About “Death Parade” in a few words:

Death Parade is a dark, psychological anime series that explores the concept of the afterlife. Set in a bar called Quindecim, it follows the story of Decim, a stoic bartender who judges the souls of the deceased as they play games with high stakes. The series delves into themes of morality, the human condition, and what it means to truly live.

Meet the characters from Death Parade

Clavis

Okay, Clavis is that quietly frenzied background guy who looks like he was designed by someone who loves clipboards and small, ominous smiles — always neat, sometimes dangerously neat, but also the kind of person who’ll forget his own pen. He’s basically the administrative spine of the whole operation, balancing reports and polite deadpan comments while pretending not to cry into a spreadsheet (maybe). He gives off “mildly sinister librarian who knows where all the secrets are,” but then he’ll surprise you by humming pop songs under his breath or collecting tiny keychains for reasons he won’t explain. Honestly, he’s organized chaos in a blazer and I love that contradiction.

Decim

Decim is the perfect poker-faced bartender/arbiter stereotype — calm, clipped, a little doll-like and terrifically precise about rules and scotch levels. He judges souls with the coolness of someone who’s read the manual ten times, and then gets utterly derailed by Chiyuki (ugh, adorable), so underneath the measured voice there’s this slow, stubborn curiosity about what it means to be human. He is all about fairness but also has the occasional misfired empathy (which is the best kind), and yes he wears his uniform like it’s a suit of armour — but sometimes his tie is crooked, don’t tell him I said that.

Chiyuki

Chiyuki is soft-spoken and heartbreakingly patient in the best way possible; she’s the human heart of the show who kind of accidentally becomes everyone’s emotional translator. She remembers feelings more than facts (which is either tragic or very wise), hums sadly catchy tunes, and has a laugh that sneaks up on you when she lets it out. She’s brave in small domestic ways — like choosing to be kind over bitter — and also forgetful about practical stuff (keys, names, which makes her endearing and slightly chaotic). Honestly she’s the one who teaches the cold people to notice light, and yes she probably likes sweets.

Nona

Nona is this grand, theatrical boss-lady who runs the arbiters like a stage director with a very dry sense of humor and a closet full of mysterious trinkets. She’s authoritative and a little mischievous, maternal in a way that can flip to icy and terrifying in half a heartbeat (so don’t be a jerk to her employees). She likes to speak in riddles but also orders pizza like a regular person sometimes (I’m not sure how that fits, but picture it). Basically she’s the one who knows the rules and sometimes breaks them for a laugh — inscrutable but absolutely charismatic.

Mayu Arita

Mayu Arita is the quietly tragic, everyday-person type whose life feels like a series of close-ups — small, ordinary details piled with big, messy emotions, and you can’t help but watch. She’s the kind of character who would make an ordinary commute feel like a novel, really invested in tiny rituals (tea before bed, maybe a cat that may or may not exist), and then something massive happens and the whole world tilts. She’s stubbornly human: capable of big love, terrible mistakes, and surprising courage when pushed, like that friend who forgives but never forgets. Sometimes she behaves like a wallflower, sometimes like a storm, and both are perfectly her.

Quin

Quin is delightfully peculiar — equal parts observer, assistant, and wildcard — with a look that says “I catalog souls for fun” and a demeanor that flips from deadpan to mischievous in the blink of an eye. She’s sharp, a little ancient-feeling, and somehow both emotionally distant and oddly protective, like a librarian who also knows how to throw a mean party (in theory). She hoards curiosities and might have hidden pockets full of candy or tiny philosophical notes; don’t be surprised if she contradicts herself five sentences later. Overall she’s the kind of person who keeps you on your toes and makes the bureaucracy feel strangely personal.

Oculus

Oculus is the creepy, omnipresent “eye” of the place — less of a person and more of an atmospheric presence that watches, records, and casually ruins your day (and your arguments). It’s clinical and detached and yet somehow theatrical, like a projector that enjoys a good tragedy more than it should; it feels like a machine but there’s personality in its timing. Sometimes it’s silent and ominous, other times it’s snarky (in a very decorous way), and yes it probably eats lightbulbs in its spare time — or so I’ve decided. It’s the sort of thing that makes you feel like you’re on stage under uncomfortable lighting and yet oddly reassured someone’s taking notes.

Ginti

Ginti is the gloriously bitter rival arbiter who treats judgment like a blood sport and takes great personal offense at your human emotions, which… is dramatic and kind of amazing. He’s theatrical, rules-obsessed, and likes games that make you sweat — very much the “no nonsense” type who pretends to be above sentiment while secretly being a softie for particular songs or childhood snacks. He’ll punch a clock, scowl at the sky, and insist that feelings are foolish, then go home and hum a lullaby (I can’t explain it). Basically, he’s blustery, unpredictable, and deeply, deliciously complicated in a way that makes him terrible and sympathetic at once.