Machina Arcanis: Two Worlds Collided

TUChapter 7. The City of Mediocracy

TU7. The City of Mediocracy

The scent of putrid decay clung to the damp mud.

Here, in the outer skirts of Leimonopolis, ruins dominated the landscape. Crumbling walls and collapsed ceilings painted a bleak, repetitive picture of neglect. Yet, it wasn’t entirely abandoned. Occasionally, Aurora would catch sight of eyes peeping from the shadows or hear the distant, wailing cry of sorrow.

The dead, it seemed, always came with regrets.

As they walked deeper into the inner walls, the surroundings shifted. Tall, solid stone arches loomed overhead, resembling a grand, ancient aqueduct. The local red sun became more prominent here, radiating deep amber rays across the sky. Even so, the natural light was far from sufficient; tar lamps and torchlights were scattered throughout the city blocks to keep the perpetual gloom at bay.

The architecture was distinctly medieval, constructed from heavy stone blocks that appeared to be the only common resource native to this realm.

“How do you like it, Empress?” Tachyon probed, raising her brows.

“It gives off a funny smell. But at least it’s not fire and brimstone,” Aurora replied absently.

She watched the wet, dirty street flanked by rundown structures. They were so neglected that she almost wouldn’t recognise them as buildings at all. The dull, brutally impractical design would have given a Capricorn arcanist a heart attack or two. There was no planning, no symbolism, and absolutely no artistic touch to the stonework.

Worse still was the lazy attempt at maintenance, with thick canvas tarps strung up to shade the crumbling sections.

“The twin towers are our destination,” Aeacus pointed out.

At the centre of the city stood the tallest prongs of the skyline. Ancient temples boasted rows of grand pillars at the front. They served as the tribunal of the dead. Groups of souls were already walking up the long, wide staircase, their tar lamps lit up like a trail of fireflies in the dim expanse.

“Judge Minos must be there, busy misjudging the dead,” Tachyon hissed, crossing her arms defensively.

“Empress!” Aeacus called out, his tone crisp. “I’m afraid Minos will not be treating us like esteemed guests.” He locked eyes with her, a silent warning in his gaze.

“Understood. Hostility is to be expected,” Aurora said, nodding slightly.

Aeacus drifted closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Yes, we must proceed with caution. Perhaps I can gather some intel on the back doors of the temple. We might need to strategise our… um… coup.”

Tachyon wobbled her head frantically in agreement.

“I appreciate your concern, Charon,” Aurora breathed out, closing her eyes for a brief moment. “But I am not an assassin. Let’s face him head-on.”

The old man’s jaw dropped. “But—”

She raised her palm to silence him. “With all due respect, I was raised to be a warrior, not just an empress. Engaging my enemies straight on with valour is one of the greatest ideals I cling to.”

Tachyon watched her with gleaming, awe-struck eyes, while Thanatos simply clasped his arms horizontally and offered a soft, echoing chuckle.

“Well, I’ll lead the way,” Aeacus conceded, eventually nodding. The bearded man spun on his heel and strolled forward.

Unlike the desolate outer rims, this inner part of the city surprisingly brimmed with activity and polluting noise. The souls of the dead paid no mind to the party’s presence, allowing the God of Death and his companions to blend seamlessly into the crowds.

There was the rhythmic clanking of metal from smiths, people haggling aggressively over gemstones and grains at the marketplace, and even a spirit mule bleating as its owner hurled heavy wares onto its back.

“Poor thing won't last much longer overworking like that,” Thanatos commented with a wry grin.

A massive tortoise captivated Aurora's gaze, the large bells strung around its neck chiming a hollow rhythm as it drifted forward. It carried an entire wooden compartment, fashioned into a makeshift store, upon its broad shell.

An elven woman walked beside the hulking beast, its head alone the size of her body. She fed it a bouquet of flowers bundled to resemble a torch, their petals a ghostly, greyish white.

Noticing the Empress's attention, Aeacus answered the question bubbling up in her mind. "It's the Apostle of Lethe."

As if drawn by an invisible spell, the ghostly crowd drifted toward them from all directions, soon forming a tight circle around the tortoise. Before they realised it, the creature had gathered a huge gathering. The murmuring voices of the spirits hummed like static in the background.

"What is she selling? A potion of sorts?" Aurora asked, craning her neck over the sea of spectral heads.

From what she could see, the wooden compartments held glass vessels of various sizes. Yet, all of them contained the same strange, yellow liquid. Some even possessed a swirling, iridescent golden shine.

"It is, by definition, the grandest, most valuable concoction of all," added the God of Death.

"And what does this do? Nutrition? Power?" Aurora blurted out, her mind racing before she caught herself. "No, that cannot be."

"It's to forget, Empress," Tachyon offered, her voice unusually soft.

"To forget..." Aurora found herself pondering the concept for a moment. "Ah—I remember it now. Lethe, from the river..."

"Correct!" Aeacus bobbed his head, flashing a bright, toothy grin. "The sorrow, the regret, the guilt..." His tone swelled into a heavy sombreness.

"It's something that piles up inside the souls of those whose lives span for eternity," Tachyon murmured, her gaze lingering on the Apostle of Lethe, trading her potions with their coins.

The so-called merchandise appeared to be dwindling rapidly, despite the exorbitant price tag. Tachyon sighed aloud, earning a sharp, underlidded glance from the Empress.

"I can already deduce there are different purities or potencies. Seeing the spirits swarm the shop like this, it must be a consumable rather than a once-off remedy," Aurora said, cupping her chin as she thought aloud. "Wait… there must be one that could completely erase a memory for good?"

She pointed a finger at a solitary crystal vial resting at the very apex of the shelf, radiating the most brilliant glow of all. It was impossible to miss, especially since none of the surrounding customers seemed able to afford the price, though their gleaming eyes remained hopelessly transfixed. Beside her, Tachyon offered a heavy, silent nod, her fingers unconsciously slipping down to trace the faint outline of a vial hidden deep within her pocket belt.

"Excellent deduction," Thanatos smiled.

"While it's a way to soothe the pain," Aeacus said, stroking his beard, "my duty and obligation as a High Judge of the Dead requires my memory. Well, it isn't so bad, since I have little to regret or mourn." The old man chuckled.

Soon, the crowds began to disperse as the elven merchant closed up her mobile store.

Aurora stole a glance at Tachyon's back. The wildren had already strolled away, looking at items in a nearby stall with far greater interest. What an interesting girl, she thought.

As they strode past the marketplace, they noticed water wells and small plots of agricultural land scattered throughout the blocks. These plots were protected by perimeters of spiked metal rather than just simple stacks of rock. Judging by the prime location, either the plants were a high commodity, or they desperately needed the direct rays of the red sun to survive.

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Aurora bet it was both.

“Pomegranates,” Aeacus whispered, and Aurora grunted softly in acknowledgement.

“Unlike Asphodel seeds, which we can find in the wild, these are amazing!” Tachyon added, wearing a wide, toothy smile.

“They don’t look like normal pomegranates,” Aurora noted. She studied the strange, grey leaves and vibrant purple fruits, committing the bizarre flora to memory.

“Would you like to try one?” Thanatos suggested, lifting an index finger.

The casual offer earned him a wild, panicked stare from both Aeacus and Tachyon.

“What’s wrong?” Aurora asked, tilting her head.

“I jested, I jested!” The God of Death raised his palms in mock defeat.

Aeacus exhaled a shaky breath and explained. “They say once you have tasted the fruit, the flavour will bind you here for eternity.”

“A taste so good it binds you, huh?” Aurora murmured to herself.

Tachyon shook her head. “Well, it’s just the best thing this place has to offer, especially after hundreds, if not thousands, of years living a completely mediocre life here.”

“Oh? You seem quite knowledgeable about this,” Aurora remarked bluntly.

“I used to work here for a long while!” Tachyon exclaimed, thumbing at her own chest. Aurora could immediately picture the energetic Wildren as a farmer in her mind’s eye.

To their right, a young man ploughed a new section of soil and sowed seeds under the instruction of a bearded overseer. Still, they weren't doing an excellent job compared to the industrialised world Aurora hailed from. It was rudimentary farming. Labour-intensive and nearly inefficient.

“When we first arrived, you were collecting coins,” Aurora said, striking up a conversation as she matched her pace with the limping Wildren.

“Oh! The ferry fare!” Tachyon chirped with her natural eagerness.

“Right. What exactly are those?” Aurora pried. She figured this would be incredibly valuable knowledge for Cartier if she actually managed to succeed in her mission.

“It’s their life experience and knowledge,” Tachyon answered promptly. “Rarely does the underworld ever take the lead in any innovation or technological advancement.”

“Arcanically, too!” Aeacus chimed in from the front.

Tachyon adjusted her sling. “We rely entirely on the overworld’s knowledge to build our own stuff. Because of that, those coins can fetch a great price for the right buyer!”

“Right? Right?” She nudged the old man playfully with her elbow.

“Ahaha!” Aeacus giggled sheepishly, rolling one of his many decorated rings. “That’s how I accumulated the wealth to commission a nice ferry in the first place!”

He swept his eyes left and right before leaning in to whisper his trade secret. “Rinse and repeat for a few centuries, and we’re quite well off.”

“Interesting…” Aurora hummed, thoroughly content with the revelation.

From her perspective, hell was like the foundational layer against the lasting chaos — a catch-all for remnants, accommodating the souls that trickled down. In a nutshell, this layer of reality merely followed the shadows of the Overworld.

She had always known instinctively that knowledge was power. But knowledge as a literal, tradeable commodity? That was entirely new to her.

A sudden thought dawned on her, however. Would there be Armatus down here? If this world possessed nuclear-powered battlecruisers, there had to be Armatus counterparts lingering in the depths of the underworld, birthed from the minds of dead engineers.

So much to explore, and so few thoughts to spare.

They eventually paused to rest beneath a massive willow tree, where Tachyon conveniently flattened a canvas tarp against the moist grass. Although Aurora didn’t technically need to rest, the old man and his stewardess already showed clear signs of exhaustion from their long journey.

Once seated, Tachyon — ever the service-minded stewardess — pulled out the sandwiches she had packed earlier from her pouch. She handed one to Aeacus, then offered one to Aurora.

“What is this?” Aurora asked, genuinely clueless. It looked suspiciously like a peanut butter sandwich.

“It’s an Asphodel-seed-butter sandwich!” Tachyon chirped. She then spun toward the God of Death, who remained nonchalantly floating in the air. “Would you like some, My Lord?”

“I’m fine.” He waved his hand in a dismissive motion.

Reading the god's mind, Tachyon tried again. “What about some wine? Your favourite, My Lord?” She cajoled, revealing an obsidian flask wrapped in fine leather binding.

His lips parted in a surprised gasp. “Why, yes!”

Thanatos smiled affably, receiving the silver goblet from her with absolute delight. His raven-black wings fluttered slightly as he sipped the vintage in the gentle wind, cherishing the taste far longer than he had the first time.

A breeze rustled the serrated leaves of the willow tree, and a rare sense of tranquillity settled over their souls. The party nibbled on their rations in comfortable quiet. The sandwich was nothing short of nutty, sweet, and savoury. It was edible, hardly an excellent delicacy. But considering its accessibility and how easily it spread throughout the Meadows, it was the perfect common food for the dead.

“Tachyon,” Aurora said, nudging the Wildren, who seemed entirely lost in the swaying canopy above.

“Huh?” She turned, blinking her orange eyes, her cheetah ears twitching slightly.

“You mentioned you used to work at the plantation, spending a thousand of years studying self-taught engineering, and then spending thousands more as the stewardess—I mean, chief engineer of the ferry.”

Tachyon glanced up, thinking it over. “That sounds about right!”

“What will you do if, say, we succeed in our coup? What happens next?”

“Oh… I haven’t thought about that.” The brief, uncertain glance she shot toward Aeacus immediately betrayed her lie.

Aurora’s face remained stone. “Clearly, you don’t plan to continue working on the ferry. You would have answered me immediately otherwise.”

When the Wildren stayed silent, the empress tried again, knowing full well she could push hard if needed. “What about your past? You rarely talk about that, either. Meanwhile, Aeacus here has openly shared his story as the last man and the King of Aegina, which was also the name of his mother.” She gestured with her open palm, and the Charon nodded with deep humility.

Tachyon’s lips snapped open and closed. She was visibly uncomfortable. “Umm… It’s nothing of interest.” She subconsciously rubbed the long, slit scars on her thighs.

The dead here carried their physical scars and stigmas when they descended to the Underworld. The deeper and darker the stigma, the greater the profound effect it had on their souls.

“Were you a warrior?” Aurora pressed, her tone stern and unyielding.

“No…” she murmured, her gaze falling strictly to the ground.

Aurora exhaled a deep breath, accepting defeat before the atmosphere could turn entirely sour between them.

No breaking her, I see, Aurora thought. She has her reasons, and I stress-tested her dangerously close to the breaking point.

The way Tachyon had seamlessly fallen into a combat stance while facing the Furies was irrefutable evidence that she wasn’t just some peasant’s daughter. Despite the severe impairment in her legs, she had managed to dodge the oncoming snares with pristine accuracy. Muscle memory was something you couldn’t simply erase, even in death. Tachyon had been trained as a warrior or perhaps even an arcanist in her past life. Aurora was certain of it.

But what was the reason behind her restraint? Why refuse to wield a weapon in such a dangerous passage?

Clearly, it was her legs that didn't function right; her hands, on the other hand, were perfectly capable of wielding a spear or fencing with a sword. Another glaring mystery was the fact that the Furies only attacked and kidnapped the most wicked of the dead.

Have my eyes deceived me? Aurora pondered. Is Tachyon truly a wicked soul? Or have the Furies somehow lost the edge of their judgement?

Questions swirled in her mind like a thick cloud of mist, only dissipating when Aeacus called out to her, signalling the restart of their journey.

A few hours flew by, and the party finally arrived at the bottom of the grand stairway.

Blue torchlights illuminated the ascent at regular intervals. The beautifully cut obsidian steps reflected the dancing azure flames in a mesmerising tango of light and shadow. It provided a stark contrast of grandeur and majesty compared to the miserable slums of Leimonopolis. This was a place touched by the divine, not built by average mortals.

The distant dots of torchlight were the souls of the dead, moving slowly and surely up the steps to face their final judgement.

Three possible verdicts would determine their eternal placement in the Underworld. The greatest of mortals, including artistic and philosophical geniuses, would be sent to Elysium. The darkest of mortals, those who defied the gods, committed heinous crimes, and the unredeemable sinners, belonged in Tartarus to burn and labour.

And lastly, the average souls who fit into neither extreme? They were doomed to remain right here in Leimonopolis.

Aeacus wiped a stray tear from his eye, reminiscing about the days when he had sat at the peak of those stairs as one of the High Judges. How long had it been? A few thousand years?

Empathetically squeezing his shoulder, Tachyon drew her lips into a thin, supportive smile. “We’ll get your title back. I have total faith in the Empress.”

“Thanks. Sorry,” Aeacus sniffed, puffing out his chest as he found his resolve. He turned to confront Aurora. “I know you’re incredibly strong, but we might run into divine beings up there. Or worse—the offspring of Typhon.”

“Oh. I’ve engaged Hera in combat before,” Aurora stated matter-of-factly.

“What? You fought a goddess? The Queen of the Gods herself?” Aeacus blurted out, his eyes bulging. Beside him, Tachyon’s cheetah ears twitched violently in shock.

“Yeah… It occurs to me that while gods are immortal beings with immense power, there is one thing they are definitely not immune to.” Aurora said with a straight face. “Pain.”

“I… agree,” Aeacus muttered, though he was clearly thinking more about eternal death rather than the pain Aurora suggested. His eyes stole a nervous glance at Thanatos, who was still lingering near the lines of lit souls.

“Very well. I will tread my steps with great precaution,” Aurora admitted, giving the old man an appreciative nod.

And with that, they began their climb.