He’s very close to driving the Sword of Courage and Other Miscellaneous Virtues (see insert for detailed list) into the Heart of Darkness. It isn’t a literal heart, of course, and the darkness descriptor is a bit much. Here in the After Life it’s always high noon with decent cloud cover.

So, he’s about to drive the sword into the metaphorical Heart of Darkness, the source of the Grim Reaper’s power, and the weather is positively perfect. Really, he couldn’t have asked for a better day to die (again).

“Wait!” shouts a handsome sort.

Arele pauses in his smiting. He had not expected anyone else to join him on the Plains of Pain, as first one had to get through the Forest of Fuckery and Ice Floes of Iniquity. Such a thing was insanely difficult to do, because they were really, really, lovely places to get distracted and sidetracked. Arele had spent many long years finding a way to politely excuse himself from a delightful orgy in Fuckery.

“How did you get here?” Arele asks.

“Walked, same as you. Might’ve ah, fucked a bit as well, but not for long. Had to help you save the After Life, after all.”

Arele has been trying to take down the Grim Reaper for as long as he’s been dead (which has been a very long time) and can’t recall anyone trying to help him before.

“Sorry, but who are you?”

“What, you really don’t know? For shame! I’m Lipka.”

“And why are you helping me all of a sudden?”

“It’s not all of a sudden. I’ve been the Patron Saint of your family since as long as your family has been around. It’s my duty to look after you, to help you.”

Arele can’t remember his mortal life very well, but possibly he had made offerings to the Patron Saint in a temple that had smelled of incense and alcohol. He’s not sure. Regardless, this so-called Saint certainly hasn’t been around doing much Sainting in his After Life.

Arele huffs, “Right, and where have you been all these years then?”

“Well there are a lot of you, you know. You have millions of relatives, it’s hard for one Saint to get to everyone. I’m overworked.”

“But!” the Patron Saint continues brightly, “I’m here now, at the important bit.”

“All right then,” Arele says, and gets back to what he was doing: slaying their tyrannical overlord.

He lifts the sword, about to alter the bedrock of the After Life itself, when Lipka grabs his arm.

“Wait, wait, wait! You can’t just stab at it like that. The entire thing will combust and destroy the Plains and you along with it.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“I can’t let that happen, obviously. What do you think I’m here for? Let me shield you first, so you’re not permanently ripped from the fabric of the Universe. That’s irreversible, you know.”

“I know!” Arele shouts, now a bit cheesed off. Honestly, he has been preparing for hundreds of millennia, he knows.

Lipka ducks underneath his arms, and stands very close to him, right up against his chest. Arele doesn’t lose his grip on the sword, because he’s not an amateur, but it’s a close thing.

“What are you doing? We’re not in the Forest of Fuckery anymore.”

“I’m giving you the Kiss. It’ll shield you.”

Arele squints at him suspiciously, “What are you the Saint of again?”

“Love,” Lipka says, face full of unbearably soft feelings, “and what better protection is there?”

So Lipka kisses Arele with all his power as Arele drives the Sword of Courage into the Heart of Darkness and frees the After Life from the iron fist of the Grim Reaper. Lipka’s Love does indeed save Arele from complete destruction, and though there are millions of other people he has to care for, he ends up Loving Arele a little more than anyone else.