The descent to the Underrealm began not with a grand, infernal gateway, but with a squeaky, rusted turnstile wedged awkwardly between a vending machine labeled "Ancient Regrets—Out of Stock" and a lava lamp bubbling with floating skulls that hummed the theme from a forgotten 80s sitcom.
"Seriously?" Liora muttered, eyeing the turnstile like it might snap under their combined weight.
Vespera swiped his temporary Multiversal Explorer Badge. "Efficiency over aesthetics," he said, stepping through. The turnstile creaked ominously but held.
As they entered, a buzz of fluorescent light flickered overhead, bathing the Underrealm's sprawling cityscape in an eerie glow. Skyscrapers of bone, obsidian, and something suspiciously like hardened chewing gum towered over shadowy boulevards paved with flickering shadows. Hovercrafts shaped like coffins zipped past, piloted by oddly chipper ferrymen humming elevator music.
A billboard flashed cheerfully: "Welcome to Eternity! Try the Anguish Buffet!" Another offered a customer service hotline: "Lost Souls? Ask for Karen!" Only problem: Karen was clearly on break—her cubicle was empty except for a spilled coffee and a note reading: "Gone to Hell and Back. Be Right Back."
They shuffled through the crowds of lost and wandering souls, all types and shapes, some human, some not. Vespera noticed a ghostly bureaucrat stamping forms with a spectral hammer labeled "Soul Registration."
"Is it always like this?" Liora asked, glancing around.
"Every day," Vespera replied. "Welcome to the Underrealm: Where death's paperwork never ends."
Their destination was the Palace of Finality, an enormous onyx ziggurat pulsing faintly with the weight of eternal dread. Inside, infernal clerks hammered away at glowing keyboards, debating zoning laws for the afterlife while fielding an endless stream of appeals and soul-related grievances.
They were met by a minotaur in a bland gray suit named Steve, who offered them lukewarm lemon water and a stack of forms titled "Appeal for Resurrection—Level B+."
"The usual," Steve said, checking his clipboard. "Don't mention the time you broke three laws of reality before breakfast. That tends to complicate things."
Vespera glanced at Liora, who raised an eyebrow.
Minutes stretched. The sticky carpet beneath their feet clung like molasses.
"How do we look?" Vespera asked, adjusting his coat.
"Like people who don't want to be here but will fight you if they have to," Liora said.
The obsidian doors to the throne room opened with a hiss of existential doubt.
Hades awaited, seated on a throne carved from petrified remorse, cloaked in shadows that seemed to writhe of their own accord. His eyes gleamed like stars lost to time, and his voice echoed with the weight of forgotten prayers.
"Vespera D'Angelis," he said, voice dripping with amused disdain, "the man who broke three natural laws before breakfast."
"And Liora," she added boldly, stepping forward, "the woman who stayed dead less than once."
Hades smirked. "Charmed."
They presented their case, words tumbling out in a rush about love, about second chances, about defying fate itself.
Hades listened, drumming his long, slender fingers on the arm of his throne. Occasionally, he raised an eyebrow, as if debating whether to eat a snack or continue the conversation.
"You mortals," he sighed, "always chasing power or gold. You? You ask for a soul. Complicated."
"We specialize in complicated," Vespera said, undeterred.
"Very well," Hades said, rising. Shadows peeled from his cloak like smoke, and his throne dissolved into a flock of crows that scattered with a cacophony of caws.
"Three trials," he said. "Pass them, and you earn your audience with fate."
Trial One: The Garden of Forgotten Promises
The world shifted beneath their feet like wet paper folding into a new shape. Vespera and Liora found themselves standing in a moonlit grove bathed in silver light so cold it made their skin prickle.
Around them, the air hummed with whispered voices — soft echoes of promises made, kept, and broken. The trees themselves seemed alive, their leaves shimmering like fragile glass inscribed with words.
Liora reached out to touch a glowing leaf. It fluttered and whispered, "I will protect you." Her breath caught.
Vespera scanned the grove, shadows stretching long and twisting. Somewhere, a soft melody played — a lullaby that felt both comforting and sorrowful.
Liora's voice trembled. "This place… it holds regrets. And hope."
A faint shape appeared nearby — her younger brother, translucent, eyes wide with the innocence of forgotten years.
"Hey," Liora whispered, dropping to her knees. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."
The spirit smiled faintly, and Liora's tears shimmered as they fell. "You promised to protect me, not the other way around," the spirit murmured.
"Promises…" Vespera echoed, stepping forward, his expression tightening.
He felt something cold brush his sleeve. A pale hand, the ghost of a lullaby humming in his ears. The faint whisper: "I'll protect you."
Vespera's voice cracked. "Mother?"
A soft smile, a sigh, and the memory faded like smoke.
Liora stood, brushing her cheeks dry. "Didn't think you had a soft side, kingpin."
Vespera smirked, then frowned. "Don't get used to it."
Suddenly, the ground beneath them rippled, and the grove dissolved like a dream.
Trial Two: The Vault of True Selves
They emerged into a colossal chamber lined with mirrors that stretched into infinity, each surface rippling like liquid mercury. Reflections shimmered and shifted, offering glimpses of alternate selves — paths never taken, choices unmade.
Liora stepped forward, facing a mirror showing her as a healer, surrounded by children, her face radiant in golden sunlight.
"That could have been me," she murmured, her eyes softening.
"Looks peaceful," Vespera said, studying a mirror of himself — a younger version, untouched by violence, smiling gently in a sunlit garden.
The reflection spoke, "Peace is a choice, not a destiny."
Vespera's jaw tightened. "I chose differently."
Liora tilted her head. "Do you regret it?"
"Sometimes," he admitted. "But regret is a luxury I can't afford."
They turned to move on, but the mirrors shimmered again — illusions of greed, power, cowardice, and sacrifice flickering past.
A distorted reflection sneered. "You're both fools chasing ghosts."
Vespera met its gaze. "Better fools than tyrants."
The chamber pulsed, and the mirrors rippled like water, then solidified as a door opening to the next trial.
Trial Three: The Choice
Before a river that flowed with stars, Hades awaited, more shadow than man, his eyes glowing like distant galaxies.
"Now comes the hardest part," he said, voice low and amused.
Liora crossed her arms. "Cut to the chase."
Hades smiled thinly. "You can return with the soul you seek—Liora's spark—but the price is steep."
Vespera's eyes locked on the swirling river. "What price?"
Hades gestured expansively. "Your place. Here. In the Underrealm. Forever."
Liora gasped. "Forever? That's... forever."
Vespera frowned. "Is there no other way?"
Hades shrugged. "I'm the god of death, not miracles."
Liora stepped closer. "What happens if you refuse?"
Hades laughed, dry as autumn leaves. "Then you become part of the landscape. Fossilized regrets, rotting hopes, eternal paperwork."
Vespera turned to Liora. "I'm staying. You go."
Liora shook her head. "Not without you."
Hades clapped slowly. "True love. How quaint. And terribly inconvenient."
Vespera drew a slow breath. "I risked everything to find her. I won't lose her again."
Hades's eyes twinkled. "Very well."
With a snap, the river's glow intensified. A shimmering figure emerged — Liora's soul, radiant but fragile.
"Go," Hades said. "But remember, the dead never return whole."
Liora looked at Vespera. "Neither do the living."
They stepped into the light together, shadows lengthening behind them.
Hades sipped a mysterious drink and muttered, "Mortals. Always making a mess of eternity."