"And so, no one will hear you in turn."

The poor fool frowned in confusion. He had one hand on the lever, wires protruding from it running to the chair his drenched 'victim' sat in.

"Allow me to explain. My name is Lazarus Geist. Maybe you know me, maybe not. I am what's known as a Reaper. We may go by other names, but the goal is the same: to kill what should not be alive. Or so it should be. In truth, I rejected it. See, at the time, I was murdered. Stabbed to death, funnily enough. And I forsook that path. Condemned the one who brought me back."

Lazarus paused.

"I was eventually killed a second time. Not quite sure how. And I ended up being reborn. Do you understand the implication? ...I see you don't. Essentially, When one dies, their soul is reborn elsewhere. An infinite amount of universes... imagine it. Death just being a pathway to a new life."

There was a click, or perhaps a clack. Maybe a clunk? In any case, the killer lowered the lever.

"It frustrated me." Lazarus continued. "No. No, in truth I was filled with hate. So I sought to kill at least the one who cursed me so."

The killer pulled the lever up, and down again, grunting in actual frustration.

"So I learned to kill. To truly kill. It started small. Humans, maybe other races. Then the vital bits. Hearts, limbs, emotions. Temporarily, sometimes. Then I aimed... bigger."

The fool of a killer stomped up to the door in the small room, and wedged the key in the lock.

"Rock. Stone. Metal, as you now may suspect."

The key spun, but no resistance from the lock was forthcoming.

"Emotions came later. Eventually I could kill even concepts. Faith. Hope. Time. That's a favourite of mine. An excellent hard counter to those who manipulate Time itself."

The fool began trying to pull at the door.

"Of course, this is over many lifetimes. I have learned so, so much. How to keep a prisoner alive for interrogation. Where to cut to keep them alive for the longest time. Which parts of the brain to sever to prevent my prey from escaping into insanity. Things that I have not practiced at for... a rather long time, I must admit. But now you're here."

The metal clasps used to hold Lazarus down, so pristine and shiny, began to turn all shades of orange. The killer, fool and target both, turned around just in time to see this happening.

"Our domain is death, and ours is not just to grant it... but to deny it also."

Lazarus rose, the rusted clasps having all the resistance of dust.

"And we have here a rare opportunity to shake off the rust. Wouldn't you agree?"