The entrance was an ancient thing built over several centuries, as evidenced by the stark differences in the type of stone used to stabilize its walls despite the ever-encroaching miasma.

  Despite its age, the tunnel smelled of a freshly dug grave. A potent miasma wafted from cold to hot, defying the mortal laws of physics. The steady stream of deadly energy radiated such power that only a demigod could enter. Or someone like Sorin, whose body had transcended the concept of mortality.

  The stairs went on for miles, circling in a predictable pattern until they finally opened into a slightly larger cave. There, Sorin found the creature he’d expected on the surface: Cerberus. The three-headed mastiff was several hundred times larger than when he’d last seen him. Six eyes opened to greet Sorin as the Gatekeeper of the Underworld roused form his slumber and imposed a spatial blockade to prevent his advance.

  If it were Sorin before, he would have turned tail and run. Now, the creature was only a moderate threat to Sorin, one he could easily kill given enough time. Since he’d promised Michael not to kill the creature and could use an obstacle to intercept any who tried following him, he decided to try a different tact.”

  “Sleep,” spoke Sorin. Nine permutations of corruption wafted into the room and infiltrated the mighty canine. The poisons of Hubris dulled the dog’s senses while the other forms of corruption wore away at its reason. Death stifled its urge to awaken, and Disease caused its many reasons to keep sleeping to proliferate.

  The guardian’s six eyes drooped as the poisons worked their divine magic, weakening the spatial blockade the dog imposed. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but the weakness was just enough for Sorin to use Dance of the Tail Biter to pierce through the blockade and appear at the other end of the tunnel where Cerberus’s rage was reduced to a bare tremble.

  A splash of water greeted Sorin as he stepped out of the Gatekeeper’s chambers and arrived at the shores of the River Styx. It was chock full of souls, both new and old. Their karma was tangled and complicated but faded due to the river working its magic.

  Sorin stood there for a moment, taking in what the river was doing and trying to make sense of it. The process wasn’t scientific and worked on a set of principles that defied his knowledge of the Nine Evils.

  “You’re Titan as well,” muttered Sorin after a time. “Enslaved through chains of duty and oath to forever ferry the souls of Pandora. Your Authority lies beyond Tranquil Repose and encroaches on Oath and Contract.”

  With such a powerful creature under their control, it was no wonder the Hyde Clan commanded powers of taxation and law enforcement. Oath-breakers, and sinners by extension, were natural enemies of the river, and would suffer the harshest punishment when submerged in its shallow depths.

  There was a dock on the shore of the river where boats were normally anchored. Sorin spotted them, broken and ruined beneath its waters. Traces of Ratten and Aaron’s energies confirmed the duo had destroyed them.

  Traces of their battle could be found in the generous airspace above the river proper. Sorin mobilized his Authority to fly like the two sealed deities but encountered an intense counterforce. The rules here are different from on the surface, thought Sorin as he looked for another way downstream. Perhaps I could use my poisons to create a boat?

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  Sorin used Python Coil to produce a hundred-foot serpent that slithered into the water. Yet it too immediately began to break down at a rate that was unsustainable.

  In the end, Sorin was unable to find a better way through. He therefore pulled back his poisons to rely on the most durable object in his arsenal: his body.

  The river was cold and forbidding of mortal possessions. Sorin’s clothes dissolved as he lowered himself into it, starting with his boots, which were quickly followed by his robes, and finally, Hero Medal.

  Sorin’s heart ached as his mortal possessions faded away to nothingness. Yet with that ache came a sense of liberation and breaking of chains. His body had transcended mortality, as had his soul and mana—but what of his heart? Worldly attachments still bound him to Olympia and Pandora as a whole.

  Threads of karmic entanglement similarly melted as he waded deeper until he fully submerged himself. His head remained below water for several minutes before he surfaced again. Strangely, the river was stiffest where it was deepest, and slowest where it was shallow.

  In that first stretch, Sorin learned that swimming was as impossible here as flying without the requisite authority. He could only brave the currents and pockets of depth as they sought to swallow the mortal elements that had yet to leave him.

  As Sorin walked, a portion of him died. Sorin’s mana, body, and soul had transcended the mortal, but some imperfections remained. The river took offense to these lacking pieces and melting them away; Sorin was forced to adapt by replacing them with something sturdier.

  The imperfections in his 9,000-poison were among these weaknesses. Lesser pieces were omitted in favor of amplifying its greater components. The process forced Sorin to come to terms with an interesting fact: he didn’t need all the parts that made him up. Silly things like base poisons were irrelevant.

  It was the same for parts of his body and parts of his soul. All three of his constituent parts were akin to an unwashed garment.

  The river washed away the useless dirt to reveal the pristine core of Sorin’s being. Everything superfluous to his existence was completely washed away in the first downward spiral of the river.

  The second cycle wore away at the inadequacies in Sorin’s heart. Petty grudges were forgiven. Irrelevant debts and supposed obligations were forcefully severed.

  This set the stage for the third stage that scrubbed away all superfluous karma. Only those few things with meaning were allowed to survive the culling. Meaning to others. Meaning to him.

  The first three cycles of the descending river were straightforward. Sorin embraced the changes without regret.

  Yet when he reached the fourth cycle, Sorin paused for a moment to evaluate the risks and rewards of his downward journey. Did he really need to enter the Underworld? Did Gabriella, his once-student and reincarnated deity really mean all that much to him?

  The answer was yes. Some connections mattered. That was doubly so since he suspected her mistreatment was in large part due to his involvement.

  He therefore pushed forward and embraced the erosion of four of his internal organs. Every step he wore a piece of his mortal foundation away. And with it the river took their relevance.

  Sorin had always wondered whether deities and mortals differed physically. The river gave him the answer he’d craved. He didn’t need intestines. He didn’t need his spleen. At his current power level, these organs were mere ornaments. Restrictions.

  It was the same for Sorin’s other organs. The fifth cycle saw the disappearance of his kidney, his liver, his lungs, and his heart. The all-important organs necessary for mortal melted away. It was the same for the sixth cycle and Sorin’s eyes, skin, and brain.

  To this point, Sorin had assumed that his brain housed some tenuous connection to his mind and soul. After all, there was ample evidence that this was true for both mortals and cultivators. There was much less evidence when it came to demigods and deities.

  He didn’t need eyes to see, just as he didn’t need ears to hear. Human senses were an illusion that deities transcended. Molting away that old shell both got rid of his inferior mortal sense and opened a door to the greater senses available to a god.

  These stark changes should have immunized Sorin against the seventh cycle and onward, but once again, he found himself hesitating. Shedding his mortal remains was one thing, but what about the foundation of his cultivation?