In the mighty jungle there existed an old lion called Syphus. In his younger days, Syphus was considered by many to be the king of the jungle for his cunning and intelligence, though he never claimed this title for himself. Though there were stronger and bigger beasts than him, they all submitted to his sharp and manipulative wit. 

One day, when it was time for Syphus to die, the grim reaper came to take Syphus to the underworld. He visited Syphus at his house, where the lion was sleeping. The lion had managed to live to a ripe age of 15 years, and though he could perhaps live for a few years more, Death had decided to take his life that day. 

Syphus awoke when he felt the grim reaper’s presence next to him. “So it is time?” he said, less as a question, but more as a sad statement. The reaper nodded. “Before you take me away,” Syphus said, “let me say goodbye to my children.” Out of respect, the reaper allowed this for the old creature. Syphus quickly turned away and ran to his forty children in the nearby fields. These were the true kings of the jungle; the beasts were in their prime age, with healthy, muscular bodies and a proud hide of fur. 

“Kids,” he said to them, panting. “There is an intruder in my house. Please come and dispose of him.” His children, who were of loyal and protective personalities, immediately jumped into action. They rushed into his house, and upon seeing the grim reaper, jumped on him. The grim reaper, who had never experienced being attacked, had no time to shift into his spectral form. His physical body was torn into pieces instantly. 

Syphus walked in cautiously. Upon seeing the corpse of the reaper, he smiled broadly and declared with a roar, “Tonight we party!”

In the underworld, Death noticed something was odd. There had been no new deaths for three weeks, and he had not seen his grim reaper for a long time either. He looked at his list of creatures who were meant to have died, and found their souls absent from his domain. He turned to his wife. 

“Darling,” he asked. “Have you seen Grimmy anywhere?”

His wife thought for a moment and looked at him curiously. 

“No.” 

Death began to shake nervously. He called his messenger, Herm, and told him to investigate what had happened to his grim reaper. After hearing the situation, the messenger left and traveled up to the living world. 

Meanwhile, an excited commotion was happening in the jungle. Animals who were expected to die were suddenly getting better, and injuries that were considered fatal began to heal. Some suggested that animals were beginning to “evolve” into greater beings, and some attributed this healing to some divine providence. Syphus looked over the discussion with smug delight. 

In these last few weeks, Syphus walked around with newfound energy. Since he had cheated death, his outlook on life completely shifted. He began roaring at the most mundane things, waking up early to appreciate the sunrise and spent more time with his family. The act of having nearly lost something often makes you appreciate it more. 

Syphus had buried the grim reaper under an oak tree. The children seemed confused – they had no idea who the being was, and it didn’t taste like any animal they had ever encountered before. Syphus reassured them that he would explain all in due time, when they were older. The beasts left, confused but satisfied. 

When Herm found the grim reaper, he choked back tears. The two had grown up together and had been friends for over 8000 years. He remembered filling his first death list with him, and how he had teased him for falling in love with a human. Herm looked at the list of scheduled deaths, saw Syphus on the list, and put the story together. He rushed back down to the underworld as fast as his wings could take him, determined to avenge his friend. 

When Death heard the story, he was enraged. Nobody had ever dared defy Him before, let alone murder his representative. He slowly got up from his throne, transformed into his living form, surrounded by locusts and darkness, and went outside. 

In the jungle, a sudden coldness could be felt that evening. The trees seemed to sway less lively, the night seemed to grow darker and the crops began to wilt. Some animals began to notice a creature slowly walking – or floating – across the plains, killing every living thing it came across. A dark trail of death made its way into the jungle. 

Syphus was awoken by yells. He looked around and saw that his home had been shredded apart by locusts, that animals around him were aging at an extraordinary rate and the drinking water had turned red. He felt an icy hand on his shoulder. He was face to face with Death. “So you tried to cheat me,” a cold voice said. “You will pay for this.” 

Syphus felt a sharp, burning pain throughout his body and felt his soul leaving it. He fell past the Earth, past the seas, past the gate of the underground, past the domain of lost souls, past the throne of Death, into an enormous dungeon with a hill. At the bottom of the hill was a boulder, as large as Syphus himself. The two landed at the bottom.

“As your punishment for playing with me,” Death said, with fire in his eyes, “You must overcome this task. If you can push this rock past the hill,” Death said, waving to the boulder, “you may leave this place.” He grinned, stared at Syphus one last time, and disappeared into darkness. 

The lion looked up at the hill in front of him. He couldn’t see past the top: it had to be more than a kilometre in height. The boulder was also one of the biggest rocks he had ever seen. It would have weighed as much as a rhino. 

But Syphus wasn’t one to give up, and found a comfortable enough hold on the rock. With all his might, he pressed against the boulder and it began to slowly move. He could not stop, for if he didn’t apply continuous pressure, the boulder and him would come tumbling down the hill. 

The lion strained against the rock for days, then months, then years. Each day he would only make a few meters of progress, before he had to rest the boulder against his back. Over time, his fur was filled with cuts and bruises and his bones began to ache. But finally, after a decade of pushing from the bottom of the hill, he had nearly reached the top. The mountain had begun to flatten out, and he could see past the summit. There was a golden gate in front of him, one that led to somewhere better, whether it was the living world, or heaven. Just a few more meters to go…!

Suddenly, the rock slipped by some supernatural force. The lion’s grip, which had proven so reliable over time, lost its power and the rock rolled over his paw. Syphus roared in pain, and the rock’s momentum rolled Syphus all the way back down the hill. He rolled for over an hour, breaking several bones along the way, until he landed back at the bottom of the hill in a heap. When he looked up, the boulder was in its initial spot, and he realised he would need at least another decade to push it all the way back to the top again. 

For the next few decades, Syphus pushed the rock every day, in hope of making it to the golden gates. But each time he came into sight of it, the rock would come tumbling back down. Sometimes there was rain that made the boulder slip; other times there were vultures that tore the lion’s hand apart. 

To this day, the lion can be found at the bottom of the underworld, desperately pushing the boulder to the golden gates, serving his punishment for cheating Death.