Kurou's pale face and bloodshot eyes would terrify any ordinary person or animal who dared to meet his gaze. Clad in black attire and moving with an undead-like gait, he appeared to be a good-for-nothing, drunken-beyond-belief bum just waiting for a gang to show up, beat him to a pulp and steal his belongings.

However, there was something distinct about him. More than one thing, in fact. Some people speculated that he was a death god, but he was far from it. He was no longer human as well, at least not in the conventional sense.

Kurou had never believed in heaven or hell. Peace? Just a truce between wars. Even the existence of gods seemed dubious, given the incessant chaos and destruction that plagued the world. If the gods allowed such things to happen, then what sadistic, cruel bastards those gods must be, right?

Throughout most of his life, Kurou had been a laid-back, lazy individual who hopped from one job to another, mostly for despising being ordered around. Defying authority was, as consequence, one of his greatest pleasures. Once, he even hurled hot coffee at his employer's face when reprimanded for being consistently late for an entire month. Unsurprisingly, finding a job became a challenge after that incident.

Yet, despite the consequences he faced due to his behavior, Kurou remained unyielding. Perhaps, if he had attempted to become an entrepreneur, the issue of insubordination would have been resolved. However, that solution would only work if he weren't so apathetic and cynical towards everything. Even his family had lost faith in him and deemed him a lost cause. Maybe that stubbornness was the reason why he couldn't die in the first place.

However, he was unaware of his Post-Mortal nature until that fateful day.

Kurou was on a business trip to France, tasked with training some stupid employees at a branch of his company, despite his limited knowledge of French. So he fulfilled his duties as apathetically and half-assed as possible. And everything seemed fine until it was time for his return flight home. The take-off itself wasn't the issue. But some asshole had been smoking a cigarette inside one of the plane's bathrooms, and the idiot tossed the half-smoked butt into the trash bin. By the time someone noticed the billowing smoke emanating from the bathroom, the aircraft was already turning into a fireball.

Kurou cursed everyone, including himself, for their sheer idiocy. Countless flights had taken off that day, but only his plane would crash and burn? What a mess. The dense smoke was suffocating, and the fires raged with such intensity that everyone was dead and gone well before the plane exploded mid-air. Kurou, too, believed he was dead.

However, that feeling lasted only for a brief moment. The explosion disintegrated his body into fragments that scattered across the desert. But why a desert? Why had the plane chosen such a stupid route to begin with? Kurou's mind went blank for a moment.

Yet, as his remains struck the ground, Kurou's body began regenerating at an astonishing rate. His head was the first to reform, followed by the rest of his body, as if a rapidly drawn picture was coming to life.

He spent hours and hours paralyzed, perplexed, his eyes grappling with the incomprehensible events that had just unfolded. Tremors shook his body, as anyone would experience after a brush with death. Finally realizing he wasn't dead, he gathered strenght and let out a scream from the depths of his lungs, so strong it damaged his vocal cords, which were promptly repaired by his newfound regeneration. Gradually, he settled down, seated on the ground, gasped for breath, and started talking to himself.

"What on earth is happening? Why am I alive? Did my body regenerate out of nothing? Did I just explode into pieces? What am I, for fuck's sake? Is this a damn nightmare? Am I some kind of monster? Am I not human? Fuck! FUCK!" he yelled, his body trembling violently again.

After a long period of silence, he calmed down and rested his eyes on the palm of his hands.

"This isn't a dream. I survived a plane crash. I... survived a plane crash!" Kurou muttered to himself, examining his hands and arms for reassurance.

Standing on the sandy ground, naked, the desert sun scorching the air and everything around him, Kurou surveyed his surroundings. The wreckage of the exploded plane, along with the remnants of his fellow passengers, lay strewn across the desert. Contrary to his expectations, he felt no urge to vomit nor any pity for those who had tragically perished in such a brutal manner.

In the distance, nothing but sand and a clear blue sky stretched out before him. He gazed at the vast emptiness, his face devoid of expression.

"What a nice day to die", he finally said to himself, with a little chuckle.