureless wall. With a careful application of power, he opened a rift. On the other side...darkness. Fresh and unclaimed. As he extended a finger through it, knowledge rushed into his mind. It was a new universe, devoid of its own Death. How peculiar. He had encountered countless universes, but almost every one had its own Grim Reaper or cosmic equivalent. Meeting other Deaths - some male, some female - had been a surprising social highlight of his existence. Some he befriended, others he fought, and others he loved. But a universe without Death? That was a novelty.

Immediately, he felt his cosmic duty reassert itself. Souls began to funnel through him to their destinations. Heaven, hell, reincarnation cycles, whatever afterlife framework this reality observed, he was now the conduit. It had been so long since he had performed this original task, he found it almost refreshing. Still, caution was wise. Something had called him here, and in the Omniverse, nothing happened without reason.

With a steadying breath, he tapped a pattern on his throne's armrest. A harness of metal and strange materials enveloped his torso. This was the Nexus, a device of his own invention that anchored his true self in the Zeroverse. Through it, he could send aspects - "echoes" of himself - into different timelines and universes without risking his core essence. He had done this millions of times, creating countless Harry Potters across reality, each living and dying many lives, each eventually returning to him. But now was different. This universe had summoned him with intent.

A spectrum of lights flared in the Nexus's core: deep blues, reds, yellows, greens, oranges, and purples. With a single touch, a rose-red beam lanced into the rift, locking it open. After a moment, the Nexus retracted, and Harry settled back, amused at his own impatience. Yes, he would go. He would explore this world. With luck, it would alleviate the crushing tedium.

Unknown Date – Multiverse – Sector 31.199999-A

A microfraction of Harry's essence split from the Zeroverse. This fraction took on Harry's appearance. When he finally emerged on the other side of the rift he immediately discarded his black cloak, letting it dissolve into nothingness. He floated in an alley in a bustling city. His form, initially skeletal and horrific, shifted and swelled. He restored himself to a more human shape, recalling how he appeared at eighteen. Lean, athletic, with tanned skin and neatly cropped black hair. Clothing threaded itself around him. Crisp blue trousers, white socks, polished blue oxfords. A white button-down shirt, a blue waistcoat, and a tailored blue coat completed the outfit.

He added a red, white, and blue tie, a nod to the local fashion he glimpsed from the pedestrians. Beneath his right sleeve, a wand holster appeared. Superfluous, but nostalgic. A golden chain and time-turner hung under his shirt. The silver cloak, the Invisibility Cloak, settled invisibly around his shoulders. The Gaunt ring adorned his finger, the Resurrection Stone set into it. Another ring, its purpose secret, glinted on the other hand. A short beard graced his chin, and he materialized circular-framed glasses over eyes restored to their original emerald hue.

Stepping from the alley, he found himself in what appeared to be Brooklyn, judging by the accent of passersby and street signs. The cars looked primitive, the fashion old-fashioned, and the smell of industry hung in the air. He crossed the street, deftly avoiding honking cars, and approached a newspaper stand. He fished a dime - formed from Zeroverse matter - from his pocket and purchased a paper. April 21st, 1941.

That placed him squarely in the midst of the Second World War. The Soviet-Japanese Neutrality Pact had been signed just days earlier. He skimmed the headlines. Europe was in turmoil. Fascists, Allied forces, and shifting alliances dominated every column. Across the Atlantic, rumors of strange technologies and hidden forces abounded. Magic, he knew, existed here too. He felt it faintly, though it was far subtler than in the world he remembered. Something tugged at his thoughts: Grindelwald. The name conjured old hatreds. In his original life, Grindelwald had been a precursor to Voldemort, a Dark Lord of immense power. Here, he might still be active. But how did that tie into Harry's presence?

His normal practice in new universes was to insert himself as a mortal, live a life, die, and then return to the Zeroverse. But now he retained all his memories, all his cosmic awareness. This universe had no Death - until he arrived - and it called him intentionally. Why? The faint hum of cosmic backgrounds, the pattern of souls moving toward distinct afterlives, and the lingering potential in the air hinted at something grander. He considered cosmic beings he'd once met: Celestials, Watchers, entities like Eternity and Infinity. He had passed through such domains before. Could this world be related to them, or was it a variant? He felt no other Death, no Mistress Death that some universes had. An oddity.

He needed information. With a slight twist of will, he vanished from the street, reappearing in Washington D.C., inside the great halls of the Library of Congress. He cloaked himself in a Notice-Me-Not charm so potent even magical detection would fail. For three days he studied, consuming knowledge at a frightening pace. He learned about the wars, the global situation, the major players. He uncovered restricted texts alluding to secretive organizations. The Strategic Scientific Reserve (SSR), known for advanced research and wartime tactics. Hydra, a malignant splinter faction of the Nazi regime rumored to be searching for artifacts of untold power. Even certain whispered myths. Asgardian relics, Elder Gods, and incomprehensible entities slumbering beneath reality.

One odd discovery stood out. This universe had a Harry Potter born on July 31st, 1922. By age twelve, that Harry had graduated from Phillips Academy in Andover. By fifteen, he held multiple degrees from MIT. By sixteen, he founded Potter Incorporated (Potter Inc.). A corporation focusing on medicine, technology, and bioengineering. This Potter had introduced potions disguised as medicines to the Muggle world. Healing concoctions that accelerated wound repair, replenished blood, calmed minds, and eradicated diseases. America, Britain, and other Allied nations benefited quietly from these advances, all while Potter Inc. kept a low profile and refused to produce lethal weaponry. Medical supplies, sure. Pranks and harmless irritants, yes. But no deadly instruments. At least, not until recently.

Harry's gaze narrowed as he read a confidential file. The other Harry, the one he had displaced, had been experimenting with what the documents referred to as "Project Aegis". It was rumored to be a weapon that could counter advanced enemy threats. Possibly even super-soldiers or beings of enhanced power. This Potter had apparently realized that the world was not limited to mundane humans. Whispers of enhanced individuals and strange phenomena had reached his ears. Perhaps he anticipated foes like Grindelwald or even the hidden Hydra scientists obsessed with harnessing the cosmic cube known as the Tesseract. If this world mirrored certain patterns he recognized, that cube might be in play soon, unleashing energies that defied conventional science.

As Death, Harry knew he shouldn't care about mortal affairs. Yet something about Project Aegis intrigued him. If his counterpart had been so brilliant, so driven, why had this universe summoned Death now? Was it because his counterpart's works - and perhaps his moral hesitance - threatened the natural order? Without a native Death, had the cycle of life and mortality grown imbalanced, prompting a cosmic correction?

Worse yet, Harry realized his own abilities were curbed. Away from the Zeroverse, especially in a universe without its own Reaper, he was weaker, limited mostly to the powers of a highly advanced wizard rather than an omnipotent entity. He could still perform incredible feats: vanish at will, conjure objects, shape energy. But not to the absolute cosmic degree he once could. His "true self" remained anchored in the Zeroverse, and this avatar would have to operate more carefully, relying on intellect and subtlety.

In the restricted archives, Harry also discovered records of Potter Inc.'s sprawling network. Four properties around the world, five subsidiary companies, countless warehouses, safehouses off the grid, and nearly two billion dollars in combined assets. Money meant nothing to Harry, but the scope of these holdings suggested his displaced counterpart had a long-term plan. Intriguingly, Potter Inc. maintained vague but consistent communications with scientists and visionaries like Howard Stark. Stark's name rang a bell. If this was a variant of universes he had once frequented, Howard Stark would play a critical role in shaping the future, laying the groundwork for S.H.I.E.L.D. and the eventual emergence of heroes like Captain America and Iron Man.

As Harry leafed through articles and secret reports, he found references to a quiet but profound change in Allied strategic planning after Potter Inc.'s medicinal contributions. Soldiers healed faster, morale improved, and certain "experimental" regimens hinted at a precursor to the Super-Soldier Serum. He recognized that the other Harry had set into motion events that could diverge wildly from the history he once knew. Perhaps, in this world, the line between magic and science would blur earlier and more decisively. That might have drawn unwanted attention from cosmic forces.

There were fragments of strange correspondences between Potter Inc. and an entity known as the Department of Occult Warfare (DOW), a secretive Allied branch tasked with investigating rumored mystical artifacts. The DOW was particularly interested in sightings of a wand-wielding figure aiding Allied operations in subtle wayz. Disabling enemy machinery, healing civilians, or leaving cryptic notes that led to the dismantling of Nazi occult circles. This figure had never been confirmed, but educated speculation pointed toward Harry Potter, the boy genius turned industrialist. Yet, it didn't quite line up. The timeline suggested that the other Harry had planned to unveil something grand soon. Project Aegis, or perhaps something even more groundbreaking.

Harry closed the last file with a sigh. He had reams of notes - mental notes, mostly - on the history, artifacts, and key players. He knew that Grindelwald's influence lingered in Europe's magical underbelly. Unlike his original universe, where the magical world was tightly cloistered, here the lines seemed more porous. Perhaps the MACUSA (Magical Congress of the United States of America) had weaker authority, or wizarding secrecy wasn't as strict. He found hints of magical enclaves near major cities, blending with mundanes under strict supervision. The war strained these communities, forcing them into uneasy alliances or covert manipulations.

This mélange of science, magic, and looming cosmic conflict would be his playground. For the first time in eons, Harry felt a spark of genuine excitement. He was needed here. Maybe not by any single person, but by the grand design of a universe missing a crucial piece of its cosmic puzzle. Death itself. If beings like the Ancient One, Dormammu, or even nascent Infinity Gem bearers lay hidden in this cosmos, then Harry's presence would set off ripple effects that spanned centuries.

Stepping out of the library's restricted archives, Harry dismissed the Notice-Me-Not charm. He wandered the halls, invisible to cameras and unnoticed by guards. Outside, the world buzzed with preparation for war. He could feel the tension thickening like a storm cloud. The Allies were not yet fully committed. America hovered at the edge of entering the war. But soon, events at Pearl Harbor would drag them in, reshaping this entire timeline. Meanwhile, Hydra worked behind enemy lines, searching for the Tesseract. A relic he knew could bend reality.

Before leaving, Harry considered a final piece of intelligence. Project Aegis had a hidden laboratory somewhere on the outskirts of Boston. If it matched the genius he suspected, it could produce artifacts that blurred the line between magical and technological. Perhaps that was what had drawn him here. If a mortal Harry Potter had discovered a way to arm humanity with something beyond mortal ken - something that might attract the jealousy of gods or the greed of alien empires - then Death's presence would certainly be required.

He vanished without a sound, reappearing in a quiet alley behind a small bookstore in Georgetown. He took a deep breath, enjoying the mortal sensation of air filling lungs that didn't truly need it. He had time. This universe's call had been urgent but not desperate. He would begin by investigating Potter Inc. firsthand. He could glean more from the inside, maybe contact Howard Stark or the SSR. If he played his cards right, he could steer events to ensure this universe matured into something more interesting than a dull repetition of known tropes.

Other threads tugged at his imagination: Could Grindelwald have allied with Hydra, melding dark magic with Nazi cruelty? Could fragments of Asgardian runes or lost Atlantean texts be circulating among secret societies? The forced neutrality of the Soviet-Japanese pact suggested a timeline fragile and easy to break. If Death came too strongly into this world, would he tip the scales, prompting an early awakening of beings like Dormammu or the Celestials?

Harry laughed quietly, amused by his own excitement. He had not felt this engaged since his original mortal years, when life and death had real meaning to him. He had a role to play now, not as an indifferent destroyer but as a careful conductor of fate. He might guide the Allies to new heights of cooperation. He might sabotage Hydra's efforts to tamper with the supernatural. He might even confront Grindelwald, ensuring the dark wizard never reached the destructive potential of Voldemort.

Stepping out onto the main road, he found himself among pedestrians hustling through their day. Newsboys shouted headlines about conflicts in Europe and the Far East. Posters encouraged buying war bonds. A radio crackled from a nearby café, announcing the latest baseball scores and political speeches. This was a living world, vibrant and afraid, determined and hopeful. And now he was a part of it. Death incarnate, walking unseen through history's crossroads.

As he strolled, he conjured a small notebook and pen from the Zeroverse, jotting down ideas and objectives. He could offer insights into exotic materials, potions, and energy sources that, when woven correctly, would entice the other Harry's former associates to reveal more about their research.

His mind drifted to a future confrontation: If Project Aegis was a weapon, what did it use as fuel? Magic crystals, distilled from potions? Nanotechnology imbued with essence from the Zeroverse? Did it harness the faint magical fields he felt in this universe, blending them with cutting-edge science to produce something akin to an Infinity Stone–lite? If so, that would surely catch the eye of cosmic forces. He could almost imagine the Collector or some distant Elder of the Universe stirring in their domain, sensing a disturbance in the fundamental order.

As evening fell, Harry found himself strolling near the Potomac River. The wind carried whispers of fate. He reached into his coat and retrieved the time-turner's chain, rolling the miniature hourglass between his fingers. He could meddle with time if needed, correct mistakes, orchestrate events more precisely. But he would tread carefully. Too much meddling and he might unravel this delicate tapestry of history.

For the first time in a long, long while, Harry felt alive. Truly engaged. He slipped the paper from his pocket once more and jotted down a single line: Find Project Aegis. Understand what my counterpart created. Ensure the cosmic balance.

Then another line: Investigate Hydra's occult interests. If Grindelwald is involved, deal with him.

And a final note: Learn why I was summoned. Who or what sought Death's presence here? Is there a greater plan, a puppet master, or is this the universe correcting an oversight?

He tucked the notebook away and vanished once more, reappearing in a dim warehouse in New York. Wooden crates, dusty and unmarked, lined the walls. He placed a subtle spell on one crate, revealing it held contraband potions. Potter Inc.'s handiwork, no doubt. He smiled. This was a clue. He would follow the supply lines, contact those who dealt in magical contraband, and learn more about what the other Harry had been planning. The mortal Harry's sudden removal must have left a power vacuum. Allies and enemies would soon notice the original Potter's absence.

His presence would not remain secret for long. Whispers would spread in certain circles. 'Harry Potter' looked different, acted different, and had vanished for several days. Investors, contacts, and perhaps intelligence agents from the SSR might come knocking. He would need to prepare a plausible explanation. Perhaps the other Harry had gone on a 'sabbatical' and returned 'enlightened'. He had powerful memory charms at his disposal and enough cunning to weave a believable story.

As he exited the warehouse, the city's faint glow and the hum of distant cars greeted him. Overhead, the night sky sparkled with stars. He wondered how many of those stars were home to gods and monsters he had once encountered. This universe's cosmic chorus was missing a vital note until now. He would provide it, shape it, and in doing so, find a reason to exist again.

Yes, he had things to do. Many things. As he disappeared into the night, a faint smile touched his lips. Death had entered the stage of a new world. One rich with heroes, villains, and infinite possibilities. Here, finally, he might find meaning beyond destruction and boredom. Here he would play a part in shaping destinies, forging alliances, and perhaps even challenging ancient evils he had never before encountered. The game had begun, and Harry was eager to see how the pieces would fall.

Omake I - The Late-Night Undertaker's Confusion

Late one evening in a small London funeral parlor, Mr. Alistair Goodwin found himself utterly perplexed. He stood alone among polished caskets and embroidered curtains, the scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. Outside, the distant hum of traffic provided a gentle lullaby to a restless world teetering on the brink of larger conflicts. Alistair was no stranger to death. He had prepared thousands of bodies for their final rest, arranged dignified ceremonies, offered comforting words to grieving families. This was his work. Steady and predictable...until recently.

In the last few weeks, something odd had happened. Corpses arrived at the parlor just as usual. Soldiers shipped back from the mainland, elderly neighbors succumbing to illness, victims of unfortunate accidents, but there was a subtle change. Bodies appeared to have an unexplainable stillness, a sense of completion he'd never noticed before. Typically, Alistair sometimes felt a lingering heaviness in the air around the dead, as if part of them still lingered. Now, that heaviness was gone.

He'd started to test his observations. Yesterday, after everyone had gone home, he lit a candle and quietly asked the empty room questions, things he would never dare say in front of grieving relatives. "Is anyone still here?" he'd whisper. Before, he sometimes felt something. Call it a shiver, a presence, or a weight pressing on his shoulders. But now the room was hollow, each candle flicker illuminating only silent emptiness.

Tonight, he inspected a newly arrived casket. A private who had succumbed to infection after a minor wound. It should have been a tragedy marked by lingering regret. Instead, as Alistair lifted the lid, the body's face looked strangely serene, as if the soldier had been personally guided past mortal pain and worry. It unnerved him. Not because it was unpleasant, but because it was so…neat. So final. "Where have they gone?" Alistair mused aloud, voice hushed in the quiet parlor. He didn't expect an answer, but the question weighed on him. Death was supposed to be messy, uncertain, haunting. Yet something - someone - seemed to have polished its rough edges, smoothing the passage from life to whatever lay beyond.

He recalled rumors whispered in the back alleys and at late-night gatherings. Some talked of invisible hands guiding souls away, others hinted at strange energies passing through the world. Alistair was not a superstitious man, but after a lifetime of working with the dead, he knew when something was off. He reached out and closed the casket lid, feeling a chill run down his spine. There was no more restless tension, no more unresolved atmosphere. The dead had gone quietly, too quietly. Whatever was responsible - be it fate, a force of nature, or something more profound - had left no trace but a subtle sense of rightness.

Alistair Goodwin sighed, dimmed the lights, and locked up for the night. He couldn't name it, couldn't understand it, but he knew something had changed. Death had taken on a new rhythm, a silent efficiency that left no room for ghosts or lingering echoes. As he stepped out into the cool London air, he wondered if anyone else had noticed. Perhaps not. Many would be too busy fighting wars, grieving openly, or struggling to survive. But Alistair, the undertaker, would remember this shift. He would keep watching, keep waiting, and perhaps one day understand what subtle presence had entered their world. One that made the final goodbye so strangely complete.

~ Omake II - The Bureaucracy of Afterlives ~

As Death lingered in the Zeroverse, having just discovered the strange new universe that lacked Death, a sudden blinking light erupted to his left. He glanced over, mildly curious. In all his eons here, the Zeroverse had offered very few surprises. But this was new. A tiny red orb, flickering urgently in midair. He sighed and tapped it. Instantly, a floating scroll popped into existence, unrolling before him with a dignified fwoosh.

TO: DEATH
FROM: THE DEPARTMENT OF AFTERLIFE AFFAIRS, DIVISION Z-ALPHA

SUBJECT: ANOMALOUS UNIVERSE #31.199999-A

"Department of Afterlife Affairs?" Death mumbled, rubbing his gaunt chin. "I didn't know I had a department," This was unusual. He was Death. He didn't answer to departments. Departments answered to...actually, they generally didn't exist, as far as he knew. But here it was, a neat, official scroll with curly golden script. He kept reading:

Dear Mr. Death,

It has come to our attention that Universe #31.199999-A has been operating for several cosmic millennia without a local Death Entity. This oversight has led to a backlog of roughly 42 trillion unprocessed souls, currently languishing in a limbo-state. The inefficiency is unacceptable and has prompted some rather tense inter-departmental memos.

In summary: We're delighted to see you've responded to the recent summons. Might we kindly suggest that you expedite standard operating procedures? The souls in question have begun forming a union, The League of Unpassed Spirits, and have filed several grievances demanding immediate resolution. They're threatening to picket the Pearly Gates, which, as you know, would be very inconvenient for everyone involved.

Your prompt action in this matter would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,
Arlene Witherbee, Junior Adjunct to the High Commissioner for Afterlife Logistics

Harry blinked. Then he blinked again. A union of souls? He tried to picture millions of transparent figures marching in tiny circles, waving ethereal signs. 'No Death, No Peace!', 'We Demand Proper Passing!', and 'Stop Keeping Us in Suspense!' The image was absurd. And yet, he couldn't help but feel a strange mix of amusement and annoyance. He had traveled through infinite realities, battled gods, and reshaped time. Now he was being pestered by…paperwork? Bureaucratic oversight in the afterlife? He wondered if there was a cubicle farm somewhere deep in the Omniverse where overworked clerks processed universal anomalies. The thought made him shudder.

He tapped the red orb again, summoning a quill into his skeletal hand. He considered ignoring the note. He was Death, after all. But then he thought about the picket lines forming around Heaven's pearly gates and imagined a bewildered St. Peter dealing with chanting spirits. It was too hilarious to ignore. He wrote a short reply:

TO: DEPARTMENT OF AFTERLIFE AFFAIRS, DIVISION Z-ALPHA

SUBJECT: RE: ANOMALOUS UNIVERSE #31.199999-A

Dear Ms. Witherbee,

Thank you for your informative memo. I have already begun addressing the shortage of Death services in Universe #31.199999-A. Please rest assured that I am taking steps to process the overdue souls and ensure the efficient running of the cosmic cycle.

In the meantime, kindly inform The League of Unpassed Spirits that I fully acknowledge their concerns and will rectify the situation as soon as possible. If they must protest, I request they do so quietly and refrain from blocking the main entrance. The last time I dealt with a protest, it involved poltergeists forming a conga line in Purgatory. Utterly chaotic.

Warm regards,
Mr. Death

He sealed the scroll with a flick of his finger. The red orb blinked twice, seemed to nod politely - if an orb could be said to nod - and then disappeared. He shook his head, chuckling silently. Even Death, it seemed, had paperwork. He leaned back on his throne, thinking: If he found whoever summoned him to this new universe, he'd have to mention the unexpected bureaucratic hassle. Perhaps he should put up a sign at the entry point to the Zeroverse.

NOTICE: Please ensure proper Death entity installation at Universe Creation. Failure to do so may result in soul backlog, paperwork, and possible protests.

He allowed himself a small smile, considering how ridiculous existence could be. He'd better hurry and get to work in that new reality. After all, the souls were counting on him...and so was the Department of Afterlife Affairs. Who knew being Death came with so much red tape?