Page 1 of Judge of Saints and Sinners

1

Nephesh

T

he soul before me quivered, the faded outline of the human body that had once carried this soul—in this case, that of a middle-aged male—bald head and protruding belly still visible. He was kneeling on the dark-stained wood floors. He had dropped there, gaping mouth full of pleas and promises as I loomed over him.

And now, he shook. Funny, the belief that any of them had something good enough to sway me. If only they had treated their own lives with such fear and reservation. Then they would not be here before me. After all, it was only the mangled souls that were too tightly torn between good and evil that ended up here in my courthouse.

These souls, their scales so dangerously close to falling into darkness that my magic brings them here to the Underworld Courthouse. To my domain. It was up to me to decide if they would spend eternity in peace and glory, or whether they would suffer the consequences of a life of chosen darkness.

As for the rest of the souls, those that were so obviously dark or light, they were already taken care of. The River Styx, and the remnants of my magic, managed them—or at least, that’s how I had intended it to be. As the gatekeeper of the Underworld, I was the final vote of a million considerations every moment.

In my youth, I had worried over each judgment. My magic had washed across the land as I obsessed about building the river’s dam to filter the simpler souls, followed by my courthouse, and finally with housing a dozen souls here permanently. Each of them specifically chosen to help serve me in handing out judgment to those who were too close to darkness to be deemed worthy automatically.

That system was nothing but a distant memory now. Back when my magic had been wild and overeager, just like the demon who wielded it. Now I wondered if my father knew how little I cared about this process anymore. Or anything happening in the Underworld. I wondered every day if he wished for another heir. But that was too late now.

My fingers brushed across the face of the coin, the gold warming under my clawed grip.

“My Lord, Nephesh, you are scaring the soul.”

I barely resisted rolling my eyes at my creature. Peter walked up beside me, the heavy robe that he always wore swirling around his legs. He was not a reaper like those Kharon utilized. Or the mahrs that thrived in the dream realm. Peter was something else altogether. No longer just a soul, not quite a demon. I had chosen him early on, feeding the soul with enough demonic power that it had stabilized his form, his memories and his personality. My favor had allowed him and the others like him to stay and serve me here.

And unlike the pleading soul at my feet, Peter was more corporeal, his form more cemented, held in place by my magic.

I tossed the coin high, watching it roll over in the air before falling back into my palm. “When do I not scare them? Maybe if they had been more worried about consequences in their lives, then they wouldn’t be here.”

“Ever the optimist, sire.”

“I’m a realist, Peter. Not a saint.”

Peter paused, staring down at the crouching soul with pursed lips. “There is plenty of truth in your earlier statement, perhaps, but let’s try to lessen the blow for…” He squinted down at the soul, a habit from when his eyesight must’ve lacked in the living world. “For, hm, Harrold, here.”

I clucked my tongue, savoring the way the soul flinched away from me. He might not be worthy of a place in Elysium, but he was smart enough to know that I was dangerous. That put him head and shoulders above half of the souls who came through here. Many of them begged, pleading for another chance. Others simply screamed in fear.

But it didn’t matter. My magic saw through all of that, to the core of them, where their scales reflected the actions of their living life. There was no hiding that. No ignoring the reality of their actions, and now they must face each and every one.

“Well, Harrold should’ve considered some of those aggressive tendencies of his long before he passed into my realm. Perhaps then we would all not be in this situation.”

“We wouldn’t, or specifically you wouldn't, be in this situation if you would just wake up the other jurors.”

My temper begged to be released. To feel the heat and pressure of my true form as I let my body succumb to the demon that lurked just beneath my flesh. I slammed down on the control that kept the monster at bay, snarling halfheartedly at Peter.

He tensed but didn’t back down. Even as I leaned in, pressing my fingers to Harrold’s shoulders, which solidified under my touch. “Your judgment has been completed. Rise and face your future.”

Harrold rose from the floor, his wispy face horrified as he stared up at me. I felt no doubt, no regret, as I released my magic, letting the soft red haze leak through my flesh until it coasted over him. At his center, the scales of life tilted precariously before a slow tilt left no question about who this soul had been at their very center.

Lacking.

Harrold here was bound for Tartarus, my brother Elon’s realm, where he would spend time there until either he was able to recover and move to the glory of Elysium or offer up his soul for rebirth. “Ashes to ashes…” I murmured the common biblical line as my magic circled him, flames flickering up from the floor as it closed in on him.

Harrold, or the soul that was left, began to screech, throwing his hands out wide, tumbled words filling the courthouse as he begged and pleaded, his body pulled in on himself.

“Easy, soul. Your judgment has been cast,” Peter echoed me, but as usual his words were more kind, more comforting than mine.

I removed my hand, letting the magic complete my judgment, dragging Harrold from the courthouse to the gates of Tartarus, where Elon’s magic would find him a proper way to atone for his sins.

Peter and I stared into the now empty space, a small brush of ash still in place upon the white marble.