Damien woke up naked and sore, face down in the grass. Weird, his last memories were of hiking. He vividly recalled how he had just finished an arduous 20-mile route and had encountered only scenic views and prolonged quietude in the snowy Albertan forests. It was peaceful. It was when he had left the forest and had crossed into a nearby street to head home, that one of the passing cars-- a rusty 2003 Toyota Corolla that had been madly swerving down the road-- started barreling towards him. As the vehicle charged at Damien, he remembered himself being briefly overcome with a shock, like a deer caught in headlights, as his surprised eyes glanced at the driver's visage. She was a middle-aged woman, sobbing to the extent makeup trailed down her distraught face, but what Damien vividly recalled, was the manic glint in her eyes. As the vehicle blurred towards him, Damien snapped out of shock as he forced his exhausted body to dodge. Memories of lucid pain assailed his consciousness, as he recollected the impact from the vehicle clipping him in his side as it cracked his ribs and sent him flying. His last memories were of a rapidly approaching Lodgepole pine tree as pain clouded his mind, and everything soon went black.

 

 

Damien flinched from the memory of the pain alone. He clutched his ribs and neck in panic. Eyes wide, breath ragged, and heart-pounding, he shuddered as he lay on the ground in a cold sweat.

 

 

No, no way. He must be going delusional?

 

 

Calming himself down, he steadied his breath and loosened his grip on his ribs and neck. Paling, he noted how oddly sore, but undeniably uninjured, they felt.

 

 

It's not possible, right? He was still here, he was still breathing.

 

 

Racking his brain for answers, his thoughts came to a standstill as he looked around.

 

 

The sky was a cool shade of grey, filled with silk-like clouds that overcast fields of lusterless black grass. The grassland's breeze carried wit it the scents of musky-earth and rotting foliage as it subtly swayed the vast sea of grass. It reminded him of mandatory childhood school trips to collect maple sap in the Fall. If there was sound other than the low hum of the grass rustled by the breeze, his ears were not sensitive enough to hear it. There was no sun, nor source of light for that matter, and yet the place was suffused with a pale glow that made it look all the more unreal. There was no discernible end to the fields upon fields of dark grass or the endless ashen skies. The view was as if a master painter had crafted their magnum opus with only black, white, and various shades of grey in such a concordance of colour words alone would never describe it.

 

 

"Am I... Am I dead?" Damien shakily drawled out.

 

 

Almost as if in response to his question, the monochromatic sky buffeted Damien with a particularly strong gale. Unperturbed as the draft of air blasted at his bare body, Damien instead leveled his gaze on the enrapturing view before him.

 

 

Oddly enough, Damien couldn't find it within himself to stay despaired over his death. Nor feel malice towards the woman who had killed him in her apparent distress. He guessed it had to do with this place's natural and yet unnatural beauty, and the calming atmosphere the strange dichotomy produced. He had spent his climbing mountains and biking trails for moments like this, times when he could take solace in the embrace of solitude in scenic views away from the sting of painful memories.

 

 

Damien's lips quirked upwards. Yes, if he had to face some sort of eternity here he wouldn't mind it at all.

 

 

Curios, Damien ripped some of the jet black grass out the soil and massaged it in his calloused hands. Not surprised, he sighed.

 

 

Same as usual.

 

 

Not wanting to dwell on bad memories any longer, Damien opted to simply forget his worries and bask in the miraculous view. He lazed silently for hours on end, coming upon an engrossed trance as if nothing but this singular place and moment existed.

 

 

***

 

 

It was roughly three hours later that a dot appeared on the horizon. It moved like a bullet through the sea of grass, homing in on Damien's position like a God-guided arrow. Watching the rapidly approaching... person, Damien frowned.

 

 

Damien wanted to ignore their presence for a couple of moments longer like a student would slam off their alarm to savor a few more minutes of sleep. And in the same manner, as a parent would gradually raise the volume of their rousing yell, the ever-increasing visibility of the individual was a single creeping blemish on an otherwise pristine painting.

 

 

His peace had come to an end.

 

 

Cautiously, he watched the reaper-- no, sharply dressed woman-- as she approached. She bounded towards him at speeds that would put Usain Bolt to shame as Damien mentally prepared himself in case this was how it would all end.

 

 

Damien regarded the woman as she settled before him.

 

 

Her bluish-gray eyes shone with glee as they locked with the deep black of Damien's. Her smiling face was pale--deathly so -- and softly featured in such a way Damien could not tell her ethnicity. Her wide mouth was glossed over in a gothic black and set in a thin grin that spoke of relief. Her hair was silvery-white, like an elderly woman's, yet her exuberant face suggested she was in her mid-twenties if not younger. The grey locks cascaded down and around her face into an immaculately coiled ponytail. She was tall and lanky and wore a finely-tailored buttoned business suit that was as onyx black as the slacks and the fedora she donned. She wore nondescript sneakers that were soaking wet-- though she didn't seem to mind-- and softly clutched a pair of shiny black heels in her hands.

 

 

Her lips pursed into a professional smile as Damien cautiously regarded the woman that had been rushing towards him at superhuman speeds just a few moments prior. He made a mental note of how she did not seem at all breathless by her unnatural display nor aware of how odd and worrying it would be for someone to see a deathly pale woman sprinting at them faster than a hungry Cheetah.

 

 

Or rather, as Damien had shrewdly noted, that was her intention. After all, what better way to establish a position of power in whatever purpose she had for approaching him other than make a blatant display of how utterly beyond her target she was both in understanding and ability.

 

 

The woman expectantly stood before Damien for a few seconds. Refusing to initiate, Damien gave her a raised eyebrow and apathetic glance as he refocused on the horizon. The woman's smile faltered as her face contorted in confusion.

 

 

"Aren't you anxious at all, you're dead?" She inquired, her voice high and steady. Her head slightly tilted left as she spoke, the woman's eyes focusing in on him in the process like a hawk would eye their prey.

 

 

Damien almost shivered but hid his anxiety behind a relaxed front as he nonchalantly shrugged.

 

 

"It is what it is," Damien calmly replied. "If I can't do anything to change the fact that I'm dead, then it would be stupid to stress over it. Now is there a reason you're obstructing my view?"

 

 

She stared at him.

 

 

The deathly pale woman seemed simultaneously miffed, surprised, and confused. Narrowing her eyes at him, she suddenly paused in thought. She looked around at the scenery, seemingly only now taking in its unnaturalness.

 

 

When she turned back, she gave Damien a perplexed glare. The woman stared at him in silence for an awkward dozen seconds. Damien chose to politely not note on it. Instead, he attempted to subtly end the conversation. Damien's heart skipped a beat when she seemingly spontaneously broke out in laughter. She laughed seemingly not at himself, or herself, but some inside joke Damien was not in on.

 

 

It sounded like a dying bird.

 

 

Her laughter slowly winded down as her lips resettled into a thin smile, albeit this time with a slight smirk.

 

 

"You know it's a bit ironic you just said you can't do anything about your death, cause that is what I'm here to talk about now, let's get to business. By the way, can you at least get up? It's rude to laze on the ground while someone is talking to you," She asked.

 

 

Waiting for Damien to get up, the woman took off her sneakers and slotted her feet into her heels as she hummed an odd tune. Damien did not comment on the oddity of doing so, especially in front of himself. Nor how the sneakers she took off soon dispersed into motes of black light. Today had been strange enough as is, a bit more mystery is just icing on a massive wedding cake.

 

 

Sighing, he hauled himself up. It only made sense to not overly annoy the strange superhuman woman. He had already obtained some useful information from her reaction to his first stunt.

 

 

Damien stretched, triggering a few satisfying cracks. It would seem a replica of one's physical body-- or at least the illusion of one-- stays with you after death. Damien thought it made sense to an extent. In most of the renditions of an afterlife or underworld, he had seen in fiction authors would often keep the physical body the same. Though whether that was because of some hidden insight, creative liberty, or authors just being too lazy to establish a whole new sense of reality and character interaction he would wonder about.

 

 

"You do realize-- you're a really interesting guy. How are you not the tiniest bit embarrassed," she said as her eyes drifted downwards.

 

 

Damien was stone-faced as he stood nude before her. Her eyes blatantly appraised his physique and nether regions as she contently smiled. Damien, silent as a mouse, mentally classified her into the 'creep' category as he questioned the series of events that had lead to this moment.

 

 

Despite his discomfort, Damien had to admit he was a bit proud. In his life, he had dedicated a far beyond the casual level of time to training. After all, he had to be prepared if he was too do things like free solo climbing, and wingsuit base jumping, among other hobbies that to most seemed suicidal, but to him got his blood pumping. If Damien had spent a second less preparing, he doubted he would have survived all the crazy tasks he had put his body through. So he indifferently held his rough hands to his hips, he had earned this well-toned figure.

 

 

Still, there was something wrong with the woman for keeping her eyes locked on him the way she was. He glared daggers at her until she reneged her gaze, and she sheepishly laughed. What, did Reapers have a fetish for the recently deceased or something?

 

 

She placed her hands in her pockets and continued her spiel nonplussed.

 

 

"You know, this whole conversation has been super out the norm so far. Usually, when I meet people, I arrive a lot sooner, and at first, it's not much of a conversation. I mean, it makes sense they'd still be a bit unsettled, but still, people do all sorts of things. Generally, they either pray, break down, go crazy, or even just plead with me to send them back. Oh yeah, sometimes they even put on a brave face, but the moment everything sinks in: they panic," She ranted. "Of course, there are a few calm people who do things like meditate, or stare out into nothingness. But you, you're different. I can tell you're putting up a cool facade, but that's not all of it. You know most people's souls don't last this long before they succumb to this place. I dunno, guess it's just been so long since someone like you ended up here. I ended up rambling a bit, my bad."

 

 

Succumbing to this place?

 

 

Damien slightly stiffened as the gears in his head ramped into overdrive. So something like this happens to others, and if you spend too long here, something happens to your soul. Filing the information away, he opted to nod at her. Best to not interrupt her rant and play listener for now: easy information.

 

 

"Now, whether that ends up being a good thing or a bad thing is the more interesting part," She brightly said as she clapped her hands together. "Now let's get on to business," She said as she revealed a large gold coin within her palm.

 

 

Narrowing his eyes, Damien split his focus between what she was saying, and a particular group of clouds in the distance that reminded him of a leaping stag, it's crown antlers of spectral white that melded well with the landscape's serene presence.

 

 

"What I'm offering you is the chance to revive and--" she stopped mid spiel as she saw Damien walking away.

 

 

Flustered, she grabbed his naked shoulder with a grip so firm even Damien felt it.

 

 

"Listen up, if you run off your soul will eventually erode until its capable of leaving this place, and keep in mind, even I have no idea what happens from there. But what I can offer you is control over your fate: the opportunity to revive yourself." She said, this time with a warning edge to her voice.

 

 

The gambit had some payoff.

 

 

Despite her abilities. Despite her not knowing or having anything to do with him. Despite the woman wanting him to quickly accept this suspicious agreement. She still rather Damien willingly accept her deal.

 

 

In all honesty, she might have purely benign intentions. Yet, that doesn't change how much this sounds like some sorta soul binding deal with the devil. So now the question is, what does she have to gain?

 

 

Damien paused and looked her dead in the eye, cold discerning steel to his gaze.

 

 

She painfully sighed and continued.

 

 

"What I can offer you is an entry into the Tartarus Trials. An admittedly chaotic place where it's possible to pay for anything, even your own life. But, as you can expect, it's not nearly that simple," She sincerely said.

 

 

"You'll have to complete all sorts of missions, like participating in historical conflicts and accomplishing mythological quests. By completing them, you can pay for equipment and even unnatural abilities, with the penultimate prize being a revival," She brightly said before her tone turned dour. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're not some prophecized protagonist outlined to succeed by some cliched author. Death is always a possibility, no matter how powerful, skilled, or well-equipped you become, there's always a bigger fish. Crazily enough, with all the fantastically places a mission may take you, an actual 'bigger fish' might be something you would have to go up against. And don't think dying there is the same as your soul progressing here, there are real consequences for trying to change your fate."

 

 

Damien impassively regarded her. His eyes looked uninterested, but his mind was running a hundred miles a minute.

 

 

It would make sense to just accept his fate. After all, when he had first come here, he was content in a way he hadn't been in a  long time. That and just leaving it all behind. All his mistakes gone. The countless poor experiences being completely forgotten about. And all the obligations null.

 

 

Despite all the reasons to ignore the woman-- and Damien could keep on coming up with more--  he already knew what choice he was going to make. In spite of all the bad memories, the idea of losing all the good ones was off the table especially since it would mean forgetting this place and all the other amazing moments...

 

 

Fuck that.

 

 

And the sites, without a doubt, would be just as unreal as where he was now. It was worth whatever hell his soul would be sent to if he failed, she need not say more.

 

 

But if he was doing this, and he without a doubt he was doing this, then he would do it intelligently.

 

 

Gather information, make predictions, execute to the dot.

 

 

Ending his internal marathon, Damien gazed at the calming atmosphere for one scant second until he offered the deathly pale woman a raised eyebrow.

 

 

"What else can you tell me, and what do you gain from me agreeing?" Damien almost demanded.

 

 

She cast him an annoyed glare as she reluctantly answered.

 

 

"Sadly, I can't tell you much more than I've already told you. Nor what I gain from this. However, I can give you one piece of essential advice. Though from what I can gather of your personality. You're probably the type of person to have already realized this. Don't trust anyone! Everyone else there will also have a motivation strong enough to risk a fate worse than death, so being moral and fair is low on their list of priorities," She grimly said. "The Tartarus Trials are not like anything you've experienced before, you make one mistake, and it's over."

 

 

Damien held back a chuckle. If anything, it's ironic that Damien had been done in by a car accident of all things, despite putting himself in more danger every week than most people did in their entire lifetime.

 

 

Done digressing and not the least bit dissuaded, he decided to probe to see if she truly could not tell him anymore or if she was lying. After all, she just said it herself: don't trust anyone.

 

 

"I see. Can I at least assume there are others in these trials, people who went through something similar and got the same offer?"Wade inquired. He knew the answer to his question from what he had gathered from their conversation so far. But he wanted to see if she would repeat herself, and maybe give something up in the process.

 

 

She sighed and replied.

 

 

"I can understand you would want to get all the information out of me you can; it's sensible even. But Keep in mind every second here is a second your personality and memories are chipped away at. I've already answered your question and that's all I can tell you," She droned out as if she had said the phrase hundreds of times before.

 

 

Disappointed but not deterred, Damien knew when someone absolutely would say nothing else. After all, he was often like that himself. But still, the fact that she is so straightforward about how little she could tell him rather than deflect the question as a whole spoke volumes and even caused Damien to consider if their conversation was being recorded or watched somehow.

 

 

"Well suppose I were to agree to undertake these Trials, how would it all occur?" Damien said.

 

 

Her thin smile returned as she offered the large gold coin to Damien.

 

 

"Don't be too surprised," She said.

 

 

Damien apprehensively took the coin. He eyed it for a second until he realized it was not a normal coin at all. He somewhat recognized the unique design. It was a Drachma, a sort of currency from ancient Greece, though it was in no way a normal one.

 

 

It was gleaming what to Damien's sense was pure gold, about the size of a chocolate chip cookie, and had intricate inscriptions on both sides. One side bore the design of a hooded man in robes holding an oar as he rowed a small boat across a misty river. On the other side, there was a hellish looking gate that bore a single bloody eye in its center.

 

 

What was he supposed to do with this?

 

 

As if in response to his question, something appeared in front of him. It looked like a silver touch screen but was opaque enough for Damien to simultaneously focus on it, and see the sharply-dressed woman, sporting a slight grin, behind it. It floated in the air disembodied, and when Damien moved his head, it followed. His hand reached out to grab it, the screen shimmered as his fingers passed straight through.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Did he really want to do this? This could go wrong in a dozen ways, and by now, he was ninety-ninety percent sure the woman could not be trusted.

 

 

And yet he had already gone through the rounds in his head and knew this was what he, no his soul, wanted.

 

 

"Just think yes while focusing on the screen," She enthusiastically said, a bit of her former pep now creeping into her voice.

 

 

"I see..." Damien intoned, as he impassively eyed the woman one last time. He searched for any dishonesty, any hint of ill intent he could find, and found only sincerity-- which he was sure was a facade-- but as he soon realized, the mask was the type one would wear while conducting a tightly regulated business deal. Which despite his cold lack of trust, and even colder expression, he appreciated.

 

 

Still, if he refused the deathly pale woman might have just been confident in using her superhuman abilities to squash him like a human would an ant.

 

 

Sighing, Damien thought an experimental 'Yes' before the box disappeared.

 

 

Damien questioned if he had gone mad for a moment before dark ooze started pouring out from the Drachma. The viscous liquid flooded over and around him in a dark cocoon. The deeply colored liquid had quickly submerged him foot first as it trailed up his body.

 

 

She exhaled a sigh of relief as Damien's glare bore into her.

 

 

"Oh, and if you survive orientation, ask for a Ferryman named Aernea. Now I would say good luck to the most abrasive client I've had in a decade, but it wouldn't be able to save you," She hastily said, a mischievous smirk donning her deathly-pale face.

 

 

Damien ignored her remarks, he instead stole one final glance at the shifting grey sky as the dark waters inched over his composed face. The last thing he saw was a particularly odd group of clouds that bore a striking resemblance to a crescent moon.

 

 

For the first time in a long time, Damien Martins felt truly cold, as everything became black.

 

 

A/N: Constructive criticism is appreciated, and feel free to rate and review.