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Just then pop a man with a lion's head appeared. "There he is. What a man. Listen, Reaper, I got him from here."

"Easy, Erra," Saint Peter said as he laid a hand on the man's bare chest. "This one's already been claimed."

"What? By you? No way. I haven't had one in..." he started counting on his fingers and we all waited until pop an ebony (the wood, not just the color) woman in a diaphanous gown and matching insect wings appeared and immediately began massaging my shoulders. The Saint averted his eyes and started mumbling something in Latin.

"Wait," I said after a moment. "Why are you mumbling in Latin? Wouldn't it be Aramaic?"

"Oh, a lot of church folk came in speaking Latin, so it's what I've gotten most used to. More time dead than alive, after all."

The valkyrie chuckled at that, then went back to sharpening her blade and whistling.

The Grim Reaper looked up from his paperwork, "Ok, so Erra, you can leave. Your claims only apply if he died in Mesopotamia, or no one else has a claim."

"Is Saint Paul not between two rivers, the Mississippi and Saint Croix?" The lion man asked. "What does Mesopotamia mean, after all?"

"Let me look this up," the Reaper said, clearly annoyed.

The woman's hands started to moved down my chest until a blade was suddenly against her throat.

"He certainly isn't yours, Ana. Just look at his back." The valkyrie was referencing my shoulder tattoo of Mjolnir. Spring break of 2012 had more than a few bad decisions.

Ana rolled her eyes, spun me round, and planted a kiss on my. I felt roots reaching into my lungs (and was shocked to find I still had lungs) before she retracted them and pulled away.

The valkyrie lopped her head off, but the plant matter quickly adjusted to reattach it.

"Valkyrie, go home," Reaper said without looking up.

"But the mark?"

"It's the Marvel rendition, not the traditional."

"So he's a moron. Most of our men are."

"He is a moron, but a drunken tattoo doesn't give you claim."

She stomped off, grumbling to herself in what I assume was old Norse.

"Ana, you can leave, too. I'm not clear why you even came."

"Oh, I just saw he was getting a lot of attention," said with a sly grin. "Did you want some, Slim?"

He ignored her, and soon after, she disappeared, just as a mass of sharp teeth, cancerous flesh, and eyes bubbled up from the floor.

"Squigoloth? What are you doing here?" The Saint asked as he and Erra stepped back.

The response was a sound like a thousand bees scraping their fingernails on chalkboards, echoing up from the deepest mineshaft ever imagined.

"Huh, Squiggy makes a good point. Hey bud, you ever sell your soul? Would sort this mess right out."

"Not that I remember," I laughed.

"Are you sure?" Erra asked, while reaching a hand toward me.

"Yeah, I'm—" I suddenly flashed back to that Thursday night, April something, 2012. Like I said, bad decisions.

"You did get to hook up with Sylvia Berkowicz."

"Ok, but I just said I'd sell my soul to hook up with her. I didn't say to who."

There was a roar of primordial oceans being drained into a massive cavern lit by flowing magma.

"No," Saint Peter said, "He's right. He didn't clarify, and no one actually acted to increase his chances. The deal was out there, but none of you claimed it."

"Technically," Grim said, standing and somehow smiling despite only being a skeleton. "Technically, Sylvia facilitated the hook up. She let him sleep with her." He lifted the massive book, pointing at a line. "Here we are. So in a sense, he sold his soul to her. So we just send him wherever she is."

There was a solid ten seconds of silence.

Finally, Erra spoke up. "And where is she?"

Reaper frowned and slumped back in his chair. "Alive."

"So... Whose purgatory is he waiting in?" Peter asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Just... Just give me a moment, guys. I'll figure it out. I just need a short break."

pop A small lizard man in a tailored suit appeared and started measuring my limbs.

"Hold on, Kurt," Erra said, resting a gentle hand on the lizard man's shoulder. "There's some paperwork to sort on this one. We may be here a while."

Very enjoyable read

I did not understand every word, even though the horrors spoke in my language. Did they, truly? Some were so unfathomable that they forced humility into my soul, driving it through every layer of ego and instinct like a stinging tail. Who was I to say they could not "truly" speak it? I was nothing, in the grand scheme. I had been mere stuff - matter and energy. I did not know what I had become after that. What I knew - what their presence forced into the very core of my new state - was that they were so, so much more.

With others, my instincts won out. Pieces of them moved when I heard my language. It was grim parody. Those pieces could not produce those sounds. They were mocking me. I was too afraid to be offended. They still forced humility upon me - just a different kind, at a different layer.

One horror left the others to their cataclysmic conclave. It made itself small. Then it made itself me - not me, but of my former kind. The familiarity should not have soothed me so, but it did. When my language came forth and its pieces moved, they were synchronized. They looked right.

"Until this is settled," it said, "you will be staying here at the waiting room. Meanwhile, we'll be discussing whether you should go to @#@$! or :/<|)(~#. I wouldn't be surprised if {:>*(! also shows up."

I felt despair, and the horror knew. I knew it knew because it moved all the right pieces.

"Sorry," it said. "It's the job. I try to be professional, but nobody's perfect. Habits. Routines." He pointed to the chaos all around us. "Those guys are too powerful to notice or care. That's why they use guys who use guys who use guys like me. We're a little more sensitive, but we're still part of the system. We're simply not like you, or what you used to be.

"In a way," it continued, "you're just as alien to us as we are to you!"

Except you have all the power, I thought, and the horror knew.

"Can't get around it," it conceded. "It is what it is."

If there was any distinction between thinking and speaking, I tried for it. I'm not sure why. "So what are they? What is this?"

"You don't want to know," it replied. "You will know, eventually. My advice is to wait until you've been permanently placed. It'll be much easier on you that way. You might be waiting here for a long time, but it won't be long now until your privileges kick in. You'll be able to experience consumption and rest again. You'll be provided distraction. You'll be able to tune out most of this unless and until your input is requested."

"Demanded."

"Yup."

I was struck, then, by the infinite and perfect complexity of the horror's illusion. It was waiting expectantly while masking its intentions and desires. I would have expected the same from a master gamesman, back home - back when I'd been alive.

"But if I ask, you'll tell me."

"Yup."

"Why might I be waiting a long time?"

"You're a zero divide," it said. "Huh. That's an interesting one. Very mathematical. Sorry, I'm a big fan of idioms and expressions and whatnot. Anyway, yeah - there's all sorts of rules and agreements and contracts, and you represent one of those difficult situations where nobody has a clear claim to your Next. Okay, well, that one's just a little dull. No offense."

I was still too afraid to take any - less so, though. The horror was good at its job.

"What are those words I don't know?" I asked. "Why are there no words in my language for them?"

"Really?" it asked. "You're sure?"

I traced talons on forelimb scales with a body I was fairly certain didn't really exist, and that I vaguely recalled had not existed - even as an illusion - a few moments prior. I was not sure of my choice, but I made it.

"Okay," it said. "Sorry to say, but your planet has no real gods. You have math and science and art, sure, and so you've definitely brushed up against plenty of those big, mysterious guys up there. But your religions? Your god-gods? Yeah, no. Fairy tales, every single one."

"But this is not true everywhere."

"Nope," it said. "By pure, dumb - I'm telling you, downright idiotic - luck, some species connect to real gods. It's crazy. There's this one hunk of rock about a bajillion whatevers thataway where some absolute freak species, in the span of only twenty thousand revolutions, hit seven. Seven! I know you don't have any context right now, but that's just insane. Utter madness. These big guys don't really talk about it, because it makes them uncomfortable."

"They're special."

"They're extinct," it replied wryly. "Pure, dumb, idiotic luck."

"That's horrifying."

"Which part?"

"All of it."

"Yeah, you get it. Now you get it."

The cataclysm all around us ended. That terrified me even more.

"Welp, that's that then," the small mirror-horror said. "You'll be on your way."

"I thought you said I'd be here a long time?"

"I said you might be. But you tipped your own scales - hey, that's a kind of a cross-species pun! Neat! Anyway, you asked. You had to know. Also, you took it pretty well, all things considered. I think you're gonna be okay where you're going. Most people are. The system's got its problems, but overall, it's pretty solid. The physical realm is what it is - a necessary evil. Once you've done your time there, it's all about order. It's all about getting everything where it needs to be."

"Is it one of theirs?" I asked. "One of the seven."

"Nah," it replied. "It's a big one. It's universal. Curiosity. Knowledge. One of my favorites, actually. It's like a crazy quantum tunnel that's perpendicular through everything all at once. You're a zero divide, so, sure, you won't fit in perfectly right away. But you'll get there. The system keeps on churning, after all."

"I wonder what they're like," I said. "Those extinct ones."

"Of course you do," it replied. It skittered and tittered perfectly, communicating its amicable detachment. "You are - cosmically, now and forever after - the curious sort."

“I’m just too damn saintly”

Great story, I love like lore related mixed mythology. But what goddess was Ana? I've been googling keywords for like 10 minutes lol

What does Sylvia say about owning a forign soul?

Sylvia looked at the Grim Reaper, then to me, then back to him. "I slept with this guy once, so I own his soul?"

"He offered his soul to hook up with you, yes."

"Jeez, kid. Have some self-respect."

"Whoa, to be clear, it was a flippant remark, back in 2012."

The Reaper put a hand in front of me. "As no other entities assisted in the hook up, it was deemed you had best claim to it. So his soul is yours."

Saint Peter was behind her, tapping a foot and looking at his watch. Apparently, she had lived a good life after that spring break. Eighty seven when she passed.

"No, this is too disturbing. I am not accepting a soul, especially not for a one night stand I don't remember."

"Can she do that?" I asked the Reaper. "Just refuse my soul?"

He gritted his teeth as he said, "Yes." It had been almost 50 years since I'd died, and I could tell it was getting him.

"Alright, we are out," Pete said, and he and Sylvia Wagner (nee Berkowicz) vanished.

"Ok, guess you're back to the books," I said to Grim, getting only a low growl in response as he sat back behind his desk.

Thanks

She was just another original creation, like Squigoloth, the eldritch god of laughter. She is the ancient Tunisian collector of souls who are killed by trees, but aren't lumberjacks. Things have slowed down for her a great deal, especially as new entities tend to get first claim on souls, but there is the occasional logging truck accident that gives her tons of paperwork. She also enjoys spending her spare time making dreamcatchers and flirting with Grim.

I now need a book series on Ana. Whenever you get around to it... tomorrow? 5 book series? Perfect.

I woke up in a waiting room sitting down. I remembered that I was shot in the chest. I thought I died. Maybe this is the afterlife. I looked around to see no one. Outside the front doors, which were glass, I only saw white. Then, the door opened. It was a man in a lab coat. “Hello, I’m Keith. You’re in a place for people who died. These people have split personalities, and it’s sometimes hard for the world to choose an afterlife for them. Follow me.” I got up and followed him into a white room of two men on thrones facing me. One was blue and ethereal. The other was completely gold. They both looked at me. “This one is…different”, said the gold one, “I detect no split personality.” Keith looked at him, shocked. “So, what do we…”, Keith started. “We need time”, said the blue one. “Uh, I’m a glitch”, I said. They all stared at me. “I’m a being of chaos. My physiology makes no sense. I act a bit glitchy in the head, too.” I laughed. “I have always been fond of Valhalla and Heaven.”
Keith turned to me and said, "Until this is settled, you will be staying here at the waiting room. Meanwhile, we'll be discussing whether you should go to Heaven or Valhalla. I wouldn't be surprised if Buddha also shows up." I walked out, and the door closed. Stupid godly beings. I walked to the front doors and opened them. It was just a white void that went on forever. I looked down. I might as well. I stepped off, and I fell down. I continued descent for a few seconds before I blacked out.
I opened my eyes to see a woman looking down at me. She had a blue T-shirt and jeans. We were in a meadow. “Hi”, she said, “I’m Fiena, goddess of order. This is my personal copy of Earth. It has no people.” I got up. “Order? Well, I’m a being of chaos. Are you okay with that?” “Of course. I see good in you.” “I’m X”, I said. “Do you know how you ended up here?” “I probably just glitched into another reality. It happens.”

No I definitely got to know where he wound up. I mean this is going to kill me with curiosity.

"So..." The horrible visage of the concept of dead itself began. "Kyle..." it bagan to tap its figers against its desk to better enunciate his name. "Kyle, kyle, kyle... kyle." The mass of swirling indescribable horror turned its approximation of eyes on the human before him. "What are we to do with you?"

"Uhm..." Kyle, the accountant began. "I have no idea."

The creature, formally known as death, hemmed a long drawn out hmm of annoyance. "That's the thing, kyle. We dont know either." The being gestued with what could marginally be described as a hand at the couch in the corner of the room. "Do you see that woman sitting there looking like she's could spontaneously combust at any moment?"

Kyle turned, and indeed, there was a woman practically vibrating on the couch in the corner. She was massive, at least 7ft tall, blond braids, and this is the most important bit, had a massive fuck off axe resting between her thighs as she waved excitedly at him. "Yes?" Kyle, answered hesitantly.

"That's your valkyrie..."

"My what?"

"Your valkyrie..." death grunted again. "It seems she has a claim to your death."

"Uhm... okay?"

"Yes." Death hmmed again, "it seems, because of the fact that you have a tattoo of thor on your left testicle and the fact you technically died in battle with an axe in your hand. She has a claim."

"Oh, well that sounds-"

"But wait, there's more."

"Oh..."

"September, 2008, 1:12 am. And i quote, 'man, I'd sell my soul and tattoo my left testicle for some chicken and waffles right about now.'" And when death finished a man, with red skin, hornes, and a pitchfork appeared in a pathetic puff of yellow smoke... he also smiled and waved at kyle.

"Oh... shit."

"We're not done."

"oh."

Death slapped a glass with words, 'swear jar' on his desk before shaking it at kyle... who grumbled before depositing a dollar. "It seems, durring your youth, you were also baptized by the Catholic church." At this, a man in a dress with the nametag,"Peter" appeared in another gasping poof of white smoke.

"Oh!"

"That concludes page 1. Onto page 2 of 12."

"Oh..."

"Now, while you were in your 30s, you married a mormon woman..." With a reverberating poof, a man in khakis and white shirt and teeth that were slightly to white appeared.

"Oh god!"

"Who you then fleeced for all her money and divorced." The man poofed away.

"Oh, thank god..."

Only to be replaced by a man with red skin, khakis, a white shirt, and FAR to white of teeth to appear.

"OH GOD, WHY?!"

"But wait, there's more."

how many gods have a claim on this man’s soul???????

Six books and a movie!

It had been... millenia? Eons? I don't really know. I was here a long time. Occasionally someone else would need a rules check, and we'd chat while Grim sorted the mess. I was backburner so long, I think he sort of... Stopped. He'd looked for loopholes, went over every second of my life, tried every trick, called in every favor, but each time he thought it was sorted, something new came up.

My backpacking in Europe put me back on Valhalla's radar when they found I'd passed out drunk on Ymir's kneecap or something, but then I'd also broken some fae laws on the trip, so their gods came into play, and so forth for all of time. Literally all of time.

"The last living thing just died," Grim said, massaging his temples. "And the final few embers are fading in the universe. I'll have to step out to collect its consciousness, and it might take a bit to judge. After that, I cease to exist."

"Wait, what? What happens to me?" I'd never really stressed about my afterlife before. Neither pre- nor post-death had made it a worry, even as the debate raged on for my soul.

The reaper gave a shrug. "I guess we'll see. Well, you will. I hope you know, I really hate you and am praying it is worse than the bowels of the worst hells."

"You hate me? What like this is my fault? You had one job!"

"Oh, what, Karen? You gonna ask for my manager?"

"Uh... Do you have a manager? I sort of assumed you'd have talked to them by now if you did."

"No, I don't have manager! Is your name Karen? It was an insulting condescension, you twit!"

I never took it well when people insulted my intelligence, I admit, and taking a swing at Death was not my brightest moment, but I gotta say, feeling his jaw crunch under my fist was one of the best things to happen to mean in that waiting room. He came back at me with a swift kick to the groin, which I still think was unfair. Both because I couldn't retaliate in kind, and because being dead seems like it should be a defense against that pain.

As I writhed on the floor, he stood over me. "Fine, forget it. I'm done. You go collect the universal consciousness."

"Wha-ow ow ow-what are you going to do?"

He paused, thinking. "Ah, screw it. I have no idea. I'm about to de-exist here."

"Dang, man. That's not fair. You do all this work for others just to disappear. Hey, you ever make out with the tree girl?"

"What? Ana? No."

"You go do that. I'm going to figure out this universe mess."

"Not to be a pessimist, but you can't figure out your own mess."

"Then it will take a while. More time for you and barkskin to spend together. She isn't my type, but you're definitely hers. Trust me, I was the best wingman back in the day. Now go."

He opened his mouth to say something else when an ebony arm reached out of thin air, then pulled him in after. I was alone in the waiting room. Not a first time, but it was a first time it happened for this reason. I walked over to his desk and started looking in the book.

"Universal consciousness... Universal... Consciousness..." I flipped lazily through, in no rush to do this job, but wanting to ensure I didn't screw anything else up like I had done with pretty much everything in my afterlife. Actually, I'd pretty well screwed up in my regular life as well.

"Excuse me," a woman's voice called from the other side of the desk. "Are you the Grim Reaper?"

"Uh, that's what it says on the nameplate."

She glanced at the metal plate on the triangular stand, which did, in fact, say "Grim Reaper," as I'd said. Technically, I didn't lie.

"Oh, you look different than I expected." I finally looked up from the book to see a redhead. What can I say, I have a weakness. And I sure didn't learn better from the mess with Sylvia and my soul.

"What, you looking for a skeleton? I have one inside me." Ok, countless ages may have weakened my pick up lines. "Sorry. You probably want to get on with your afterlife. You know where you're going?"

"I thought that was your job to sort out."

"Uh, yeah, but we normally have reps come in to make there claims. Weird no one is showing up."

"Maybe nobody wants my soul."

"Heh, that'd be a new one. Seems like everyone tried to claim mine. Don' t take it personally, I was nothing great. Just lived a bit wild, if short, life. How about you?"

"I don't really know. It seem short, but compared to others? I suppose it was long, but mostly amounted to nothing."

"I don't think any life amounts to nothing," I said.

And I think here is where we leave our hero, oblivious to the identity of the consciousness he is poorly attempting to flirt with, but happy for one more chance to hook up with a redhead. Not a bad afterlife at all, if you ask me.

would it be too greedy to ask for more?

Ha, no, but I'll leave this alone for now. Glad you enjoyed it. It was certainly fun to write