The instant the intrepid killer entered the Chamber, his fate was most assuredly sealed. Surely. However even Fiddlesticks can humor people for a little bit. However nothing would stop the encroaching sense of dread and despair that would worm it's way into his mind.
However the Harbinger would not move. Propped up in one corner, his big silly grin smiling brightly, the scythe hanging loosely in one hand. He seemed, unresponsive. A crow sat on a shoulder, it's eyes glowing a bright and dreadful green.