Long after the angel and his ghost abandoned their body snatching in the name of love, Death led a shade across the sloping banks of Paradise.
“Our first step, of course, is to go to the World Above; from there we can figure out how best to approach the problem, and how best to dispose of the transmigrators.”
The shade merely nodded at these words. He was as yet uncertain as to how, exactly, they planned to leave, and was even more bewildered when he considered the magnitude of the task before them. But it wasn’t like he was doing much of anything in the Afterlife, so he tagged along uncomplainingly.
They skipped the barques on which the souls of the recently deceased forded the river separating the land of the living from the land of the dead, instead proceeding down an obscure side path. Ahead of them the shade could see a cleft in the great rock walls that bounded the Underworld and, before it, a small line of ghosts and Deaths, waiting to depart. There were a pair of guards standing to either side of the cleft, talking briefly to each person who approached before waving them on through.
“So,” said the shade as they took their place in the line, “how do we leave? I presume you can just depart - you’re Death, after all - but how are we going to get me out? Do we need some sort of compelling excuse, or an argument? I’m afraid you’ll find me a poor debater.”
“Hmmm? We’ll just ask.”
“Wait, hold on, you can just ask to leave?”
“Sure.”
“So…”
“So why don’t people? Think about it rationally for a moment. Afterlife: unlimited ice cream. Real life: limited ice cream. Which would you pick?”
“Real life. There’s more important aspects to existence than ice cream.”
Death looked at him suspiciously, unconvinced. “Well, if you say so. At any rate, while they’re in the decided and - no disrespect intended - very weird minority, some people do choose to leave and go back to the land of the living. There they perform many useful tasks for society, like haunting ruined buildings or hovering strangely in ancient and abandoned groves.”
“Makes sense, I guess,” the shade replied suspiciously, unconvinced.
The line moved forwards with a burst as an entire group was waved through, and they hurried forwards to catch up with its tail.
“Can they do much of anything, though, as they haunt ruined buildings or hover strangely in ancient and abandoned groves? I don’t recall anyone in my village or the village next to ours being particularly worried about ghosts.”
“Unsurprising. Other than poltergeist activity - which is merely annoying at the worst of times - the only way for a ghost to really harm someone is to possess them, which is both difficult for the ghost to do and inevitably temporary, as it’s promptly exorcised. Nor is it a particularly scary haunting, as it lacks either the permanence or the irreparable harm of the Otome Game Villainess, the latter of which assaults your very soul in taking over your body.”
Once more the line moved forward, once more they shuffled along. Finally they reached the cleft. Death pulled out an identification card and casually showed it to the guard, then motioned to the shade. “He’s with me.”
The guard nodded with nary a care, motioning for the pair of them to go through, then turned his attention to the next people in line. And with that, the shade was free.
“Does this count as conquering death?” He joked aloud, as he walked out under the moon for the first time in months. There was a gentle breeze blowing across the hills, the asphodels surrounding the gate to the Underworld fluttering along with the wind. The subtle smells which he could just barely pick up assured him it was sometime in early spring - his favourite season.
“No; you’re still dead, after all, and it would be a matter of consummate ease to send you back to the afterlife. Which is really something we ought to work on,” she murmured. “Anyways, I think you’ll find conquering death is quite a different, and quite a more difficult, matter.”
The shade stretched out his arms, basking in a night full of stars. Truthfully, he didn’t much care if he was alive or dead - he was just happy to be back amongst the land of the living.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Down the hill could be heard the sound of laughter and the occasional tinkle of music, and the lights hovering fixed in the air betrayed the fact that there were more than just fireflies glowing on these hills - there was a village, one just like his own (or perhaps a little larger), full of people, and from the sounds of it they were in the midst of a celebration.
“Now,” said Death, “to steal a body.”
***
Late one night long, long ago, as the heavenly moon was reaching the apogee of its curve and beginning its descent back into the dark, the angel returned to the magician.
The latter had been chilling innocently in Missy’s living room, determined not to bother the angels’ date, and had spent much of his evening busily working through her extensive library, grateful that the angels lacked the free limitless access to knowledge that humans did and consequently still had need of books.
The angels, on the other hand, had been enjoying a lovely evening (at least if what little dialogue the youth could hear was anything to go by), their delight in each other growing ever greater as the night progressed.
Truth be told, the magician had not been expecting to leave before the next day’s morning, or even its afternoon, and was rather surprised to see the angel back so early. The angels, after all, had been playing backgammon, and as there is nothing more entertaining than backgammon could well have vanished for years without remembering him.
And yet Urtico had remembered him.
"Pack your things, we're leaving," he rumbled, pretending not to notice that the young man had been engrossed reading Bring Out the Heavenly Beauty in YOU: Tips for Eye-Catching Eyelashes, Wing Care on the Fly, and Other Advice That Will Make His Four Heads Spin!
Art put the book down, gratified to finally know the secret behind why angels were always so clean, and raised one ghostly eyebrow (not an eye-catching one, alas - as fascinating as the book was, he didn't think he could really use a fiery serpent as a lash curler). Don't tell me you're abandoning your crush midway through the night! The respectful thing to do is make breakfast for her!
The angel blushed. "Don't be absurd. I'm not abandoning her - I'm going to start your next life, return to her, and then make breakfast."
Oh? My next life? But we don't have a body yet.
"We don't need one," the angel growled triumphantly, removing a book from behind the fold of his wings. The occultist's eyes went wide as he read the title.
Is that… a Taoist body cultivation manual… for ghosts?
The angel nodded, probably (it was hard to tell). "Missy mentioned at dinner that she was watching over a cultivation world, and it occurred to me that you never asked to be reincarnated into your previous world. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind…"
The angel stopped talking as he saw the boy's shining eyes and glowing cheeks; he didn't mind.
A cultivation world? You mean with floating islands, and monsters the size of houses, and people throwing lightning from their fists?
The angel winced as the light in the boy's eyes grew to blinding levels.
Oh man. I bet they have really cool bugs there.
“Uhhh… I suppose…”
And just think of all the new culinary experiments I can make.
“Just so long as said culinary experiments don’t involve chocolate ice cream, pineapple pizza, and ketchup potato chips, that is perfectly fine by me. So, you have no objections to the proposal?”
None at all, the ghost affirmed enthusiastically. It would be my pleasure, and I would be forever grateful, were you to bring me to that world and impart the cultivation teachings upon me.
The angel scratched awkwardly behind his ear, suddenly embarrassed. “No need to be so polite. It was Missy who made the suggestion. At any rate, it solves our issue, without revealing I killed you, without robbery, and without you having to go to Paradise.”
That it does! Thank her kindly for me.
Urtico nodded. Then the air shimmered, and the ghost felt a plunging sensation in the pit of his stomach as they descended. Down, down through the seven Heavens, through the numinous black of the Ogdoad, across the great windows of the dome and the Heavenly Water, and down onto the face of the earth.
This was not, however, the earth of his youth, but that of a cultivation world - and one which more than deserved the title. There were mountains floating in the distance, and cities built atop the clouds, and the magician was fairly certain he saw waterfalls flowing in reverse. The occultist himself stood at the top of a small hill, one situated amid a heavily forested valley and surrounded by fantastical wonders.
The air ruffled his intangible hair, as the angel and he stood companionably atop the hill. The angel handed the youth the manual.
“In here you’ll find the secrets of the Bodily Articulation Technique. Take its advice seriously.”
The ghost gave him a thumbs up.
"Incidentally, I would greatly appreciate it if you would avoid dying for as long as possible, to delay anyone finding out about my mistake. Or, better yet, simply become immortal: then no one will discover it at all."
The magician saluted, vowing to do his best, and with that the two parted, each to their respective lives.