A soul drifted through something that felt like thick liquid. It moved, but didn't know where. Then, suddenly, it felt a pull. The soul didn't understand where it came from, but it was definitely against the current.
Its hazy consciousness started to anchor. It tried to look around, though it had no eyes, no mouth. The soul found itself inside a worn-down Chinese-style throne room. Lanterns hung from red pillars, but the room looked like it hadn't been touched in months.
Looking down, the soul saw it was sitting on a massive yin-yang symbol. There was water on it—just a shallow pool, a few centimeters deep.
"Welcome, mortal."
The voice was dignified, echoing softly. The soul turned and saw a figure seated on a plain wooden chair. It was majestic, awe-inspiring, yet wrapped in swirling black mist.
"Welcome to the land of death,"
The figure said.
The soul couldn't speak. It just stared, trying to make sense of what it saw.
"Today, I have summoned you for a special reason. I am the God of Death, King of Hell. Abrosis Evvar Wailhard. You shall be my inheritor."
The soul froze, confused and unsettled. Why would it—a mortal soul, with no name, no past, no destination—be chosen to become a God of Death? It didn't understand any of this.
But the God of Death didn't pause, didn't answer the soul's confusion.
"Tell me, mortal. Do you accept?"
Something inside the soul stirred. It felt a strange, intense urge to say yes. Its being screamed yes, though no words came out. Something in the room pulsed as if triggered by its intent.
The God of Death leaned back, as if relieved.
"Well then, we shall begin the inheritance process."
He lifted his right hand. It shimmered with power. A beautiful seal rose from his palm, floating in the air. It trembled for a moment, uncertain, before it fixed itself on the soul. Then it struck the soul's heart.
The soul floated upward. Pain unlike anything it had known coursed through it. It was so intense that it almost didn't feel itself at all.
It felt as if its entire being was being rewritten. Slowly, the soul compressed into nothingness. Then a small blood-red bulb appeared. It expanded, turning into a baby, and then grew larger and larger until it became a handsome grown man.
The soul, once nameless and without identity, now had a divine body.
It was reborn. And it had a name: Morvathos Renavyr Oathgrave. Along with the rebirth came knowledge—immense, vast, and previously unknown. It became part of him instantly.
"Magnificent,"
Abrosis said.
Morvathos looked up at the God of Death who had abandoned his throne.
"Well then, new ruler of Hell, I shall take my leave."
Abrosis rose, walking calmly toward the exit, though it was clear he was barely holding himself back from running. He stepped through the gate, and when the door closed, Morvathos was left alone on the yin-yang symbol.
A distant shouts of relief could be heard from the throne room.
Through it all, Morvathos barely registered what had happened.
=====
After Abrosis left, Morvathos looked down at his reflection. He crouched closer, trying to get a clearer look. His eyes widened.
The water showed him a face—handsome beyond anything he had ever imagined. Sharp jawline, skin smooth like porcelain, blood-red eyes, and hair black as the void. His body was lean and muscular, as if carved from stone.
He stared for a while, almost admiring himself, before standing up. Without thinking, he walked toward the throne and sat down, as if it was the most natural thing to do.
When Morvathos regained consciousness earlier, his mortal memories had also returned. His current personality was still rooted in his past life, his mortal common sense.
That was why all of this felt ridiculous to him. He wanted to scream, to throw a fit, to call it all nonsense—but the indifference in his heart wouldn't let him.
All he felt was, eh, whatever. Doesn't matter.
He leaned back against the chair. The room around him was empty, without much furniture. Behind him, only a few flower pots and some scrolls written in the underworld's language. Nothing else.
Before anything else, he needed to organize the knowledge he had inherited.
First—he was no longer human. He was now part of a race called Thanari, a Top-Tier Divine race recognised across the cosmos. They were tied to death, souls, and reincarnation. But Thanari were rarely chosen as realm-ruling gods.
From his inherited memory, Morvathos understood why. Thanari were too proud, too detached, to care about something as tedious as ruling a realm—even though they were perfectly suited for it.
Another fact unsettled him: by Thanari standards, he was just a baby. A Thanari only reached adulthood after a thousand years. The divine laws were hastening his growth because he had become a realm ruler, and within half a year he would be considered a full adult. The question was… could he survive that long?
The second thing he learned was about the hell he inherited.
The Spring of Reincarnation was broken. The soul water was damaged. The liquid he had drifted in earlier was diluted, and souls were leaking out.
Because of that, children on Earth were being born without souls. Their destined souls, meant to settle into their bodies, were scattering in the cosmos instead. The result—many children died before they could even be born.
The most obvious sign was Japan's declining birth rate.
If this continued, eventually Earth would fall silent. No souls would recycle, and Hell would collapse.
Next came the truth about how Hell actually worked. The entire cosmos ran like an economy system, and its currency was karmic coins.
Souls went through punishment in the Pit of Karma and Punishment, their sins burned away, and in the process, karmic coins were created from the burned ashes of their sin.
After judgment, souls were sent to the River of Reincarnation, weighed, and finally sent to the Spring to be reborn. Each cycle produced more karmic coins.
The River of Reincarnation was separated into six path and all which was connected to the Spring of Reincarnation
But now, with the Soul Water was corrupted and souls leaking, the income of karmic coins was collapsing.
At the moment, even with millions of souls being refined, only one karmic coin was being generated per hour.
The reason? There was no watch guard. Hell was being maintained by divine laws alone, running on automation. And those laws weren't free—they charged karmic coins. After their deduction, Morvathos only received a single coin per hour.
If the Spring wasn't broken, this wouldn't be a problem. But as things stood, the income would dwindle further, and if the Divine Laws went unpaid, they would stop maintaining Hell. Then it would collapse.
For others, karmic coins acted as a universal currency. But only the realm-ruling god had the privilege to use them fully. Others could only treat them as money, not tap into the facilities that separated gods from mortals.
The Realm-Ruling God can use the Shop system to buy anything permitted by the Divine Laws
The next thing Morvathos examined was his Authority Seal.
He lifted his right hand. Faint white and silver lines of art glowed across the back of it. This was his mark, the proof he was the God of Death.
Without it, he would be nothing more than another wandering existence in the vast cosmos. With it, he was bound to Hell—and if Hell collapsed, so would he. Not just his body, but his soul. He would be erased completely.
The Authority Seal carried power.
First, it gave him comprehension of two Greater Laws—Death and Soul Level 1 Law Fragment in terms of Comprehension Quality. Both were vital for reaping. Soul laws allowed him to see spiritual nodes, the threads tying souls to their bodies, and cut them cleanly.
Death laws allowed him to erode the connection between soul and body, making the reaping process smooth. Even without cultivation, he could channel intent from these laws by will alone.
But Morvathos himself wasn't a proper God because he doesn't have any cultivation. Only after stepping in the Mortal God Realm will he become a proper God.
But to do that, he needs a Manual and to get that, he needs Karmic Coins, which he can't wate right now.
Besides, no other God of Death will come to conquer this declining Hell anyway... probably.
The Seal also granted him Hell Inspection—the ability to examine anything tied to Hell, like a specialized inspection spell limited to the underworld.
Another gift was the Armor of Reaper. Despite the name, it was more like a shapeshifting clothing ability.
He could form any attire he wanted with it. Silver and white light wrapped around his body as he willed it. Then it vanished, leaving him in a black hoodie, pants and Adidas shoes. He looked at himself with mild fascination.
Finally, the most iconic gift of all—the Reaper's weapon.
Morvathos extended his hand. The Authority Seal pulsed, and a scythe appeared. Its body was black, its edges blood-red, faintly glowing with an eerie aura.
He spun it around like it was part of him. The seal had also granted him Level 1 Basic mastery, so the weapon felt natural in his hands.
Morvathos felt a flicker of excitement in his heart as he swung the scythe—but his face stayed calm, indifferent as ever.
He decided his first task would be simple: inspect the whole of Hell himself. Then decide what to do next.