So, this was death huh? The Marquess hadn't quite been expecting this, but it was something at least. Many after all believed there was no life after death, only oblivion. The fact that there was something filled the Marquess with relief. It meant he could carry on in this world, though he would have to start over. How did the Afterlife work anyway? Was there currency here? Was there any sort of order?
Well, there was some order at least, because now he was being forced to stand in line. Along with many cloud individuals, much like himself now. So this was what a soul looked like. He expected it to be more...wispy, and less fluffy. Apparently he was in line to be judged, to see where he went in the Afterlife. So, there was at least a heaven and a hell. He figured as much, and it didn't take a genius to guess where he would end up.
Before long, he floated before a large red demon sitting at a desk. So, this was to be his judge huh? To be honest, he hadn't expected a demon, but it seemed to fit, especially since the Marquess knew where he was going. There was really no need to plea or bargain with the large demon. He probably knew what the criminal had done in his life anyway. So he may as well wait for his verdict.
Yemma hunched over at his desk, his face deep in his hands as he sighed. His eyes were burning with the pain of needing to close for a very long time. It wasn't often the massive ogre felt sleepy, but when he did, it wasn't exactly obvious. He was a grumpy fellow regularly, so those who knew him might have not noticed a change in demeanor.
"Damn Super Stealth Bento Box," he mumbled to himself between his fingers, "it said it'd help me lose weight, but it didn't say a damn thing about one of the ingredients being Demonic Sleeping Powder!"
With a quick jolt, Yemma sat straight up, forcing his eyes open with his fingers, before blinking long and hard. He hadn't been this out of it since Namek was blown to smithereens.
As he continued to try and rouse himself from sleep, he noticed a new face appear at his desk. It was a soul like any other, but it wasn't saying anything. Yemma stared down, blinking blearily. If he were anyone else, he might have thought the voiceless soul was a hallucination.
"Uhh... Are you a mute, kid?"
The Ogre King shrugged, sliding his massive tome in front of him on the desk before flipping it open. He thumbed through the pages slowly, before landing on The Marquess. He chuckled at the crime boss' real name, before quickly reading over his accolades.
"Right then. Hell it is! Maybe you can find your voice down there."
He gripped his gavel and raised it into the air, and with a hefty swing, it clacked harshly into the desk. Masque's soul would find a massive hole open up from below, and vacuum him into the depths of hell.