Groaning, instinctively leading a hand to his broad chest in expectation of finding bullet-holes, he instead only found himself in a state of entirety, unwounded, though still in the clothes he wore when Death grasped him, Nier awoke.
Just as the strangely feminine voice of... her, she who called herself 'Death', had announced, he found himself surrounded by an expanse of plants, trees, his surroundings screaming of colors undiluted.
A forest, he would have thought. Only that he had never seen such a many-colored assembly of flora.
Then, he properly remembered the circumstances by which he had landed here.
Panicked, he looked around, trying to find his daughter, his last memory of her running, screaming and crying. It almost broke the old widower's heart.
Spotting his child nowhere, he focused on what he did see. Around him, others, humans, in the same state of confusion as he, some rising, some still trying to discern their surroundings.
And, of course, Death.
With a grunt, the old father rose to his feet, slowly approaching the dark figure of the Grim Reaper.
Some might have thought the presence of someone whom one had talked to in an unknown environment to be soothing, but he was not one of those. He had lived a long life, and his memories of disappointment far outweighed those of happiness, if only in sheer number.
As such, it was with a measure of distrust that the brutish frame of Nier approached Death, slowly, carefully.
He would have hesitated, if it had not been she who would be the most likely one to know about his daughter's whereabout and, first and foremost, state of health.
Another might have also attempted to use some sort of etiquette when speaking to an eldritch being such as Death.
Normally, even Nier would have realized this, but his worry for his daughter made his demeanor appear brash.
"Death, I... where, where is my daughter? How is she? You must know that!" he exclaimed, voice urgent.
Love to the loveless, mercy to the merciless.