Death is a tedious concept. If you ask a billion mortals what happens when their heart stops, you will get a billion different answers.
Some believe in an endless void. Others tremble at the thought of judgment. A few optimistic fools hope for reincarnation. It varies from world to world, religion to religion, belief to belief. They all know the end is coming, yet they spend their entire lives agonizing over the "after."
When I became the God of Death—I found the existing system to be a logistical nightmare. It was inefficient. I don't really know who built it or what used to happen before I became Death So, I did what any reasonable deity would do: I restructured.
I created a simple, cyclical economy of souls. I guided them from one end to the other. If a soul had been honorable, I blessed their next life with fortune. If they had been wicked, I cursed them to reap whatever misery they had sown. But I never destroyed them. Destruction is wasteful. I have always believed that existence is a series of corrections; everyone deserves another chance to get it right, even if they have to do it on "Hard Mode."
For so long, I was the judge, the jury, My system was flawless.
But even I had a question that annoyed me, a variable I couldn't account for: What happens when Death dies?
I wasn't like the humans, demons, or dragons. To judge a soul, one must not possess one. I was a function of the universe, blessed—or cursed—with immortality so the World wouldn't have to deal with the paperwork of replacing me.
I suppose the World never expected me to shatter my own immortality to save it.
And the answer to my question, as it turns out, was "Purgatory."
It is the cosmic landfill. A celestial dumping ground where dead worlds, fractured realms, and fallen gods are discarded to rot.
On the highest hill of this miserable wasteland sits a castle. And inside that castle, sits me.
"You see, my friend," I said, fidgiting with my hair, "just because the neighborhood is a disaster doesn't mean we must live like savages. I built this place with my own two hands. It has character. But the decor..." I gestured to the jagged, grey walls. "We really need new curtains. I was thinking of skinning a Black Dragon. Their hide is reflective; it would open up the room."
I looked at my companion.
"..."
"You are right," I sighed. "Removing the scales would be a hassle."
"..."
"You know, you're terribly boring today. Even for a rock."
I tossed the rock—my only conversational partner for the last century—out the window. It clattered down the ravine, joining a million other rocks.
I leaned back in my throne, staring at the ceiling. I was bored. Truly, deeply bored. How long had it been since I saw a creature that didn't try to fight me? How long since the War with the Outer Gods?
I like to imagine the mortals built statues of me. I hope they tell stories of my heroic sacrifice to their children. The Great God Texula, who gave it all so you could live.
I also hope that sacrifice bought me enough karma to forgive the... less pleasant things I did before that.
"I'd kill for a snack," I muttered, my stomach growling. "Monster meat tastes like sulfur and regret."
Suddenly, the shadows in the corner of the throne room shifted.
It wasn't the usual gloom of Purgatory. This was different. A sliver of pure, blinding light sliced through the air. I jumped to my feet, my heart—or whatever was functioning as one—pounding.
The light grew, cracking the dimension like a shattered mirror. It wasn't a natural phenomenon. It was a door. A gate. A tear in the prison.
Questions rushed through my mind—Where does it go? Who opened it? Is it a trap?—but my body moved before my brain could catch up. I was drawn to it, hypnotized by the promise of something other than this grey hell.
I reached out. My fingers brushed the light.
And then, total, suffocating darkness.
I don't know how long I floated in that void. Time doesn't exist in the space between spaces. But eventually, sensation returned.
My body felt... heavy. Stiff. Cold.
And there was something scratching my back.
Grass?
My eyes snapped open. Above me, the sky was a deep, velvet blue, scattered with diamonds. Stars. Real stars. The wind brushed against my skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.
I sat up, gasping for air. I was out. I was actually out. A laugh bubbled up in my chest, a manic, joyous sound.
I looked around. I was sitting in a forest clearing. The trees were tall and alive. The air was breathable.
I looked down at my hands.
They were pale. Smooth. Unmarked by the scars of a thousand years of war. They looked... smaller.
"Wait..."
I looked down further.
"What the...?"
My voice was higher. Softer. And there was a very noticeable draft.
"Why the hell am I naked?"