Chapter Twenty

Aeron yawned as he walked into one of the ferry's many private cabins. Several of the ambassadors were currently occupied in meetings with Dr. Leeson and various other diplomats. Zia, Elizabeth, and Kashif were no different. The second they boarded the ship, Zia was escorted to one of the larger meeting rooms by one of Heaven's higher-ranked ambassadors. She was probably getting an earful right now about her lavish transport. "Never doubt the pettiness of bureaucrats and politicians," Aeron thought as let out a tired breath. This place was starting to give him a headache. "They need to do some cleaning here," he grumbled as he traced his name on one of the dusty tables. "The ferryman's let this place go." The last time he laid eyes on this ship was over a hundred years ago. And even though he found it macabre and disturbing, it was incredible how downtrodden the place had become in just one century. He was so busy ogling the muck and grime that he didn't even notice the man walking up behind him.

"It's deplorable. Trust me, I know," the Angel grinned when he heard that gravelly voice. It had been so long since he'd last seen the ferryman that he'd nearly forgotten how old the bastard was.

"It has only been three centuries since we've last met, yet you already sound like you're falling apart," he joked as he grasped the old man's right hand in a half-hearted handshake. Even though his body looked frail, the man's hands were covered in callouses, and his grip was like steel. "How long has it been since you've last slept?" he asked as Charon laughed and shrugged.

"I lost count after the fourth decade," the ferryman groaned as he nearly collapsed into one of the wooden chairs. The layers of dust and grime peeled off the decrepit seat and clung to his robes like fistfuls of sap. "Do you know how long it has been since I've last had the chance to sit down?" the ferryman asked the grinning templar, who nodded.

"Yeah, you've got lines that stretch across Purgatory waiting for you just outside the cave. It must be rough." Charon winced when he heard that as Aeron smiled, the man hadn't changed even after hundreds of years.

"I know, and you certainly haven't been helping. I swear, every time you go out to judge some poor backwater, I get hammered. Do you know how many people your comrades have been damning? Slim to none, most of my work now is all thanks to you." Aeron rolled his eyes as he scratched the back of his neck.

"My coworkers are soft. They're letting almost anyone into Heaven nowadays. Thanks to their kind actions, the lower levels have become a cesspool. A few idiots even tried to attack me a couple of days ago." As he spoke, Charon chuckled and started to rub his aching feet.

"Good," he scoffed, "God knows that you need the exercise. Still… if you're going to damn a couple of punks, do me a favor and escort them to Hell yourself. I'm drowning here." Poor Charon looked like he was about to cry.

"You know that Angels like me can't fly freely into Hell. Satan has all the power there. It wouldn't be safe," Charon scoffed as he flicked a small wad of paper at his winged buddy.

"That's bullshit, and you know it. I know that—if you wanted to—you could probably wipe out Hell by yourself. But I know you won't do that. If you did, what would be the fun in it?" Aeron shrugged as he, too, took a seat. This ferryman was probably the only person he'd met that understood him completely.

"You know, when you put it like that, it seems like I'm the bad guy," he joked as he waved his hand absentmindedly around in the air. There was something about Charon that just made him feel so relaxed. If he were to put the feeling in words, he would have said that the old ferryman felt like a father to him. Even more so than his actual creator. Or maybe he was going crazy. In his line of work, decent people were a rarity, so it was nice to get a breath of fresh air now and then. Charon smiled and shrugged as they both just sat there, listening to the sound of the hull rumbling against the waves. After a few minutes of this, the old friends' bliss was shattered by a high-pitched scream coming from one of the nearby rooms.

"I'm not trying to usurp your position!" the muffled voice screeched as Aeron heard something shatter. He sighed; that voice could only belong to one person.

"I never knew that Ms. Lombardi could be so loud," he thought as he rolled his eyes and slithered into the ship's bowels. "We'll finish our conversation later, old man," he said as he gave the ferryman a wave goodbye.

"With how demanding your job is, I'll probably be dead before then," Charon joked as he cracked his knuckles and slowly ascended out of his seat. "I've got to head back to the main deck," he started with a sigh. "This thing can mostly pilot itself now, but at this point, I'll have to take over." Aeron nodded as he watched the overworked captain shuffle away.

"That poor guy will never catch a break," he thought while hastily walking to the neighboring room. By the time he arrived, Zia had stopped her bombardment. Annoyingly, like faithful, loyal dogs, Elizabeth and Kashif had taken up the mantle. Elizabeth was the one doing the talking, but Aeron would recognize those deep, hearty grunts anywhere.

"You're all being ridiculous!" she yelled as Aeron heard a body smash into one of the walls. Kashif had probably just thrown one of the upper ambassadors' guards straight into dreamland. Eventually, he arrived at the door of said meeting room and sighed. That poor bastard wasn't the first to suffer Kashif's wrath. The door was bent off its hinges, and several unconscious bodies were lying on the ground just outside the hall.

"So," Aeron started as he gently rapped his left hand against the door frame. Unsurprisingly, the meeting had exploded into one large brawl. The upper echelons' ambassadors were all standing on one side of the room, with their bodyguards forming a veritable wall around them. On the other side stood Zia and her two guard dogs—who looked positively ragged. "What the hell happened?" he asked Elizabeth as he watched some stray dust fall from the railings. "I thought you diplomats were supposed to solve things with words, not violence." Unsurprisingly, his sudden arrival caused some of the politicians to jump.

"Great, now the Templar is here," one of the oldest officials said as he spat onto the debris-covered floor. "This whole meeting is starting to spiral out of control, and it's all your fault, Ms. Lombardi! Your authority starts and ends with the lowest levels; you have no right to hold meetings with the Templar and the Bureau's upper brass! Are you trying to make us all look like fools?!" So, this was a political issue. Why was he not surprised?

"I think you gentlemen might be jumping to conclusions," Zia added as she picked up her broken chair and returned to her spot at the table. "I've already told you everything. There is no need for violence like this. May I remind you that we're all here for a peace summit? What will the Demons think if we start fighting amongst ourselves now? If you value your status and ranks, I recommend that you tell your guards to holster their weapons." Aeron had to admit, the cold gaze Zia gave those men caused his shoulders to shudder. Out of all the disgusting monsters and abominations he had slaughtered over the years, none of them managed to churn his stomach quite like that woman's stare did. It was a combination of sin, cockiness, and a hint of sadism that gave the ambassador's glare a shocking edge.

"The devilish grin of an Ascended is truly terrifying," he thought as he walked over and plopped down at the head of the table. The smile stretching across his lips was one of pure bliss. What could he say? He just loved it when people showed their dark side.

"Mr. Weber," one of the younger ambassadors started as he shoved past the wall of guards, "I'm sorry, but the Bureau has no jurisdiction in our affairs. Again, I apologize, but I'll have to ask you to leave." Aeron sighed, rolled his eyes, and unholstered his weapon. It was apparent that these idiots wouldn't listen to reason. There was just one answer in situations like these: brute force. So, without warning, he reached for his gavel, which immediately made the ambassadors hurry to the wall like a swarm of cockroaches.

"My, aren't you a brave one," Aeron told the young man as he armed his weapon. The poor fool looked like he was about to piss himself. "It takes quite a bit of courage to speak back to a judge," he started in a deep and threatening tone, "but also stupidity. You've just jumped off the highest peak in the land, and now you're fucked. Here's your reward." And with that, Aeron pulled the trigger, causing the young ambassador to dive behind one of his guards. "Heh!" the Cherub cackled as a small cloud of pink smoke poured out of the barrel. "Don't worry, kid. You haven't done anything worthy of my judgment," he spoke as he returned his weapon to its holster. "Of course, if you try to assault Ms. Lombardi, then that's a different story. Remember, violence in this manner is still a sin, no matter how you paint it."

"Damn Angel…" one of the bodyguards cursed as he aimed his pistol right at Aeron's head. "Don't you understand? We're doing this because this Ascended besmirched Heaven's glorious name! She needs to be punished!" The more this man talked, the angrier Aeron got. He hated religious nuts like him. In his experience, the fanatics and extremists were the most likely to lie, cheat, and steal when it came to the afterlife. That said, he couldn't blame them for acting this way. After all, many people got into Heaven without praying for a day in their lives. If he were in their position, he'd be pissed. However, that didn't mean he had any mercy for them. Before the guard could utter another word, Aeron sent his soul spiraling into the abyss. None of the ambassadors had the chance to realize what was happening before the guard's body was reduced to ashes.

"He threatened an Angel—that's a damnable offense," he explained as he twirled his weapon around his pointer finger. "Now then." It was time to stop playing around. "I think I'll go with an illusion this time," the Cherub thought while activating his gavel. Suddenly, a small platoon of soldiers materialized in the center of the room. Of course, these warriors were no more than simple hallucinations, but the ambassadors didn't know that.

"What in God's name are you doing, Templar?!" one of the men screamed as the faux soldiers marched towards him. Unsurprisingly, most of these top diplomats—who practically lived their lives behind a desk in comfort—were cowards. The fools dived for cover while the smart ones tried to run. Sadly, none of them managed to escape. Aeron had corralled them into the meeting room's back corner within a minute. Hopefully, now they would be a bit more willing to talk.

"Believe me, Ambassador, all I want to do is solve this peacefully, but you aren't making it easy." He was not in the mood to spend the summit listening to this political nonsense. "I'm not sure what Ms. Lombardi has done to warrant such ire, but remember where we are." They were about to head into Satan's domain as Heaven's representatives. The least they could do was act the part. His minor threat managed to sedate the angered diplomats, and within seconds their guards had sheathed their weapons. "With that out of the way," he groaned as he holstered his gavel and turned to Zia, "why don't you tell me how a meeting of peaceful diplomats devolved into this?" He wasn't an idiot. He knew that Zia was at least partially responsible for this brawl. These men might all be greedy heretics, but they wouldn't resort to violence. After all, if they did, they never would have made it to their posts in the first place. The only person in this situation who would resort to violence would be the outsider. And there was only one person in the room, well… besides him, of course, that fit that description. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side that day. As—before Zia even opened her mouth—Charon's ferry suddenly decided to stop dead in its tracks.

"We're here," the captain said, "now get off my boat." Aeron laughed when he heard the ferryman's crusty voice reverberate throughout the ship. The group of ambassadors all sighed in relief as they hurried out of the destroyed meeting room. The old fool must've been watching them. Now that he thought about it, Charon probably didn't want a war breaking out on his place of work. He had too much on his plate as it is.

"Those men have the hearts of lions, I swear," Zia chuckled as she stepped over the piles of debris and scattered papers. "Mr. Templar, are you coming? I thought you wanted to know what caused this little incident." Aeron frowned and sighed. Charon wouldn't be the only one suffering from overwork if this was how she did business.

"Please keep in mind that if the summit gets violent, I'm the one who will have to pull your ass out of the fire," he complained as Elizabeth and Kashif hurried after Zia. "Those two dogs are certainly well-trained. They're practically biting her heels," he thought as he stared at the ceiling above. Soon, he was the last remaining soul in that room. Everyone else was hurrying towards the main deck, utterly unaware of the fight that had transpired right under their feet. As he stepped over the pile of ashes that used to be a bodyguard, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "God, how I love that smell!" There was nothing quite like fresh ashes to put a spring in his step. As he crushed the grey dust under his foot, he could feel a jolt of energy shoot up his spine. "I should probably go and join them," the Cherub thought as he cracked his knuckles. Right now, he needed to make sure that Ms. Lombardi wouldn't spark another fight. "Well… issues like this make life entertaining," he concluded as he rested his right hand on his gavel's handle. "Isn't that right, God?"

Two hundred and forty years ago...

Here's a question that I've found myself pondering recently: What happens when you "kill" the dead? To be more specific, what happens when I judge a soul that's already been processed? If I decide that someone doesn't deserve to be in Heaven anymore, do they go to Hell when I damn them? On the other hand, if I kill a Demon, what happens then? Do they go to a different Hell, or do I just act like a free taxi service? It wasn't until my second decade of judging that I finally discovered the answer to my question. In the simplest terms, the soul is affected by levels. If a soul is processed prematurely in the mortal realm by a gavel, their soul is treated as if they had already passed. If they were destined to go to Heaven, they go to Heaven, while those destined to spend eternity in Hell get dumped there.

That much is simple, but if I judge a soul that's already been handled, the situation becomes much more complicated. When I prepare a soul that's already passed on, the soul is sent down a level. The top is, of course, Heaven, followed by Purgatory, and then, finally, Hell. If I shot a saint, then that saint would be sent straight to Purgatory, and after serving a sentence in Purgatory, their soul would end up in Hell. They would skip the judgment process. If I judge a soul prematurely in Purgatory, on the other hand, then their soul would be instantly transported to one of Hell's circles. This system mostly makes sense; however, it unravels when you get to souls that are already damned. There isn't a level below Hell. After all, it's supposed to be that way. What happens when I shoot someone already serving a sentence down below? The answer is simple: their souls are destroyed permanently. They turn into ash and disappear from the Universe. They're forgotten and swallowed up by the endless vortex of time.

The strangest part about this whole thing is that God can't destroy a soul like us. Only via our gavels can a soul genuinely vanish from existence. That power is intoxicating, and it's an ability that very few judges know about. As I've said in the past, most of my coworkers barely have the stomach to do this job. And even less of them have ever judged a damned soul. So, even though this power is a common one, the knowledge of its existence is quite rare. Recruits don't need to know about it, and veterans never need to use it. I'm sure that I'm the only one who has ever had the pleasure of erasing a soul from the Universe. All I had to do was pull the trigger.

If there's one thing that terrifies me in this world, it is that power. I may love my job, but the idea of being able to obliterate someone's life ultimately makes me shudder. I find myself thinking why God created gavels—items that have the power to do something he could not. I think he did it for fun. After all, in a way, we are all just pawns in his game. Who knows? Maybe he created the gavels as a wild card. Something to spice up this chessboard we call life.