I died Or at least, I thought I did.
One moment I was walking home from work, the next I was standing in a desolate wasteland. The sky was a deep, bloody red and the ground was dry and cracked.
A figure stood before me. He was tall, with piercing blue eyes and jet black hair. He wore a black robe with a hood that cast a shadow over his face.
You have been chosen, he said in a voice that sent shivers down my spine.
Chosen for what? I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
To be the successor to the God of Death, he replied.