The Soul Auction

There was a loud pop, like the sound of hopes and dreams being crushed, and suddenly a god wearing a white business suit was standing at the top of a stairway leading down to a theater stage. He had the look of someone unsure whether he existed—until an usher walked up.

"Name and designation, if you please?" the usher asked with a bow.

Appearing lost in thought, the god replied, "What. God of Mysteries, Universe Unknowable." He then licked the air, paused, and looked around as if the flavor of the room needed more salt.

The usher oozed robotic professionalism as he smiled and gestured for the god to follow him. "Right this way," he said with the practiced grace of someone who had long since given up asking questions about life.

The god was led to an aisle near the back and handed a large bidding paddle. Upon grasping the handle, the text, "WHAT" faded into existence on the front.

This conjured an involuntary chortle from the usher, quickly stifled as he remembered his professionalism. He was, after all, a serious usher. A dignified usher. An usher who most certainly does not laugh at the names of gods. No, sir.

He then bowed deeply and backed away with the hurried caution of someone who had just dropped a dead rat into the mouth of a crocodile. Upsetting gods is usually how one ends up... less than one.

As WHAT sat down, he noticed a number of confident-looking gods being shown to their seats.

"Dammit!  Does everyone know?" WHAT thought. His hopes of getting a bargain were diminishing faster than a wheel of cheese at a lizardman bar.

Just as he had that thought, WHAT's third-worst nightmare popped into existence two seats away, holding a paddle that read, "HECK."

"Aw, Heck!" proclaimed WHAT, knowing his chances of getting a deal had just become as likely as getting a triple conqueror from a soul gacha.

With a smile and a shrug that gushed, "Sorry, not sorry," the god holding "HECK" simply stated, "What."

As the two glared at each other, another god wiggled herself into existence in the seat between them, wearing a red dress. She was holding a paddle that read, "THEE."

Both WHAT and HECK quietly uttered, "Thee," in unison, as if this god's appearance were as unexpected as a dropped object rolling under the desk in front of you—because, of course.

THEE nodded to her left and said simply, "What," then to her right, "Heck." Then all three faced forward in expectation.

There really were going to be a lot of coins spent today.

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The auctioneer—a short, chubby fellow with absurdly large, pointed ears—stood proudly at the podium and declared, "Gods, goddesses, and vague, unfathomable beings, welcome to the Soul Auction!"

His voice, smooth as churning unicorn milk, dripped with theatrical importance. "As I'm sure most of you know, today is the day—the one you've all been waiting for."

He paused, scanning the disastrously mixed crowd—many of whom looked like they belonged inside a claw machine—before delivering his big announcement:

"The Soul Auction is delighted to announce that we are now offering souls from Earth!"

The crowd murmured. Mooed. Clucked. And, in a few cases, vibrated—violently.

The auctioneer continued, "It took just under a million Earth years to sort and categorize them all—and wow, this should be exciting!" He spoke with the experienced air of a man who enjoyed unnecessary drama.

He smiled, caught his breath, and went on, "If you don't know the story of Earth, it was a world in a universe without magic." He waved a hand in the air, as if beseeching the heavens to rain down suckers. "And yet, against all odds, some of the creatures that lived there managed to set foot on their moon!"

He paused, seeming to lock eyes with WHAT, THEE, and HECK before continuing. "They even developed highly advanced, entirely non-magical technologies that allowed them to broadcast their grievances about the state of the world from the toilet—in real time." He stressed "non-magical" like it was the scandalous, secret ingredient to kakistocracy.

Hushed murmurs—and stranger sounds—rippled through the crowd as WHAT and HECK instinctively leaned forward, then subtly turned to exchange a glance—unbidden.

"Wow! How'd they do that without magic‽" asked an elaborately horned goddess in overalls to nobody in particular. Then a tiny god, perched atop another god's shoulder, leapt over and explained, "They taught the rocks to think."

"Ah, yes," she responded, nodding sagely—as if that explained everything.

The auctioneer cleared his throat, adjusted his cuffs, and straightened his notes with the air of someone about to deliver divine revelation. "They had many thousands of religions..."

The crowd erupted into titters, chuckles, and the occasional honking laugh that sounded suspiciously like a goose being throttled.

Unfazed, the auctioneer continued, "...and every non-magical profession you can imagine—engineers, veterinarians, and influencers." He lingered on the last word as if it were more exotic than a variegated pink potato—which, to be fair, isn't all that different from an influencer.

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WHAT, THEE, and HECK all waited patiently while souls were auctioned off. The most notable sales were as follows:

* One thousand INFLUENCER souls sold for 1,301 coins, resulting in the winner being ejected from the auction after it was explained to them what an influencer actually is.
* A "curated" package of a thousand librarians sold for 2,301 coins—an absurdly low price.
* One thousand thieves sold for 30 coins, after the auctioneer assured a bidder that they were indeed "honorable among themselves."

With the opening portion of the auction concluded, the auctioneer roughly combined the sales figures in his mind—and was struck by a realization: With sales this low, he would likely be roughly combined, and also concluded.

He shook some decorum into himself, donned his best everything-is-fine smile, and announced, "After a brief intermission, we will return with more souls. Winning bidders, please see the divine bursar to collect and pay for your acquisitions."

He bowed deeply, then hurried offstage as if his pants had suddenly caught fire.

Which they had.

WHAT, THEE, and HECK stood up and looked at each other.

"Shall we try our luck in the arcade while we wait?" asked HECK.

The other two gods nodded, and all three popped out of existence—only to reappear simultaneously inside the Soul Arcade across the street from the Soul Auction House. The arcade boasted an absurdly high ceiling and was packed with machines engineered to capture the attention—and coins—of gods.

Rainbows arched across nearly every surface, and the air thrummed with carefully curated sounds, selected to delight the divine: Rolling thunder, fingers snapping, and, "Wilhelm scream".

They looked around, marveling at the options.

"Lots of new stuff since the last time we were here," WHAT remarked, eyeing a particularly ornate RAINBOW VOMIT game—which was, quite literally, itching for his attention, scratching its chin with a seductive grin.

"That one looks intense!" he added, staring at it, mouth agape, suddenly overcome with the urge to part with some spare coins.

"I actually come here all the time," said THEE, and both WHAT and HECK turned to look at her.

THEE shrugged and gave them the most sensible explanation ever uttered by a god: "I like the Soul Gacha machines."

Both WHAT and HECK opened their mouths and tilted their heads upward, as if to say, "Ah, of course."

Distracted from his RAINBOW VOMIT daze, WHAT suggested they head over to the Soul Gachas. "I could do with some random disappointment."

"Indeed," said HECK, nodding weirdly in agreement. Despite existing for billions of Earth years, HECK still hadn't quite gotten the hang of simple gestures.

Arriving at the Soul Gacha area, they were animatedly surprised to see a gray-haired god wearing a toolbelt striding away from a brand-new EARTH SOUL gacha toy capsule machine. All three beamed with excitement and erupted into their own celebratory dances:

* WHAT leapt into the air, fist raised triumphantly, both legs bent back at the knee—then simply hovered there, frozen mid-pose.
* THEE flashed a wide grin, her eyes stretching comically wide as she let out an open-mouthed gasp. She then threw her hands into the air and shouted, "YAY!"
* HECK performed a breakdancing routine.  Poorly.

"LUCKY!" WHAT exclaimed, placing his feet back on the floor. "Who wants to go first?"

"WHO isn't here, old timer," joked HECK as he approached the oddly plain machine, slipped a coin into the slot, and turned the handle. A small plastic capsule tumbled into the retrieval orifice—yes, that's both what it's called and what it looks like—where HECK excitedly reached in and pulled it out. He popped it open, and a balloon began to inflate as all three gods watched in anticipation, waiting for the text that would reveal the type of soul inside.

The word "POLITICIAN" faded into existence on the side of the now-full balloon. It floated upward, and HECK lazily grabbed the attached string in disappointment.

"Better luck next time, loser!" WHAT derided as he fed a coin into the machine, cranked the handle, and obtained his prize.

He impatiently popped it open, and the balloon inflated to reveal: "CHICKEN SEXER."

"CHICKEN SEXER‽ What in the name of FRICK is a chicken sexer‽" THEE asked, gobsmacked. "What were those souls on Earth even doing‽"

WHAT licked the balloon and paused—unsure what to think of it—then nodded solemnly, "A collectible." He gave a thumbs-up.

"My turn!" THEE said, bouncing on her heels as she put her coin into the slot and turned the handle. She opened her plastic container, and all three watched as the balloon inflated.

A moment later, the word "PIRATE" faded into existence on its surface.

"Wow!" THEE exclaimed. "I wonder what kind of vessel they sailed on? Ooh! Maybe I got a proper swashbuckler!" She grinned, summoned a stick into her free hand, and lunged at HECK in mock combat. HECK responded by making one of his arms fall off and clutching at the empty socket in extremely awkward, exaggerated agony. It was more of a zombie impression.

THEE held the balloon out toward WHAT and asked, "Do you mind?" She doubled the size of her eyes, then reached behind her head, pulled out a literal pouty face, and put it on.

"Alright. Give it here," WHAT said, grabbing the balloon with both hands. He gave it a long, slow lick, then stood still for a moment, staring into the distance with a deeply ponderous expression.

Finally, he turned to THEE and asked, "How much do you know about copyright law?"

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All three gods returned to the auction, with WHAT proudly displaying the CHICKEN SEXER balloon in his hand. In less time than it takes to fall into the void, a short, gremlin-like god wearing a top hat and monocle spotted it and bellowed, "HOW DID YOU GET THAT BALLOON‽ That's an Earth-exclusive soul!"

WHAT just smiled, turned to his companions, and said, "My lips are sealed." Without missing a beat, he transformed his lips into a zipper and summoned a tiny seal, which promptly pulled it shut. The seal made a rude gesture before poofing out of existence.

THEE chortled while the top-hatted god scoffed and shot HECK a pleading look. HECK grinned, sprouted arms from his head, and covered his eyes, pretending he hadn’t seen a thing.

With the pound of a gavel that let out an undignified squeak, the auctioneer announced, "Gods, please return to your seats. We will now resume the auction as per the schedule."

Then, faster than a smite can be used to avoid embarrassment, every god was back in their assigned position. Gods really don't need much time to get seated.

The auctioneer paused, putting on his best let's-get-this-over-with-before-I'm-turned-into-a-fish-again face, then announced the next round of souls.

"For this round, we'll be offering up some special individuals," he said with a smile, catching his breath before adding, "as well as a few small bundles of atheists."

"FRICKIN' FINALLY!" exclaimed the god in a top hat and monocle.

Then, once again, the auctioneer seemed to look directly at WHAT, THEE, and HECK—just long enough for WHAT to think, Does this guy think we're rich or something?

Which, if he did, would be correct.

The "specials" were certainly interesting, but WHAT, THEE, and HECK knew that just because you got your hands on a DESPOT soul didn't mean they'd pull that off again in their next life. No, what they wanted were "TRIPLE" souls—those who had repeated the same or similar achievements in three consecutive lives. This all but guaranteed not only predictable behavior, but more importantly, a result.

WHAT's experience with triple souls had taught him exactly what to expect from such individuals, and he knew they were worth every coin. In this chaotic multiverse, it was the closest thing to a guaranteed outcome you could get—and he wanted some.  Badly. Desperately, even!

He also knew THEE and HECK were here for the same reason. He could only hope the triples they were after fell into completely different categories.

The auction then resumed, selling the "specials." There were a few notable events:

* The god with a top hat and monocle won a batch of 100 transgender engineers for 330,000 coins, narrowly outbidding THEE—who literally threw an angry face at him, which, unbeknownst to him, stuck to his back and would occasionally make fart sounds.
* THEE outbid a sentient vortex to win 100 therapists for 11,000 coins. She said it was "an investment in long-term emotional infrastructure."
* A cube-shaped entity won 100 mime souls for the starting bid of 1,000 coins. When asked why, it responded by saying absolutely nothing.
* HECK won a batch of 100 atheists for 103,000 coins after making a sad, pleading face at the god he was bidding against—who mistook it for a threatening glare.

Then, it finally came: The auctioneer pulled out a handful of small, shiny black index cards labeled "SPECIAL SPECIAL" in gold lettering, and the lights dimmed momentarily as he did so.

Excellent showmanship, thought WHAT.

The auctioneer, pleased that he'd only had his pants set on fire once today, cleared his throat and squeaked his gavel. "We will now begin the final round of auctions: These are the most special of special souls." He grinned and spoke in a loud whisper, "The triples."

The crowd of gods didn't make a sound but instead stared so intently at the auctioneer that he could feel a gentle tugging sensation, as if he were being slowly and carefully pulled into the mouth of a dire silverfish.

Nervously hurrying along the schedule, he said, "Up first: A triple atheist." Just then, his bunny assistant rolled out a cart bearing a single, pure white balloon labeled "TRIPLE ATHEIST." It was attached to a certification scroll, carefully placed on top of a fancy red pillow.

The crowd erupted with desire. WHAT noted that, for once, the auction house employees were well-prepared—already out with mops to clean up the drool.

"We'll start the bidding at one million coins," the auctioneer stated nervously, knowing that prices this high could result in spontaneous combustion.

WHAT raised his paddle immediately and glared around the room as if daring someone to challenge him. He made a note to give HECK an extra-long look. HECK just shrugged back.

THEE started to raise her paddle, and WHAT opened his eyes wide, quickly shaking his head. "I'll let you borrow them!"

THEE squinted and gave WHAT a look that clearly said, I'm going to hold you to that, before lowering her paddle.

Thank FRICK! Can't run out of funds this early, WHAT thought with a sigh of relief.

The auctioneer tried to haggle with the crowd. "Can I get two million? One and a half million?" He looked around, trying to make eye contact with as many rich-looking gods as he could.

"No more bidders? Triple atheists don't come along very often, folks! This is an individual with skepticism written into their very soul!" he said, thrusting his fist into the air. "Just the thing to spice up a stagnating society!"

"One point one million?" he pleaded.

His pants caught on fire.

He pounded his squeaky gavel on his pants to put out the flames and announced, "SOLD! To WHAT, god of mysteries."

While the auctioneer continued trying to extinguish the fire, the bunny assistant wheeled out the next soul—a balloon labeled TRIPLE VILLAIN.

As soon as the text on the balloon became visible, the crowd gasped so hard it sucked the auctioneer right off the stage.

After putting out the fire and collecting himself back onstage, the auctioneer saw no reason to rile up the crowd any further. He simply stated, "We'll start the bidding on the triple villain at five million coins."

At that moment, WHAT stood up and announced to the entire crowd of gods, "I got this CHICKEN SEXER soul at the Soul Arcade across the street. There's a brand-new Earth Souls gacha that was just installed."

There was a crescendo of popping—like the sound of a hundred cockroaches being crushed beneath a gigantic boot—and soon the only gods remaining in the auction house were WHAT, THEE, and HECK.