Those who descend to the lower layers for judgment cannot see the suffering figures of those tormented in the Abyss. They simply advance through pitch-black darkness where not even an inch ahead is visible, with nothing but the screams of pain from those writhing in agony as they move further down.
However, the Mother of Life Herself informed me about what happens to souls judged at this layer. They were murderers who harmed others, but here their punishment involves reliving the memories of every victim they killed—experiencing it all firsthand: the victims’ perspectives, feelings, bodies, and deaths. Over and over again, they die repeatedly by the exact number of people they’ve slain and methods used, until their sense of self completely collapses under endless torment. Such is the penalty within this layer.
After passing through seven such layers, the dead arrive at the very bottom of the Underworld—a colossal gate so immense that even a giant’s strength couldn’t budge it, making the deceased feel infinitely small and powerless. When the soul approaches, the massive door slowly creaks open, marking the end of the Grim Reaper’s escort. If the deceased had been accompanied by a child who died young, even that child must part ways here. Alone now, the deceased stands before the Judgment of Death and advances toward the three Afterlife Administrators.
Thanatos, commander of the shadowy Reapers who gather lost souls into the dark.
Moros, investigator who checks the Register of the Dead to confirm proper passage.
Keres, judge who weighs each soul on a scale to measure its sins and deliver final verdict.
Before these beings, the deceased’s life is laid bare, dissected without mercy.
“Mother of Life, would not those guilty try to avoid descending to lower levels if they knew?”
If one understands the structure of the afterlife beforehand and knows the fate awaiting sinful souls, naturally they’d attempt evasion. Yet it matters little. “If they can manage it, that is.”
To resist the Reaper’s grasp, to slip away despite their ability to seep into any shadow… only someone extraordinarily powerful could endure such trials without falling into lower realms, progressing straight to rebirth. Though for ordinary souls, escaping the Reaper’s touch is impossible—but perhaps a will unyielding and spirit unbending might stand a chance. Of course, such individuals would rightly be called heroes.
“A hero wouldn’t cowardly cling to upper layers; they’d bravely face judgment!” Though truly, how many can remain brave before death itself?
Even improbable odds aren’t zero. Someday, someone may arise capable of resisting descent. Thus we need overseers for the upper layers.
“Upper Layer Managers?”
“Yes. With overseers capturing defiant souls and sending them below, balance is maintained.”
Though granting Reapers more power might suffice… or tying their strength to the sins carried by souls? But then judgment would occur prematurely, violating principles. Letting souls suffer even in upper layers risks punishing innocent ones too. Complicated indeed—balancing justice between sinners and non-sinners proves difficult.
“Hence why merely adding Upper Layer Managers feels like a patch job.”
“What kind of existence manages the upper layers?”
“Vacant position currently.”
“Vacant?”
Finding suitable candidates capable of overseeing entire upper realms isn’t easy. Not entirely nonexistent though. “We just filled the three Underworld Administrator roles recently.”
“Three administrators exist?”
“Hmm. Originally there were two, but another seat was filled not long ago.” Following much deliberation, Seres volunteered to become an Underworld Administrator after succeeding Yama and Thanatos. It took longer than expected, but thanks to her decision, the triumvirate governing the Underworld is complete.
“A new Death God…”
“Half-her body alive, half-dead—the Goddess of Death herself.”
Seres sought to harness death energy within her, succeeding yet suffering side effects turning half her body corpse-like. She claims appearances deceive, though others perceive differently. Regardless, she proposed something to me.
“I’ll manage the Underworld. In return, grant me one favor.”
“What favor?”
“Provide dragons a place to reside after death.”
Indeed, dragon afterlives seemed adequately prepared already. Still, Seres desired a separate realm specifically for them. During creation of Heaven—an eternal resting place for souls passing divine judgment—I also arranged a sanctuary for dragons seeking peace. Without her request, they might’ve transformed into elementals upon death instead. Either outcome works fine. To adapt to this new role, I slightly renamed her ‘Ceres’ and provided tools like scales to weigh sins, streamlining her duties as a Death God.
“Thus, thanks to our three esteemed Underworld Administrators, operations run smoothly.”
“Are all three considered Death Gods?”
“Semantics differ somewhat, but yes—they oversee aspects of death.” While Ceres lacks widespread recognition as a Death God currently, awareness grows steadily.
“What distinguishes them?”
“Yama/Moros embodies inevitable destiny and post-mortem rest. Ceres represents destructive annihilation coupled with earthly judgment. Thanatos acts as impartial harvester king leading legions of Reapers collecting souls impartially.” Countless Reapers operate flawlessly due solely to Thanatos’ leadership.
Enough writing about underworld knowledge for now. Priests will add finer details later—we trust them fully. As arrangements ensure automatic functioning, I shall rest. Creating this document drained far too much energy. Never doing this again! Absolutely!
—
Rychlen descended stairways deep underground. At journey’s end stretched an impossibly vast river filling cavernous voids, wider than imaginable. Ignoring clusters of children along its banks, he sought crossing points. Eventually, near a modest pier tied to a decrepit boat sat an oarsman. Rychlen addressed him directly.
“Take me across.”
The ferryman stared silently, then extended a hand. Expecting fare, Rychlen withdrew a small pouch containing silver coins prepared by the Sage of Deep Forests. Upon receiving payment, the oarsman stood, gripped his oar, and gestured Rychlen aboard. Together they crossed waters shrouded in gloom.
Upon reaching shore, a sprawling flower garden greeted them beneath dim light filtering through cavern ceilings. According to tales told by the forest sage, lingering here too long proved perilous. Straining to conceal his towering muscular frame amidst blossoms, Rychlen searched for entryways deeper into the Underworld.
“Who goes there?”
Unsurprisingly, hiding such a massive physique proved futile.
“Wishing to remain in Flowery Meadow, are you? Your strength seems formidable enough to fend off Reapers, yet heed my advice—descend willingly. Beautiful as this place appears, staying long invites calamity… Hmm?”
Holding several flowers, a striking woman scrutinized Rychlen closely before frowning.
“You’re living still? Listen well, friend. Reviving the dead defies natural order. Having once attempted similar myself, let me warn you: cease and return whence you came.”
Without reply, Rychlen merely stroked the hilt of a club fastened to his waistband.
“Despite noble intentions, reviving lost loved ones disrupts cosmic balance. Learn from my experience: turn back while you still can.”
Calm words fell on deaf ears as Rychlen shook his head resolutely.
—
Bruised and battered, Rychlen pressed onward despite injuries sustained traversing merely two of seven Underworld layers described by the sage. Determination burned fiercely within him, driving him forward to reclaim his fallen comrade. Next appeared a barren plain paved with black gravel, guarded at its entrance by a man cloaked entirely in darkness adorned with twin emerald necklaces—as if patiently awaiting Rychlen’s arrival.
