Chapter 4 - Heaven? Hell? Hard Pass! (Part 1)
King Yemma sure is big. Really big. The kind of big that makes you feel like a bug in front of him. His desk looks like it was carved out of a mountain—or mahogany. And his chair? Honestly, it could house a nice little estate if zoning laws up here even matter.
"I'll audit them all later, damn it!" King Yemma jabs his table, flipping hundred thousands of pages as though he was talking about receipts after tax season, not actual souls. He could make a good IRS agent, though.
"Once this last batch is through, I'll get to them one by one. Being the all-knowing ogre doesn't mean I get breaks." King Yemma closes one of the gigantic books, setting them aside, and with deadpan flair, cracks open another tome thick enough to crush any building. "Oh, and Yubby, did you get all that? I need you to remind me."
"Sure thing, boss! We made the cut-off for this season's queue and managed to deliver them all to Limbo."
An ogre by his side in a plain dress shirt and an odd black-yellow necktie tilts his glasses, closing his notepad. Apparently, that guy could punch a thousand souls into Hell without breaking a sweat. It's like the word "rank and file" took a whole new meaning. I could only wonder what King Yemma is like.
Good thing Rodriguez and Andrez were one of the souls last in line, though, when that happened. If they'd been caught in the earlier stampede, they probably would've been marked as "disturbance of cosmic order" and fast-tracked to Hell along with the others. Instead, they were just escorted by the Limbo Express—yes, that's what the ogres actually called this multi-deckered bus so long it might as well be a train.
And there wasn't just one. I lost count of how many of those things they rolled out. Each one looked like it could carry a small city's worth of souls, and still they kept coming. It took a day or two before they managed to funnel everyone into the vehicles.
Rodriguez and Andrez made sure to throw me their goodbyes before the ogres casually shoved them into one of the bus-train monstrosities and slammed the door behind them.
Looks like King Yemma got tired seeing all of Planet Sapiez's souls filling the court hall all at once. So he just judged them with all the care of someone skimming terms and conditions—each one waved off with a single, massive stamp and sent to Limbo, the celestial equivalent of "I'll deal with it later." Guess I can't really blame him; I would have done the same.
Now King Yemma, in all his mighty presence, is looking at me. I could have sworn I would get goosebumps by how intense his stare is, if I even had skin and hair, that is. The view of the golden clouds through the circular windows behind him looks nice to behold right about now. So does the yellow floor, actually. Sparkling clean. Like someone power-washed it just to watch people's souls get judged on a polished finish.
And the telephone—pastel green? Seriously? Doesn't even look like it belongs to him. Then again, he is reddish pink. Where does it even connect to, anyway? Still can't wrap my head around the fact Other World uses electricity. And that bonsai on his desk looks—
"So you're from Earth."
He can tell just by looking at me?
"Yes, King Yemma." I lower my head.
He snickers. "Don't think being respectful boosts your chances of getting into Heaven. It's all in what you did while you were alive."
Right. Good to know brown-nosing doesn't work up here. Now, how do I ask to be sent to King Kai without sounding entitled, like I have done something meritorious? Offending him is definitely not on my to-do list right now, lest I want to be kicked so hard to Hell.
"I'm well aware, King Yemma. I'm sure your courtroom holds the highest standards in judging the dead." Real smooth, Carson.
"Ha, aren't you a boot-licker." King Yemma thumbs through one of his records with surprising speed for such meaty fingers. "Your Ki definitely reeks of Earth."
Ki has smell? How is that possible?
He flips a few more pages, eyes narrowing. "Let's see here. Your soul condition suggests mid-twenties—give or take a few years. The most recent death in your age group is within the last seventeen Earth days."
The pages stop turning.
"Ah, here we go," he mutters, tapping the entry with a fingernail. "Found you, Carson Nessan. Your name matches, death matches… well. You're lucky I'm in a stamping mood."
Well, what do you know? This body has the same name as mine in my original world. How convenient.
"King Yemma, might I just take this opportunity to ask something before being judged?"
King Yemma leans forward, glancing down at me in what seems like mild interest. "We don't just judge on a whim. We track every single significant good and bad deed you've done in your life." He taps a finger against the side of his desk, causing the air to hum with power.
"And don't think for a second that I haven't heard every excuse in the book. I've had more fake philosophical arguments thrown my way than I care to count, all from souls trying to talk their way into Heaven when they clearly belong in Hell." His eyes narrow, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "So you better be straight with me."
I just stare for a moment, trying to avoid making my awkwardness too obvious. "I just wanted to ask... How can you smell Ki? What do they smell like? How could you tell I was from Earth by just smelling my Ki?"
For a moment, King Yemma freezes, his usual air of unshakable confidence faltering just a bit. He blinks, clearly caught off guard by the question. How satisfying!
His eyes narrow, scanning me and the smirk I'm trying so hard to hide. Then, a low chuckle rumbles in his throat, and he leans back in his chair, clearly amused by the unexpected turn of conversation.
"Wow, you got me there, kid. Was not expecting that." King Yemma runs a finger through the base of his nose in contemplation before scoffing and jabbing his table. "And no, I can't literally smell Ki—what do you think I am, a bloodhound? I may be an ogre to you, but I'm not like those uncivilized brutes from the Demon Realm. Not being a xenophobe or anything, but you Earthlings do tend to lump me in with those demons. If I had my way, I'd toss the lot of you in Hell for that kind of slander!"
He pauses, one thick eyebrow arching like he just realized he's oversharing. Why is he dumping all this on me? Then he clears his throat, looking at his records, then opens up another book while grabbing a pen and writing something.
"Right. All planetary Guardians leave an imprint on every Earthling's soul. It's just the standard. Your Earth's Kami is no exception. That old geezer, though, he's a real piece of work. Always whining like the universe owes him something, and when his other half throws a tantrum, who ends up with the mess? Me. A flood of souls jamming up my gates when he could've just handled it himself. What an idiot."
"Wait, but... how? Kami was here?" I ask, hope crawling into my voice before I can stop it. Does that mean he knows who I am?
King Yemma just blinks, though, then scowls at me, his brows furrowed. A tense pause stretches the air. My breath hitches.
"Your Earth's guardian, here because of you?" Then he bursts into laughter.
It starts as a rumble in his chest before turning into a booming cackle that rattles the floor beneath me. Although I have no feet, the sound of his guffaws sends shockwaves of Ki rippling through the fabric of my soul. He leans into his wooden chair, one hand clutching his side.
"You hear that, Yubby? This guy... He... He really thinks he's something else."
The smaller ogre by his side stifles his laugher behind his mouth, a mocking glance directed at me. "Boy, you don't know even a fraction of the immensity of the powers of this universe."
I stay silent, cursing myself for landing myself in such an embarrassing situation. And what is this Yubby guy's deal anyway? So what if he can send a thousand souls into Hell with one punch? Before I can do something I'd further regret, I just look at the floor, not daring to look at them.
King Yemma wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling, and gestures to his book. "And get this, Yubby—says right here he couldn't even survive the eruption from Piccolo's blast. And he honestly thinks that puts him on his Guardian's radar? Pfft! He's barely even worth my snot!"
And they laugh. Again.
It continues for quite a while before they calm down.
"Boy, you're really something else, in a way, I'll give you that." He shakes his head and sighs. "You'd make a fine addition to Heaven—with all those childish delusions. Who knows? Maybe I'll grant you your physical body right now, just for giving me such a memorable conversation."
King Yemma's now smiling, the kind that doesn't look forced, his plump cheeks lifting and eyes gleaming with unsettling serenity. Talk about a mood swing.
"Really? I mean, I would really appreciate it, King Yemma." I bow deeply—maybe too deeply, practically throwing myself into a prostration.
"Bah, not really. Save your groveling for someone else, kid. Only those who truly deserve it can keep their physical bodies." King Yemma reaches for his stamp and brings it down on some paper with a decisive thud. My core jolts, still dreading the worst. "Sure, you had your share of screw-ups—who doesn't? But overall, your record isn't half bad. So congratulations, kid. You don't need to prove yourself anymore. You're bound for Heaven. Or, as you Earthlings call it, your precious pearly gates."
He gestures to Yubby. "Yubby, go tell Pastillas to escort him to Heaven now."
"Yes, King Yemma." Yubby bows and heads toward the enormous east archway.
"But wait, King Yemma!"
He pauses mid-paperwork and gives me a long-suffering look, his lips tightening into a pout and his brows twitching in irritation. Yubby pauses midway, probably interested in what I'm going to say.
"Yes? I don't really have the time to entertain any more of your questions. Some of us actually have a job to do."
I look him in the eyes. "With all due respect, King Yemma... I don't want to go to Heaven. I wish to go and meet King Kai to train."
Yubby widens his eyes, his mouth agape. King Yemma leans his head against one hand, elbow propped on the desk, the corners of his mouth lifting in a tight, strained grin. "Look, kid... if this is another one of your jokes, now's the time to drop it. It's not funny—and definitely not how this works."
"I have a proposal. I hope you could hear me out."
"Oh, and what does your proposal entail?"
"Give me ten years. Within that timeframe, I'd run through Snake Way, train..." I pause before steeling my resolve. "And in return, I will destroy Frieza and dismantle his empire."
Yubby gasps. King Yemma drops his pen, the point of impact jolting my soul for a split second before I steady myself. He notices that and sneers.
Power Levels:
King Yemma: 1,200
Yubby: 400
Carson: 10