Chapter 1: Congratulations, You're Dead
My name's Daniel. Or, as God now insists on calling me: Death.
Yeah. That Death.
Let me explain.
It all started with bread. Not poison. Not a bomb. Not a vampire bite. Just… bread. One minute, I was binge-watching my favorite anime, the next I was choking on a crusty baguette like some tragic snack-related statistic. The lights went out, and suddenly I was standing in a white, glowing void with a man who looked suspiciously like Morgan Freeman — but younger, cooler, and radiating "all-powerful cosmic being" energy.
He smiled. Not ominously. Just… like He knew I was about to panic.
"Welcome," He said. "You're dead. But congratulations — you've been promoted."
"Excuse me?"
"You're the new Death."
"...Excuse me??"
He waved His hand. A chair appeared. Mine was shaped like a coffin for some reason. His looked like a throne of sunflowers and jazz music. "Relax," He said. "Let me explain. The previous Death retired. Honestly, he lasted longer than most. Billions of years. But last Tuesday, he snapped during a planetary extinction and decided to move to a universe without sentient life. Says he's 'done with the paperwork.' You're the next in line."
"Based on what?!" I yelled.
God grinned. "You once got emotionally wrecked by the death of a side character in a manga."
"That qualifies me to—?"
"You have potential. Empathy. Curiosity. And absolutely no idea what you're doing. Perfect candidate."
Before I could object further, He snapped His fingers. A black hoodie appeared on me, stitched with threads that shimmered like dying stars. A faint aura surrounded my body — dark, ancient, and... buzzing?
"Your powers will respond to your emotions," He said. "Your thoughts, your imagination. Try not to think about anything violent."
Oh no.
Chapter 2: The Training Begins
"So," God said, hands behind His back as we floated above Earth like two casual sky-gods, "let's start your first training exercise: Don't Destroy Anything."
"That's the whole exercise?"
"Sounds simple, right?"
I nodded, cautiously. "I mean, I just have to exist and not—"
BOOM.
A small town in Montana suddenly lost power. A nearby forest caught fire — then instantly extinguished itself in panic.
"WHAT DID YOU THINK ABOUT?!" God shouted, turning to me mid-hover.
"I— I was just thinking... what would happen if Thanos and Goku had a baby."
God sighed. "Son, you just collapsed a dimension five timelines over."
He waved His hand. Reality folded itself back into place like a crumpled origami swan.
"Okay," He said, rubbing His temples, "rule number one: no hypothetical crossover fights. Ever."
I groaned. "This is impossible. Why can't I control it?"
"You're raw," He said. "Death isn't about killing. It's about balance, timing, mercy. You're walking around with the power to unravel galaxies, and your brain is still running on memes and caffeine."
He summoned a chalkboard in the clouds. Written in cosmic ink were the words:
Daniel's Death Control Checklist:
Don't think about death.
Don't feel angry.
Don't imagine explosions.
Don't get horny.
Especially not all four at once.
I stared. "I already broke all of these just reading them."
God looked at me with fatherly pity. "This is why the last guy quit."
I froze. "Wait… that's why?"
He nodded solemnly. "The previous Death tried dating a black hole. Things got weird. Then he started feeling guilty about taking souls, developed existential burnout, and ended up using his scythe as a garden rake on an empty planet. Said the job was emotionally unsustainable."
"That's… horrifyingly relatable," I whispered.
"Exactly. That's why your training matters. You need mental discipline. You need to learn control."
I crossed my arms, still levitating. "What happens if I can't?"
God looked me dead in the eyes. "Then one day, you'll sneeze… and a star system will die."
Chapter 3: The Thought That Almost Killed Manhattan
God decided to take me somewhere "safe" to practice: about 300 miles above New York City.
"You won't touch anything from here," He said. "Unless you screw up really bad."
"Comforting," I muttered.
"Alright," He said. "Clear your mind. Focus on stillness. Think about... puppies."
I closed my eyes. Puppies. Yes. Little golden retrievers, wagging tails, adorable—
Wait.One puppy barks. It turns into Cerberus.Cerberus breathes fire.Fire consumes a city.
MANHATTAN BEGINS TO SHAKE.
"NO NO NO NO—" I screamed.
God clapped. Reality paused like a Netflix video.
He turned to me. Calm. Cold.
"You imagined a hellhound during a puppy meditation."
"I didn't mean to—!"
"Your imagination," He said, "is like a toddler with a rocket launcher."
I nodded, trembling. "Got it. Thought control. Don't picture anything... mythological."
God sighed and conjured two stress balls shaped like the Earth. "Squeeze these when you feel unsafe to think."
I held them tightly. One popped.