Hope for the Underworld

1

She reached out, scrambling to find some purchase, something to arrest the fall, but all around her was just... emptiness. She rolled instinctively into a ball, drawing her knees towards the chest, and protecting her head with her arms, bracing for the inevitable impact.

Yet, nothing happened.

As the initial shock subsided and her heart started to slow down, she registered the lack of any sensations of falling; there was no rush of air, nor a perception of any movement, and to make matters worse, it was pitch black.

How long had she been falling?

As minutes passed slowly, she relaxed her body and it felt as if she was simply floating in the darkness. She marvelled idly at the lengths her brain went to convince her she was still alive, when, clearly, she had died. And how long could that brain maintain its activity? Surely, as soon as the heart stops pumping blood, there must be a stop to oxygen flooding the brain and the electrical impulses cease to animate the body.

Is that just her consciousness, going somewhere else after leaving the body?

As if on cue, a slideshow of images appeared in her mind's eye: her planned wedding, Barry, his betrayal...

No!

She shook her head in defiance to get rid of these images, but it only resulted in her body spinning on itself, as if it was a vacuum.

Then, still contemplating the physiology of a dying brain and the possible migration of souls, she came to an abrupt stop, as she collided with a hard and dusty surface. The sudden shock of the impact winded her, and she lay there motionless, gasping for breath, wincing in pain.

Unexpectedly, two pairs of strong hands reached out and not too gently hauled her to her feet. She shuddered involuntarily and gasped in shock, when she caught a glimpse of them; two faceless figures, hooded and cloaked in black flowing robes. They looked like Dementors...

So, clearly, dead!

But her whole body ached from the impact, and she was again experiencing the sensations of space around her, as well as the strong grip the shadowy figures had on her arms. How was that possible?

Head injury!

Following the earthquake and the fall, she must have hit her head and now she was in a coma. Her brain scrambled, yet desperately trying to produce some semblance of reality, incorporating characters from books and movies into this altered reality.

She struggled, brought back to the moment, when the figures started propelling her forward and they both increased their grips on her arms. It hurt, so she complied. She found herself being marched towards a massive structure that appeared in the gloom; all she could see was an infinite expanse of a black wall reaching high towards a non-descript, grey sky.

As they approached, a gigantic gate swung silently open, admitting them inside. She noted with surprise that their feet did not make any sound on the black marble floors, and it was eerily quiet. The only sound was her breathing and the frantic pounding of her heart.

Another huge door opened soundlessly in front of them, and they stepped into an enormous chamber, with the ceiling so high it disappeared in the gloomy darkness above. The chamber appeared empty, except for a big throne on the far side, with a lonely figure sitting in it, but she sensed some... presence all around her.

'Lord Receiver,' rumbled one of her captors and cold shivers ran all over her body. 'We bring in a trespasser'.

The figure rose from his throne and roared in anger. 'How dare you enter my realm without permission?!' His thundering voice reached deep inside of her, and she had a distinct feeling of a cold, heavy fist tightening itself around her fluttering heart.

'I didn't mean to...' she stammered, desperately trying to stop that pressure in her chest, but her panicked brain refused to formulate any logical response. But then, mercifully, the rational part of her personality finally kicked in: Coma... Brain injury... None of this could possibly be real. 'My name is Cora... It was an accident...' She raised her voice, so it could reach him. But she didn't even manage to finish the sentence before he suddenly materialised right next to her, looming over her threateningly.

'Do not think to mock me, mortal!' His voice was deep and overpowering, intent on intimidation.

But she did not take kindly to bullies. 'As I said,' she forced herself to stand up taller, 'it was an accident. I fell...'

'Who brought you here?!' he cut her off brusquely, seemingly not interested in her attempts to explain.

His tone was cold, cruel almost, and shivers ran along her body, but she fought hard to suppress that primal fear and to remain calm. Coma... Brain injury... she kept repeating. She stood straighter still and then looked him up and down.

His skin was very pale, almost translucent, with a white pearly sheen, as if he had never seen the sun. His classically beautiful face was distorted in an angry grimace and his lips were pressed hard into a tight line. His bleach-blond hair fell around his face luxuriantly, but he brushed it impatiently back, off his high forehead. Yet the most startling were his eyes; ice grey but emanating now a strange red glow. Startlingly, he wore a very elegant and well-cut suit; his velvet jacket so black, it seemed to be consuming all light around him, blurring the contours of his body. A powerful singularity, bending all light in its vicinity. She also noted tendrils of shadows slithering around his silhouette and pooling by his feet, remaining in a state of constant flux.

He was clearly offended by her scrutiny, because he roared in anger again and transformed right in front of her wide-open eyes, in an instant becoming a giant, clad in a black traditional chiton, exposing his muscular arms and legs. He wore a circlet woven with cypress twigs and his eyes glowed fiery red with fury.

By all accounts, she should have been terrified by his appearance and the sheer power that emanated from him, but, strangely, all she could think of in this moment was: 'Is he wearing sandals?'

He seemed thrown by her lack of reaction and transformed back into his previous form. 'Why are you not terrified of me, human?' he asked gruffly, now more curious than affronted.

'I am scared,' she admitted, and her voice trembled slightly. 'But none of this,' she made an expansive gesture, encompassing the huge hall, 'is real. I must have hit my head when I fell, and all this...' she paused, searching for the right word, '...imagery is just my brain misfiring to make some sense of what has happened to me.'

'I assure you,' he stepped so close she could feel the heat of his breath and catch the subtle scent of his body - a strange and quite unexpected mixture of snow and ice, 'that this is not a hallucination.' His voice was very quiet now, yet no less intimidating. 'You are in the Underworld.' He turned away, seemingly bored by the exchange.

'Then, you must be Hades, the Lord of Death.'

She couldn't see his expression, but an almost imperceptible ripple went through his body in response. Then he just shrugged and walked away, and she somehow felt compelled to follow.

'I assume, I'm not actually dead,' she reasoned in her most patient voice. 'Otherwise, we wouldn't be having this conversation. So, if I'm still alive, logically, I have no business here. Just send me back to earth.'

He turned towards her abruptly, anger again burning bright red in his cold grey eyes. 'Only the one who brought you here has the power to take you back!' he spat with unwarranted venom. 'And, as it wasn't me, you're stuck here until such time they will make themselves known!' He turned away; his shoulders hunched, his body rigid with indignation. To his guards he commanded. 'Take her to the palace.'

The shadowy guardians appeared at her side again and took hold of her arms, dragging her away. She resisted, but there seemed little point in that; Hades had already resumed his place on the throne and was looking away. She had been dismissed.

They marched her in utter silence, stopping eventually in front of an unremarkable door; it opened of its own accord, and she was roughly pushed inside. Turning back to protest, she was stunned to discover that the door had vanished behind her.

She looked around; no door, no windows, no furniture of any kind. Just a black stone box. A perfect prison. She suddenly felt utterly exhausted; her knees buckled, and she collapsed in an undignified heap on the polished floor.