Legend has it that when Necropolis first came into existence, there was a highly revered underworld deity in Daoism, born on the ninth day of the ninth month, known as the Emperor of the Dead. He is the god of hell, overseeing all the underworld realms and managing everything with his own hands. This is the story of Necropolis, but in the hell I know, there is no such ghostly god.
With uneasy speculation weighing on my mind, I followed the burly, stubbled Blue Wraith ghost named Roy Luo, while Wilson Wu kept a wary eye on me from the side.
Gradually, we arrived at a place called the Hall of Judgment. Outside, a black plaque embossed with gold hung above a pair of stone lions, giving off an imposing and solemn aura. The moment I passed by, an overwhelming discomfort washed over me, and even the Ghost Web seemed to sense something amiss.
Upon entering the Hall of Judgment, I dropped to my knees with a thud, unable to resist. Even though I desperately wanted to fight against the figure seated above, my knees still hit the ground, as if compelled by an unseen force.
I stared in astonishment at the figure before me, dressed in ancient official robes, reminiscent of the Yanluo Kings I’d encountered before, his voice brimming with authority.
"Why have you come here?"
Looking up at the Emperor of the Dead, his cheeks darkened and his face twisted in anger. Roy Luo and Wilson Wu stood respectfully on either side of him, kneeling. The Emperor’s form was massive, nearly three or four meters wide and five or six meters tall. The grand hall was adorned with thirteen dragon-phoenix pillars, gleaming in gold and jade.
Yet deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, a gnawing discomfort, as if my body was no longer under my own control. I felt no fear toward the Emperor of the Dead, which puzzled me.
"Speak. What is your purpose here?"
"Go on, say it. The Emperor is actually quite fair—most ghosts who come here receive lenient judgment. If you’re in trouble, just speak up."
Roy Luo spoke, and I gave a noncommittal 'oh,' lifting my head and trying to stand, but found myself rooted in place. Something felt off with my Ghost Soul as well.
"Emperor, may I ask—do you know where the passage to the Underworld Court is?"
I asked, and Wilson Wu chuckled from the side.
"Hmph. The Emperor of the Dead is the god of hell—of course he knows everything. You're just a minor ghost. Even if you hide your strength, don't speak so boldly before a god."
I gave another 'oh' and laughed.
"Step down for now. Tomorrow, come alone. Fate cannot be revealed. The passage to the Underworld Court is not for ordinary souls. Move aside—the judgment begins."
As the Emperor spoke, I found myself moving aside automatically, even though my body resisted. I tried to unleash my Specter Web, but couldn't. I thought about letting my Ghost Aura surge, but gave up—the darkness in my Ghost Aura would be too easily detected by the Underworld Court, even here in the Emperor's domain.
Just then, someone entered the hall—a figure with a bloodied face and a body partly crushed.
"Emperor of the Dead, I am Victor Zhang. I died in a car accident."
The Emperor of the Dead grunted, then produced a massive tome labeled 'Ledger of Souls.' He wrote in it with a large brush for a while.