The tribunal of Consulate 1 did not resemble the usual idea of the afterlife.
There were neither golden clouds nor hellfire. It was a massive, clinically
white room, where the angles of the chamber seemed to multiply in a dizzying
geometric fashion. Three colossal silhouettes, carved from a dark and shifting
material like smoked glass, sat behind a suspended desk.
They were the Director Judges of Consulate 1. And before them, a young woman
wept bitterly, kneeling on the cold marble floor.
“Lumina, Goddess of Prosperity of Sector 12,” said an ageless voice, echoing
directly in their minds. “Your financial balance sheet is a disaster.”
The goddess gasped, trying to pull the edges of a large, worn white linen sheet
back over her shoulders. Her original divine garments, made of celestial silk
and gold thread, had already been seized by the bailiffs of the merchants'
guild. Her pastel blue hair, usually flawless, hung in tangled strands down her
reddened cheeks.
“It was a stroke of bad luck!” she stammered between two sobs. “The dice were
rigged... I just wanted to double my bet to finance my temples on the Upper
Plane! I swear, if you grant me an extension...”
“Enough,” the center Judge cut in. “You lost the equivalent of the conceptual
taxes of three star systems at the Red Plains casino. In our jurisdiction,
divinity is not a privilege for the irresponsible. The Upper Plane demands
stability. Without energy, without faith, and above all without gold, your
concept collapses. You are bankrupt.”
Lumina let out a small cry of terror. She knew what that meant. Bankruptcy for a
god of Consulate 1 was equivalent to dissolution. Her essence would be recycled
to fuel the engines of cosmic bureaucracy. She would cease to exist.
“However,” the Judge on the right continued, in an even flatter voice, “the
legal code of Consulate 1 permits a relief measure. The Substitution Decree. You
have the right to summon an external resource to assume your liabilities.”
Lumina looked up, a glimmer of hope in her tearful eyes.
“A... a hero? A legendary warrior to complete quests?”
“Don't be ridiculous,” the Judge on the left retorted, scrolling through plates
of light before him. “Heroes are expensive and require insurance contracts. We
searched the lower planes, at the heart of the three-dimensional material
multiverse. A place where souls have no legal value in our eyes. And we found
the ideal tool for your profile.”
A holographic image materialized in the middle of the room. It depicted a young
man in his twenties, slumped in a chair in a tiny apartment cluttered with
instant noodle boxes. Around him, dozens of red papers and final demand letters
were piled on a low coffee table.
“Shin,” the Judge announced. “Citizen of Earth, Japan sector, timeline 412. This
man spent his short life accumulating debt to treat an illness he failed to
defeat. His heart gave out under the pressure of financial stress just a few
minutes ago. A soul already broken and accustomed to the pressure of creditors
possesses the perfect density to withstand our enslavement contract. He will not
collapse under the weight of your interest.”
Lumina looked at the image with a mix of pity and selfish relief.
“So... he's going to pay for me?”
“Prepare the ritual,” the center Judge ordered. “Lumina, summon your guarantor.”
The goddess closed her eyes, stretched her trembling hands toward the hologram,
and whispered the ancient words of magic seizure. A circle of violet light,
engraved with loan formulas and interest rates, appeared on the floor.
In a silent flash, the hologram vanished, replaced by a very real body.
Shin blinked. The first thing he felt was an unbearable heaviness. The air here
seemed thicker, almost solid, as if gravity itself were trying to crush him
against the floor. He took a difficult breath, feeling his lungs adapt to this
new atmosphere.
He looked down at himself. He was still wearing the clothes he had died in: his
black shirt, his neat white pants, and his long white double-breasted coat, its
lilac lining fluttering slightly in a non-existent breeze. At his waist, a black
belt, wide and tight, outlined his lean, wiry silhouette. But the scabbard
fastened to his hip was hopelessly empty.
“Where... where am I?” Shin asked in a raspy voice.
His voice echoed strangely, far clearer than it did on Earth. He met the gaze of
the three smoked-glass silhouettes, then that of the young woman in the
bedsheet, who was staring at him with wide, guilty eyes.
“Welcome to the Upper Plane of Consulate 1, Shin,” the center Judge declared.
“You died in your world of origin. But your existence has been bought out.”
Shin furrowed his dark brows. His steel-grey eyes shifted from the glass giants
to the young woman, then to the violet circle still glowing beneath his feet.
“Bought out? By whom? And for what purpose?”
A silhouette smaller than the Judges stepped forward into the light. It was a
court auditor, a being whose face was concealed behind a silver mask. Without a
word, he abruptly grabbed Shin's right hand.
Before the young man could even make a move to pull back, the auditor pressed
his index finger against the back of Shin's hand. A searing pain, like molten
metal being injected under his skin, made Shin cry out. He tried to wrench his
arm free, but the being's grip was like a steel vise.
Violet geometric lines began to burn into his flesh, shaping themselves into
concentric circles linked by sharp runes. The Seal of Usury.
“What are you doing to me?!” Shin growled, his teeth gritted, his forehead
covered in sweat.
“We are registering your soul as collateral,” the auditor replied coldly,
releasing him. “You are now the debt slave of the goddess Lumina. Your rights as
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a human being are suspended. You belong to Consulate 1 until the sum of eighty
million celestial credits is repaid.”
Silence fell over the room once more, disturbed only by Shin's ragged breathing.
He massaged his aching right hand. The violet mark glowed with a dull light
through his skin. Keeping his composure, he reached into the pockets of his long
white coat, pulled out a pair of black leather gloves, and calmly put them on.
The leather concealed the mark, but the internal burning sensation remained.
“Eighty million?” Shin repeated flatly, letting out a humorless laugh. “On
Earth, I already had trouble paying my rent. You really backed the wrong horse.”
“You have no choice,” the Judge on the left retorted. “Let me state the clauses
of your contract. First rule: the Seal of Usury is bound to your physical
density. If you attempt to flee this plane or refuse to work, the seal will
dissolve your body into dust within a few hours to liquidate your assets.”
Shin adjusted his gloves, his gaze hardening.
“Charming. And the second?”
“Second rule: if Lumina suffers any damage or happens to disappear, the debt is
immediately transferred to your soul at double the interest rate. You must keep
her alive. Third rule: ninety-five percent of all gold or conceptual resources
you harvest during your quests will be automatically siphoned by the seal to
repay your creditors. You will keep only the bare minimum to survive.”
Shin turned his head toward Lumina. The goddess gave him a timid, embarrassed
smile, clasping her hands as if to apologize.
“I... I'm sorry,” she whispered in a soft, high-pitched voice. “But you'll see,
we're going to make a great team!”
“I would rather go back and die in the hospital,” Shin replied, his tone icy.
“Impossible,” the center Judge cut in, his voice vibrating through the marble.
“Your former life no longer exists. The contract is sealed. You are permitted to
leave these chambers. Go to your goddess's palace, prepare yourself, and begin
your work. Your first task is to equip yourself. A slave without tools is of no
use.”
The auditor waved his hand, and the monumental doors of the hall swung open to a
blindingly white exterior.
Shin realized there was no way out. Arguing with glass entities who ran the
universe like a bank was useless. He clenched his fists inside his black gloves,
turned around, and stepped through the doorway without a single glance back at
the judges, followed closely by Lumina, who trotted along while trying to hold
up her linen sheet.
Lumina's "palace" was nothing but a heap of majestic ruins. Located in the
outskirts of the Upper Plane, the white marble building was falling apart. Red
magical seals stamped with the word "SEIZED" barred most of the doors and
columns.
“It's... a bit empty,” Lumina admitted, pointing to the large rooms where only
faint outlines of dust marked the placement of former valuable furniture. “But
the view is lovely!”
Shin ignored the remark. He stood on the balcony, observing the city of the
Upper Plane stretching out before him. It was a bewildering sight. The sky held
no clouds, but rather hues of mother-of-pearl and gold that shifted depending on
the angle from which they were viewed. The buildings were crafted with perfect
geometry, almost too clean to be real.
But what struck Shin most was the activity in the streets below.
There were people. A lot of people. Men and women dressed in simple tunics,
their faces weary, carried huge crates of glowing crystals or cleaned the silver
cobblestones of the city. And beside every single one of them, without
exception, floated a winged silhouette.
These beings resembled the angels of legend, with large, flawless white wings
and faces of cold, almost frozen beauty. But they were far from benevolent.
Their eyes shone with a mechanical glow, and they held light tablets or whips of
pure energy.
“Overseers,” said a voice behind Shin.
He turned around. Standing on the balcony right beside him was one of those
winged beings. He wore a white uniform buttoned up to the collar, and his
wings—of a white so pure they seemed unreal—remained slightly folded behind his
back.
“I am Overseer 77, but you may call me Ariel,” the angel declared in a polite
voice that was entirely devoid of human warmth. “I have been assigned to monitor
you by the tribunal of Consulate 1. My role is to ensure that you abide by your
labor contract and to keep account of your earnings.”
Shin watched him for a moment, unimpressed. He adjusted the collar of his long
white coat.
“A personal shadow. Just what I was missing. And what if I refuse to obey you?”
“The Seal of Usury is linked to my terminal,” Ariel replied with a superficial
smile. “A simple command on my part can accelerate your body's dissolution by
half. I therefore advise cooperation, Asset Shin.”
“Noted, Ariel,” Shin replied, turning his back on him.
The young man walked down the steps of the dilapidated palace, heading out into
the main street. Lumina tried to follow him, but Ariel stopped her with a wave
of his hand.
“Debtor Lumina must remain at the palace under administrative supervision,” the
angel decreed. “Slave Shin must accomplish his first task alone. Find a weapon.”
Lumina looked at Shin with puppy-dog eyes.
“Be careful, Shin! And please, find something that isn't too expensive—the
interest is already piling up!”
Shin didn't even bother to reply. He continued on his way down the cobbled
street, escorted by Ariel, who floated a few inches off the ground beside him.
The silence between them was heavy, disturbed only by the sound of Shin's
footsteps on the smooth pavement.
“Where do we go to find a weapon in this geometric mess?” Shin asked after a few
minutes of walking.
“The Upper Plane does not sell ordinary weapons to slaves,” Ariel explained in
his flat, drone-like voice. “Objects in this world are physical concepts. To
obtain a weapon capable of harming the creatures of this plane, you must earn
its concept. We are heading to the outskirts of the city.”
They walked for a long time, leaving the residential quarters of the deities
behind to enter an area where the architecture began to fade away. The marble
buildings gave way to vast expanses of emptiness. Soon, the ground itself seemed
to lose its solidity, replaced by a thick white mist floating beneath their
feet.
The atmosphere turned into an infinite white, devoid of horizon, shadow, or sun.
It was a luminous and oppressive void. Only a path of grey stone slabs floated
in this vacuum, guiding them toward a monumental structure looming in the
distance.
As they drew near, Shin had to look up to grasp its sheer size. It was a
colossal amphitheater, carved from stone that resembled polished bone, thrusting
out of the white void. Thousands of steps ascended toward an invisible sky.
Above the massive entrance arch, violet runes burned with a cold light, forming
words in a language Shin understood instantly, thanks to the magic seal on his
hand:
THE SLAVE COLISEUM
In front of the entrance, other slaves, supervised by their respective angels,
waited in silence. Some were trembling; others stared at the ground with blank
eyes.
Shin stopped before the arch, feeling the cold wind blowing out from inside the
structure. He rested his gloved hand on the buckle of his black belt, right
where his empty scabbard waited to be filled.
“This is it,” Ariel said, landing on the ground, his wings snapping shut. “This
is where you must prove your conceptual worth. Enter the arena, face whatever
lies within, and if you survive, the arena will materialize a weapon tailored to
your soul.”
Shin studied the violet runes glowing above his head, then cast a sideways
glance at his winged supervisor.
“And what if I die in there?”
“Then your debt will be canceled by default of assets,” Ariel replied with icy
politeness. “Which, from a purely accounting perspective, remains an acceptable
resolution to the case for Consulate 1.”
Shin let out a soft sigh, relaxed his shoulders, and stepped forward into the
darkness of the tunnel leading to the arena.
“In that case,” he said, fading into the dark, “let's avoid giving them that
pleasure.”