Black greasy hair fell upon his shoulders, his thick skull had a crack down its side, luckily his hair covered it considering he hated it, he had broad shoulders and he was sort of tall for a teenager, his eyes were soulless pitch black even if you shined a light in them you would only see darkness. he spread his skeletal wings before he put on his reaper cloak then whistled a tune and walked over to a desk and began polishing his guns, "Tip toooe! Thru the windoow!" He sang loudly. He began taking apart his gun since he had sharpened the bones at the tips of his fingers into Phillips and flat head screwdrivers. Once he finished he stood up and walked out of the door to his room and flew out of the biggest window on the third story of him and his fathers citadel made from bricks made out of compacted bones of the dead creatures that walked this earth. he soared high his hair blew in the wind and his cloak flapped around like a cape and as he flew he left a trail of fire as red as blood and as bright as the stars at night with pitch black smoke following it. Mortem in his prime, wearing his pitch black cloak, wings spread wide and his guns locked and loaded and at his side. At the time mortem was doing a patrol around the underworld, everything seems normal but he starts to notice people are dead and even less people are adventuring through the depths of hell itself.
