Chapter 2: Rude awakening
Shrieks of ire echo through the barren crimson landscape of the Netherworld. Consumingly deep chasms stretched across the cracked surface, forming a tapestry of a grieving realm. Huge crystal structures were hovering in the stormy sky..
Buildings, heavily weathered by the terrifying catastrophes raging within the realm, stood center in the grim environment. Their appearance in tandem with the ambiance only further intensified the present lack of life.
A closer look at the mud roads traversing the passages between the structures would, however, show signs of something not quite alive, but seemingly not dead either. Sapphire flames of varying size and vigor tracked the roads in pairs of two. Almost like machines, autonomously performing their tasks.
But machines, unless built faulty, were not prone to do this. "I really hate this job man, how bout you?" A voice, indistinguishable from any gender, resounded from one of the flames. "Krrrr," responded the one next to it, leaving the one questioning in a moment of embarrassment. "Oh, my bad, I mistook you for someone else."
Conversations like this kept the silence at bay during their menial working times. As Ethereals, they were living out their afterlife, which was as far from blessed as one could stray. If at any moment they were seen slacking off from their duties, a hefty punishment would follow, making one wish to never have existed in the first place.
But what kind of work do flames have? Serving their purpose, of course. Their task was to fuel the embers within the burning depths of Ethma, the heart of the Netherworld. One by one, they would let it feast on their strength until they had just enough to walk back home to rest.
After a few hours of meditation, the process repeated once more. It wasn't all for nothing, though, as there were rewards for those that performed exceedingly well. The only caveat being that it would take the average ethereal roughly a hundred thousand years to garner even a speck of respect from the upper echelons.
Compared to the lifespan they possessed, this didn't amount too much. But one couldn't forget that these workers were far from real machines. They were once living beings with a mind capable of complex thought. If their need for conscious decisions was to be taken away, it only took little time for them to crumble in their lack of purpose.
Forget a hundred thousand. A single year is enough for any person to get lost in their mindless endeavor, turning into a hollow shell. Because of this, it was mostly the new Ethereals who were still working with at least a little effort, seeking to impress the ones overlooking them.
Once they noticed how futile their efforts were, they too slowly converted to apathetic worker ants, whose sole purpose was the avoidance of punishment. From high above, those in power looked down on those under their rule. Bemused, they laughed at the cruel fate of those beneath their feet whilst enjoying a feast.
Their appearance differed from the lowly workers, as they possessed an actual resemblance to a normal body. The only unique thing was the soft translucency of their skin, making one wonder if they were real and not an illusion.
"Haha, look at this, Zyrax!" a tall, muscular man said, raising his glass a bit too quickly. "Look at the mess you made, Myrea. Could you keep your excitement in bounds for once?" The slim man beside him calmly retorted, gesturing at the ruby spot on the floor.
"How would I? If it goes on like this, the Netherworld will soon conquer the entire universe!" Grabbing at the sky with his free hand, Myrea gazed into the distance with his razor-sharp eyes. His friend met the determination with refusal. "Unfortunately, your fantasy has blurred your reality."
Zyrax, who had leaned against the balcony's railing until now, took a seat next to his overzealous companion. "Well, maybe your muscles did that. We can't be certain." Still stuck in his own fantasy, Myrea hadn't taken Zyrax's teasing remark to heart.
"Who dares stand in the way of our forsaken realm? Only the beings in the abyss once posed a threat to us." He could not understand why his friend didn't share his emotions. Ever since they had banished the wretched creatures into the depths of the abyss, there was no one in his eyes capable of holding even a candle to their power.
"Myrea, you're simply unable to grasp the power of the godde-" The door slammed open before a sea-blue flame entered with haste. Zyrax's blue skin illuminated the room as fury welled up in him. "What do you think you are doing, you imbecile?! Do you think this is your house?"
Frightened by the tone, the ethereal darted around, looking for a place to hide. Peeking its shaky eyes above the little cabinet, it spoke in a quivering voice, almost crying. "Terrible news, my lord! I apologize for my intrusion. I beg you not to punish me!"
"If your news is not as important as you make them out to be, I will make you work until you are but an ember!" Zyrax steadied himself within his chair, listening to the intruder intently. Inside, he was well prepared already to lash out at it for interrupting him without a significant reason.
"A child of sin has come!" After its quivering voice echoed throughout the room, everything had turned silent. The spilled wine from earlier could be heard dropping from the railing and onto the marble floor.
"Why did you not say that sooner?" Zyrax bellowed, shattering the silence. He sprung up and made haste toward the door, gesturing the other two in the room to follow him.
The bearer of bad news released a heavy sigh, glad that his punishment had been avoided. If it was really forced to do that, it would have needed to rest for several months. But the rules of the realm forbid it from doing so. "For taking you sweet time, I will still punish you!"
The fury-filled voice of its lord broke its inner musings, making it lament at its own misfortune. If only it wasn't its time of duty right now. But the task at hand was more important than its own suffering.
Together, they made their way through the regal pathways of the city's core district, passing by aristocratic buildings. But something unusual had happened, as they were all devoid of any presence. Not just they heard the news. Everyone did.
In the distance, at the center of the city, raged the temple of redemption. A gigantic circular stone disk with twelve heaven-piercing pillars around the perimeter. The dark clouds were drawn to it, forming a cataclysmic storm high above the grounds of the temple.
Within, the twelve guardians of the netherworld were arrayed around the center. Their outside appearance resembled that of the floating crystals, especially clear in their iridescent outer shell. Akin to gods within the realm, their rule spread across every being.
As usual, they judged the Ethereals that left the world of the living, deciding on their afterlife. Their verdict was based on the actions performed by the trialed before their passing.
As the three got increasingly close to the temple, masses of figures covering the ground came into view. Everyone came to see the appearance of something that was only described in legends.
A child of sin was an ethereal who had caused a drastic change in the ways of the universe. Such an act went against the rules set by the guardians, who were the governors of the natural flow. Changing the future in a way not predictable by them was like a declaration of war, a death wish.
Until now, no one has ever gained this title, leaving everyone at odds about the appearance of a figure as grand as this. How did they die if they were so powerful? What did they do to oppose the guardians' wills? Questions coursed through the minds of the onlookers, as their curious gazes steadily morphed into bewilderment.
"The twelve require you to confess your sins, child." The guardians spoke in unison, orchestrating a deafening sound-wave that spanned for miles on end. With their stature as tall as a ten-story building, they had to angle their heads downward to face their victim.
Beneath their eyes, shackled to the center of the temple, was the figure of a tender child. Deducing from his appearance, he was no older than fifteen. His restless emerald eyes displayed his confusion. Where was he? Who were these people? What sins? Most importantly, who was he?
A sharp sting assaulted his ethereal body, causing it to convulse. Vivid pictures of recent events flooded his mind, resulting in an explosive headache. Silent screams escaped his mouth as memories took form. Fragments of what had caused his current predicament slowly filled in the bigger picture. Piece by piece, the boy became aware.
Although hazy, he was certain of one fact. He had died.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
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