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I motion with my hand, and Calix precedes me out the door. I follow him through the castle.
My abode is neither humble nor cozy. Created from black obsidian, crystals, and glass, it’s so one-dimensional that I sometimes get disoriented walking the halls. Kymaris did like to make a statement with her inherent wickedness, and black is the in color for all villains.
Well, not all villains. While I like black, I like other colors too. Maybe I need to make some changes to this dark monstrosity the way I have with the makeup of the Underworld itself. When Zora bestowed the weight of king upon me, she gave me incredible power to wield in my rule. With that power, I changed the very landscape of the Underworld to make it more visually palatable. There are thousands of Dark Fae, daemons, and even some humans who live in this underbelly dimension, and there’s no reason it can’t be a bit more comfortable.
When we were cast from Heaven eons ago, it was meant to serve as a punishment. But we’ve done our penance.
As we walk toward the bridge, Calix says, “Skicru is here to see you.”
I blink in surprise. She’s one of the heads of the five noble lines in the Underworld. “Did she say what she needed?”
“Only that it was private and would not take much of your time.”
I nod but don’t respond. Skicru will have to wait until after I render my judgments. It’s an event that calls out the inhabitants of Otaxis, the capital of the Underworld.
The Bridge of Judgment is a massive obsidian walkway that connects the castle to the city. It crosses the Crimson River that flows two hundred feet below, constantly churning and bubbling with the violent souls of the condemned.
Halfway across the bridge, a slab of flat rock juts out. Upon it sits the throne made of ebony crystal from which Kymaris used to rule. I had it relocated from the castle out here to the bridge for a few reasons. Mostly, I hate sitting in it, and since I conduct most of my business inside the castle’s throne room, I wanted it to be more comfortable for myself.
Out here, I don’t use it often, but it is rather imposing. As I decide the fate of those who come before me, I don’t ever want them feeling safe. They’re in Hell for a reason, and I want their fear maximized.
On the far side of the bridge, two Dark Fae wait with a long line of recently departed humans here to be judged. Those fae are part of what would be considered a royal guard. They wear the same clothing Kymaris had put them in—pure black from head to toe, including helmets with face shields. Tall, brawny, and intimidating, these fae ensure the humans remain cowed and don’t cause trouble.
As I walk to the throne, I take in the landscape of Otaxis and beyond. I’ve changed it a great deal. Before, it resembled a dark cavern with a craggy ceiling so high up and dark, it was hard to see. The buildings were all made of brown mud, stone, and wood. The only light came from the glowing red river and by torches throughout the city. Dull and depressing, and I still feel tremendous guilt that this was all Zora ever knew for twenty-eight years of her life.
The changes I’ve made are quite beautiful. I first used my powers to clean up the city. Buildings are now pristine whitewashed stone, veins of magical light run down the center of all streets providing a warm glow, and streetlamps abound with the same soft light.
On the outskirts of Otaxis, I birthed night-blooming trees and carved a crystal-clear river, cool and refreshing, through the rocky hills. It is the antithesis of the Crimson River.
Overhead, I wove a magical spell to create a velvety, night sky to hide the ugliness of the cavernous world and lit it with a billion low-hanging stars. On the horizon, I faded the sky from blues to purples to pinks and finally a yellow incandescence that simulates a rising sun just on the edge of tomorrow. The Underworld is vast, so no matter how far you travel, you will always have the black velvet sky melting into a sunrise on the horizon like a never-ending painting.
Yes, I gave the Underworld a makeover. A world I’d have wished for Zora to see when she lived here, knowing it was too late but still providing me with satisfaction because I made this place mine. If and when Thalia or my future grandchildren visit, it will be a place they enjoy coming to.
All that aside, this is still Hell, and no matter the beauty I’ve chosen for it—for myself and the Dark Fae who live here—it’s a place where nightmares are formed for some.
I move to the throne and settle into it, tucking in my massive black wings as the back of the throne is too high to settle them over. On the other side of the river, with Otaxis looming behind them, many residents have come out to watch the festivities. There’s an almost carnival-like atmosphere as the tossing of souls into the Crimson River is genuinely considered a good time.
We’re Dark Fae.
We’re evil.
This is high entertainment for us.
With a flick of my wrist, Calix strides down the bridge toward the line of humans, stopping about twenty feet away.
Clasping his hands behind his back, he lifts his chin and calls out so the people across the river can hear as his voice echoes off the stone caves where the dead humans are kept. “Listen, one and all, it is Judgment Day. Sitting before you is his magnificence, King Amell, anointed by Zora, the god of Death. I am his steward, Calix, and I shall reap you individually for the king’s consideration.”
Zora’s really the god of Life, but I don’t correct him. He thinks it sounds more ominous, and so do I. I also don’t insist he shorten his little speech. It makes him feel important.
His voice is imperious. “The recently departed will step forward, one by one, and receive the grace or vengeance of our esteemed ruler. Prepare thyselves.”
My eyes drift to the line of humans. Their bodies aren’t real, facades of what they looked like in their prior life the moment before they died, including an illusion of the very clothes they were wearing at their time of death. The only thing that’s real are their blackened souls within.
Today’s crowd to be judged is quite small. Maybe only a hundred. It varies, depending on who gets sent to me and how long I go between judgments. Usually when the prison cells are full, then I have to reap.
Thankfully, I don’t have to judge every human death. In its simplest form, the ones who led good lives go somewhere other than here. I don’t know where that is, but I’m guessing up to my former boss, the supreme deity who rules the heavens and cast his traitorous angels down into the Underworld.
The souls that are inherently evil without any chance of redemption go straight to the Crimson River. Zora’s far-reaching power lets her judge the nearly one hundred and eighty thousand deaths in the world each day. It’s instantaneous and spot on, and she keeps the river churning.
