From the underverse cold stare witnessed everything. Time would tell where next the hammer will fall. Even in the realm of cursed souls did he see the keeper whose words tore into his mind like an arrow. Standing was not an entirely accurate term as he was simply stationary in the same location he had been when manifested. At the same time it could be argued that he was definitely not in the same location. In the underverses he had no legs or feet. One simply willed where they wanted to go. 

Currently cold stare remained in place awaiting the new key word that would give him the will to move. No need to do anything but wait for the next target. This evil was pure and the truth of this compelled the shade to remain close to the keeper. The dark flames that signaled the presence of the living faded as the captives and those that had barely survived being burned alive were given the blessing of the reaper. A blessing the cursed would never receive. The worst fate for the dead is not knowing the peace of passing. His anger grew, there was nothing to be done. He was forced to watch as the reapers hand moved between the ticks of time collecting those that expired. The pain of being left behind ate at him. This was the worst part of the curse. Simple farmers and the village militia being taken to the next place. What happen after the flames disappeared was unknown, a leap of faith. Trying to get noticed by death was like a dream trying to ride a horse in the waking world. He had tried in the beginning. A sick child in the village that killed him, death appeared it was a dream. Everyone knows you can't touch a dream.