Down With The Gods

"Where am I?"

Wyn finds himself floating motionless in darkness. The last thing he remembers is feeling drowsy before he drifted off to sleep.

"Am I...still alive?"

He’s conscious, but oddly calm. There's something soothing about this darkness, a deep tranquility that blankets him. While he can tell his eyes are open, the rest of his body feels paralyzed, as if under the effects of heavy anesthesia. He notices his breathing, but there’s no sound – no heartbeat, no noise. Normally, this would throw him into a panic, but instead, Wyn feels strangely content. He’s neither afraid nor at peace, just neutral. The thought crosses his mind that it doesn’t matter if he's in a coma or in the afterlife, as long as it stays this peaceful.

With his limited awareness, he notices tiny, glittering particles, like dust, floating all around him. They shimmer faintly, and he imagines some might even be resting on his body. Time loses all meaning in this void, and after what feels like an eternity, Wyn closes his eyes, embracing the quiet.

Then, “DING DING,” a sound reminiscent of a small bell rings through the silence.

"What the hell?" Wyn’s thoughts race, his calm shattered.

“SWOOSH,” a violent force sucks him backward. Before he can react, he’s thrown out and crashes to the ground, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his body. His head smacks the surface beneath him, pain blooming like nothing he’s felt before. Even the toughest of Tide massages didn’t prepare him for this.

A loud “thud” follows close behind him. Wyn groans, pushing himself up, and looks around, momentarily stunned by his surroundings. He’s now in a vast, off-white space that stretches far beyond what his eyes can see. As more thuds echo around him, he sees others – people – being hurled into the same space, some landing with even more force than he did.

Counting quickly, Wyn estimates about twenty others scattered nearby, most still lying on the ground. He flinches at another loud thud behind him. Turning back toward the source, he finally spots where everyone’s being ejected from – large purple portals lining an off-white wall. Every time a portal opens, someone gets launched into the room.

The thuds grow more frequent, with people colliding midair and on the ground, prompting Wyn and others to retreat from the wall, keeping a safer distance. Eventually, the portals stop opening, and those who’ve moved farther away, including Wyn, start moving toward the fallen to help them up.

"Are you okay?" echoes through the crowd as the group of now over two hundred stirs in confusion.

"Where are we?" someone asks.

Everyone starts murmuring. The space is far too vast to explore, and for now, sticking together seems like the safest bet. Wyn glances around at the bewildered faces.

“Why are we here?” he mutters to himself.

"Maybe we should all talk about the last thing we remember," a voice nearby suggests, loud enough to quiet the crowd.

"I was driving, then I saw a flash. After that, I was in a dark room where I couldn’t move or see anything," the same person continues, their words drawing nods of recognition from several others.

"Same here. The flash and the dark room," Wyn chimes in.

Soon, others start murmuring in agreement, a wave of “me too” spreading through the group.

"So wh…," the speaker begins, but they’re abruptly cut off by a voice from afar.

"WELCOME!"

The deep, echoing voice reverberates through the space, silencing everyone. Wyn cranes his neck, but the figure is too far away to make out. Slowly, the figure moves closer, and whispers spread through the crowd.

"Is that...a cat?" someone says.

As the figure approaches, there’s no mistake. It is indeed an orange tabby cat walking on its hind legs.

"Welcome to Hell!" the cat declares.

“Hell?” Confusion ripples through the group.

At first glance, it looks like a normal, fat cat. But as Wyn inspects it more closely, its features appear off. Its head is larger than a regular cat’s by about ten to fifteen percent, and its ears are unusually thick. The snout is bizarrely long and thick, extending further than usual to support an oversized pink nose. Tiny fangs poke out of its mouth, looking strangely disproportionate to its face. Despite the oddities, its body and paws resemble a regular fat cat.

The crowd stares in stunned silence, but then someone blurts out, "Chonky kitty!"

Dead silence falls again as the cat's eyes narrow, locking onto the speaker.

"You want scratches?" the cat asks.

"I'm not itchy, but sure!" a young man replies.

Despite its thickness, the cat nimbly leaps from shoulder to shoulder, finally landing in front of the young man. As promised, it scratches him – but across the face, four times. No blood comes out, just dry marks. The cat hops back down and looks up at the man.

"You will heal in less than an hour."

Instead of acknowledging the cat’s words, the young man runs around, asking others how bad his face looks.

"Anyway," the cat continues, "I am the great CATOTO, all caps." It pauses dramatically. "I am your Hell guide."

"I lived for dog! There must be a mistake!" a panicked voice calls out. "Wait, did I just say 'dog'?"

"The word is banned here," CATOTO explains. "It gets replaced with a random word. And you are here because, at some point before or during your final moments, you despised the Heaven King."

"You know, we can’t even see you, CATOTO...or whatever your name is," a different female voice complains, as CATOTO has now disappeared somewhere within the crowd.

In response, CATOTO jumps out from between the souls and moves far away from where he initially stood. Then, using his front paws, he covers his nose and inhales deeply through his mouth. The tabby begins to grow. His entire body enlarges as he breathes in, becoming multiple times his original size, much larger than a human being. Despite the transformation, he still looks the same.

"Behold, Le CATOTO GRANDE," he declares, his voice dropping to an incredibly low pitch.

The crowd falls silent, though many hearts silently criticize the cat’s awkward use of language. However, no one dares speak.

Wyn, watching from a distance, thinks to himself, “At least CATOTO knows what ‘grande’ means, unlike some coffee brand.”

Then, the same voice that requested scratches pipes up again, "Ha! You managed to get even chonkier! You should call yourself 'CATOTO GRANDE LE CHONK'!"

Several gasps ripple through the crowd. Le CATOTO GRANDE is not amused. He gives the young man a terrifying death stare.

Wyn slaps his forehead, thinking, “This guy is really not the brightest.”

"You are lucky I am not so nimble in this form," Le CATOTO GRANDE speaks, his eyes still locked on the offender. "Now, moving on. You here are no longer alive; you are souls."

"Souls? Dead? But we still look like our human selves!" a random female voice says.

"Why not?" the cat replies dismissively. "You are on level zero. Think of it as the entrance to Hell. I am here to give you crucial information before you proceed."

"You already said 'Welcome to Hell' earlier, but we’re not even there yet?" the scratched man strikes again.

"Can you shut up? You souls are not the only batch I have to accommodate! Just shut up and let me explain, or I will personally ensure your suffering," Le CATOTO GRANDE growls.

Wyn glances over at the young man, now with his hands firmly covering his mouth. Though his view is partially obstructed by the crowd, Wyn feels a wave of relief – both for the safety of the man and for finally getting to hear what the cat has to say. Maybe his dream of eternal peace isn’t shattered after all.

Le CATOTO GRANDE resumes his explanation: Souls are collected within minutes after death. A grim reaper arrives at the scene, opens a portal, and pulls the soul through. As trivia, the grim reapers are skeletal cats about the size of large human teenagers, complete with skeletal cat ears. In the portal, souls are sedated with dust particles mixed with mysterious chemicals to prevent panic. Since souls are collected in batches, there can be gaps between them, ranging from seconds to months.

“That explains the dust I saw,” Wyn thinks, reaffirming his earlier observation.

Wyn wants to ask if there’s a way to obtain the dust in Hell but decides against it. Little does he know that the dust only works in portals. As of now, he’s free from its effects, and yet, he remains calm, even though deep down, he’s nervous about what’s ahead. His heart should be pounding like crazy, but still – no beats, no sound.

The tabby cat continues its explanation: Level zero has been revamped to serve as a more convenient passage to Hell. This, along with the new soul-collecting method, was designed by “the nerds.” They’re the ones responsible for modernizing Hell. According to Le CATOTO GRANDE, the nerds are in the process of optimizing the number of souls arriving through the portals. Wyn’s batch is special, which is why their number is limited. Normally, however, Hell can expect up to hundreds of thousands of souls per batch. For now, the arrivals are random, decided by the chonk himself, with help from the grim reapers' reports. The kitty can open portals with his thick paws simply by pointing at the wall from any distance, as long as the wall is visible to him.

Now, onto the most important part: the structure of Hell itself. There are seven levels of Hell in total. At the center of each level is a lesser “deity,” often referred to as a “moderator.” Each level has a condition or rule that must be followed. Failure to comply will result in suffering. This is where the differences between batches come into play. Souls are categorized into three types, identified by the colors of their wristbands, which Le CATOTO GRANDE will distribute and explain later. The colors are midnight purple, dark gray, and transparent black.

Souls with purple wristbands are those who committed serious crimes in their past lives. These include, but are not limited to, intentional murder, verbal and mental abuse leading to harm, theft causing hardship to others, sexual assault, and physical assault resulting in major injury or disfigurement. Gray wristbands are for souls who committed no crimes or only engaged in petty offenses – lying, minor theft, or non-serious brawling. Even revenge murders fall into this category, as Hell finds them justifiable by human nature. Wyn and his batch will receive black wristbands, reserved for souls that would normally qualify for gray but are special in some mysterious way. Despite endless questioning, the cat never elaborates on why.

"Now, each color gets different treatment on different levels of Hell," the feline says, pausing for a breath. "The goal for a soul is to serve its time in Hell until it can be reborn. But for you special souls, there is a way to stay in Hell indefinitely. I will get to that soon, so hold your paws."

"So, it’s either suffering or rebirth?" Wyn thinks, feeling fidgety.

The first level belongs to Gluttony, the classic overeater. This level is divided into six sections, each representing a different region of the world. Within each region, souls can find cuisines from the countries belonging to that area. Souls with gray and black wristbands are free to eat anything from any region at any time. However, the condition on this level is simple: DO NOT OVEREAT. Though souls in Hell neither need food nor feel hunger, stepping onto this level stimulates a ravenous appetite. It’s akin to an all-you-can-eat buffet where satisfaction is forever out of reach. Overconsumption results in a soul’s stomach bursting. Instead of dying, the soul is then fed to Gluttony, where it suffers the slow agony of digestion and suffocation inside his stomach. With each burp, the pain intensifies threefold. The soul remains trapped there until its time in Hell is up. Purple wristbands, however, are sent straight into Gluttony's maw upon arrival.

On the second level resides Greed. Here, each soul receives a device resembling a credit card, loaded with ten thousand credits to begin their journey. The rule is straightforward: BALANCE MUST NOT GO NEGATIVE. The level is split into three zones: gambling, gaming, and combat. Each zone offers countless opportunities to earn credits. However, inactivity costs one credit per second, so planning ahead is crucial. If a soul’s balance falls into the negative, they are taken to Greed himself, who methodically tears off their limbs, leaving only the head alive and fully aware. These dismembered body parts are sold to other souls for credits, and Greed keeps the head as a trophy in his vault tower. When the original owner's time in Hell is up, the body parts disintegrate, transforming into a substantial sum of credits for their current owner. Souls with purple wristbands are immediately sent to Greed for dismemberment upon arrival.

The third level is ruled by Lust. As expected, this level is filled with rampant sex and endless orgies. The space is divided into four identical sections to disperse the souls. Upon entering, souls are stripped of their clothes and free to engage in any form of sexual activity imaginable. The condition here is: ALWAYS BE ENGAGED IN A SEXUAL ACTIVITY. That said, souls can rest between rounds and are given up to an hour to change areas or partners. If they fail to do so, their wristbands vibrate as a warning. Should they continue to ignore the rule, they are transformed into random sex toys. Those wearing purple wristbands are immediately transformed into sex toys upon entering the level.

Cheers and chuckles ripple through the crowd as they listen to the description of Lust’s level. It’s clear that many souls don’t take the threat of punishment seriously. For Le CATOTO GRANDE, observing and reporting their reactions is an unspoken part of his duties. He tracks how each batch reacts and relays it back to the nerds. It seems likely that Lust’s level will get a revamp in the future. Wyn’s batch isn’t the first to mock it, but for Wyn, this punishment feels like a personal nightmare. Being conscious inside someone else's anus is not at all the glorious end he had envisioned.

The crowd murmurs as Le CATOTO GRANDE moves on to describe the fourth level: Torture. Many are puzzled by the name, as they were expecting Wrath, Pride, Envy, or Sloth. Upon inquiry, the cat explains that the four were retired by the King of Hell. Only he knows the reason why. Torture, however, is a slight misnomer – it’s not the moderator who does the torturing but it’s the souls themselves. The level is divided into two sections. One is a marketplace where souls can pick victims and select torture tools, all free of charge. The victims range from Hell’s native creatures to other souls, primarily those with purple wristbands. The second section is where the actual torturing takes place. The rule is simple: DO NOT KILL THE VICTIMS. Souls who commit murder, whether intentionally or by accident, become victims themselves. This level is one of the few where a soul can actually be wiped from existence forever. Wyn shivers at the thought of his fate resting in someone else’s hands.

The fifth level is moderated by another new face: Anxiety. The level resembles a sprawling slum, and some speculate it’s modeled after the city of Deathtroit, located in the United States of Ammunition. On this level, souls have free access to drugs, handed out by various demons. While it may sound like a paradise for addicts, there’s a condition: DO NOT OVERDOSE. Overdosing leads to an eternal seizure marked by muscle contractions, stiffness, and violent body twitching. As for the purple wristbands, they are crushed inside Anxiety, whose form constantly shifts. Each transformation inflicts unspeakable agony as the souls are distorted and broken, their suffering fueling the production of drugs.

Next, Le CATOTO GRANDE moves on to the sixth level, which is only for black and select gray wristbands. Maya runs the show here. The level’s theme is creation – souls are allowed to imagine and dream, crafting worlds from their own creativity. For those without the gift of imagination, they can simply sleep and dream. There seems to be no condition or punishment on this level, which draws murmurs of approval from the crowd. Many remark how it sounds more like Heaven than Hell. Wyn, for once, is excited. If given the choice, this is definitely the level he would choose to be on.

"As for the seventh level, it is open only to you black wristbands. I am not allowed to say what is down there, but it is where you can discover many truths about Hell and why you are special here," Le CATOTO GRANDE explains.

"And you get to choose any level you would like to visit. You can also switch levels at any time using your wristband. Others are assigned according to the sins they committed most frequently."

"Be warned that on each level, you still need to follow the rules, or you could end up stuck like the others."

"One more note about the seventh level: once you go there, you cannot return to the other levels. The choice is strictly irreversible. My advice? If you really despise the Heaven King, it might be the place for you. That is all I can say about the seventh level for now."

"That's too much information. How do you expect us to remember all this?" a random male soul asks.

"You can ask the entrance demon guards on each level, but your questions need to be specific or they will not answer. They are not very smart," Le CATOTO GRANDE replies, shrinking back to his regular size, letting air out through his orifices. "Plus, I kind of only have one script for the gray and black wristbands."

Wyn is over the moon to hear that he can choose his own levels. For now, he wants to end on the sixth level, though the thought of visiting the seventh level gnaws at him. He doesn't have enough information to make a solid decision. According to the cat, it might offer some answers to the questions he has. The fact that he despises volleyball is another reason he's tempted.