Chapter 1: (Un)known world

['Maybe the defeated are the real Glorious. Maybe the dead are truly living. Maybe friends are the real enemies.

Maybe dreams are the reality']

Covered in a black, tattered hooded cloak all left from him are skin and bones. However, his skin is not tight and thin. On his stomach, he has extensive overlapping fat aprons as if he had once been a glorious voluptuous king who did nothing else than laying on his back and eating all kinds of food without ever moving a finger. What he was.

All that remains from his old magnificent times, is hanging skin on his stomach and upper arms, which blow back and forth to the cold and lifeless breeze.

Now he's a ferryman. A ferryman who paddles forever through the river like an infinite pendulum, back and forth on the path that always remains the same and never anywhere else. Surrounded by darkness his only source of light is a candle on the tip of his moss-covered fishing boat. Still, he can hardly see anything. Only the light wind in the fog serves him as a guide to the exit.

He isn't a normal ferryman. What he transports aren't humans but their souls. This river isn't normal either. Located in the Underworld, more precisely in a cave of Mount Caicus, it is a river that serves as a barrier separating the world of the living from the world of the dead. It forms the boundary between Earth and the Underworld. In order to cross the River Styx and reach your Aftermath, a dead person must pay a fee to the ferryman, Charon. If the correct fee is paid, Charon will take the dead across. If the dead cannot afford the fee, however, they will be forced to wander the banks of the River Styx as Wraiths for eternity; Unless the decision is made to try crossing it on your own with swimming. If that's the case you will drown for eternity as the wild stormy river seems to have no end.

"Fuck off!" Charon screamed, annoyed by souls trying to get in his boat. If you overdo it, he'll use his paddle as the souls knew.

"Yeah, that's right. Piss off."

Hit by drops of water, his estate gradually woke up. The young man, around 17 years old, saw Charon standing over him. Something seemed to bother him about his figure, even though Charon tried his best with all kinds of poses in order not to appear creepy.

"Are you fat or thin? I don't get it." The young man asked without hesitation.

Seemingly angered Charon answered. "Watch your mouth kid. Or do you want to swim like the rest of them?"

Rest of them? The young man did not understand what he was talking about. Thus, trying to understand his situation. He straightened up and looked left then right. As he had guessed from the wobbling, he was on a boat. An old wooden boat maneuvered through troubled water and a swarm of souls, by fat and at the same time thin Charon.

Realization, fear, or thirst for action he didn't feel. Basically, the young man felt nothing. Not belonging to the living site nor the dead site, he wasn't allowed to feel any kind of emotion. His only desire was to lay down and sleep again. After a long time, peace prevailed in his thoughts. Maybe puberty was to blame.

...

"Wake up you lil shit. We arrived." Charon said while poking him with his paddle.

Finally leaving the cave, the young man saw the sun, that daughter of the sky, taking her rightful place on the horizon, letting her rays cascade onto the world, bringing the scene into full view, adjusting the brightness and contrast. As if he were lighting a candle wick, he felt his soul return to him and the fire inside him burning again. However, its wick did not lead to candle wax, but to a cracker. It seemed as if he felt all kinds of emotions exploding (mainly those that contained joy).

Just as explosively, he opened his eyes, went to the tip of the boat, and tried to embrace the warming rays of the sun in a pose strongly resembling the very scene of the Titanic.

"Do you want to overturn the whole boat with your hasty movements, you IDIOT!" Charon screamed. "For fuck sake couldn't I just die already?!" This statement seemed to grab the young man's attention. "Hold on. Are you still a living being?" "Shut the fuck up and sit down. It's a long story and I am not going to tell ya."

At the beach that the two of them drove up to waited no more than a historically Roman amphitheater made of the purest and precious metals. So pure that the warm sunlight danced on the wall. Still this far away, the young man could hear them. The children running after balls through the streets, the water pouring into the relaxing family Thermals, and the fathers selling their goods at the local market. The sun shined brightly on the ancient city and on a palace in the middle of everything. Built on a base of polished red granite, 14 columns sitting on a hall of pillars with glass mosaic designs and a golden roof, it was surrounded by statues showing greek gods. There was no way around on being amazed. Although Charon seemed annoyed by the tumult.

It's not that the young man hasn't seen anything familiar. He had already seen such ancient cities, in his history books. And when he thought about it, the character of Charon looked familiar too.

Poorly, he didn't have enough time to think. Strangely enough, he had missed the largest and closest thing in town. An old giantess standing on the beach.

Her legs were just as wobbly as the boat in troubled water. Her back resembled an archway. And her beak-like nose concealed her mouth and even her chin, accompanied by her grumpy and grouchy face. Maybe she was an oversized witch after all.

She pulled out her just as oversized pen and set it on her piece of paper. "Name?", she asked in her deep voice resonating so powerful that it even pushed the few clouds in the sky further away. "Thomas." The gliding of the pen over the paper created strong winds hitting Thomas and forcing him to show more teeth than he would have liked. "Gender?" "Male." The giantess put her pen away and gave Chalon a nod.

Something massive hit Thomas on the back of his head.

BAM

So he got to sleep again.

Fainting, he heard some final words.

"Dumbass. Who are you calling fa-."

...

With a force as if someone had knocked him over, he slammed onto a cold, smooth floor. Sorry and Leave he heard before slowly opening his eyes. The first came from a croaky voice, the second from a voice very few men wouldn't wish to have.

Thomas's eyes didn't help him much. To him, it looked like he was underwater and he realized that it would take a few more seconds for his head to get back to normal. But he recognized one thing. The apology wasn't addressed to him. A blurry figure bowed to a gentleman seated on a throne and then followed his command.

"Where am I?" Thomas asked.

The room gave answer. A closer coming jingling of Gold chains; A shaking ground; The sound of fire consuming its way through tobacco. The one who got bowed at, crouched in front of Thomas.

"You good, my little sheep?" He asked.

Willing, Thomas was to answer. However, he was busy. The smoke from the cigar the man was smoking caused him watery eyes and a hard cough. But didn't hinder the man to hold a little speech. At least Thomas's eyes seemed 'washed clean' again and he could finally see his surroundings clearly.

"You a human exist to worship, Thomas. To worship us, the Gods. As your kind did for the last millennia. However, if humans live for the Gods for whom do Gods live? We, the Gods care about the preservation of the world. That nothing gets out of hand, just like a government. We create the laws of the world and destroy what needs to be destroyed. Every God has its own ideals and his own visions, just like a politician. And like every politician, we depend on our believers, on our followers to keep ourselves in the race. In other words, the more followers a God has, the more powerful he becomes. Gods live for the humans as much the humans live for the Gods....."

Words flowed endlessly from his mouth like a waterfall. Occasionally he would stop talking to take a drag on his cigar. However, none of the words reached Thomas's ear. He was busy looking around.

The room seemed filled with an infinite void. No furniture, other than a throne. Although it might not count as one. It only being an armchair out of black silk. But The man in front of him seemed to give the room the missing character.

"...So, are you gonna take my h-"

"Who are you?"

The void vanished.

"Don't you dare to cut me off." This time the words reached his ear; With a force that his eardrum threatened to burst.

The feeling of being confronted with a higher being, to be an insect threatened to be crushed, he only had it once in his life. Until now. Something seemed different now.

Fin.