Wind. Then pain. Then stillness.
Kiran's body hit the ground hard, stone and ash knocking the air from his lungs. A chorus of muffled thuds surrounded him, like bodies falling en masse. When he finally forced his eyes open, he noticed the sky above was an eerie shade of white. Not the sun. Not the stars. Just... light.
He groaned and rolled over onto his back, then pushed himself up to sit. All around him, people stirred—dozens, maybe hundreds—spread across an endless, cracked plain of stone. There were no trees, no buildings, no signs of civilization—only jagged peaks in the far distance and a vast emptiness that swallowed every sound.
It wasn't a dream. It wasn't space.
It wasn't Earth.
The people scattered across the ground looked as disoriented as he felt. Young and old. Men and women. All of them dressed in what they'd died in—some in casual clothes, some in uniforms, some barely clothed at all. Some wept. Others shouted. Most just stared in stunned silence.
Kiran stood slowly, his legs shaky beneath him.
A low hum began to rise in the air, subtle at first, then unmistakable. A pulse. Like a heartbeat rippling through the stone.
Then, without warning, the sky tore.
A rift opened directly above the plain—wide, jagged, and radiant. From it descended a being unlike anything Kiran had ever seen.
It floated effortlessly, its body tall and draped in light that shimmered like liquid metal. It had the silhouette of a man, but its face was hidden behind a veil of radiant mist. Six ethereal wings spread behind it, fanning out with terrifying grace. Eyes—dozens of them—floated in the air around its form, blinking slowly, each one unique. They glowed with hues that defied description.
People dropped to their knees. Some sobbed. Some prayed. Some were simply frozen.
Kiran remained standing.
Then the being raised its arms, and the winds ceased. The plain quieted into utter stillness.
"Welcome to Purgatory!" the being's voice rang out, impossibly melodic and deafening all at once. "I know all of you must have many questions—but please, save them for later."
The voice echoed.
"First off—yes, you are all dead."
A fresh wave of gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some people broke down crying. Others stared upward, paralyzed.
"Secondly... don't fret. Your afterlife will reflect the quality of your life. If you were good, peace awaits."
The voice dropped in tone slightly.
"If not… well, we'll see."
Kiran's lips parted slightly. He wasn't sure what he expected from death, but this casual delivery wasn't it.
"Your judgment will commence now. Good luck."
There was no ceremony, just silence.
Then, one by one, people began to vanish.
Not all at once, and not in order, individuals turned into light and then were simply... gone. The process took a while, but over time, what had been thousands became hundreds, then tens, then fewer.
Kiran stood still, trying to steady his breath. He thought to himself, "I had many ideas of what the afterlife might be like, but I can say confidently, this does not match a single one."
He didn't feel afraid. Not exactly. His life had been difficult. And yes, there had been dark thoughts—moments of despair and bitterness. But he didn't consider himself a bad person. At least, he didn't think so.
So he waited.
Minutes passed. Then more. People around him continued vanishing, some with peaceful resignation, others still sobbing uncontrollably.
Eventually, only Kiran remained.
A cold realization crept into his chest. The angelic being still hovered above—but now, the friendly warmth it had exuded before was gone. Its wings folded closer. The eyes that surrounded it no longer blinked, but stared.
Kiran met its gaze.
There was something behind those eyes now. Not fury. Not sorrow. Something deeper. Older.
Contempt.
Before he could move or speak, he felt his body begin to glow. Not fast. Not like the others.
Slowly. Like something was peeling him apart.
"Wait—" he tried to say, but the light overtook his voice.
He was gone.
When sensation returned, he was seated.
Seated in a cold metal chair facing the screen of a retro computer. The room was gray and narrow, devoid of warmth. No windows. No doors. Just a screen pulsing with pale light.
Then the screen flickered to life:
_________________________________________________
WELCOME TO YOUR JUDGMENT
Name: Kiran Ren
Race: Human
Planet of Origin: Earth
Time of Death: March 7th, 2027
_________________________________________________
His brows furrowed. A judgment?
And what does it mean by race? Were there other races that enter the afterlife?
A prompt blinked:
_______________
[CONTINUE]
_______________
He clicked.
_________________________________________________
Commencing Judgment...
Living Condition: EXTREMELY POOR
Familial Relationships: EXTREMELY POOR
Friendship Quality: EXTREMELY POOR
Wealth: EXTREMELY POOR
_________________________________________________
Then a pause. The screen glitched.
_________________________________________________
Overall Quality of Life: PITIFUL
_________________________________________________
Kiran stared at the glowing letters, something hot rising in his chest.
A whisper of static preceded the next line.
_________________________________________________
ERROR
ERROR
AFTERLIFE DESTINATION: UNKNOWN
_________________________________________________
Kiran leaned forward, jaw slightly ajar. "What the hell does that mean?" he muttered. "What kind of judgment is that?"
The words spilled out before he could stop them. His heart pounded.
Yes, my life had been rough—but I was far from alone in that. There were millions of people born into suffering, injustice, and loss. People who didn't choose the cards they were dealt, and people who suffered much more than me.
So why me?
Why was I so pitiful?
"Who gives you the right to pity me?" he whispered into the screen.
Then it responded.
_________________________________________________
ErRoR... The Gods show pity on you... eRRoR...
_________________________________________________
Before he could recoil, a beam of light shot from the screen into his forehead.
His body tensed. The light consumed his vision.
Then, darkness.
Nothingness surrounded him now, an absence of time, space, or sound. For what felt like hours, he drifted in a black void, his thoughts the only thing keeping him company.
He thought about the angel's face—how quickly its warmth turned to disdain. About how his body was the last to vanish. About that final word: pity.
Was it worse to be hated? Or pitied?
He didn't know. But he hated the idea that someone, somewhere—some god—had looked at his life and decided he was pathetic.
It made him angry
A pinprick of light blinked in the distance.
Then it grew and encompassed him...