Fateful Decision [Judgement] Oct 14, 2017 0:40:28 GMT
Post by Deleted on Oct 14, 2017 0:40:28 GMT
BASE POWER LEVEL: 32,063
GAIN BONUSES: Afterlife Bonus | CURRENT POWER LEVEL: 32,063 (Base Form)
"—ir? Sir…? Are you feeling okay, sir…?"
Slowly, Gaivahros' eyes began to open. Blurred, smudges colours were all he could make out for a moment, a mix of blues and oranges and whites. He could barely make out what was before him, a mix of what felt like sand and his eyelashes getting in the way. He blinked, trying to get the sleep from his sight. He could make out shapes now, particularly one: a figure standing over him. He blinked again, now everything becoming noticeable.
Above the Heran was a rather short yet skinny-looking ogre. His face was long and thin, a little bony in his cheeks. He had a jet black bowl cut for hair, and large, rectangular rimmed glasses. A few strands of hair weakly passed for facial hair on his chin. He was dressed in a white suit and black trousers, with matching shoes and tie. In one hand held a pencil, and the other a paper and clipboard. What was written on it couldn't be seen at its angle.
A single, blue arm tried to rise up towards this secretary-looking person. Instead, only a tuft of pearlescent, swirling smoke moved forwards. The Heran ghost let out a cry as he pulled that part of him back towards the rest of his wispy, cloud-like form. "W-What the hell have—" his head—or what would pass for his 'head'—looked down at the rest of his 'body'. His entirety was like that of a small tuft of cloud that ended in a small, tapered tail-like point, glistening and shimmering in a multitude of colours against the light "—What the hell happened to me! Why am I a cloud! Was I… always a cloud? Is this my true form?" The former Heran was delirious at this point with his ramblings.
Clear sight looked out into the open, for that was all it was—blue skies loomed over them like a summer day. Below them were fluffy, orange and yellow-tinged clouds that drifted slowly across the plane. Before him was a long, wide, stone road that extended beyond the Heran's sight. Tight twists and turns peppered the path, almost like a giant snake.
He blinked, and looked down at his 'hand'. Fingers tried to curl and flex; he could feel them, but he couldn't see them. He didn't know what he was feeling at this point. Everything was so surreal that if he had an actual body with all of its senses, they would probably shut down from being unable to handle this sensation. His 'palm' touched against the front of his body and along his 'chest'. It was there. He had remembered what had happened to him, but it was as though nothing happened, like a bad dream.
It must be a bad dream, right? Or was this a bad dream? He's not a floating malformed marshmallow. He was a Heran, with arms and legs and flowing black hair and an awesome red scarf.
But everything felt so real. Too real. They both did.
"What happened to me?" he muttered, his question directed to the ogre. He turned to the sharply-dressed figure, 'eyes' gazing up at him. "Where am I…?"
"Well, uh, sir… this is Raka Road," the ogre replied as he turned out to look towards the elongated road. "This is the road that leads towards King Yemma's palace, the judge of the afterlife." He turned back to Gaivahros, his expression nervous. "You, uh… You died, sir."
A flood of emotions filled the Heran. He wanted to scream and shout and curse out loud towards the world from stripping him of his life—his purpose. Part of him wanted to drive his fist—or whatever he could do to make a fist—with all of his might into the stone floor beneath him until there was a shattered, jagged break in the road. Part of him wanted to curl up and cry, knowing that everything had come to an end.
No. The Heran instead sighed in exasperation, and in resignation.
"Dead, huh? I see…"=*=*=*=*=*=
Thick tires spun along the smooth Raka Road as the two-person jeep drove along, with the ogre driving and Gaivahros sat beside him in the passenger seat, his little tail-like tuft hanging over the front of it. For how long this never ending-seeming path was, the Heran-ghost was appreciative of his acquaintance offering him the lift. The ride was smooth and calm, what with the road being as well-kept as it was. It gave him time to think. Gave him time to contemplate. Gave him time to accept what had happened.
For some of their ride, the ogre had explained to the recently deceased what death was like. It wasn't the longest of talks; when someone died, they get sent here to be judged. Good souls would be sent to heaven, and others would be sent to hell.
"I guess there really is a life after death after all," mused the Heran with half-humour. He was looking out from the side door of the open-topped vehicle, gazing out towards the skies and clouds that slowly passed him by.
"Sure thing," the ogre responded, his hands steady on the wheel, occasionally turning as they came to a wind in the road. "People who die come here to be judged and be sent somewhere, depending on what they did in their lives. But Hell isn't all bad—that's just mortal propaganda. Well, it's not all that bad…
"You see, when someone goes to Hell, it's more like… a place of spiritual recollection and reflection, for people to be cleansed of their sins before being sent to Heaven. What would you mortals call it… Purgatory? Or, more like rehab." The ogre leaned close to Gaivahros, and spoke in a hushed tone, "Between you and me, King Yemma is pretty strict on who goes to Heaven. He's a bit stingy. Just don't tell him I said that."
Gaivahros chuckled, not helping himself with finding some dark humour in the thought of Yemma finding out. "No, of course not. Wouldn't want ya to lose your job, right?"
The ogre chuckled back. It was more of nervousness than of humour. "Yeah… Lose my job…" The ogre paused for a moment, his eyes shifting from the road, to Gaivahros, then back again. "So, I gotta ask… what's with the cape?"
The Heran hummed as a cloudy stump reached out to touch against the scarf. The silk-like cloth rubbed between what he could count as his 'fingers', though mitten shaped, and the heel of his 'palm'. He had almost forgotten he was wearing it, though it was a wonder why it didn't become a cloud with him like the rest of his outfit did. "My mother made this for me. It was my birthday. I had asked her to make it for me for months, but she kept telling me she was busy with her work. I guess she just wanted to surprise me for my birthday."
A smile spread along the driver's lips. A chuckle hummed inside his throat. "I've never really known much about you mortals. Family, celebrations—it's not much of a thing for us ogres, really." There was a pause as the truck turned another corner in the road. "If you don't mind me asking… How did you die? You seem pretty young and strong for a mortal."
For a moment, Gaivahros didn't want to answer. The pause, the tension, heightened as silence fell. Once more, the warrior's 'hand' reached out to touch against his stomach. It was still there. No hole. No blood. He thought about if how he died was even real. The pain he felt at the time was. That was all the confirmation he needed.
"I was… in a war. I had hoped to bring it to a peaceful conclusion. I tried, but… it didn't go anywhere. And then I—" he stopped himself from telling the ogre the details before catching himself once more "—I was killed. I guess there's not much more to that."
The ogre hummed, almost in expectation of the Heran's death. "We've seen a lot of people die because of war. Most of those people go to Hell because of it. But…" He turned to Gaivahros, with a small smile on his face. "You seem like a good person. I think maybe you'll go to Heaven."
"Think you could put in a good word for me?"
The ogre chuckled. "I wish! But if there's one thing I do know, is that your mother would be proud of you."
Gaivahros inwardly smiled from under his shroud. His eyes closed for a moment. "I hope so…"=*=*=*=*=*=
The rumbling of the engine came to a stop as the jeep parked just outside of a large structure. The entire thing was huge and feudal in design, as though some sort of giant, Japanese warlord dwelled here. The thing was a spectacle to behold for Gaivahros, having seen nothing like this before. A gate barred their path with a gigantic set of wooden doors almost fifty feet high.
"Here you go, sir," the ogre spoke as he stood by the entrance. The pencil in his hand began to scribble upon the sheet in the other. "Just beyond here is King Yemma, the Judge of the Dead. I wish you the best of luck."
The Heran gazed upon the doorway for a second before he turned to the ogre. "I'm gonna need it, I think. Thanks for the lift, by the way. Take care now."
With a nod, the ogre placed a hand on the large door and pushed it open effortlessly.
Gaivahros looked inside. A long, red strip of carpet led from the doorway all the way to the back of the room. There, a single large, red figure dressed in a purple suit sat at a desk. His head was slumped to one side, resting against an elbow-supported hand as his free hand wrote down on one of the many sheets of papers that littered the mahogany top.
The Heran-ghost began to drift slowly into the hall. Despite the fact that he was able to fly back in the living world, this feeling was different. He needn't exert any effort, both physically or energetically, to float and sustain himself. It was as though he was being carried with the aid of only the wind itself. But at the same time, he felt as though he was being pulled in, deeper and deeper into the hall. It as was though Yemma himself was beckoning Gaivahros to come closer, with or without his consent.
But as he drew closer, the figure became larger and larger. For a brief second he thought that his sight—all of his senses—were wrong. No, King Yemma was truly that large, that foreboding, and, more importantly, that powerful.
Gaivahros stopped just several meters from the desk. He paused, taking in what he was seeing, experiencing. He was now in front of the single entity that would judge him. Where one fate, one destiny, had been taken from him, now another would be given to him—the Judge of the Dead would be the one to decide that fate.
Slowly he hunkered down to the floor, dropping onto the base of his tail-like end as it bent behind him. The rest of his body soon would soon follow, leaving him knelt down before King Yemma. His hand-like stubs rested on his lap, and his head bowed in respect.
"I have always lived by what I felt was right," he spoke out. "I have lived my life doing what I could to help others. Whether it was to save one animal, one person, or many people—regardless of the difficulty—I did the best I could. In that regard, I have no regrets.
"But… if I had any regrets… it's that I was not strong enough to make a difference. Not then. Not now."
Gaivahros' 'head' looked up to the Judge of the Dead. He was not scared, and he was not worried, though he lacked any facial expressions to make that clear. "I am prepared to face whatever judgement you have for me."KP: 3/3
TAGS: King Yemma