/vt/ - Virtual Youtubers

>>10453534
Our boy is kakkoii

>>7403697
>>7403739
>>7403772
>>7403781
>>7404241
Here goes nothing...
>Death-sensei is dead or retired and Mori is forced to replace him
>Mori is thrust into a new and terrifying world where she must navigate through hellish politics, governance, and bureaucracy. All while she uselessly struggles to maintain the beautiful art of killing as it is bastardized by those who did not understand Death-sensei’s vision nor respect Mori as their boss
>So consumed by work she can no longer find the time or the energy she once had to make music or even art, which was what she loved the most
Enter you, a lowly skeleton and an incompetent fuck-up, who through a great deal of luck (or misfortune) has found themselves the one and only servant to death. Being someone who is far lower in hell’s hierarchy than the great mistress you serve and incapable of doing even the most simple tasks without failure or mistake you are no better than a slave to be used and abused and unable to vent her feelings and emotions through her passion she uses every chance you give her to take it out on you.
There is only one saving grace, broken down by her new duties as death she is often too tired to take care of herself at night and as such a large part of your eternal servitude to her is to clothe her, feed her, bathe her, and put her to sleep.
What comes after is not so pleasant. There is one final part of your duty to her. One that was you were neither told nor would have understood if it were told to you. For once she is asleep you are to do your greatest task of all: RUN.
No matter where you go, where you hide, or what shred of safety you feel, what follows is inescapable. For at the stroke of midnight Mori awakens from her slumber possessed by the storm of passion she once had.
With all the beauty, grace, and terror of a master in their prime, she hunts you. In your hollow chest cavity, the terror you feel knowing that she is coming for you is inescapable.
Whether it takes her a few minutes or hours, she finds her prey. The game reaches its conclusion.
But at the moment before she severs your head from your spine when the ecstasy of the hunt reaches its peak, the mask of sadistic coldness she wears subsides into a smile and in that single brief moment where she is truly vulnerable, you see what few ever will again: her happiness, her joy, and even gratitude. In its own twisted way, having a single soul to hunt, a single being to use and abuse time and time again is enough to keep her sane and for a small time, happy.
The moment ends. The game comes to a close.
You will never be more than prey to her, a mere plaything thing to be broken and put back together, so pitiful that the fact you wake from the dark blackness of death after every time you play "death" with her is mercy. But you are hers, and as you are engulfed by the huntress' lust, she is yours.
It is said that the embrace of death is a cold one, but you know the truth. You know her warmth, her ability to make all the weight of the world disappear, and her comforting whispers:
"Will you die for me again?"