“What about that man?” Gold Leaf City’s specter said, his voice becoming softer and softer. The spirit, who was still listening, quickly realized that it wasn’t the voice that was growing softer, but himself that was growing weaker.
“That man won’t interfere,” the Shepherd of Bastion Temple said. “Not even for his own disciple.”
“But how do you know?” the specter muttered.
“He told me,” a whisper said.
Then, the spirit heard nothing. His awareness, no, his existence, faded. For that was the horror of the Spirit Temple. There would be no rebirth for souls like his, nor would there be existence as a spirit body. Even a merciful existence full of pain and misery would be beyond him. What awaited him was unattached and unfettered oblivion: a fate much worse than death.
Just how do these things happen? Yama thought as he massaged the space between his brows. His flowing white hair, untied today, covered his immaculate desk like a flowing river. Finding no relief, he grabbed hold of a tiny sand rake, which he used to groom a tiny fengxue garden filled with sand and a few rocks. It helped, if only a little.
They’d committed a blunder, and a big one at that. The worst thing about it was that there was nothing they could have done to prevent it. Nothing, save perhaps not choosing Judah in the first place, to stop it. Yama glared at Judah, the hopeful mayoral candidate, who sat nervously before him. And nervous he should be. As the most powerful man in the universe, the only being who could forcefully reincarnate any spirit he desired, he inspired fear wherever he treaded.
His timeless black eyes staring daggers at Judah, Yama pressed a bony index finger on the daily paper’s front page. There, on the crisp but cheap soul paper, was a moving picture of the mayoral candidate. He was running around waving his hands, making sounds that spirits didn’t normally make. He also looked younger; it was difficult to say by how much, since time passed strangely in Diyu. His transparent white skin, the kind that came naturally to spirits, was covered in vein-like crimson streaks. He wore a transparent black cloak that also emanated a crimson glow. It was covered in runes, but they were obviously fake, as this was a cheap costume he’d bought at one of those pop-up stores that took over deserted locations once a year.
“Why did it have to be ghostface?” Yama finally said.
“In my defense,” Judah said, raising his hands. “I didn’t know what ghostface was where I went to school. Besides, it was for a school play. I wanted to look the part. You know, Ghost of Christmas Future and all.”
“And this?” Yama asked, flipping the page. The ghostfaced Judah was running around scaring normal spirits and performing obscene acts. He was quite the barbarian, and everyone around him laughed. “It just so happens that ghostface is the most insulting thing evil spirits—or ghosts, as they are often called—have ever heard of. In fact, it wasn’t so long ago that ghosts were nothing more than slaves and servants. Maybe a billion years. Back then, ghosts couldn’t even act their own roles in plays, since pure spirits didn’t want the ghosts tainting their performance. Instead, they’d have normal spirits dress up as an exaggerated caricature of their kind, taking every opportunity to insult and debase them and put them in their place. The resentment still hasn’t died down.”
“A billion years ago?” Judah said incredulously. “And they still remember? Lord Yama, that’s a little extreme.”
“Tell that to the media,” Yama said wryly. “Now what are we going to do about this?”
“Apologize, I guess,” Judah said, looking none too worried.
“Again?” Yama asked, surprised. The Lord of the Underworld didn’t apologize, and though it wasn’t him that would be doing it, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to the concept. Further, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a politician apologize either.
“They bought it last time,” Judah said. “They’ll probably buy it again. They’re not used to seeing us humble ourselves, and something about it comforts them. No, maybe it’s better that this ghostface scandal happened. It’ll make me look more like a real spirit while our competitors look like they’re used to lording it over them from an ivory tower. My main competitor went to private school for Diyu’s sake.”
“His father was mayor, so he could afford it,” Yama said. “But we’re not getting into an argument about public school versus private school again. You go do your thing, and I’ll stay here and do mine. I still have a lot of work to do today.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Judah said, giving a sloppy salute.
Once he’d gone, Yama pushed a button on his desk, calling for his trusty assistant, Lily. She appeared almost immediately, her ghostly figure cutting through time and space to get here.
“Reporting for duty, sir!” Lily said, giving him a sharp salute.
Yama nodded and waved her over. Judah had his advantages, like his relatability and likeableness, but he lacked the strict discipline Lily brought to the campaign.
“How did it go?” Yama asked, summoning a map of Diyu. The projection, which fit snugly on his desk, perfectly replicated the city’s iconic skyscrapers. It was divided into prefectures, which were in turn divided into districts. Every district would elect a councilor, who would in turn nominate a mayor.
“It went well,” Lily said. “Councilor Ruthar has promised his support, though he’ll require funding for three orphanages in his district—random reincarnations due to the past few epidemics that have hit his district hardest. He’ll also need someone conveniently removed.”
Yama nodded. “We can take care of both of those things, but the removal will only happen if Judah wins. I want him to feel the pressure and motivate him to talk to the other councilors.”
“That brings us up to one thousand and seventy,” Lily said. “Still very short if we are to win the
