He is dead. He knows that much, in this strange void. Even though all he can see is blackness, there is a deep and pervasive certainty in his mind, somehow, that he is… dead. It’s like the sky being blue, or grass being green. Not one to simply accept things as they were, he thinks back to the last thing he remembered before this void… Ah. So he did die. Assuming his memories were trustworthy, anyway.
The young man tries to move and finds that he’s hanging, weightlessly, in this lightless space. He can move his arms and legs but finds no surface for his limbs to gain purchase on. He struggles for a few moments before he suddenly freezes, feeling something change in the space around him. Then there is... a presence. A gateway, welcoming him onwards. He looks into the light shining through, and he can feel himself being drawn closer.
It is sunlight, and yet, it is different from the kiss of the sun he had known all his life. He could feel the breeze wafting through the portal, tingling with... with *magic*, with possibility. This was it, he realizes. Whatever lay beyond that portal would be another world entirely. Why they want his soul he doesn't know, but this would be his hereaft-
Something clamps onto his feet with an iron grip.
"I don't know *who* you think you are, but this soul is one of ours, you rotten scamp!"
He looks behind him, and sees a man in a midnight black robe grasping him by the foot, a scythe resting on his shoulder. Another figure appears, suddenly, sitting astride a winged horse, bearing a long spear, that they level at the reaper.
"Well, Thanatos, you were always one to reach beyond your means. This soul belongs to Valhalla, not Elysium, and CERTAINLY not whoever the FUCK is behind that portal."
A pair of men in white and black robes huff as they emerge into the void, glaring daggers at the Valkyrie and Thanatos.
"This soul is under the jurisdiction of the Celestial Bureaucracy, you damnable barbarians."
More psychopomps emerge from the mists, arguing ferociously with one another over his soul. Some he recognized from his errant studies on mythology, others he had no idea of at all. The argument flows back and forth, before a voice issues from the portal...
"I-I'm sorry, b-but we really need this summoned hero, so could you please... just give him up?"
A disorderly silence falls over the gathering as they glare at the portal in unison, unwilling to give up a soul to some johnny-come-lately.
“Pardon me, but don’t you have your own demigods?”
A skeletal man chuckles, shaking his skull while adjusting the top hat over his bleached skull. The cigar in between his teeth rattles along, producing a wisp of smoke that drifted off into the aether. A pair of dark sunglasses rest over a nonexistent nose, hollow eye sockets staring at the portal over the rim.
“Surely whatever world you came from has enough divine bastards running around. You yourself could have fucked some into existence, no? Plenty of little heroes running about then.”
“W-what??? T-that’s… Awawa...”
The voice beyond the portal warbles in embarrassment as the unearthly figure laughs at the voice’s reaction.
“It’s like dealing with a century-old pup of a god. So easy to tease.”
“W-what? How did you know?”
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The laugh comes to a cacophonous stop as they stare at the portal in shock. Thanatos’s surprise at the sheer *youth* of the being on the other end of the portal causes him to let go of the soul, and the young man starts speeding towards the portal as the voice seizes the opportunity, reeling him in like a caught fish.
They come very close to succeeding.
It’s Anubis who reacts first, the dog-headed god reaching out with a hand as hieroglyphics flash into a wordless command. He grunts with the exertion, sweat beading his canine brow as he strains to even slow the speed with which the soul is moving.
The twin gods of the Celestial Bureaucracy do not move, instead gesturing with their hand fans to bring forth two hulking beings, their bodies emerging out of a shimmering mist. Oxhead and Horseface. The enforcers of the Yama King himself. They grab onto his legs before the twin deities find themselves being pulled along as well.
Thanatos and the Valkyrie gesture, power crackling from their hands to settle around the soul and pull it back, the remaining Psychopomps joining in the great match of tug-of-war. He finds his soul caught between their clashing energies, his very essence straining. Through the pain, he hears arguing amongst the psychopomps, something about ‘facing a Creator Deity’ and ‘above our paygrade’, but the words are indistinct and foggy, and quickly whited out through the agony. For the first time, the soul speaks into the void, letting loose an agonized scream as it feels itself stretch beyond the point of sanity.
Both sides freeze as they are suddenly reminded of what they’re fighting over. Even through the haze of pain, the soul can feel the sudden shift. A roiling stormfront, the caw of ravens, and more titanic presences emerge into that dark void, each one a mountain at the edge of his awareness. The soul doesn’t bother to take any detailed note of them, for he slips peacefully into unconsciousness.
Time passes.
Solomon Dawn awakens to the sound of a horn, blaring a clarion call into the depths of his mind. He looks about with a groggy expression, as he wakes up, shuffling off the soft downy sheets over his body. Where… was he? He casts his gaze about him, finding himself to be in some sort of simple hotel room. Soft light streams between the blinds, as he opens them to see outside-
Then there’s a sudden crash, and Solomon barely manages to duck the axe flying over his head, embedding itself into the door on the other side of the room. The young man peeks up over the edge of the windowsill fearfully, where he spies chaos in a wide courtyard. An armored knight battles against a renaissance fencer, sparks flying as their blades clash. A hoplite battles a warrior-monk, shield and spear against a three-section staff. He spots the source of the errant throwing axe, a one-eyed red-haired giant of a man, clad in furs who seemed to be slinging axes at a woman bearing a long naginata. The giant of a man spots him, even as he tries to hide, and laughs out loud.
“Oi! Lookit who woke up! It’s that little kid the Allfather told us about!”
The fighting comes to a chaotic stop as the various fighters in the courtyard turn to face the window. After they spot the young man, hiding as he is, they cheer and salute, a raucous cry coming from a hundred throats.
“WELCOME TO VALHALLA!”