Death let the man say his final words, then sent his scyth through the man. Cutting from his shoulder to his waist, there was no blood. There wasn't even a cut, but the man was no longer living. His heart had stoped, his eyes still open. The knife wound still pumping blood. Death then retched into the man and took the mans soul, then put it in a bag that was under his jacket. While it was more of a rag of a blanket, but only some people would say that. And those people were the dead ones. Death looked to the man holding the newly dead on, then simple turned and went back to looking for the woman.