Work Text:
So little do people think of my kind. So little do they even stop to ponder.
They call me a myth, they call me fictitious. But if I were truly a mere fairy tale, how would they explain the evidence? Everyone has or will experience it; I am inevitable.
I myself am known by many names- the Grim, the Reaper, the Banished One, but more commonly known as Death. I am part of a dead language, my name lost in ancient tomes.
Forsaken, forgotten, and alone I forge my army. This world should be afraid- Vastabat is on the rise.