The gates of Qur loomed before them, a colossal construct of obsidian and bone, their archway a gaping maw that swallowed the endless stream of souls. Grim reapers, shrouded in shadow and silence, guided the procession, their scythes gleaming with an ethereal glow. The dead, a motley throng of spirits from every corner of the Chronoverse, shuffled forward, their essences flickering with the uncertainty of the unknown. 

The air was thick with the musk of decay, a scent that clung to the fabric of the underworld, permeating everything it touched. The ground beneath their feet was a tapestry of stone and bone, the remnants of those who had come before, a testament to the finality of their journey.

As they passed through the gates, the weight of eternity seemed to press upon their ethereal forms. The reapers, unyielding sentinels of death, herded the souls towards the River Styx, its dark waters a mirror reflecting the stars of a lifeless sky. The riverbank was a shore of shale and sorrow, where the whispers of the damned echoed like a mournful lament.

The souls gathered, a restless sea of phantoms, each awaiting their turn to be ferried across by Krun, the ancient ferryman. His boat, a vessel wrought from the darkest wood and bound by chains of regret, cut through the waters with a rhythm as old as time.

One by one, the spirits were called forth, their names resonating in the air like the tolling of a funeral bell. They stepped onto the boat, their forms fading as they dissolved into the fabric of the craft, becoming one with the journey to come.

Across the river, the land of Akhron awaited, a realm of judgment overseen by The Decider, Tawana herself. The souls knew that upon those hallowed banks, their fates would be sealed, their deeds weighed, and their eternal resting places assigned.

The reapers stood vigil, their presence a constant reminder of the order that governed the realms of the dead. They were the shepherds of the afterlife, guiding the lost and the forsaken to their final destinations.

As the last of the souls embarked upon the crossing, the reapers turned their gaze back to the gates of Qur, ready to receive the next procession. The cycle was unending, a wheel that turned with the relentless passage of time, each soul a spoke in the greater design of the afterlife.

However, for the first time in a very long time, something was very much so off in the land of Qur. In the vast wastelands outside of the gates of Qur laid Huntress, a former officer of the Mishtara who fought valiantly against the Aeoliran Church.

She sat up in a panic and looked around her, unsure of where she was and how she got there. She stood to her feet, but heard the sounds of faint laughter from above.

She looked to where it came and saw an old and familiar face looking down on her as he sat crouched on one of the broken pillars, "Looks like you freed yourself from the little reapers. It's probably for the best."

"Damien," her words were like venom as she spoke, "Where are we? Where's Rickshaw? I swear if you did anything to him, I'll…"

Damien jumped from his perch and landed before her, "Looks like your memory is all screwy, you don't remember do you?" he placed his hands in his pockets and walked around her, looking her over carefully.

"Remember what?" Huntress moved to try to follow his gaze as he circled her.

"You're dead," Damien lifted his hands and pointed towards the gates, "and we're in the underworld, Qur."

Huntress stumbled backwards as the reality set in on her, "I can't be… why are we in the same place? You're a criminal, I… I…"

"Was a good person?" Damien smirked at her, "We allstart at the same place when we die then we are sent to our proper resting place."

Huntress looked at him with dumbfounded eyes, "How do you know this? This has to be a trick."

"It's not my first time being here, I die and come back, die and come back, it's why this…" Damien looked himself over with a smile, "body is my favorite so far."

Huntress grabbed Damien by his collar, "You have to tell me how to get back to our home world."

"When you try to go back without permission, that's how you get zombies," replied Damien.

Huntress’ nose flared as anger seeped deeper into her, "You weren't a zombie when we questioned you."

"That's cause I go through the proper channels to come back to life," replied Damien.

"Stop screwing around and tell me," she replied.

Damien looked to the side where a large vortex was in the sky as grim reapers brought souls through and down a large cliff so they could enter into the gates and join the ferryman, "There's two ways you can return to the land of the living. The first is the improper way by climbing the cliff and returning without permission. However, you'll be a zombie."

Huntress felt her hope dwindling as she looked at the cliff, "And the second?" she turned her attention solely back to him.

"You are deemed worthy by The Decider for The Trials of Kur," replied Damien, "If she deems you worthy then she will send you to The Gifter who administers the trials on behalf of the King of the Underworld."

Huntress released him, "Take me there."

Damien looked at her as he contemplated his decision, "Fine," he let out a loud sigh, "I guess out of all the Mishtara I met you were the nicer of the ones. I'll take you there."

"Thank you," replied Huntress as Damien began to walk towards the gates of Qur.

The journey to the gates of Qur was a silent one, with Damien leading the way through the desolate landscape that seemed to stretch on forever. The air grew heavier with each step they took, the scent of decay clinging to their skin like a second layer. Huntress followed closely behind, her eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of the River Styx or the ferryman Krun, but there was nothing except the endless expanse of wasteland.

As they approached the towering gates, the eerie silence was shattered by a guttural growl that resonated from the depths of the obsidian entrance. The ground trembled beneath their feet as Sarbros, the massive three-headed guard dog of Qur, emerged from the shadows. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly fire, and his serpentine tail lashed back and forth with deadly intent. The beast lunged forward, teeth bared, ready to strike down the intruders.

But before Sarbros could reach them, a figure appeared from behind the gates. It was The Guider, her presence commanding attention and exuding an aura of serene authority. She stretched out her hand, and a wave of calm washed over the hellhound, subduing his rage instantaneously. Sarbros's heads lowered in submission, and he retreated to her side, his eyes never leaving Damien and Huntress.

Huntress looked upon the woman who stood before her, the massive size of her was astonishing. She thought the hellhound was a sight to behold, but The Guider had to have stood at least 400 feet tall.

"Papa Legba," The Guider's voice was as soft as a whisper yet carried the weight of the universe, "what brings you outside of Qur, away from your resting place?"

Damien, who had been known as Papa Legba in another life, bowed his head slightly in respect. "I am guiding a lost soul," he gestured towards Huntress, "she seeks an audience with The Decider."

The Guider turned her gaze to Huntress, her eyes piercing through the officer's tough exterior. "And why should The Decider deem you worthy for a meeting, mortal?"

"She wishes to participate in the Trials of Kur," replied Damien as tried his best to broker favor on behalf of Huntress.

The Guider looked to Damien, her patience thinning, "I asked her."

Huntress stepped forward, meeting The Guider's gaze with unwavering determination. "I have unfinished business in the land of the living. I must return to protect my world and those I care about."

The Guider considered her words for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Very well," The Guider began to shrink in size until she was comparable to the heights of Damien and Huntress, "I will take you to The Gifter. But know this, the trials are not to be taken lightly. They will test your strength, your will, and your very soul."

As The Guider turned to lead them through the gates, Huntress felt a mix of relief and trepidation. She had survived her cadet academy, faced down Aeoliran Church, but nothing compared to the challenge that lay ahead. With Damien at her side and the watchful eyes of Sarbros upon them, they stepped into the realm of the dead, ready to face whatever trials awaited them in her pursuit of life.

As they entered the Gates of Qur, The Guider's crimson dress flowed behind her. The massive Sarbros was now shrunk and only had one head as it walked next to her like any other pet.

Among the scent of decay The Guider's scent of flowers was a breath of fresh air to Huntress. The young teen was not like the wastelands, not like the path that led to the banks of the river Styx. Her summery outfit seemed to be from a place of happiness and paradise. She seemed to be out of place in the eyes of Huntress.

Huntress broke the silence to quench her curiosity, "Excuse me, The Guider, can I ask you a question?"

"I guess, if it is necessary," The Guider led them past the long rows of souls so they could reach the ferryman.

"You don't seem…" Huntress paused as she chose her words, "You seem more vibrant and lively than the rest of this place. Why don't you seem more dead?"

The Guider laughed at her question, "Should my skin be gray and falling from the bone?" The Guider looked back at her from over her shoulder before looking forward again, "Only things dead down here are the souls that enter our domain."

They approached the ferryman Krun who looked at the mortals with ambivalence, "You have unaccompanied souls following you, Macaria."

She looked back at Huntress and Damien, then back at Krun, "Sadly, I brought them here. I need to take them to see Tawana."

"You know the rules," replied Krun, "Only those who are chosen by the Decider may see her."

Macaria sucked her teeth before placing her hands on her hips, "Father sent me to bring them to her. Shall I tell him you went against his orders?"

Krun's fear ran down his spine and his blood boiled, but knew he would have to bend the rules this time to follow the will of their master.

Huntress picked up on the change and leaned over to Damien to whisper in his ear, "Who's her father?"

Damien stayed focused forward, listening to their conversation as he replied to Huntress, "The King of the Underworld."

Krun stepped into his boat and allowed the three of them to join him. His skeletal hand gripped the pole as he pushed the ferry away from the banks of Styx. The vessel cut through the murky water, leaving ripples in its wake. The dead watched in silence, their hollow eyes reflecting the abyss. Macaria stood at the bow, her figure silhouetted against the gloom. Damien and Huntress huddled close, their mortal senses overwhelmed by the stench of despair.

The river was a canvas of shadow and flame, with the occasional wail of a tormented soul piercing the stillness. Krun remained silent, his gaze fixed ahead. The boat glided smoothly, as if guided by unseen hands. Huntress watched the water, her heart heavy with the realization of her own death. Damien, ever the strategist, scanned their surroundings, noting the layout of the riverbanks and the placement of the guards.

As they approached the land of Akhron, the air grew colder, and the landscape transformed into a bleak, desolate expanse. Krun navigated the boat towards a muddy embankment where crooked trees reached out with gnarled branches. He docked his ferry and let them out. The skies overhead filled with purple and black hues compared to the desolate black and gray of where they once came from.

"Welcome to Akhron," The Guider walked them through the dirt streets of the land from the muddy embankment.

Huntress looked around at the bustling town that was ahead of them, the purple skies, the scents of food, the world was nothing like what she expected, "This is the underworld?" she asked.

"One portion of it, yes, we're in Tawana's territory," replied The Guider.

"All the books we have said that this place was supposed to be fire and brimstone, a torturous place," Huntress was baffled by the truth she saw before her.

"Oh you're referring to Nashyah, that's my father's territory. The capital of Qur, governed by The Maalik," The Guider looked over some of the fabrics at one of the stalls in the market.

The Guider navigated the labyrinth of stalls with a familiar ease, her eyes scanning the array of colorful garments, exotic foods, and trinkets that glinted under the eerie light. She paused at a vendor displaying an assortment of fabrics, the textures rich and varied, from the coarsest of wools to the finest silks. Her fingers grazed a bolt of crimson cloth, the color reminiscent of a freshly spilled lifeblood, vibrant against the muted backdrop of Akhron.

Huntress, still trying to reconcile her preconceived notions of the underworld with the reality before her, trailed behind, her gaze darting from one curiosity to another. She watched as The Guider, with a discerning eye, selected several articles of clothing and a few choice pieces of fruit from a neighboring stall. The vendor, a wizened woman with hands worn by time, wrapped the items in large, broad leaves before handing them over. The Guider exchanged a few coins, the currency of the dead clinking with a sound that seemed out of place in this realm of the departed.

Turning to Huntress and Damien, The Guider extended the bundle towards Huntress. "Here, take these."

Huntress hesitantly took the package, the weight of it surprising her. She could feel the solidity of the fruit within, the firmness of the fabric against her fingertips. It was a small, mundane act in a place that was anything but, and it served as a stark reminder of her predicament. She was dead, yet here she was, carrying goods as if she were still among the living.

The Guider led them away from the marketplace, leaving the sounds of commerce and the scent of spiced foods behind. They moved deeper into Akhron, the path winding past structures that defied categorization—buildings that seemed to be both ancient and new, growing from the ground itself, their surfaces a patchwork of different eras and styles. It was as if Akhron had a life of its own, an ever-changing landscape shaped by the memories and beliefs of the souls that dwelled within it.

Huntress followed, her mind awash with questions, her heart heavy with uncertainty. Yet she carried on, driven by the singular purpose that had brought her to this place: to return to her partner Rickshaw and uncover the truth behind the chaos that had consumed her world.

They eventually arrived at a modest dwelling, its walls a mosaic of polished stones that glistened in the strange half-light of Akhron. The Guider gestured for Huntress and Damien to enter. "This will be your sanctuary while you prepare to meet The Decider. Rest, and when you are ready, we will speak with her."

Huntress stepped inside before Damien, the cool air of the interior a welcome respite from the outside. She set the bundle down on a simple wooden bench, her thoughts already turning to the challenges ahead. Convincing The Decider to let her participate in the trials of Kur would not be easy, but she was determined to see it through, to prove herself worthy of the answers she sought. And perhaps, in the process, she would finally understand the true nature of this place called the underworld.

Huntress sat on the bed that was in the little abode after The Guider left.

"Guess I'll sleep on the couch," Damien flopped down on the couch and kicked his feet up on the armrest as he laid back.

Huntress leaned over as she processed everything that had happened since she woke, "She called you something earlier, didn't she? What was it?"

"What do you mean?" Damien had his hands behind his head and his eyes closed as he rested for the remainder of the time.

Huntress searched her memories trying to make sense of everything, "She, she called you Papa Legba."

"Ah Rickshaw never told you?" Damien sat up, looking over the back of the couch, "This body belongs to the boy named Damien Leblanc. His father was a right ole' abusive prick, his mother was caring, but wouldn't leave him. So she did the next best thing."

Damien stood and walked towards Huntress, "Before Damien was born, she snuck her pregnant self out of the house and went down to visit the Voodou priests of the Voodon, a fringe group that worships Tawana."

He walked to the other side of the bed and flopped down, Huntress turned slightly so she could listen closely to the story he was sharing, "She stayed there until the boy was born. However, she wanted to ensure he was safe and so she prayed to Bidqar divine council, prayed to Erzulie Dantò, prayed to everyone she could and yet I'm the one who answered."

Damien laid on his back and looked up to the ceiling, "She was foolish to trust the Voodou priests you see, because instead of a ritual of protection they conducted a ceremony of possession offering this boy's body to me, Papa Legba, in exchange for riches and power. I've been in his body ever since."

"You possessed a baby!" Huntress jumped to her feet, disgust written clearly across her face.

Damien sat up and looked at her, "We don't get a choice, when the rituals are performed the right way we are forced to agree as divine beings, it's the natural order of things. And if I ever cut my tie to his soul will be removed from the paradise fields and placed back to live in the mortal world."

"Why would that be a bad thing?!" Huntress clenched her fists, trying to hold back her rage.

"Think of a blissful life of childhood, that's all he knows, and you want him to return to the harsh world with people like The Tempter and the Aeoliran Church out there?" asked Damien.

Huntress released her clenched fists and sighed, "I guess you're right," she sat back down on the bed, "What happened to the Voodou priests, did you give them what they wanted?"

"I did but not how they expected it," Damien had a twisted smile on his face, "At twelve I would return to them after killing the boy's father. I gave them their riches, however, they weren't able to spend it as they were encased inside of the gold like a tomb."

Damien's eyes had a sense of sadness about them, "The boy was a Time Walker, even if Erzulie Dantò didn't answer them an the boy was left to his own devices with his father, he would've been fine, but no they stole his life from him and Tawana wanted to speak to them personally for that choice."

"So you're a god then?" asked Huntress.

Damien laughed a hardy laugh, "That's what your people have started to call us over the years, but no. The only true gods are the bloodline descendants of the primordial beings. People like me are what your people call Meltsars, but we've been called Šumerim, guardians, sukkals, angels, demons, and many more. We are creations of the gods to serve them and their will."

"And Rickshaw knows about all of this?" asked Huntress.

"Well the important pieces," Damien shrugged, "Rickshaw is a god, he just chooses to reject it to play mortal."

Huntress went back to the bed and laid down, "This is a lot, I need to get some sleep, we can finish talking about this in the morning."

Damien got out of the bed and went back to the couch, "Suit yourself."

The morning came and there was a knock on the door. Huntress went to the door and opened it to see the young Macaria standing before her wearing black tinted lens bug eyed sunglasses with gold frames. She blew a pink bubble with her gum until it popped and started to chew again, "Morning, sleepy heads."

The Guider, Macaria was eccentric with style and fashion, something that was jarring to the expectations of Huntress. The young governess had shiny ruby red boots that stretched to her knees. She wore a red and gold dress that had a plunging neckline before it shifted from the pure ruby red to the mixture of gold patterns on top of the red fabric. At her waist the dress turned to pure gold with a slight red trim at the button that slightly covered her butt. Her arms were covered in a flowy pair of ruby red silk sleeves that turned to gold at her wrists.

"You act like you forgot how to talk," Macaria entered the house, pushing past Huntress to see if Damien was awake, "Oh good, you're both ready then."

"Aren't you cold?" asked Huntress.

Macaria looked back at her with a smile, as she continued to chew her gum, "Temperature down here affects us differently than it does you, souls."

She went over to the clothings and fabrics she had given them yesterday and placed ointments on the bench next to them, "I see you didn't eat the food."

"Of course not, Governess The Guider," Damien walked up to her, invisible sparks flew between them as they looked into each other's eyes with twisted smiles, "I'm not stupid. Any poor soul knows that if you eat the food of Qur you'll be enslaved for eternity. She wouldn't even be eligible for the trials anymore."

Macaria gave him a smug look, "Fine," she turned around and walked towards Huntress, "I wasn't trying to trick you anyway. You'll need those items for an offering if you truly want to sway Tawana's mind."

Damien and Huntress looked at each other before, "You're being unusually cooperative," said Damien, "You even lied to Krun yesterday and said that your father sent you to bring us to The Decider."

"It's my duty to guide souls through the stages of afterlife so they can become content with their final resting place," replied Macaria, "If she wants to try her hand at the trials before reaching acceptance then I won't stop her. Now if you don't want my help that's fine too."

"No, it's not that," replied Huntress, "Damien just is used to the Pleasure District is all," Huntress glared at him before smiling at Macaria, "I appreciate your help with this."

Macaria smiled at her, "Good, then let's go."

They walked through the streets of Akhron, the clacking of Macaria's boots echoing against the stone streets. The air was alive with the hum of commerce, a stark contrast to the bleakness that awaited beyond the gates of Qur. Huntress couldn't help but marvel at the vibrancy of it all, the way the sunlight—or whatever passed for it here—glistened off the stalls of the vendors, the chatter of the souls bartering for wares. It was a city of the dead, but it pulsed with life.

Macaria led them with purpose, her stride confident, her presence commanding attention even amidst the bustle. The streets transitioned from a lively marketplace to a more solemn avenue, the crowd thinning as they approached the looming structure that marked their destination.

The castle of The Decider was a monolithic edifice, its walls constructed from colossal stones of black and purple hues. It towered over the rest of Akhron, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch out to swallow them whole. The sheer scale of it was daunting, a clear declaration of the power that resided within.

Macaria halted before the massive, iron-banded door that served as the castle's entrance, her ruby boots scuffing the dirt pavement. She turned to face Huntress and Damien, her sunglasses reflecting the ominous structure behind them. With a flourish of her hands and a faint glow that enveloped her body, Macaria transformed into her gigantic form, matching the scale of the castle.

In this towering incarnation, The Guider reached out and gripped the door's handle, which now seemed a more manageable size in her enlarged grasp. With a heave and a creak that echoed like thunder, the door swung open, revealing the darkness that lay beyond the threshold.

"Welcome to the abode of The Decider," Macaria's voice boomed, resonating with an authority that rumbled through the ground beneath their feet.

Huntress and Damien exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of their situation. They stepped forward, crossing into the castle's shadowy interior, the door closing behind them with a resounding thud that seemed to seal their fate.

The inside of the castle was a maze of corridors and chambers, each filled with an eerie, pulsating energy that seemed to whisper of the countless souls that had come before them. They followed Macaria's lead, their footsteps muffled by the plush, otherworldly carpet that lined the halls.

They passed by tapestries woven with threads of shadow and light, depicting scenes of judgment and destiny that spanned millennia. Statues of past bloodlines lined their path, their stone eyes seeming to follow them, judging their worthiness.

Finally, they arrived at a grand chamber, its ceiling lost in darkness, its walls adorned with sconces that flickered with ghostly flames. At the far end, upon a towering throne of obsidian frame with purple cushion center, sat The Decider, her figure shrouded in the purple mist that bellowed out of the bottom of her throne.

Macaria stood before the throne with her hands on her hips, as Damien encouraged Huntress to kneel, both bowing their heads as they did so, "Governess Tawana," she began, her voice echoing in the vastness of the chamber, "I present to you Kami Cook and Damien Leblanc, who seek an audience with you to plead their case."

The figure on the throne shifted slightly, a low chuckle emanating from the depths of the shadows. "Very well," a voice as cold as the void itself replied, "let them speak."

"I come before you with offerings and gifts, to ask that you grant me the opportunity to participate in the Trials of Kur," Huntress remained with her head bowed as she lifted up her gifts to Tawana.

"What makes you worthy to participate in the Trials?" asked Tawana, "You are but a speck in the vastness of existence."

Huntress raised her head, "There are probably many more worthy people out there than me. However, I can't let being worthy or not stop me. My partner, Kenneth King, is out there in the world of the living by himself fighting against some dark faction called the Aeoliran Church and I can't let him take them on by himself and let them destroy our world."

Tawana let out a sound of interest at the words Huntress spoke. "I know Kenneth doesn't have your blood in you but he is the grandson of your brother, Yadabaq," continued Huntress, "And he adopted a young girl, Elin, who is of your blood and saved her from a den of sinners who use your name for their ambitions."

Tawana raised her hand to stop her speaking. The woman stood to her feet and walked towards them, each step felt like the ground was shaking to Damien and Huntress as they knelt there. Huntress felt weak, fearing she had angered the governess of Akhron and would be punished.

Tawana knelt down so she could be closer to them, "You are a curious little mortal. I shall give you permission to enter into the land of Metnah, but you may only participate in the Trials of Kur if The Gifter grants your request. However, Damien will need to participate in the trials with you."

"Why should I complete the trials for her benefit, The Decider?" Damien was mad at the result that came from him helping Huntress thus far.

"Because The Maalik will not grant your return to earth this time, so you will need to give him a reason to change his mind," Tawana stood to her feet, a sinister smile on her face. "I trust you remember how to get to Metnah, Damien?"

"Yes, The Decider, I remember," replied Damien.

"Good," Tawana looked to Macaria, "The Guider needs to return to her duties," she returned her gaze to Damien and Huntress, "I wish you the best of luck."

Damien and Huntress left the presence of the two governesses to set on their way to the eighth territory of Qur, Metnah.