"We need your help," she said calmly.

"Oh." The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. "With what?"

"The sun will explode in an estimate of three days. We won't be able to send any space craft or shuttle fast enough. Please, if you could—"

There was a vibration in the air. The sky turned orange, then back to blue, in a split second.

"There," the voice spoke again. "Done."

A/N: As much as I find the genre interesting, Cosmic Horror makes me depressed. I'm a bit of an optimistic nihilist myself but cosmic entities that are either indifferent or malevolent to our meaningless existence? Oof. So I've started this little subgenre I call "Cosmic Comfort" where those entities actually have a soft spot for us little guys.

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Death's POV

No matter how many millennia I've worked, I still hate wars. Blood shed for frivolous reasons. I'm too old to see the point.
I collected each soul as they fell...except for one.
"I'll do anything!" they begged, blood pooling from their split armor.
Anything? I thought of Life, my spouse, hollow with grief during times like this. There was one thing that could end both our miseries.
"Very well." I snapped my fingers, lifting my touch from them. "Bring me the soul of a god."
Some call it wicked. But I have met many mortals whose courage knew no bounds. They were one of them.

A/N: I once read this comic where Death and Life were partners and there was one particular scene where a fox was drowning and Death was about to take it before someone quickly saved it and Life was like "yes! a win for me!" and Death laughed and said "I love losing to you". That, and Terry Pratchett, inspired this story.

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