Thank you. I'm a novice writer and this was my first prompt, your praise means a lot. Glad you liked it.

"I'm better than them all you know" I said flatly. "Far better." Death stared at me with those lifeless eyes, two pits that seemed to convey a hollow sense of curiosity. "So was I" Death seemed to whisper. "Fischer, Kasparov, Carlson, Morphy, they all challenged me. None came close." I smirked at that. "You don't understand. I am far beyond them, the best machines of this world can only bring me to a draw. I can confidently say there has never been a better chess player than I." Death seemed to look beyond me, unmoving and unnaturally still. It presented both hands, closed around opposing colored kings in each. "Choose." It whispered. A whisper that seemed to echo. The black voids you would call it's eyes continued to look past me. It was clear this entity was unthreatened, seemingly indifferent to the challenge I posed to it. That shouldn't have bothered me, but it did.

Chess was boring to me now. No human could defeat me, and those machines, those soulless things; I would only play them for the spectacle and the money. There was no heart in those, I could see the stalemates coming far in advance. Hollow games and hollow prizes. The thrill of the game had left me decades ago. I just didn't know how to do anything else. It was hell, playing the game I loved against morons and robots. Nobody could see chess the way I did, I could no longer lose, and nobody could truly challenge me.

This though, this was different. A game for my life, against Death itself? Surely nobody had ever beaten Death. My heart was pounding. I was excited and I could barely contain it. The thrill, oh how I missed it. In an instant I felt it all. My love for the game, my passion. It surged through me, I wanted to discuss theory, I wanted to study it's previous games. I was fixated, I wanted to know everything. Instead, I reached for it's left hand. It's bony fingers unfurled and revealed the white king to me. Death chuckled, a joyless erratic chuckle that threatened to strike fear into my heart. Nervously I began to sweat, but I held my composure as the white pieces materialized in front of me. Bone, bone pieces on a painted bone board. I almost froze, it hit me hard that this was my last game. I knew I should play something safe, one of my personal openings the rest of humanity wouldn't even understand. Logic lost to my heart though, which wanted to play something exciting.

"The Danish gambit." Death said monotonously. It spoke again, this time with more than a hint of contempt. "You cocky fool." I continued to play, growing ever more confident, Death's moves were instant. Mine should have been too, but I was savoring this. I saw everything, and despite my risky attack we were nearly equal.

Too quickly we reached the endgame, and for a moment Death paused. Death saw it, a moment before I did, but I saw it too. "This will be a draw." Death declared. Still unmoving, unbreathing. As still as a statue and, seemingly, just as unfeeling. "Is that a first?" I asked, genuinely curious. "Yes."  Death whispered. For too long it seemed to be in disbelief, there was something in it's posture; the way it was now looking down at the board. My ego inflated inside of me. I was resigned to my fate initially, I just wanted to be competitive, but I could do better. I had more to offer, did Death?

"Again?" I asked proudly, unwilling to hide my smirk. "Again." Death affirmed. Black this time, and for my defense I played something more my style. I played like a machine, seemingly nonsensical and wrong until it all came together. This was far beyond human theory, only I and a handful of artificial intelligences could play at this level. It never came together though. Death kept up, seeing everything I did. Death looked up at me, staring through my eyes and into my soul. Another draw, a frustrating one. That was my best, I knew it deep down. Were we evenly matched? Was Death humoring me?

"Again." Death said as the pieces reset. White this time, but it didn't matter. We found another stalemate within 47 seconds. 663 games later Death seemed to grow bored. 996 games later I finally grew bored. On game number 1000 I played white, and I blundered on move one. Death mirrored my mistake and, for the first time in weeks, spoke to me directly. "Don't you dare run from this." Anger seemed to swell from within the creature, an anger that permeated the air around us. Visions of endured agony and potential suffering flashed through my mind. My skin began to burn yet my teeth began to clatter. I could feel the enigmatic creature's obsession, but more than that I could feel it's rage; I could taste it. A rage that tasted of blood, dust, and ash. My heart dropped. My hand shook as I reached for the next piece, but Death requested this game be declared a draw; I nodded meekly. I was terrified. I was trapped. Death would accept nothing but my best, I could sense it. It craved a conclusion, but only an honorable one. Death didn't need to say anything more, I knew it better than I knew anything else. Death needed to know who was better. With that knowledge, I was too frightened to lose more convincingly.

We played on for eternity, in my own personal hell. Too terrified to lose, but not good enough to win.