You die. Game over? Not quite. Welcome to the Afterlife Crucible. Every millennium, lost souls battle for a second shot at life.
Forget everything you thought you knew about the afterlife. It's not pearly gates and harps - it's a ruthless gauntlet...
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Jesus fucking Christ, not another one! If I had to sit through one more of these divine circle-jerks, I was gonna lose my goddamn mind. You'd think with my ass on the cosmic chopping block, I'd be all ears. Nope. My give-a-shit meter was buried so far in the red, it was practically bleeding.
Then Fate, that glorious asshole, opened his mouth. Out came a stream of verbal diarrhea that would make a used car salesman blush. "Hailing from the gilded kingdom of El'dorah," he purred like a cat in heat, "I give you - the Aurifex Ascendant, the baron of bountiful benisons, the one, the only...Aurelius Gilt!"
I dragged my eyes back to the stage just in time. Another celestial douchebag was rising from his fancy-ass throne. Holy shitsticks, this one looked like he'd stepped right out of a horny housewife's wet dream.
Golden curls? Check. Eyes bluer than a clear sky over Fuck-Me Mountain? Double check.
If Abercrombie and Fitch ever started a "Gods and Demigods" line, this prick would be their poster boy.
He actually paused for applause. I shit you not. Flashed a smile so bright it could've given the sun an inferiority complex. I rolled my eyes so hard I think I sprained something.
Great. Just what we needed. Another ego the size of Jupiter crammed into a walking, talking Ken doll. Fuck my afterlife.
This Aurelius dipshit started ranting about "mindsets of magnificent manifestation" and "alchemical formulae for opulent success." It was like listening to a motivational speaker who'd huffed too much gold spray paint. I checked out somewhere around his third reference to what sounded like a "cornucopian jizzcascade."
Pretty sure that wasn't it, but hey, a girl can dream.
Just when I thought I might slip into a boredom coma, Raphael's voice sliced into my brain like an ice pick through butter.
"Aurelius is a true master of prosperity magic," he mind-muttered at me. "Under his guidance, even the most hopeless cases can achieve staggering abundance..."
Oh spare me the sermon, Feathers. Nobody asked for your two cents.
But Bishop Buzzkill just couldn't let it go. He kept nattering on like a sanctimonious squeaky toy.
