I finished first the toiler tutorial, which told me how to apply to these jobs I had no intention of taking. Working a job was my least favorite part of being alive, and there was no way in hell I was going to do it dead.

I kept that to myself, though, and Kharon resumed the quester tutorial, which walked me through finding quest givers and accepting quests.

It was pretty obvious stuff. Find someone looking for help, help them, get a reward. Except in this case, the rewards were usually letters of recommendation, which the sector’s guardian would review, and reduce my sentence according to the impact of the service I’d rendered.

As to the services themselves, they could apparently be just about anything from contract work for taskmasters outside my profession to personal favors to other residents of the sector. Some quests would be easy, though usually the reward would be smaller, and some quite difficult. Easy or difficult, the impact on my sentence would be significant.

“Questers often depart far earlier than their counterparts,” Kharon informed me. “Some have reduced their sentences by as much as half.”

As the tutorial dragged on, my attention lapsed. The scheme had already taken root in my mind, but the longer I thought about it, the more committed I felt.

No way was I toiling for years upon years in this bizarre afterlife, questing or otherwise. I had my own life to get back to, and anyway, the world couldn’t wait. Not with the sorcerer and his undead army unleashing havoc.

No. I needed to find a way into the Sector of Ascension, and from there, as quickly as possible, to Chucky boy – and then the portal.

Home not-so-sweet home.

Or whatever the sorcerer had left of it in our absence.

“Would you like to review the tutorial?” Kharon asked abruptly, dragging me from my reverie.

“What? Oh, no, I’m good. Hey, Kharon, question for you. If I was to just take a day or two, maybe a week, to get acquainted with the sector. You know, figure out who I want to work for and where I’m going to sleep and all that. That wouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“Not at all. Souls are only in danger of fading if they refuse to work for more than one hundred consecutive days.”

“Okay. Cool.”

“Is there anything further I can address, Soul?”

“No. Wait, yeah. What about money?”

“Money?”

“Yeah. You know, how do I get it? Where do I buy food? That kind of thing.”

“There is no commerce in the realm of the dead, nor any need for it. In the Sector of Purgation, you will not eat. As a soul, you have no need of sustenance, and only in the Realm of Ascension will you find food.”

“I thought you said we don’t need food. How come they get it, but we don’t?”

“Souls do not need food. But ascended souls enjoy all the pleasures of life. This includes exquisite cuisine.”

“Well isn’t that lovely for them.”

“Indeed. Is there anything further I can do to assist you?”

“Nope. I think that covers it.”

“Then I shall be gone. Should you require me, you may summon me by name.”

“Got it.”

“Farewell, Soul, and may your journey of purgation prove enlightening.”

I rolled my eyes as the AI shimmered out of existence. It was going to be enlightening, alright. For the weirdos who managed this place. They were about to have a mystery disappearance they couldn’t easily solve.

I did not of course plan to find an employer. But I did need time to case the joint. I could think of three things off the top of my head. Three facts I needed to know, before I tried anything.

First, how and where did one cross sectors? Were there gates or doors? Those would be easy enough, even if I needed a key or code. I could figure something out.

Portals would be a little more difficult. I’d need to figure out how to operate them, and there’d probably be nothing quite so obvious as a lock or a code box.

Worst case scenario would be something similar to how I’d crossed over in the first place: some kind of magical phenomena that only transported you if you met whatever criteria it operated under. In getting here, the criteria had been death. To cross between sectors, the criteria would presumably be serving my sentence.

And since I didn’t plan to do that, I’d need to figure out a way to fake it, to trick the system into transporting me.

Which seemed unlikely at best.

But there it was. Before I could make any kind of plans, I needed to know where on the technology spectrum I found myself – be it caveman, hole in wall tech, or futuristic, utopian tech.

Number two would be reconnaissance on Bartholomew and his hunters. If he’d be the guy coming after me, I needed to know more about him.

Like, how fast could he get from point A to point B, and what patrol routes he would use. Did his hunters follow a set pattern, or did they go where the wind took them? Were they physical beings bound by the laws of physics, or some kind of noncorporeal avenging angel types who could materialize wherever they wanted?

It sounded farfetched, but then, so did waking up in a new realm after picking up a shiny rock. Or after having your throat cut, for that matter. I wasn’t about to start having my horoscope read or anything, but I was definitely open to more possibilities than before I found that rock on the beach.

Third and perhaps just as important, I needed to know the limits of my capabilities in this realm. Kharon had said no one could die here, so I assumed that meant I couldn’t kill anyone. But that still left a whole range of possible violence.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

I needed to know what I could do to get people out of the way – and how far was too far.

What happened if I conked someone on the head? Would they shrug it off without any effect at all, or would they take a twelve-hour nap and wake up fine? Or would they spend the rest of eternity drooling on themselves because I’d turned their brains into jelly?

I was a bastard, but I had limits. I had no problem putting someone down for a twelve-hour nap, but an eternity of brain damage would be a line too far.

Plus, knowing what I could do to others would tell me what others could do to me. If no one could hurt anyone, I didn’t have to worry about what someone might do if I pissed them off. But I would have to account for what to do if I got in a jam, if taking out other players was no longer an option.

Similarly, if everyone could dole out catastrophic damage, I’d need to worry about what I did. I didn’t want anyone spending forever as a fleshy lump on a log. And I’d also have to worry about what others could do, since I didn’t particularly want to spend an eternity as a lump myself.

The ideal situation would be one where we could inflict damage, but nothing serious. I could take out anyone who got in my way, but without any permanent injury. And if I got taken out in turn, well, I’d come back from it.

Granted, I didn’t suppose whoever designed this place did so for my convenience, but a guy could dream. Until I found out for sure anyway.

Now I could have run these questions by Kharon, but I suspected the AI assistant would run tattling to whoever ran this place. The gods, or whoever.

So I decided to bypass digital snitches, and do the legwork myself.

First things first, I needed a tour. I remembered the tutorial map with its giant ring encircled by a narrow band – the Sector of Damnation – and surrounding a smaller circle – the Sector of Ascension.

I was in the eastern portion of the sector, nearer the outer border than the inner. Nearer Damnation than Ascension.

Vaguely wondering if my point of arrival had been symbolic or merely coincidental, I turned toward the center of the realm.

My idea was to find the dividing barrier, whatever it might be – wall, fence, or magical demarcation – and follow it until I either found a door or came back to my starting point.

I found the divider easily enough. A big, stone wall that seemed to grow as I stared up at it, stretching taller and taller the longer I looked. Hard to miss.

The growing thing, I figured, was some kind of optical illusion. A magic enchantment designed to keep the riffraff – that would be me – from trying anything foolish.

It didn’t work.

First thing I did was attempt to scale it. It seemed like a good idea at the time. If they were using magic to fool inhabitants – prisoners – maybe the wall wasn’t that big of a deal after all.

It was. The instant I touched the damn thing, a jolt of electricity shot through me. The last thing I noticed before everything went black was the smell of burned hair.

Some time – I’m not sure how much time – later, I blinked back to consciousness. Everything hurt. I don’t mean knocked your shins into the coffee table kind of hurt. I don’t even mean walking barefoot over legos hurt.

I mean, hurt like a MFer, from head to toe. Pure pain, coursing through every vein in my body.

I wasn’t quite sure where I was. It didn’t feel like cobbles under me, and unless I’d been passed out for hours, it was too dark to be the open street anyway.

Letting out something between a wheeze and a whimper, I tried to sit up.

“Careful,” a voice said, from somewhere in the dark. “You don’t want to move too fast. You might…”

I was on my feet an instant, reaching for my blade. But the blade was gone, and the movement turned my stomach. Instead of defending myself against this unknown voice, I puked all over my shoes.

“Throw up.”

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded, wiping vomit off my mouth and onto my sleeve. I noted, though only as a passing thought, that this time – for the first time since I’d laid hands on the scepter – I received no shock for cursing. I was too preoccupied with discovering where I was and with whom to pay any more attention, though.

A ball of faint red light sprang up on the far end of the room, and behind it, I saw the shadowy form of a face.

I started to speak, but something arrested the words on my tongue. I knew that face.

“Garrett?!”

The shadowy face smiled, and it wasn’t a pleasant smile. Garrett had always been a bit grim, but I was sure I saw something else in his expression now.

Satisfaction.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, a man of your – let us say, talent – for making friends was bound to wind up here sooner or later. If anything, I’m surprised it took this long.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that I might have gone straight to the Ascended realm?”

Garrett laughed.

Not a little chuckle, or a light laugh, or even a guffaw. A deep, thigh-slapping, barrel laugh that went on, and on, and on.

I half expected him to double over or start crying. He didn’t, but he did everything short of it.

“Yes, very funny. What are you doing here anyway?”

He composed himself enough to answer. “Some damned fool got me killed. You might know the fool in question.”

“I don’t mean that,” I snapped. “I mean, why are you not in the Ascended Realm, if you’re such a goody-two-shoes?”

“I never claimed I was. The gods, it seems, do not take kindly to our profession.”

“Yeah, well, maybe the gods should do something about living conditions down there, if they’re so worried about what people do to survive.”

“So why are you here?” he asked. “Who did you piss off?”

“As a matter of fact, I didn’t piss anyone off. Well, that’s entirely true. And don’t look so smug. I’m not dead because of who I pissed off. I’m dead because of my friends.”

“That must be difficult for you.” There was no mistaking the irony in his tone.

I scowled at him. “That was an accident.”

“And yet, I’m still dead.”

“The point is, it wasn’t an accident in my case.”

“You mean, your friends deliberately killed you?”

“Yes.”

A second round of laughter ensued, this, if it was possible, more obnoxious than the first. When he finally finished, he wiped the edges of his eyes, and asked, “So why did your friends kill you? I mean, aside from the obvious: you being you.”

“Because,” I snapped, “I needed to get here. I need to save someone.”

For the first time, I saw something like genuine interest in Garrett’s eyes. “Ah. So that’s why you have the key.”

“The Sacred Key of Destiny?” I asked. “Yes. But – how do you know about that?”

“I found it when I searched you.”

I frowned again. “Why were you searching me?”

“Well, I was following you first. Then after you touched the wall –”

“Wait a minute. You were watching me, and you didn’t warn me. Why not?”

He shrugged. “You seemed pretty certain of yourself, and I didn’t want to interfere.”

“You deliberately let me touch it, knowing what would happen.”

“No,” he said. “I didn’t know. It reacts differently to each person. I’ve seen some people just get singed. You? You went flying through the air. Ten feet at least. I’m surprised you didn’t crack your skull.”

None of this made me feel better about his inaction. “You knew it would hurt me,” I countered, “even if you didn’t know the degree.”

“True.”

“And you still let me touch it.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He shrugged again. “I suppose I thought it would be funny. If it’s any comfort, it was. Quite funny. Made up somewhat for the nightmares. You know, from the knife in my neck. Bleeding out while the dogs mauled my body.”

“You have no idea how petty you sound right now.”

“Oh, I have a very good idea.”

“Look, Garrett, I already apologized –”

“Actually, no you didn’t.”

“I said it was an accident!”

“Which isn’t an apology.”

I sighed. “Fine. You want to hear me say I’m sorry? Will that make it better?”

“I do. And it’s a start.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Not an apology.”

“Fine.” I threw my arms out in a gesture of disgust. “If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.” I searched my mind for the words. Or rather, I strained to get them from mind to mouth. Somehow, there seemed to be some kind of block.

I refused to consider that it might be ego.

“I’m waiting.”

I bit the bullet and blurted out, “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. There. Are you happy?”

“Well, I’m still dead, so not as happy as I could be. But it’s a start.”

“Well whoop-de-doo. Now that that’s out of the way, you mind telling me where the hell I am?”

“You’re in the flat I occupy. A one-room basement flat.”

“Don’t say it in that accusatory tone. It’s not like you were doing much better up there,” I reminded him.

“And you’re here,” he went on, “puking on my floor, because I pulled you out of the street.”

“Oh. Well, uh, thanks for that.”

“Don’t mention it – no, seriously, don’t. I already regret it. But since you’re here, tell me about it. Who is the friend, and why are you here to get them out?”