Bo woke to warm sunshine on his face and the smell of daisies tickling his nose. The ground beneath him was firm, but comfortably springy, so no part of his body took more weight than any other. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Bo didn't feel any cuts or bruises, and his mind was calm and rested. He couldn't remember the last time he’d been so relaxed.

YOU HAVE DIED! YOUR BODY, AND ALL ITS BELONGINGS, WILL REMAIN WHERE IT FELL FOR THE NEXT THIRTY-SIX HOURS.OR UNTIL IT IS LOOTED.

The memory of the grunge elf's dart came back to Bo in a rush. He bolted up from where he was lying, and willed Carnivore's Cleaver into his hand.

Nothing happened.

This is bad. If you see a big, creepy devil, run.

“I tried that last time I met a devil, but he tackled me,” Bo said.

The pit master stood on his new legs on a gently rolling plain covered by emerald blades of grass and patches of white flowers with buttery yellow centers. It was a beautiful scene, but the way it extended all the way out to the horizon in every direction was sinister. There were no structures, no clouds in the sky, not even a sun to explain the warmth and light. And Bo didn’t see another soul out there.

Any idea where we are?

“It's your job to know stuff like that,” Bo said. “Maybe this is heaven.”

He didn't see any angels or pearly gates, but Bo supposed this could be paradise. He’d lived a pretty solid life, hadn't gotten into too much trouble, and had even gone to church for a while when he was a kid. Surely that was enough for a decent afterlife, right?

I seriously doubt this is heaven.

“You're probably right,” Bo admitted. “Let's look around. See if we can figure out what's going on.”

With no landmarks or other distinguishing features in sight, Bo decided he’d walk in a random direction until he found something or someone to explain what the heck had happened. Yes, he was dead. But he was also clearly not just gone, so there must be some next step in the process that he was missing.

Unless his ultimate fate was to simply wander the field of flowers until he went crazy or the universe ended and even ghostly pitmasters disappeared.

Now who’s being demotivating?

After what felt like about fifteen minutes, Bo stopped and looked around. It was as if he hadn't moved at all. Sure, the daisies looked a little different, and maybe that patch of grass over there was a little longer, but everything looked very much the same. He wasn't making any progress.

This felt a lot more like purgatory than heaven.

“Okay, this was fun and all, but I’m ready to go back to Earth now,” Bo said. “If we can just move the reincarnation or resurrection along, that’d be great.”

“Pardon us,” a voice came from behind Bo. It was soft and comforting, and the pit master was glad someone had finally arrived to tell him what was going on.

When he turned around, though, he wished he would've followed Barbie's advice and just ran.

A trio of unusual creatures stood a few yards off, their eyes fixed on Bo. The most ordinary of them all, a woman somewhere in her middle years wearing golden robes and flowers woven into her gray hair, still exuded a strange gravity that pulled Bo’s attention toward her. Power oozed from the woman, and her eyes shone with a keen intelligence and curiosity.

To her left was a short, wizened creature who wore a rough-hewn brown robe and leaned on a gnarled walking stick. He reminded Bo of Yoda, if you took away the long, pointy ears, turned his skin a faintly bluish shade of white, and added a wispy beard that dangled to the ground. That one puffed on a pipe, and his eyes were hidden behind a veil of smoke billowing from its bowl.

The final member of the trio was the one that had to Bo's nerves ready to jump out of his skin and flee toward the horizon. It was a massive, hulking creature with bronze horns jutting from either side of a bony, protruding brow. The creature stood ten feet tall and had to have weighed five hundred pounds. Its humanoid body was covered in thick slabs of muscle sheathed in greasy skin the color of dried blood. The creature’s only clothing, a fur loincloth, somehow made it seem even more naked.

Not to alarm you, but that's Gontar Golarang. The devil smutmonger who wants to turn your soul out. We are so screwed.

As if the massive creature had heard Barbie's thoughts, it stabbed a taloned finger at Bo and barked, “This one's ours! We already bid on him.”

The little creature snorted and gestured toward Gontar with the stem of his pipe. “You bid on his soul. The auction has not yet concluded.”

“Wizdang is right,” the older woman replied as she floated toward Bo, the hem of her robe just brushing the blades of grass. “My goddess has an interest in this one.”

“What possible use could either of you have for a human soul?” Gontar asked. “Stop this farce. You’re merely trying to interfere in my trade.”

As the devil spoke, the trio spread out around Bo to form a triangle. They studied him intently, seeming to judge him in some way he couldn't understand.

For the first time, Bo really understood what a piece of meat must feel like when he was trying to figure out if it was worth bringing to a competition. He didn't like the sensation.

“I don't know what's going on here,” Bo said, “but you can stop talking about me like I'm not here. I think I might have something to say about who gets to own me.”

The three creatures looked at Bo as if he were a houseplant that had suddenly grown a mouth and started talking. They glanced at one another, furrowed their brows, and then came to some silent decision to let the woman speak.

“I do apologize for how confusing this must be for you,” she said. “You're being recently dead and all. I assure you, however, because you are technically not alive, you have absolutely no say in the matter of your soul's disposition. If it sets your mind at ease, however, I can tell you that my goddess has only your best interests at heart.”

“Something tells me your goddess is only interested in what I can do for her ,” Bo said, feeling more sarcastic every minute he remained dead. The idea of other people trying to buy him did not sit well with the pitmaster.

“This is why I want him,” Gontar said. “Look at that spirit. He'll be impossible to break. He’ll resist whatever depravity I pile on his shoulders and keep on fighting until he’s completely destroyed. He's like a sentient mule. Stubborn, resilient, unyielding. He will amuse my people for a very long time.”

This guy is the worst. If he wins, our afterlife will be miserable. You have to make one of the others buy you.

Bo didn't see how anyone buying him was a good idea, but if what the woman said was true, he'd rather anyone but Gontar win the auction. There had to be some way to steer this to his advantage. He wouldn't stand by while others decided his fate.

“I don't think I'd be much use to you, Gontar,” Bo said. “My friend tells me you want some sexy times from me. I've got bad performance anxiety. Buying me for your freaky porno shows would be a waste of your time and money.”

Gontar's black lips twisted into a sneer. “You can't dissuade me, human. There are spells and philters that will stir twisted desire in the loins of even the most reluctant of participants. Your foolish attempts at deception will not deprive me of my prize. Let us begin the auction.”

Bo held up both hands. “Whoa, whoa,” he said. “Slow down. There's no need to rush anything. You should get to know me. I don't think I'm of any use to the smut peddler over there, but you two are a different story.”

He directed that last sentence toward the woman and the wizened little creature who’d taken a seat in a mound of daisies. The little guy looked like he was floating on a cloud, without a care in the world. Bo kind of hoped the quiet little dude would win the auction.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

“I am Enphyrean Soral, first priestess of the Seeker,” the woman said. “She wishes to establish a temple on your world —”

“That's perfect,” Bo said. “I've already started building a community. I'm sure some of the people there would love a church. Plus, I'm a great cook. I could feed everyone after services. It's a win-win. You should definitely put in a big bid for me.”

As Bo spoke, the sky overhead darkened, the grass beneath his feet withdrew into the soil. Daisy petals turned black and blew away in a sudden cold wind that sprang up. The distance to the horizon shrank with alarming speed. Bo didn't know what that was all about, but he didn't like it. He needed to swing things in his direction soon.

“What can I do for you?” He asked, turning toward the third member of the trio.

The diminutive creature looked disappointedly at the dead flowers that surrounded him, picked up his cane, and levered himself back to his feet. He moved slowly in Bo's direction, as if every step caused him pain. Then he stopped in front of the pitmaster and whacked Bo in the shins with his cane so hard the pitmaster lost his breath and couldn't catch it again. It wasn't sure how that worked, seeing as how he was dead. Still, it was an uncomfortable sensation, even if it was only a memory from when he'd had a body.

“Your idiotic world destroyed my people's portal,” Wizdang said. “A hundred lives were lost. There are hardly any of us left, so that tragedy may doom us. My interest in you is primarily punitive. If I win the auction, you're in for a real experience, I promise you that.”

Oh, he's a lot feistier than I imagined. Still, whatever he has in mind won't be as bad as what Gontar will do to you. Or have others do to you. Or make you do to others. It's like the reverse of your golden rule. Do unto others as you hope to whatever god you pray to they never do to you.

Before Bo could speak again, the last of the grass vanished, and the dirt under his feet became smooth, cold stone. The blue sky was now an arched ceiling, with chandeliers dangling from its length. Walls of black crystal replaced the horizon, trapping Bo in a small chamber with three beings who didn't seem to have his best interests at heart at all. The only one who hadn't expressed an interest in causing him untold amounts of pain and suffering was the priestess.

He had to convince her of his worth so she’d bet the farm on him and keep Gontar from turning him into some skanky she-devil’s stud muffin.

“I'm probably the best fit for you,” Bo said to the woman. “I'm a sociable guy. People like me. My old man was very respected in our community, and some of that seems to have rubbed off. If you're looking to start a church, I'm your guy.”

Wizdang whacked Bo on the shins again and stomped off in a huff. He joined the priestess and Gontar at a heavy wooden table that had appeared before Bo. The three of them settled into plush, comfortable-looking chairs. Bo, on the other hand, found himself standing alone on a cold stone platform, his clothes dissolving into gray mist. Even his gloves and apron vanished, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

“Is this really necessary?” he asked. “It just feels gratuitous at this point.”

“Just the way I like it,” Gontar said. “Enough of this. Let the bidding begin.”

A disembodied skull appeared on the right side of the room, its eyes glowing a brilliant amethyst. Its jaw chattered for a moment, and then it dove into its spiel.

“We've all gathered here today to auction off this fine human soul,” the skull said. “As you can see, it's relatively fresh. The body it was evicted from has not yet decayed. This gives you a wide variety of options for its use. You could return it to the world it came from. Trap it in a jar for your amusement. Sell the ghost to a traveling specter show. We’ll start the bidding at fifty thousand crypt coins. Do I have fifty thousand?”

Gontar raised his hand immediately, talons sparking with black flame. “Seventy-five thousand,” the devil said.

“That's not how an auction works,” Bo said. “You have to wait for other people to bid up —”

“The auction works the way I say it works,” Gontar replied. “A hundred thousand.”

The priestess frowned at the devil. “You're ridiculous. The Seeker bids one hundred and fifty thousand crypt coins.”

Bo's heart soared. Yes. If the priestess won, he'd have to become a preacher, but that was far better than the alternative. He wanted to cross his fingers, but found he couldn't make them obey his commands. In fact, he couldn’t move a muscle.

At least you can still talk. Your mouth is your biggest asset. I bet Gontar agrees. The magic is a simple restraint spell. We use one like it to slaughter cattle.

Well, wasn’t that a pretty picture?

Wizdang harrumphed, crossed his arms over his scrawny chest, and leaned back in his chair. “You're both idiots. He's not worth a gnome's beard trimmings, but you're both acting like his soul is solid gold.”

“It is,” Gontar replied. “You have no idea how much it will be worth. And not just for copies in farsight crystals, either. There are plenty of she devils whose tastes run to crushed mortals. Two hundred and twenty-five thousand crypt coins.”

The smallest member of the trio threw up his hands in disgust and rapped his cane on the table. “ Just because you can bid ridiculous sums of money on this soul doesn't mean you should. The amount you’re bidding is the product of hundreds of souls. Lifetimes spent in your service. You'd squander it like this?”

“It's not squandered,” Bo said before he could stop himself. He didn't want to support Gontar's position, but he also didn't want Enphyrean getting cold feet. “Trust me. I'm worth a lot. Especially if you send me back to my world. I doubt you’ll find anyone else there who can do for you what I can.”

The priestess grinned at Bo, her eyes suddenly bright and sharp is a freshly stropped razor. “And what is it you can do?”

“I'm a champion,” Bo said. “I can beat dungeons for you. I can capture more hexes and dedicate them to your goddess. That's what she wants, right? To spread her religion to a new world. I will do that for you.”

“This is ridiculous,” Gontar said. “His world will be harvested in a matter of months. There won't be anything left alive to worship the Seeker.”

Enphyrean seemed shocked by the news. She turned in her chair to look Gontar in the eye. “His world is scheduled for harvest? We didn't know that.”

Wizdang laughed so hard tears leaked from his eyes. “You serve the goddess of knowledge, and you didn't know he comes from a doomed world? It's no wonder the influence of the Nine has faded. If it weren't for the Grail Game, no one would listen to ninnies at all.”

The skull chattered its jaw again, and its eyes brightened. “We're at two hundred and twenty-five thousand crypt coins. Do we have any other bids?”

Bo couldn't believe his bad luck. He had to do something, or he'd spend the rest of his miserable existence as a human sex toy for a bunch of devils. There was no way that would work out well for him.

“You heard Gontar,” he said to Wizdang. “I'll be hard to break. You could punish me for a very long time for the loss of your people. That's got to be worth at least a quarter million crypt coins, right?”

“Can someone shut the human up?” Gontar asked. “He shouldn't be allowed to influence the auction.”

The skull's eyes flashed red, then returned to purple. “I'm sorry, Gontar. The rules of the auction are quite clear. The auctioned soul cannot move, but he is allowed to speak. And, to be fair, it's in all your best interests to hear him out. Perhaps he has hidden flaws or surprising strengths. You should all know that before you decide on his worth.”

“You're just trying to run the price up,” Wizdang replied. “I'm a gnome, not a devil. I admit it would be nice to smack the human around for a while, but I'm not motivated solely by my wish for vengeance.”

He's a gnome? I thought gnomes were cuter.

To Bo, Wizdang was suddenly the cutest little gnome in all creation. The pit master saw a way out of this. “I can save your people on my world,” Bo said.

“My people died trying to get to your world,” Wizdang said. “And I feel terrible about it, because I'm the one who sent them. Don't mock me, boy. The gate failed. Everyone who passed through it would've died in transit.”

“They didn't,” Bo said. He remembered a message about gnomes’ crystal failing on the first night of the harvest. But the community focus told him there were two rival forces still left adjacent to his hex. Since Bo had personally seen that all the devils died, that only left two of the harvesting teams: gnomes and elves. “And they’re adjacent to my hex. Send me back, and I'll make sure they stay alive until you bring them home.”

You think the Refugee Scavengers are gnomes? I suppose that makes a certain sense. But your Assert Dominance quest wants you to wipe out the rivals adjacent to your hex. That would include the gnomes.

All that was true, but it was also a problem for future Bo. And future Bo really did not want to get sold to Gontar now that Enphyrean had checked out of the bidding war.

Wizdang had leaned forward in his chair, eyes bright with hope. “Is he telling the truth, Enphyrean?”

The priestess eyed Bo for a long moment. A golden light shone from her eyes, bathing his naked body in its radiance. The weight of her attention settled on Bo like heavy hands pressing down on his shoulders. The sensation passed a moment later, and the priestess shrugged.

“I sense no deception,” she said. “But it's possible he simply believes his own lies. Portal mishaps are disastrous, Wizdang. You know that. It is wildly unlikely any of your people survived such a calamity.”

“She's right, gnome,” Gontar said. “Let it go. I have three more scenes to direct today. Let's get this over with so we can all go back home.”

“I'm not lying,” Bo insisted, turning all of his powers of persuasion on the gnome. “I know your people are on my world. You have my solemn vow that I will do everything in my power to get them back to you if you send me home.”

Wizdang was on the fence. Bo could see doubt and hope warning in his eyes. The pitmaster desperately wanted to tip the balance in his favor, but didn't know what else to say. He’d told the gnome the truth. All he could do now was hope that was enough.

“I've been made a fool of more than once in my life,” Wizdang said. “I won't have it again.”

“Good,” Gontar said. “Package this soul up, skull. I'm out of here.”

“A half million crypt coins,” the gnome said. “That's my bid.”

“Now who's being an idiot?” Gontar growled. “Fine. There'll be other humans, I've no doubt of that. Or this one will just die again, and we’ll be right back here.”

“No, we won't,” the gnome said. “I'm adding a condition to my bid. If I win, the human is no longer eligible for resurrection. If he dies, his soul will be recycled into crypt coins, which will be returned to me. I don't want him thinking he can get out of his promise by dying.”

“That's highly unusual,” the skull said, “but if the human agrees, then I'll allow it.”

This is extremely dangerous. If you agree to these terms, another mishap like the one we just experienced will snuff us out forever.

Bo knew Barbie was telling the truth. In a world where people could come back to life through magic, removing that option was a serious blow to his survivability. On the other hand, it would also keep him from ending up in Gontar's clutches forever. It was a brutal trade, but he didn't see what other option he had. Jenny and Slick and needed him. So did the rest of his community. Even Martin.

For that matter, the lost gnomes needed Bo’s help, too. If they were all as little as Wizdang, they wouldn't stand a chance against the grunge elves.

“My old man always said you only had one life to live,” Bo said. “Fine. Let's do this.”

Gontar chuckled darkly. “You'll regret that, human.”

“Probably,” Bo said. “But at least you won't get to play tiddlywinks with my dangly bits.”

“No,” Gontar said. “But I will have the great pleasure of sending my champions to kill you.”