Prologue:

Ash and rubble, no colour to the world.

A barren, forsaken land of desolation that almost resembled a battlefield. The sky was a dismal grey that sank down upon craggy cliffs, and stretches of equally bland, thick, choking dust. Bleached a ghostly, and dull white, skeletons of things long dead and forgotten erupted forth from the congestion of filth. Some were large structures of bone that appeared to be part of the uninspiring scenery, while others were merely clusters of brittle remains that collected into grim piles. There were chains too, dark and sinister strings of metal which slithered from unknown depths, and pulled taught for miles in complicated webs. It was as if they were trying to keep the dreadful place from falling a part. Maybe they were really ripping against its seams.

The atmosphere was unnaturally hushed, with little to no sound. What vague whispers there were became muffled by some unseen force. No wind stirred the stagnant, fusty air, so nothing carried very far, the dull murmurs spinning lazily behind unseen bounds as they slowly dissipated into nothing. That abandoned realm was like a forgotten and cursed graveyard which no living thing dared approach.

The aftermath of an apocalypse could not have created such a bleak wasteland, and that was just how the king liked it.

The king, respectfully called Death, and less respectfully referred to as the 'old man', was the oldest of all Grim Reapers, or Death Gods. He had existed for far longer than even he cared to remember. No one, not even he himself, knew when he had come into being. All that he knew was that he had spent seemingly an eternity in the dreary conditions of the Death God Realm, ruling over all other Death Gods.

He would have hardly minded, content with his surroundings, if not for the fact that all the other fools were useless imbeciles. All they ever did was laze about, bemoaning their boredom, without any thought to actually doing the work they were supposed to have been at least attempting. Each and every one of them were unmotivated, whiny brats with enough arrogance to assure them that their indolence was not actually an issue.

It was an issue though because someone had to make sure the business of dying, which was very serious indeed, kept running. There were rules, laws that could not be ignored lest the entire universe implode. Apparently that meant the king, who was under the impression that he really should have had servants to do the heavy lifting, was in charge of everything. If he heard any more petulant Death Gods complaining about how there was nothing to do, he would show them the piles and piles of paperwork waiting for him, and see if they had anything to say then. As it was he was hardly ever made appearances, trapped in complete seclusion as he did paperwork on every death that happened in any world, anywhere.

Then, how was he repaid? The infantile Ryuk had decided it would be jolly good fun the steal the King's Death Note. Normally the king would simply use it as an excuse to take his frustrations out on someone, but by the time he got around to tracking down the selfish plebeian, he discovered that the idiot had dropped a Death Note into the Human Realm, and gone gallivanting after it for kicks, without so much as a by-your-leave.

And merciful heavens did that come with an unholy ton of overtime. The king had to file a report that his Death Note had officially gone missing, and another one for the notebook that had, of course, fallen into the hands of a bloodthirsty lunatic with a God-complex. The king even had to sign off on every single mortal the conceited tic wrote down, and then apply for the change in their time. From there his workload was filled with wiping all the extra souls of their past life, organizing transport for reincarnation, and meeting with Fate for the destined rebirth and eventual death. It was not as bad as the Dark Ages, the Plague, or the Holocaust, but it was enough to make any sensible Death God snap.

Then, just when the king thought it could not get any worse, the murderous wretch had gone and popped off. That should have been a good thing, a cause for celebration even, except there was a clause stating that whatever human used a Death Note would become a Death God upon their termination. The king would now have to deal with the supposed "Kira" in person. Or would have, had the newbie not crossed the line, the line being the one between the Death God Realm and the human one, having dropped his notebook just like Ryuk had.

The king was fed up. He was tired of taking all the backlash that resulted from the unbelievable shenanigans his subordinates got into. He was sick of the careless disregard for rules, and consequences, and common courtesy. Plus, he was absolutely done with paperwork, and unpaid overtime. He just wanted to take his vacation days and get some peace.

Thus, he developed a plot to derail Kira's plan before it ever got under way. There was a bit of bending space-time involved, but he was Death. If he could not twist physics a little, he hardly deserved the title. The only thing he could not work in his favour was the fact that Death Gods dealt only with the dead or dying, and the eventual expiration of their allotted stint in the world of the living. If he was going to tinker, it meant using someone who was on the chopping block.

Thus he sent for a Death God who was slightly more useful than the rest, though that was not saying much. Ilmort was a particularly creepy Death God who was always a little off. Truthfully, the king would have liked to make use of someone more trustworthy, less conniving, but he could not afford to send some half-wit on a mission to another reality. Not with his potential break from work on the line, anyway. He had to make due, and hope that the shrewd little imp did not brew up some troublesome idea.

From there all he could do was wait and hope that his servant found someone with the sufficient ability to mess up the irksome plot line. Fortunately he had nothing but time.

A/N: Greetings! I am in the process of editing and revamping, and while doing so this wee bit popped into my head. Hope you enjoy a look into REASONS WHY ERIN SUFFERS. MUHAHAHAHA! Ahem. Also, as a warning, I'm going to change the title of this shindig to "the Dead and Dying". Funky capitalization and all. 'Cause "We All Scream for Ice Cream"? Really?