The odd thing about this place between worlds was the color. It wasn’t translucent as one may expect, nor was it some drab comparison to the living world. Who would have thought Limbo would have such vivid shades of red?

The figure before our late hero was a counterpoint to its surroundings. It was all shades of grey, excepting the pale fire that shone in its eye. The specter of Death was separate from its surroundings even here, in this place of its own making.

Between them lay a game. As tabletop games went, Cones of Dunshire looked surprisingly amateur. A casual observer would wonder at the cheap paper forming the most prominent pieces. But then, at this place more than any other, origins were important. This was the original board.

Ben was enjoying this moment, this point of victory. He wasn’t a born showman but his long career had birthed a host of talents. Self improvement was always easier with support, and he smiled as memories of one of his old friends flashed through his mind. He was channeling Tom right now to great effect.

“I’ll play an action card, and build a Bell Tower inside your Citadel,” he said with a smirk.

MY SHAMAN CASTS A BURST SPELL ON YOUR PROSPERITY TILE, Death intoned. LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE IS OUT OF RESOURCE GEMS. It couldn’t smile, but it gave off a sense of dulled mirth regardless. It had grown bored of these challenges over the years, and beating people at their own games was the closest it came to a challenge. It found itself almost sad that it had won. Surely this man, husband of the world's most powerful woman, could do better. It was a shame.

Then, defying Death’s expectations, Ben steepled his fingers and laughed.

WHAT’S SO FUNNY? mocked Death.

“You’re a smart guy, you’ve clearly picked up some flashy tricks,” said Ben, leaning back in his chair.

Death took a moment to wonder where the chair had come from.

“But, you made one crucial mistake,” continued Ben. “You forgot about the essence of the game. It’s all about the Cones.” He cast the dice one final time. “I move my Abbot to the ocean hex, which moves my Brinksman to the Devil’s Lair. This pushes my Farmer - yes, my humble Farmer - directly into the central Cone.”

Both Ben and Death took a moment to focus on that vivid red cone. Then, somehow with both reluctance and glee, it was toppled by a pallid finger of bone. On this day, Death was defeated. Upon reflection, what else could he expect from the Architect?

xxxxxxx

Meanwhile, back in the world of the living, Leslie Knope stood flanked by the secret service. It was suddenly quiet next to her husband’s hospital bed. Ben’s heart had stopped beating for a little over six seconds before restarting itself, stronger than ever. He opened his eyes and stared up at her.

“Leslie, I’ve just thought of a way to pass the sewage bill we’ve been working on!” he exclaimed.

With a laughing sob, Leslie knew it was going to be all right.

I stood steadfast as I gazed upon the black void that had encroached itself onto the world. The once well lit area of the meadow darkening as the plants withered and the sun was eclipsed. The icy winds of deceased souls bellowing out of the rift, my hair fluttering in the breeze. I smirked as the very embodiment of death stepped out of it.

A towering figure at least twice my height stepped out of the portal, the two large skulls that made up its heads being that of a human and an ox leering at me while it stepped out. It was cold, yet also a warm embrace. An old friend that carried people across to the other side, yet a scourge that tore the best away with cold neutrality.

"So...You chose to challenge me mortal." It spoke, the voice sending a chill down my spine. Yet also filled me with a sense of serenity.

"You got that right." I smirked wider. "I already placed what remains of my life as a wager."

"Very well. But I must warn you, to those I guide across to the other side I inherit the skills they had in life. I have never lost a challenge." Death spoke, walking through the portal. A large spine made up its body, with a distended ribcage that was rumored to forcefully seize the people that attempted to flee from death. It's hands being withered, as more aged than the oldest man, yet still tender and careful.

I wouldn't flee, this was the challenge I had been looking for.

"What is it you wish to challenge me to?" It ask stepping ever closer to me.

My smirk didn't falter however, as my lips parted to say the words...

"I challenge you to a game of Drop Ball. An extremely addictive, high-intensity game designed for people everywhere..."

Death then fell to its knees realizing...

It had just been beat.

"Your insistence to conquer everything you set your eyes upon is grotesque"

"Maybe, but what else is there to do? You either impose your will upon the world or others will impose their will upon you. I have no desire to be a vessel for a strangers will. Why should I accept yours now?"

"You may best me indeed, but are you ready to best what lies after me?"

"If I beat you, the only thing I will have left to conquer is myself!"

"So be it, I will grant you the chance to conquer yourself."

A strong will can survive past death, but how does a living will change once it overcomes its embodiment? I have been bested by many strong wills, and I have seen the torment they all endure past me. The will indeed has no need of a body, it uses a body. Whether you inhabit the body that is a will-manifest or not is irelevant for it's persistence. If I am not your reaper, may God help you against what will be in my stead.

I lay there in the hospital as I took my final breath. I woke up in an empty void—I was face to face with death.

The reaper said, “I’m sorry, but you know the way this goes.” I laughed and thought of the legacy that he didn’t seem to know.

I said, “In case you haven’t heard, I’m quite the betting man, and I need to stay alive because I know damn well I’m damned.

“I challenge you to a competition—A duet before I’m due. I’ve got my fiddle made of solid gold and I know I’m better than you!”

He said, “I take your challenge, but I highly doubt you’ll win.” Then I smiled as I told him, “I’m the best there’s ever been.”

—

I played “Fire on the Mountain.” Run, boys, run!

Reaper’s in the House of the Rising Sun!

Chicken in the bread pan, picking at dough!

Granny, will your dog bite? No, child, no!

"I'm better than them all you know" I said flatly. "Far better." Death stared at me with those lifeless eyes, two pits that seemed to convey a hollow sense of curiosity. "So was I" Death seemed to whisper. "Fischer, Kasparov, Carlson, Morphy, they all challenged me. None came close." I smirked at that. "You don't understand. I am far beyond them, the best machines of this world can only bring me to a draw. I can confidently say there has never been a better chess player than I." Death seemed to look beyond me, unmoving and unnaturally still. It presented both hands, closed around opposing colored kings in each. "Choose." It whispered. A whisper that seemed to echo. The black voids you would call it's eyes continued to look past me. It was clear this entity was unthreatened, seemingly indifferent to the challenge I posed to it. That shouldn't have bothered me, but it did.

Chess was boring to me now. No human could defeat me, and those machines, those soulless things; I would only play them for the spectacle and the money. There was no heart in those, I could see the stalemates coming far in advance. Hollow games and hollow prizes. The thrill of the game had left me decades ago. I just didn't know how to do anything else. It was hell, playing the game I loved against morons and robots. Nobody could see chess the way I did, I could no longer lose, and nobody could truly challenge me.

This though, this was different. A game for my life, against Death itself? Surely nobody had ever beaten Death. My heart was pounding. I was excited and I could barely contain it. The thrill, oh how I missed it. In an instant I felt it all. My love for the game, my passion. It surged through me, I wanted to discuss theory, I wanted to study it's previous games. I was fixated, I wanted to know everything. Instead, I reached for it's left hand. It's bony fingers unfurled and revealed the white king to me. Death chuckled, a joyless erratic chuckle that threatened to strike fear into my heart. Nervously I began to sweat, but I held my composure as the white pieces materialized in front of me. Bone, bone pieces on a painted bone board. I almost froze, it hit me hard that this was my last game. I knew I should play something safe, one of my personal openings the rest of humanity wouldn't even understand. Logic lost to my heart though, which wanted to play something exciting.

"The Danish gambit." Death said monotonously. It spoke again, this time with more than a hint of contempt. "You cocky fool." I continued to play, growing ever more confident, Death's moves were instant. Mine should have been too, but I was savoring this. I saw everything, and despite my risky attack we were nearly equal.

Too quickly we reached the endgame, and for a moment Death paused. Death saw it, a moment before I did, but I saw it too. "This will be a draw." Death declared. Still unmoving, unbreathing. As still as a statue and, seemingly, just as unfeeling. "Is that a first?" I asked, genuinely curious. "Yes."  Death whispered. For too long it seemed to be in disbelief, there was something in it's posture; the way it was now looking down at the board. My ego inflated inside of me. I was resigned to my fate initially, I just wanted to be competitive, but I could do better. I had more to offer, did Death?

"Again?" I asked proudly, unwilling to hide my smirk. "Again." Death affirmed. Black this time, and for my defense I played something more my style. I played like a machine, seemingly nonsensical and wrong until it all came together. This was far beyond human theory, only I and a handful of artificial intelligences could play at this level. It never came together though. Death kept up, seeing everything I did. Death looked up at me, staring through my eyes and into my soul. Another draw, a frustrating one. That was my best, I knew it deep down. Were we evenly matched? Was Death humoring me?

"Again." Death said as the pieces reset. White this time, but it didn't matter. We found another stalemate within 47 seconds. 663 games later Death seemed to grow bored. 996 games later I finally grew bored. On game number 1000 I played white, and I blundered on move one. Death mirrored my mistake and, for the first time in weeks, spoke to me directly. "Don't you dare run from this." Anger seemed to swell from within the creature, an anger that permeated the air around us. Visions of endured agony and potential suffering flashed through my mind. My skin began to burn yet my teeth began to clatter. I could feel the enigmatic creature's obsession, but more than that I could feel it's rage; I could taste it. A rage that tasted of blood, dust, and ash. My heart dropped. My hand shook as I reached for the next piece, but Death requested this game be declared a draw; I nodded meekly. I was terrified. I was trapped. Death would accept nothing but my best, I could sense it. It craved a conclusion, but only an honorable one. Death didn't need to say anything more, I knew it better than I knew anything else. Death needed to know who was better. With that knowledge, I was too frightened to lose more convincingly.

We played on for eternity, in my own personal hell. Too terrified to lose, but not good enough to win.

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