Introduction: The Waiting Room

Atticus did not know how long he was in the waiting room. It was a fairly simple room: rows of benches lining the gray walls and an aisle down the middle of the long room that seemed to stretch into eternity, all of it overcast by gloomy light which emanated from orbs along the ceiling. Cool mist hung on every surface, slowly spilling off in waves. People sat on all of the benches. People of every age and every nationality, dressed in garb which Atticus found highly unusual, ranging from bright, feathered clothes to close-cut black suits. In the dim lighting, one might even have thought some of them were alive.

However, this was most certainly not the case, as every one of them was in the waiting room to the Underworld. At least, that's what the brochure said which Atticus had received when he first got there. He was, quite obviously, very surprised at first and tried to leave the place, looking for a way out of what must have been a nightmare. He ran for what must have been days down the length of the waiting room, but it never ended, and he eventually gave up.

The most difficult part was Atticus didn't remember how he died, though he guessed he had died peacefully as he didn't have open wounds or bloody clothes like some of the other spirits. It seemed like they all bore the marks of their death, some very grotesque; but most were like him, spotless and bored with only the occasional spirit running past in an attempt to escape for the others' amusement. The last thing he remembered from life was falling asleep in his home after a content night with his family.

Ever so often, a shadow-cloaked figure would come into the room and move towards a spirit sitting on a bench. Once they got close, the shadow would spread to the spirit and, after a short period, both would vanish into its inky depths. The shadow made the figure and the spirit both seem out of focus with the rest of the room, making it impossible to see details of either or even hear what they were saying. After a few moments, the shadow would vanish and both the figure and spirit would be gone. Not knowing who they were, the spirits took to calling them the Culling Deities, for they always led the dead out of this mindless waiting in between the worlds.

Judging off the number of spirits which cycled through the room, Atticus assumed he had been there for quite some time. In fact, he suspected he had been there for much longer than the average spirit. He still wore his clothes from when he had wandered the roads and paths of Anatolia, but they were very out of place with the average garb of the spirits which took up the majority of the room now.

It was in one moment of particular quiet, when the spirits around him ceased whispering to one another, that one of the shadowed Culling Deities appeared out of nowhere in front of Atticus. Atticus spent a moment assessing the man: he was well over seven feet tall and had bronze skin and a handsome face, though all of that was overshadowed by the raven wings which came from his back. He carried a clipboard, an object which Atticus recognized from some of the spirits which wore suits, and had a busy look to his face.

He spoke. "Are you Atticus of Anatolia? Died in your sleep around 2,300 years ago?" Atticus was taken aback by the frantic yet disinterested tone to his deep voice. Very much wanting to get out of the waiting room and excited to see what lay next, Atticus affirmed this with a nod of his head. The Deity broke eye contact with Atticus and made a few notes on the clipboard before speaking again.

"It appears you slipped through the gaps and we missed your first appointment awhile back, and we are just now making it back to you for your tour. I am Thanatos, the Greek god of death, and I will be leading you through all of the afterlives you are eligible to spend eternity in. At any point we visit an Underworld you are content with, we can stop the tour, or you can make your decision at the end of the tour among any afterlife we visit. At that point, you will be judged by the rules of that afterlife on whether you get to go to the 'good' place or the 'bad' place or any level in-between in that afterlife. Keep in mind we are backlogged by about two million souls -cursed overpopulation!- so please be quick about it." He said all of this in one hurried breath before quickly moving on.

"Any questions? No? Okay, then let's head on to your first Underworld, Atticus!" And, with that, Thanatos waved his hand and an open doorway opened in the air, beyond which lay a hallway of doors.