As it turns out, the afterlife is a competition.
Gods are the trainers… and humans are their Pokemon.
During the last stream, a subscriber requested that we write a Pokemon-like story
To do that, we did a similar exercise before on how to write an original story based on something you like. What you have to do is find what really draw you about the original story, twist it, and then make it your own.
And twist it we did!
You can watch the full video here to or scroll down to read what we wrote.
Here’s what we came up with:
Premise: Gods collect human “worshipers” from throughout history and battle them against each other for power in the Pantheon.
When you’re the demigod of Failure, you don’t exactly get the pick of the litter for human worshipers. It’s almost like, oh I don’t know, I’m destined to fail or something. Funny how that works out.
Still, it’s not good form to be late. Especially not today when I’m going to meet my very first follower. Maybe, with a bit of luck, they won’t be completely deformed or malnourished.
I stand up with a sigh in the middle of my god-chamber apartment. It’s not quite as radiant or holy as one might expect. It’s just a little stone cell, with a window looking out to the rest of the city of Hereafter, the river Styx cutting through the middle like so many of its passengers were cut down the middle too. There’s no bathroom, no bed, not that I really need those, I guess. The only thing going in or out of me is the translucent white aura that surrounds my body and my white cloth clothes. How that works, I’ll leave it to the Gods of Science.
Starting today, I’ll be sharing this room with a human. Time to go meet them, I guess.
Stepping out of my chamber and into the hallway, there’s a hundred other doors to other apartments lining the walls. All of them are the rooms for other demigods and lesser gods like me.
There’s the God of Dead Leaves, a pretty chill guy but he gets grumpy in the winter. The Goddess of blueberries, who doesn’t seem to understand that all the fruits she eats just plop right through her onto the ground. The Goddess of Slammed Door and Creaky Hinges, who everyone in the entire city can hear coming home late at night. And there’s the—
“Well, well, well,” squeals Marie, the Goddess of Sass. “If it isn’t ‘lil ‘ol Ted. Look who decided to wake up!”
Her hands are fixated on her hips, as she stares at me with a smirk and one eye glaring. Even though we all wear the same white silk robes, hers especially seems to flow over her egregious curves, barely containing her enormous girth and ego.
“Morning, Marie,” I grumble back. I’d hoped to get out before she’d spotted me, but being the God of Failure, well, you know. She shakes her head in disapproval, her gold hoop earrings clanging against the sides of her head.
“You’re not seriously thinking of heading down to the Temple, are you, ‘lil Teddie?” she asks, leaning in so close to me that her eye alone nearly takes up my whole vision.
“I mean, that was the plan,” I say, backing up from her slightly. She just stays locked on me like the Goddess of Heat-Seeking Missiles.
“Mmmhhmmm.” The judging sound zips out of her lips as she eyes me up and down. “You ain’t only been a god for a hot minute, and you already thinkin’ you all that and a bag of ‘brosia?”
I grit my teeth and gently push Marie away. Even though she looks like she’s ninety percent fluff, her skin is hard as gold, same as all gods.
“I appreciate your concern, Marie. But I think I’ll be just fine.”
Thankfully she doesn’t fight back, just wobbles into her new position, still glaring and judging.
“Well if you don’t want the nasty leftover dregs, you best get hustlin’ down there. I heard Victor was already down there an hour ago.”
Just hearing the name makes me groan. Victor, the God of Success, is my polar opposite. Pretty much anything he touches turns out great, like a King Midas of good decisions. I might not have been a god for nearly as long as him, but I’d love to show him up someday.
“And wouldn’tcha know it?” Marie continued. “When Victor got down to the Temple, it just so happened to turn out that they decided to start the ceremony an hour early. I guess that’s what bein’ the God of Success gets ya!”
I’m about to groan again at Marie, but then the reality of what she said hits me hard.
“Wait, the ceremony already started? An hour ago?”
“We’re speakin’ the same langige, ain’t we?” Marie asks with a hip shake. “More than already started, it’s probably already over at this point!”
My nonexistant heart leaps up into my throat and all I can do is run down the hallway, hoping that maybe there’s still time left.
“You betta hustle, ‘lil Teddie!” Marie shouts from behind me. “I don’t want you bringin’ back some nasty old human who gonna stink up the place!”
Nothing is on my mind except sprinting to the Temple. I dash down the circular staircase at the end of the hall, all the way to the bottom of the god-apartment lobby. The clerk at the front gives me a strange look then a nod of pitiful understanding as I run out the front and right into the bright light of morning in Hereafter.
All around are gods and goddesses going about their daily business. Most of them are just walking around, chatting, either waiting to perform their duties on Earth, or already finished them for the day and just relaxing with others. None of them seem to care about the start of the Hereafter Hustle.
None of them have as much of a stake in it as I do.
The Hustle is the only way for gods to climb up the hierarchy and get better positions. Once every year, a hundred humans are summoned from random points in time and space on Earth, and it’s first come first serve for whoever gods wants to pick them as “worshipers.”
Over the course of the year, the hundred gods train their worshipers to battle against each other. Physical combat is pretty popular, but that’s not the only type of battling that can happen. Artists can create masterpieces to dazzle the audience, musicians can play songs to swoon the hearts of the judges, psychiatrists can open up mental wounds in their opponents and leave them crying babies on the battlefield. It can get pretty intense.
At the end of the year is the final competition, and whoever wins gets a seat on the Pantheon, no longer a demi-god, but a true god.
This is my chance to show those other cocky gods who’s who. To show them that even someone like me can become just as powerful as they are. All I need is a halfway decent human, and I might have a chance!
The only problem is that it looks like I’m too late.
I skid to a stop at the entrance of the Temple, a massive marble building flanked with columns and giant steps leading up to its wide-open entrance. There should be a huge crowd here, welcoming all the new entrants and their humans.
Instead, there’s nothing but the leftovers of a celebration long dead. Sparkles and streamers lay abandoned on the ground, and a banner that must’ve been above the entrance now lies flaccid on the steps. There’s not a single god or human in sight.
Victor, that successful bastard! If he just didn’t show up early, then none of this would have happened.
Or maybe, being who I am, I just didn’t have a choice.
With only a tiny ounce of hope propelling me forward, I leap up the stairs and into the Temple, crying out for the God of Tournaments.
“Leroy!” I yell, my voice echoing through the open temple. There’s nothing inside except scuff marks and some odd grease stains on the floor and statues of previous god-winners and their human worshipers. “Leroy! I’m here! Is there anyone left for me to—”
Smack! I crash right into a massive block of solid god. Leroy appears in front of me, in his full god splendor. Being a true god, he’s twice my size, with a golden glow instead of a white one. His body is bronzed all over, and he’s holding a bucket of chicken in one arm while eating it with the other. Similar to the Blueberries God, the chicken falls right through him onto the ground. Still not sure why they do that.
“Oh, it’s you, Teddie,” he says between bites, looking down at me with his mighty eyes and mighty beard that has flakes of fried chicken stuck in it. “You’re late, you know.”
“I’m not late,” I grumble, rubbing my head. “Victor was just early.”
“Excuses are the mother of failure,” Leroy says, waving a greasy finger at me. “You of all gods should know that best.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I grumble. “So, is there anyone left for me to take?”
Leroy wobbles his head and licks his fingers. “Sorry, but you missed out, Ted. You can always try again next year, if you’d like. Just try to be on time for once.”
Anger pumps through my nonexistent veins and arteries. I don’t want to wait another year. I waited long enough to just get to this point!
“Please, Leroy!” I beg, getting down on my knees and shuffling toward him. “You gotta help me out here.”
Leroy sighs and looks like he’s about to shoo me away again, when suddenly he taps his chiseled chin and gives a small nod.
“Well,” he says slowly. “There is one person left over, if you—”
“Yes!” I yell, jumping to my feet. “I’ll take them! I don’t care who it is. Just give them to me, please!”
“Are you sure?” Leroy asks, squinting at me. “You know what happens if you come in last place, right?”
Of course I know what happens if you come in last place. You’re banished from Hereafter and sent back to Earth. It’s the only way to keep balance. The number one winner becomes a new true god, and the number one loser has to leave forever.
But it’s worth it. I have to get revenge.
“I don’t care,” I tell Leroy. “Give them to me.”
Leroy shrugs and his bucket of chicken disappears in a flash. “All right. Just don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”
With a snap of his fingers, Leroy vanishes, and he’s replaced by a human who doesn’t even come up to my shoulders. She’s a teenage girl, wearing glasses, braces, and crutches under both of her arms. Her shirt has a pony pooping out rainbows, and her legs are mostly covered in white casts. The top of her head is a mushroom cloud of frizzy black hair.
Some demigods get famous historical figures, like Abraham Lincoln or Genghis Khan. Some of them get great minds like Einstein or Beethoven. Some of them get soldiers or warriors or cowboys or even electricians.
It looks like I’m stuck with a nerd girl.
She crosses her arms the best she can, still leaning on her crutches, glaring at me with the full blessing of The Goddess of Sass behind her.
“Okay,” she says in a squeaky voice. “Maybe you can tell me what the hell is going on here? That other guy just called me ‘defective’ and hid me in a corner!”
I resist the urge to sigh. I’d asked for this. I could’ve said no, but here I am, getting what I deserve. Because I’m the God of Failure.
“All right, listen to me,” I tell her. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. You’re going to have to do some fighting, but if you win, you’ll get an amazing prize.”
“First off, my name’s Agnes, you weirdo,” she says, righting herself on her crutches. “Second of all, what’s the prize?”
I smirk at her, remembering how I used to be. “The prize is you get to become a god.”
Agnes stares at me, then bursts out laughing, barely able to stand up straight on her crutches.
“Okay, yeah, whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes. “What’s really going on here?”
“I’m serious,” I tell her, putting on my most emotionless face. She stops chuckling and stares at me curiously this time.
“Wait, for real?” she asks quietly. “How do you know?”
I grin. “Because it’s what I did, Agnes. I used to be a human, and now I’m a god.”
END OF CHAPTER 1
Be sure to check out the video to see other ways the story could’ve gone, and for a live reading!
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you join us on Twitch.
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
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