After-Life Volume. 2

It is a common misconception that the realms of the dead are sombre and morbid environments. In fact, if you were to ask anyone who cares to engage in a conversation about what happens to you after you pass, you will hear a range from ‘there’s nothing after you go, just darkness’ to ’can’t be any worse than ‘ere.’ It is, one might suppose, difficult to truly describe each of the key realms a soul visits on its final journey as (after all) many pass on, few return to share their experiences.

If one were to engage in a conversation about a final resting place a soul might settle in, however, the responses can change. Some continue to imagine an everlasting darkness, while others might consider a world of never-ending purgatory, or reincarnation. Many envision a glorious heaven; and then there are those who anticipate a contemptable hell. Few pause to consider the possibility that their after lives could be a surreal Frankenstein world that incorporates each and all of such imagined aspects, with unique characters instated to help them on their journey.

It is a surprise for many, therefore, when they are met by Thet. Thet, is a reaper. He is one of a large brood of soul chaperones, an otherworldly spawn of Samael and Lilith. From the start of his coming into being, Thet swore an oath to help souls move on from their fleeting existence on the living realm. Unlike his kin, however, Thet’s interests rested solely with those who pass long before their time.

It hadn't always been the case, admittedly. Thet's unique ability to create pocket worlds, however, allowed for a reincarnated soul to live out a more healthier number of years. Thet found that this new style of chaperoning young souls provided him with a better sense of role fulfilment, than it had done when he’d only been taxed with rowing a soul along on his small raft, across Styx. Back then, his main task was to dump them unceremoniously in Limbo, and leaving them with the (almost) impossible quest of figuring out how to journey through the afterlife, independently.

Thet lived on the banks of the River Styx, like the rest of his kin. The sand dunes that the river kissed were blackened ash in colour, and had a homely scent to them, not unlike cinnamon and cumin. There was no sky to speak of, as Styx lay beneath a vast cavern decorated with stalactites that glistened like stars from the vague twinkles of light, reaching out from the distant city of Limbo. Most of Thet’s brothers and sisters resided in the walls of the cave too, where hollowed out homes had been carved out and shone with the warm glow that stemmed from their eyes. The flames of life. One reaper might know if their neighbour was having a rough day if the lights in their house glowed blue, as a reaper’s eye flames changed in colour to reflect their moods.

Thet’s abode, was the only one to rest on the shoreline itself. The River Styx was an unpredictable force that could sometimes rage and cause chaos with many of the realms that rested on her shoreline, she was a river goddess after all; but for Thet, she seemed to make an exception. Even in a raging fury, she would ensure that only the shallow moat around his house would fill, so as to avoid flooding his occupancy. There was little fun to be had upsetting those she valued, and Thet was one of those few spirits that Styx approved of.

He was a unique creature, she thought. He treasured and valued every soul he encountered. If he could save piercing her hide with an oar by creating a new realm for a young soul to reside in, he would. He'd delight in sharing his encounters with her on his quieter shifts. Styx quietly bubbled as she giggled at his descriptions of some of his new acquaintances and soon found herself warmly anticipating their eventual journey on her waters, ready to put an (albeit phantom-like) face to the name.

Styx wasn’t quite sure if Thet knew she had a voice too, he always seemed so busy that he never paused to hear her response, but that was just who Thet was. He was always pacing, always planning, and always working. She had watched him and each of his kin be born in to their world as fully fledged reapers, and had enjoyed observing Thet develop his own identity. In the last year, however, she had also witnessed a dramatic change in her unintended friend.

He’d grown morose. He sighed more. His brow seemed to furrow. He’d gone from wearing smart, pinstripe suits to a more casual attire of short sleeved tops and jeans. His arms, once bare, now shimmered with ethereal artwork that glimmered and shifted under the dim, surrounding light. His traditional long, silvery hair, once always tied back in a pristine and strict tail, now hung loose and brushed his fair features in the dull breeze that washed over her waters from the neighbouring Limbo.

Styx was no idiot. She had witnessed many a pining and mourning soul travel her waters enough to know that her dear friend nursed a wounded heart – if a reaper were to ever have one of course. As she coiled around her friend’s home, like a silken serpent, she heard his voice from the inside:

“Never stood a chance…;”

Followed by:

“What is this feeling?”

Finally, with an icy blue glow that burst through every window of his small cottage, he erupted: “Why won’t it go?!” Styx sighed, and retreated back from the house, just as Thet stormed out of his front door and stared out across her vista.

Thet paced across the shore line, and rubbed at his chest. His eyes seared blue. His brow furrowed deeply, and he ran his fingers angrily through his waves of silken hair.

He should have felt happy, victorious even. After events that had occurred in the previous year, with Mabel and Kristoph, his parents had finally accepted the pocket worlds he created. He'd thwarted an apocalypse; he'd even reunited Adam and Eve (albeit in their latest guise of Mabel and Kristoph). He'd strengthened the bonds between Lucifer and (most) of the angelic host!

Yet, after the dust had settled, and work on rebuilding the damage caused in the chaos from the previous year had started, Thet still smarted keenly from a wound in his chest. Not one that was visible, but one that made itself known whenever he thought of Mabel and her laugh, her smile, her auburn hair, the sound of her voice on the wind…

“Gah!” Thet kicked at a sand dune and sank down to the ground.

Styx brushed the tips of his shoes, affectionately. How could she convey that no love was worthy of such pain? Especially when she had no true concept of the condition herself! Thet smiled at the wet marks and the blue flame in his eyes settled to a warm, orange glow.

"Thank you, friend;" He acknowledged, softly.

"Ahh, I'm a fool!" He sighed, and rested back lazily on the dune.

"I need a job! I need something to get my head back into work mode. Something that's really going to take up my time. Mab and Kris are out there now chasing mystical creatures - you know they have a private paddock of unicorns? Beautiful creatures, although a little too haughty in my opinion. They have a forest full of griffins, I had to rope in the angel's help so that a holy shield coats their land stead and protects the creatures from onlookers - Lord knows the big man up top doesn't want the tried and failed zoo back!" He smiled, wearily.

"Then there's Eric! The Satanic Welshman," He laughed dryly, "The mad man has a pet hydra, now! Thank goodness he lives in isolation - the blasted egg hatched when he rescued it from some poachers. Naturally, the first thing it saw was him and he's taken on the mantel as a hydra parent!"

Styx rippled with laughter as Thet continued to detail how the rest of the Dark Omen's band members had gathered a host of mythical creatures, after they'd broken loose toward the latter end of the previous year's events. Adrien, the lead singer, was now the unlikely leader of a troll hoard in his Norwegian homestead. Jésús, the bass guitarist and an Adonis to the band's fans, had become a hit with a host of river elves that had taken to lurking in the grounds of his private Spanish villa. Finally, Pete, the band's Australian drummer, who was terrified of all things undead, was now the proud owner of a large three-headed canine who he'd affectionately named Spot.

"I'm waiting for a new soul to come through that offers just as much intrigue, as last year..." Thet finally concluded.

"Another chance to create a world so incredible..."

“Good afternoon brother,” The chilled voice of another reaper rasped behind him.

Thet stopped short and slowly turned around.

“Reaper Sixty-One, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Thet asked.

The parents of the two reapers, Lilith and Samael, would be the first to admit their imaginations had been somewhat stretched after conjuring up ways in which to torture souls in hell. So much so, the task of naming their innumerable brood of reapers had been too much of a daunting task. As such, profession and number had seemed a good idea at the time.

“Interesting terminology, brother;” Reaper Sixty-One spoke in a dull monotone, “It is rarely a pleasure for any of our kin to meet each other be it in this world, or any other.”

“For the most part,” Thet acknowledged, distractedly, as he gazed over Styx's waters.

“Anticipating a job?” Reaper Sixty-One stared unblinkingly at his brother.

There was something about his brother’s tone that caused Thet to look up and stare long and hard at him. Reaper Sixty-One’s orange flames seemed to be spitting embers with poorly hidden excitement.

“Imminently,” Thet narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“I’m sure it can wait,” Reaper Sixty-One smiled.

In accordance with his parent’s rules and codes, Thet, who now only focused his attention on the younger lost souls, had opted for a young middle-aged complexion. For child-like souls, he would attend his job in a relaxed informal attire, while his long silvery hair fell like a silken, majestic waterfall, down his back. For young to middle-aged adults, however, he would read the room before deciding on his chosen attire. After all, a human child (usually) refrained from arguing with someone who appeared to be a senior. Adults on the other hand…

In contrast, Reaper Sixty-One had opted for a strict, regimental officer’s attire. Physically, he had decided to present his body as a haggard, unimpressed, and strict soldier who looked to be in his mid to late sixties. His silver hair was tied back into an impressively tight plait without a single strand out of place. Reaper Sixty-One felt his sense of style exuded authority and professionalism, Thet found his brother’s style to be satirical at best, topped with a concrete helm; after all, his brother’s hair seemed to be glued flat to his large domed head.

Another aspect that set the two reapers apart was their choice of hairstyle. While Thet opted for a blemish-free, starlight silver mane, Reaper Sixty-One had hints of midnight black streak trails through his rigid braid, offering the impression that he had tried to mimic the Bride of Frankenstein’s look, but in a negative, and with no proper understanding of the concept of beehive hairstyles. Overall, Reaper Sixty-One was cold. He preferred to sneer instead of smile and as a result, his thin mouth always seemed to settle into an unpleasant leer that came over sinisterly when paired with his narrowed, black, judging eyes. The only hint of otherworldliness about him stemmed from those two pin-prick voids, which accommodated the excitable sparks of, almost red, flames.

“Is there something I can help you with, brother?” Thet asked, as Styx watched on with a growing sense of trepidation.

“I couldn't help but hear you're looking for a job that's more befitting of your... skillset?”

“Go on...” Thet frowned with intrigue.

“There's a rumour circulating around the upper realms, really it's a wonder you've not heard about it.”

“What rumour?” Thet asked, impatiently.

Reaper Sixty-One had a strange impish excitement about him that was being poorly hidden:

"Well, it rather concerns your humanoid friends, and you! So, I thought you must have heard about it..."

"Brother," Thet stood up, if Mab's name was being circulated in a rumour with the upper echelons, he needed to know!

"Tell me the rumour," Thet hissed through clenched teeth.

His aggravation seemed to bounce off his brother, who appeared to be taking great delight in his kin's unhappiness. Not all reapers were particular fans of Thet, he was the favourite of his parent's brood after all. There was no comparing with the reaper who helped to unify most of the other realms, after all. There was also something unnatural about the way he seemed to yearn to understand the minds of humankind and had made it his mission to learn one unique trait from each of the souls he’d encountered throughout his own immeasurable life. Through such practices, Thet had determined that young souls taken too soon were full of unlived potential and unimaginable remorse for all their lost opportunities. Finally, Thet’s compassion for such young souls resulted in his developing friendships and, by proxy, altering his styles to blend in with humankind - in short, Reaper Thirteen, or Thet as he preferred being called these days, was weird; and nothing unnerved a reaper more, than a kinsman being weird.

"Well, the rumour is brother, that your friends are due to be haunted out of their little world!" Reaper Sixty-One grinned broadly, as sparks of excited flames, spat out of his eye sockets.

“Haunted?” Thet asked, the hint of a smirk tilting the corner of his mouth, “Really? Mab and Kris have faced an apocalyptic hoard of demons, and vengeful angels. They fought the Son of God. Brother - they befriended and worked with the Piper's Friends from Limbo! I can assure you now, a couple of unhappy ghosts aren't going to scare them easily.”

Reaper Sixty-One folded his arms and held his head high:

"A couple of unhappy ghosts, you say? While I concur that what you say has some modicum of truth, I can assure you we're not just talking about a couple of merely vexed apparitions."

"Who then?" Snapped Thet.

"Well, far be it from me to join in with gossip," Reaper Sixty-One's tongue rolled over his top set of teeth, and he smirked coldly; "but I would start my inquisition with the witches."

Thet's naturally pale skin turned an ugly shade of grey at his brother's words: "W-witches?" He managed.

"Indeed," Reaper Sixty-One bowed his head, "And I can assure you, if they're aiming to plague your friends, it's only because of you!"

"But..." Thet started, but his brother held up his hand, the cruel excitement in his voice almost causing him to vibrate on the spot.

"Tell me Brother, what were you doing during the 1600s, hm? As I recall it, while the rest of our kin went about our duties, we were explicitly ordered by you to: leave the young ones... I just need to make this realm perfect... I won't be much longer..."

Thet's jaw clenched, "That's unfair brother, I was still new to the concept of realm creations, I wasn't aware that souls had a..."

"Best before date?" Reaper Sixty-One leered at his brother, "From the beginning of our creation, we have a code, a rule book. It's updated regularly by ourselves, remember? Help me finish this one - rule number seven of our rule book clearly states: all souls are to be chaperoned within a timely manner. Failure to do so may lead to the tainting of the soul."

"There is a fine line," Thet grumbled, "Between a tainted soul and a soul purged of all residual goodness, and is left otherwise unsalvageable! I had created a world where all magic outside of the dark kind, could be used freely! You know, as well as I, that I adhered to the rulebook meticulously prior to learning about realm creations."

"Indeed," His brother smirked, "And the world was a better place for it. Unfortunately, however, your obsession with playing God and mimicking mortals has landed you in the mire, with the witches, because you left them! You left them out in the cold, and never returned to even apologise!"

"But why now?" Thet mithered to himself.

"Well now, that's a good question with an easy answer;" Reaper Sixty-One was all but bouncing on the balls of his feet:

"Let me paint a picture for you. Word carries around the various realms that Reaper Thirteen, the reaper who's soul task is to chaperone the younger souls, is now going by a new name, completely outside of normal. Not only that, but he has reunited two cursed souls; fought angels and demons; and (here's the kicker) has sent the one person who might have served as a tainted soul's saviour, the ultimate being of forgiveness, into hiding. I don't know about you brother, but if I were a tortured and evil soul... I think I'd feel a tad disgruntled too, wouldn't you? One might even feel vengeful!"

Thet's jaw clenched, "This rumour, it didn't happen to share what they might do to Mab and Kris, did it?"

Reaper Sixty-One snorted, and slunk away toward his home in the cliffside: "It doesn't really bear to think of, really, Brother-" He called over his shoulder, "They are witches, after all."