Chapter Text
War.
Marvin hates war. Always has. Always will. It causes him to work overtime and drained his energy faster. He didn't understand the need for humans to go to war. It just left him with more work than necessary.
Being the God of Death was already hard enough and now his job was ten times harder.
Most of his time was spent in the front lines of a battlefield, cleaning up the wandering soul of the most recently killed soldiers. He sends them off to their next life, whatever that was; he didn't care. If he did, he'd be a wreck before his day ever started.
Of course, he was still a bit of a wreck, but he managed to keep a brave face. He had to; he saw every human death that ever occurred to date.
Most of the time, his job was tolerable. But most of the time, there wasn't a war going on.
So now, not only did Marvin have even more deaths to keep up with, but he had to balance being on the battlefield and being literally everywhere else in the world.
And the worst part?
Every other god blames Marvin for this. It's always the God of Death’s fault for whenever the humans have a higher fatality rate than normal. It's never his fault; if it were up to him, he'd lower the rate just to give himself a break. The gods don't understand that he just cleans up the messes, not make them.
It wasn't fair. It's never been fair. But Marvin had grown to accept that.
He had grown to accept a lot of things.
It got to the point where he stopped caring altogether. That having emotions were pointless. He became cold-hearted, but only because he thought it was best.
It didn't really matter anyway. He never actually talked to anyone. No god likes him so none talk to him. Unless it's to blame him for something, of course.
And right now, the gods were blaming him. This war? All his fault. All the deaths were because of him. The God of War? No, he's fine. It's not like he's the one who caused this war. That's absurd. It's all the God of Death, obviously.
Marvin huffed to himself as he whisked on, yet another, soldier to his next life. He looked around, noticing that most of the fighting for this battle was over. Now, he stood in a vacant field filled with vacant corpses.
He sighed, knowing that this was going to be one of the few chances he had to rest before another battle breaks out. He quickly left the field and found himself standing in the middle of the living room in his small apartment in New York.
He preferred it here rather than the Underworld, his actually residence, since not many gods knew about this place and he was allowed the privacy he wanted.
Marvin didn't even bother heading up to his bedroom, finding the couch just as welcoming. He fell face first onto the couch and let exhaustion take him over. He asleep almost instantly.
Normally, he didn't need sleep. He was a god. No god needs sleep. Some just do it for pleasure, but Marvin never really had the luxury of time to sleep. Someone was usually always dying. The only acception he gave himself was when moments like these happened. When there was a plague, famine, or a war, anything of the sorts, he allowed himself to rest so he didn't self destruct.
This shit just drained him. And it made him much more irritable. Not like anyone ever bothered him to begin with. But at times like these, some of the younger gods came around to try and chat with him about all the death.
The younger gods were always the idiots. At least, in Marvin's opinion.
Right now, however, Marvin was fine. No one was bothering him and he was able to rest for the first time in, what felt like, months. He just slept.