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“Take me to Tres,” I say, my voice returning to its usual register of cruel calm. “I will not leave without her, and I will visit hell you cannot imagine on this realm until I have her.”
“You can’t threaten Death.”
There’s another voice now, coming from somewhere to my rear. This dark glade of voices is disconcerting, but I have purpose, and no voice can stop me.
“I am,” I growl.
“I mean, you can, but it won’t work. It only serves to confuse him. And he’ll just…”
There is a soft sound of deflation as whatever inhabited the cloak escapes my grasp. Physical approaches may not work as well down here as I might hope. In a realm of spirit, might does not come from muscle. It comes from intention, and intensity, and I have more determination than anyone here.
There is a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see a creature behind me. It has goat legs and a human torso, horns on its head and curling rust red hair. It looks at me with a smile which begs to be wiped off. Before I can do it, the creature speaks again.
“I have what you’re looking for.”
“Tres?”
“Come with me.”
Do I have any choice? Of course I do. If this is death, then I am just as powerful, if not more, than in life. The lack of a body does not inhibit me, perhaps because it was never my body which made me powerful. It was my spirit.
“Where is she? Do you know her? Has she survived?”
“Nobody and nothing down here has survived.”
“I appear to have.”
“Appearances are deceiving. That is the way of them.”
“I don’t believe in the illusion of death. I have seen too many worlds slide out of the ether, dimensions combining, cosmic energies entwining, to think that any being is limited to its meat.”
“That’s a fun philosophy,” the creature says. “It makes no difference, of course. Ultimate reality follows its own laws without reference to your ideas. Or your anger. Or your lust. Or what you might think of as love.”
I don’t like this creature.
“What is your name?”
“Lykar.”
“Sounds like Liar.”
“It does, doesn’t it.”
I have my suspicions, but I am also freshly dead and having attacked death itself, I am without a guide in this realm. This being, inherently mischievous as it is, knows me somehow. Or it seems to.
“Where is Tres?”
“I have her,” he says.
“You have her? Give her to me.”
“Oh no,” he replies. “There will be no giving, and no taking. She is not yours to have. She is mine, and I intend to keep her.” He looks at me with an amused stare. “And you too.”
“I am scythkin.”
“You are nothing but dead matter,” he laughs. “You do not belong in this realm, but you are here, as vulnerable as any newborn, ripe for the taking.”
“I am here, therefore I belong. Anywhere I did not belong, I could not be. Now take me to my woman. If you call me a newborn again, I will rip your asshole out through your nose.”
“If I had either of those body parts, or a body at all, that might be a valid threat,” he laughs. “You don’t understand, scythkin. There is no matter down here, just thought.”
“I can come up with some very violent thoughts if I need to,” I growl. “Where is Tres?”
“She is in my home,” he says.
“Take me to her.”
“Why should I do that?”
“Because she is mine.”
“Simple thoughts for a simple creature,” he laughs again. I hate his laugh, it is mocking. It doesn’t just mock me. It mocks everything. All existence is a joke to this lying beast of the dead.
“She’s not yours. You don’t even know what she is.”
“I don’t need to know what she is.”
“Of course you do. You met a girl on a planet and you mated with her, and now you think you have some claim to her eternal soul?”
I do not have the patience for this. I have given everything to find Tres, and now I find my path blocked by a lying, stinking wretch of an animal who dares stand in my way. I reach for Lykar, catching his horn in my hand, and I drag him toward me.
“Matter seems to be working,” I growl. “Now take me to Tres, before I rip your head from your shoulders and wear it as trophy.”
I see him swallow.
He was not expecting me to be able to do this. He has made the mistake the intellectual always make, thinking that the strong are stupid. But you do not become strong without honing everything, including your soul. I would put my ethereal remnants against those of any sub-realm creature any day.
“You…” he says. “Are… quite a surprise.”
I am finished talking. Instead of responding, I simply begin to twist. I am sure his head will make many more revolutions in this place of the dead than it would in reality, but it will come off eventually.
