Many basic misconceptions regarding multiplications can be dispelled if you just remember that multiplication is a type of addition, written in shorter form.

If you have 1+2×3, you don't have one plus two, followed by times-three, but, broken down, you have one, plus three times two (or two times three)

Thus, 1+2×3=1+2+2+2 -how many times you have the number two? Three times. Or, 1+2×3=1+3+3. -how many times you have the number three? Two times. Both sets of addititon thus equal 7.

For the same reason, you can't "multiply" irl an actual object or set of nultiple ojects by zero, because in that case your definition is erroneous.

The ‘air’ shimmered as I waved my hand, specks of plasma swirled in its wake, clearing a field from the existential debris that littered it. It settled, remaining clear in the middle, the specks orbiting and forming an ethereal frame around the clearing. Color filled the area, the shadow of an arrival. I decided to focus on the process.

Not that I particularly cared. Countless arrivals came and went all the time, without my direct supervision. Most of them just passing by, using the Backstage as shortcut, not knowing that they passed through nHere when they teleported. Nor the others, who towards their… - focusss -clear the thoughts!

This one was different. Not special, not through his own nature. The circumstances were exceptional. So yes, I did care in what state he arrived. After all, I summoned him. He was my... not immolation, nor consecrate… shall I say token, perhaps? The colored blots expanded and materialized; the gradient patterns started to set. A shape was on the brink of discernable. The shape of a man. His silhouette filled the contours. His features grew more features as the oscillating wavelengths grew in amplitude. The erratic frequency of the surface tensions was still drawing out the finer details. A pair of lights flickered: soul lit up in his eyes. His mouth opened as soon as it took shape and molded into wildly peculiar elliptical shapes. He was swearing, I knew by now.

“Daemon Clays, in my presence. Welcome to nWhere” -I announced, allowing from that moment for sound to exist. “Shall we assume that you were greeting me.” Sound ended there again, as I uttered the commanding line. This was meant to set and keep the tone. Neutral. As I am. Impassable. Eternal.

“Why am I here?” -he asked, as I ‘opened’ the voice for him. Irritation vibrated in that tonality. Fading echoes of his previous curses still quivered on the edge of perception, then dissipated. I ‘closed’ his sounds again, leaving only mine.

“How you mean? The terms of our enterprise are known to you.” -I finished once more with null, in order to avoid his scrutiny. I was sure he would try to hear a hidden resonance, to find meaning besides those carried by words. He, as all humans, would try to gauge my mood. It's only natural for them, but I have no such. They even presume to prescribe me attribute. I'm cruel, they say, and unforgiving, and capricious. Whereas none of these apply to me. I’m as close to neutral and objective as one could get. I am, however, curious to some extent, and appreciative of impressive feats.

The man rubbed his face, tracing echoing traces of matter-memory. The arrival was still not complete. This means the drawn-out incertitude of his corporeal presence is taking its toll in his senses. His tone was now closer to a neutral, as I allowed the voice on him again. I've explained this many times, that for the sake of all, it’s best he tries to keep it such.

“I mean why am I here now, why did you call on me?” -asked Daemon.

“Because you’re dying, Mr. Grayes.” His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. I’ve startled him. He was visibly shaking, his eyes rolling around the nWhere surrounding him.

“Regulate yourself, Grayes, and DON’T invoke my Father’s Name” -the interdiction boomed on all my voices filling the Void with a concurrent roll of echoes. It worked though, the name he was about to mouth, remained wordless.

“Forgive me, I meant no offense” -said Daemon, struggling to keep his emotions in check. “I’ll try to keep it cool, as you like it.”

“It is not a matter of preference. It’s the physis of the Liminal, and its imperatives are categorical.”

“Sure… But whaddya mean I’m dying? Is this it?!” His fear was understandable. He knew what others don’t. He was in the Liminal. The place you pass on your way out of the living world.

“No, not yet. Your brother still lives, and by our contract, your death cannot precede his demise. Which is why I brought you here, where time is still.” Damien’s eyes darted away from time to time, as a passer-by whizzed through the Backstage, but he focused back at me, with expectative gaze.

“Earlier, when you scuffled with the priests? That bullet did not pierce skin nor flesh but did its damage on the inside. There’s no way to bandage that… but to pour dawha brandy on it? Might as well have drunk some liquid fire. All it did though was to kill the pain, as your blood blossomed through the lesion.” I reached out towards him, my hand extending into his chest. He remained as still as one can be. I took out the wound and tossed it aside. It broke up and evaporated as a flame that runs out of wick.

“I might keep you alive, but you too need to guard yourself.” The blood from my hand dissolved away as I flexed it in a burst of dark light. He nodded and was quiet for a moment.

“So this is your realm, right? I’m not dreaming, fainted into stupor?” -asked he, while he patted himself, checking for inexistent orifices in his chest. “I’m here, where you… live, or… reside?”

“Indeed. In the Liminal, the Limbo, Backstage, or ‘OntheOtherSide’. My realm, my exile, and my home nWhere I once was born.” I tried to list off only those phrases that he could understand.

“Wait, you were born?!” -he immediately raised his hands to show his self-awareness and to regulate his emotional energy.

“As all things are. But that is a long debate which would eat the life of a praying, book-learned hermit. Time permits us not. You lingered enough between worlds.’ – I raised my hand again, this time to start sending him back.

“Wait, please. One more query.” Eagerness still betrayed his passive voice. I granted him the chance to speak with a nod of my brow. “If I… if my brother dies… will I then… how long till I’m next?”

“Your brother owes me a death. Every man does. But he threw me yours instead. I traded your life of current, so that you will bring me his. What is to come after, remains to be seen.”

“Well then, I thank you for the allowance, lord Death.” With no more protests on his part, I resume the expedition. Raised my hand again, draw a circle opposite to before, and the orbiting frame started to fall apart in a messy pour. Inside the clearing, his image started to desaturate and go opaque.

“Make haste, Damien.” -I call out before his presence was interrupted from nHere. The debris from before lost all intentional pattern of order, resuming its initial chaotic swirl. I looked after him as he came to it in the world of the living. He was no longer nHere, but I could see him while he was not yet nThere either. I allowed myself a chuckle.

The rules of the Limbo were not as rigid as I make them out to be. I do prefer to command a decorum in my own realm, and it’s no mortal’s business whether the rules span from my desire or form somewhere else. I looked around and rested my gaze on the long line of the newly dead. They marched single-mindedly towards their destination. Towards in their own dimensions of bliss or damnation reserved for them by their respective divinities.

No one noticed me, nor looked around. Nor should they. I may be Death, but I don’t take their lives, per se. My job is just to oversee the passing, away and through. No one ever looks around. No one observes the transitory spaces of the living world. Except Damien. He did so once, long before. He was lost. Lost in grief. Forgot it since that he has already peeked Backstage. Which is why I noticed him too, when his death was wrongly offered up in lieu of his brothers.
I did not accept that trade. Because I must admit, he is special.