Lightning crackled above an island forgotten by the gods.
It was an unholy land of the dead and lost souls.
As the storm raged on, at the cliff of the island, a lone figure sat cross-legged, his eyes closed in deep meditation.
"Lord Death." A figure came from the town at the bottom of the cliff, respectfully landed on one knee, and bowed. "The Death Entourage had returned with news."
"What is it?" The so-called Lord Death whispered and left the state of deep meditation.
After opening his eyes, he saw that he was surrounded by ghosts and the lost souls of the damned, which only he could see.
He reached out his hand towards one of the beautiful, pale-faced ghosts and felt a chilling breeze pass right through his fingers as his hand phased right through.
"The Death Entourage failed to get the luck." His loyal follower said coldly. "Apparently, some thieves stole the heart."
