A/N: Okay, first of all this story is set at the beginning of the show and from then onwards. It is a what if that includes elements more than just Alex Mercer, a multi verse if you will. Events will change and character backgrounds might be filled in for characters that are just in the background of the show most of the time. Also, the content in this prologue do not reflect my actual beliefs and I am sorry if I offend anyone of a certain culture. I do not own anything in this story and they belong to their respectful owners.

I hope you enjoy :)

A Mare's Flu

Prologue: It Began With Two Accents

Far away from the cosmos that we call home is a place outside time, space and matter. A place that mortal minds can only dream of as they wonder deeply about the mysteries of the next life. A place that some mortals, who shake their heads at the ideas of a higher, unseen power, do not believe in.

What is this place that I speak of? Some call it heaven; some call it hell and some call it...Well, whatever you prefer, it is the place where the gods, of all beliefs and religions, come to pass judgement on all the departed souls. To all of the eternal beings who came to collect the souls of their believers, they called the place that I speak of 'Death's Court'. And this is where our story starts, on that fateful day that changed the lives of many souls forever.

That day didn't start as it usually did at Death's Court. True, the many Gods arrived at Death's home. The main room was still round in shape and the walls were made of dark smoke and the mangled bodies of those who lived with no belief, passion or life. The many rows of podiums that lined against the wall, that circled the middle of the room, were still black as the night, the darkest being the highest podium that towered over the rest, the podium of Death himself.

But as each god took their place, they started to notice something strange about Death. For one, his face wasn't sunken in and hollow. On the contrary, his face was young, round and cheerful. His hair was also not its usual wispy grey. No, it was light brown and short as cut grass. Another blatantly obvious difference was that he wasn't wearing his black, pinned striped suit. Quite the opposite, he had a colourful silk waistcoat which covered a black shirt, while a deerstalker hat was sitting on the edge of his podium.

Before any of the Gods could address this, the being standing in Death's podium cleared his throat and began to speak.

"'Allo, ladies and gentlemen, glad you all could make it."

Cockney

Out of his strange appearance and clothes, this proved to the gods that this wasn't Death.

Death. Wasn't. Cockney.

The tumult was deafening, the noise that would shatter the very bodies of mortals, as the immortals showed their outrage.

"Who are you and where is Death?" Cried a bearded god, whose hands were crackling with electricity as lightning bolts appeared in his hand.

"How dare you mock us and Lord Death!" Roared a deity who had a huge elephant head, who banged his fist upon the edge of his podium.

"Where are the souls of my subjects?!" Shouted an old warrior god, whose only eye was burning with rage.

But amidst the verbal chaos of deities demanding for answers and souls, one being was still calm and collected. With a subtle yet powerful ease, he raised his hand and said, in a relaxing and charismatic tone, "Peace, fellow gods, peace." Surprisingly, the other deities quelled their tempers and silence fell instantly. When all eyes turned to the speaker, he spoke again in his soothing yet instructing voice. "Perhaps it would be better if we let our dear friend explain himself, rather than pointlessly argue."

The being standing on Death's podium, who looked flustered from trying to make his voice heard over the tumult, sighed in relief. "Ta, Mister Buddha, sir." The Buddha nodded politely to the cockney man. After a moment of nervous hesitation, the man cleared his throat and began to address the crowd of impatient deities.

"Well, umm, ladies and gents, my name's Mulberry. Sorry about the confusion, I know you were expecting my dad..."

"Mulberry," interrupted the white bearded god. "Aren't you the son of Spring, the cousin of my brother's wife, Persephone?"

"Yes," nervously replied the cockney man. "But that's not really..."

But he was interrupted again, this time by the one eyed god, who boomed, "Does that mean you are that bastard child we thought dead, born from the intercourse that Death and Spring denied had ever occurred?"

Mulberry raised an eye brow and folded his arms. "Oi," he grumbled in a peeved tone, "there's no need for the word bastard, umm...Odin, innit? True, ma and pa ain't married, but that's not the point. I'm here because my pa passed his job to me..."

Boy, what a rude bunch, thought Mulberry, as the elephant headed god slammed his fist onto the podium again. "This is an outrage; I thought Yama was supposed to take the mantle of Death after Ankou had stepped down!"

"No, Ganesha," Growled Odin as he glared at Mulberry. "The agreement was that Zeus' brother, Hades, was next. Then Hel, my niece, Osiris and finally Yama. This...Mulberry has no right to assume the mantle of Death!"

This was met with many cries of approval, nods of agreement and many sour looks that were aimed at the poor son of Death. Mulberry sighed and shook his head. He had expected this to happen, knew that his father's brash actions would land him in hot water. He saw this very scene in his mind eye when his dad explained to him the truth, that the title of Death was usually cycled around the gods instead of being handed down from father to son.

When the cockney boy asked his pa about why he was giving him the title, breaking the rules that the gods had made many years ago, he replied. "Most of the other gods of death are just stuck up ponces. They use the position of Death to grab more souls for their religion's heaven or hell, even if the soul never believed in the religion in the first place. Most of the older gods do it, since most of their religions either died out or got bumped to the sidelines by Christianity. The current system has only been fair because the big cheese made me, a lonely Grim Reaper, Death. And though you're the worst Grim Reaper that ever existed, you've a just heart and an annoying persistence that will stop the others from bullying you."

Mulberry's dad had then given him a light hug, and whispered that no matter what happened he would always be proud of his son. And that memory was what gave Mulberry the confidence that was rising in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he glared down at the other deities with a cheery grin on his face.

"Well it's a shame for Hades, 'cause my dad gave me his mantle and apparently that means it's final." His tone was not mocking or conniving, but it wasn't as upbeat as it usually was. He kept his seemingly happy posture as the other gods began to shout once more.

"You're father has no right to give you the crown of Death," growled Zeus. "My brother was chosen to be next, as we agreed..."

"Like I said," cut in Mulberry, shrugging as he did so. "A shame for him and the others. But pa's got the approval of the big cheese, and that's final...apparently."

After those words, silence fell. Mulberry knew that he had won. All of the Gods knew that they had no choice but to let the cockney man be the judge. Ever since the...'big cheese' had done what he did, his power and influence had far over taken the other gods. Odin, Zeus and Ganesha dropped their assault, keeping their bitter thoughts to themselves. Buddha, along with the calmer gods, bowed their heads in acknowledge; as they could clearly tell that Mulberry himself had had no say in the matter either.

Though that was the case, Mulberry was kept going by the need to make his father proud. He would not mess up.

With peace now restored, the cockney being turned his eyes to the centre of the room. The pin point of his gaze was fixed upon a giant, water coloured crystal that was as tall as the court itself. Some Gods called it the River Styx or the Weight of Justice—the point being that this crystal is where all departed souls go after their body expired. They were guided to the crystal by the Grim Reapers and he, Death, had to decide which soul belonged to which god so they could pass judgement on the soul. Or if the soul belonged to no religion, banish them into the wall of the court room, aka Limbo. That was something Mulberry didn't want to do.

Gathering his wits, the new cockney Death took another deep breath and—

"Oh, am I late?"

Of all that could have happened, none of the gods could have expected what came next. Not even Mulberry, as he turned his eyes to the source of the voice; thinking that he had just heard a scouse accent.

Whatever accent it was, the son of Death was still in for a slight shock. Standing at the entrance of the courtroom was a thin, lanky middle age man. He had long blonde hair that reached to his hips at the back of his head, while his fringe was completely shaved. This left his forehead in plain sight, not to mention his lazy left eye, which was amber, and his completely normal eye, which was sea blue. Another strange feature about his face was that his lips seemed stitched, like there were invisible needles that were holding his broad smile in place. And his clothes...well, they were bizarre! He wore a suit that had black-scaly shoulders and furry-brown sleeves, along with red feathered trousers and a green-shell patterned tank top.

As all the deities stared at the new arrival, baffled and confused by his appearance, the stranger put his hands on his hips and asked, in a thick scouse accent. "What 'u staring at?" He then took a glance behind himself. "No, seriously, what are 'u staring at? My vision ain't exactly—Dag nabit!" The stranger cried out in exasperation, as his sea blue eye suddenly went out of focus like his lazy eye. "Stupid things, they always do this no matter what form I'm in!"

While he began to slap both of his temples, the gods continued to gaze at the bizarre scouse being. Only gods were allowed in Death's Court and like Mulberry, none of the deities recognised the newcomer.

"Hold on," he muttered triumphantly. "I just need to look out the corner of my eyes..." Straightening up, with a pained look on his face, the weird man's eyes began to centre themselves. "Boss, now I can see..." He stopped, his eyes darting around the room with distain. "Wow, yews are butt ugly." He didn't even try and lower his voice or hide the amazement in his voice. "And I thought my form sucked, yews look like Michael Jackson after he turned white!" When no one retorted, as they all began to summon their anger, the scouse man quietly asked, "Too soon?"

For a third time, the court of gods burst into a chorus of rage. Not even the Buddha could calm the swarm of angry deities as they shouted and screamed, "Who are you!?" "How dare you mock the Gods!" "Identify yourself, Liverpudlian!" "What's a Liverpudlian?!"

During this stifling commotion, Mulberry managed to make his voice heard. "Jackson didn't look that bad."

Despite the tumult, the stranger somehow managed to hear the cockney accented voice above all the others. Turning his eyes, which had both gone out of focus again, towards Death's podium, he replied incredulously, "Did you see his nose? It looked like it was gonna fall off!" He paused for a second. "Wait...Since when was Death...Cockney?"

"I'm his son," explained Mulberry, in a friendly tone (which was barely audible over the noise). "He gave me his title 'cause he needs a rest."

"Not surprised," chortled the stranger, giddily. "I would need a break after looking at all these putrid mugs. And is it just my eyes, or does one of them actually have an elephant head?" After Mulberry nodded, the scouse man's smile grew. "Well, I must say, he's the handsomest of the lot!"

This did not flatter Ganesha, whose grey- elephant skin began to blotch red with fury. Grinding his tusks together, the Hindu god glared at the newcomer and bellowed, louder than the rest, "FOR THE LOVE OF MY STRENGTH AND BROTHERS, WHO ARE YOU!" His voice quietened the other gods, at the price of making every ear ring with pain.

The blonde man rubbed his ears, his mismatch eyes spinning in all directions. "Geez, luv, no need to shout." His tone, though irritated, seemed to have an absent minded quality about it. At first, due to the noise and the thickness of the accent, Mulberry hadn't notice this subtle quality of the stranger's voice. But now he did, there was an unease that was tingling down his spine. Others may equate the stranger's voice to his clothes and apparent attitude, either carelessly ignorant or naively stupid. But the son of Death knew a thing or two about playing the fool, using his charm and humour to hide or evade suspicion. It was because of this that the stranger's absent minded undertone of his voice, along with his lazy eyes and whacky dress code, came across more...conniving, secretive and deceiving.

Mulberry barely had any more time to speculate the Stanger's intentions, when the said scouser—with his eyes still pointing the wrong way—aimed his face in the direction of Ganesha. "Alright, elephant head..." The said god scowled. "...I'll tell you who I am." The stranger, while all the gods gazed at him, suddenly bent his knees like he was about to jump. He stayed in this position for a few long seconds, his face screwed up in concentration. Then, with his eyes still closed, he turned his head to stare at his own, bare back. "Wait a second," he muttered slowly and dimwittedly. "I don't have wings in this form."

He cursed in a low undertone; the exact words he used were somehow unable to reach the ears of the gods. Straitening up, he started scratching his blonde haired head. It didn't take long before an idea seemed to spring into his questionable absent mind. Grinning with pure giddiness, the stranger raised a hand to his mouth and, to the shock of his audience, pulled it clean from his face. There was no blood, but the gaping hole above the Stanger's chin managed to unsettle the gods with the weakest stomachs.

Completely unnerved by his own rather gruesome action, the blonde stranger aimed his eyes in two different directions, raised the hand that held his mouth and threw it at Ganesha. The Hindu god didn't flinch as the incoming mouth landed on the edge of his podium. Nor did he react when the lips stared to move on their own, the scouser's voice flowing from them like they were still attached to his face. "Ah, there's no better way of sending a message than by word of mouth. Okay, you handsome bastard, lean in so I can tell you what you want to know."

At these words, Ganesha's eyes seemed to flicker with anticipation. While trying to keep his composer, the god slowly lowered his grey skinned ears to the unattached mouth. For a few seconds, as his ginormous ears hung a few inches above the lips, there was only silence. Then...

"It's none of your damn business."

These whispered words barely reached the god's ears before the stranger's mouth suddenly burst into a cloud of bubbles. Ganesha, with the speed of a bullet, snapped his ears and tusks away from the sudden wave of soap bubbles; fearing that the little water spheres would cause some unexplainable rash if they touched his greying skin. But all they did, as they floated past the god's trunk, was burst into nothingness; not even leaving a speck of flying water on the wood of Ganesha's podium.

After a few seconds, after every god stared at the place where the bubbles had popped, immortal eyes were turned back to the Stanger. A mouth had appeared on his face, which had the same stitched smile quality about it, but the lips were now smeared a lightning yellow, rather than a pale red. The scouse man, seemingly unaware that Ganesha was hurling daggers from his reddening eyes, spun his defocused eyes in Mulberry's direction. "Alright, lad, let's get down to b..."

But once more, the ears of all the gods were harassed by the bellowing cry of the god of strength. "DON'T IGNORE ME!" Cried Ganesha; his voice seemingly reverberating off the walls of the courtroom a thousand times. "I DEMAND TO KNOW WHO...!"

"I TOLD YOU!" Suddenly roared the stranger who turned his face—which was now etched with irritation—towards the elephant headed god. His eyes were now centred properly and gleaming with annoyance, though his smile was still unnaturally plastered above his chin. "I'M REINCARNATION, DUMBO!" His eyes then lazily spun out of focus again and his brief anger vanished in a flash. Shaking his head, the so called Reincarnation muttered, "Wow, I never thought that that Disney movie would hold water. Elephants are airheads."

Ganesha would have let lose his temper again if his mind wasn't occupied with the same questions that all of the gods in the room had. His name is Reincarnation? But how can that be? The idea of a mortal being given a new life after they had died was as old as the gods themselves. While it perplexed the gods of Death and Death himself (that being Mulberry); this revelation managed to get under the skin of many immortal beings, the Buddha being one of the many. Even though this didn't anger him that this stranger dared to use a belief of his own religion, it still seemed odd that he had never heard of a being whose name suggested that he governs an idea that was a part of many old religions.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation—in which the blonde scouser closed his eyes and began snoring, swaying two and through while his feet stayed planted on the floor—Mulberry broke the silence. Keeping his tone cheerfully curious, though cheerful he was not, the new Death asked, "Excuse me, but how does that work, exactly? 'Cause I know for a fact that most of these here gents..." He pointed at the Buddha as an example. "...'Ave reincarnation, rebirth..."

But the cockney lord of Death stopped, his sentence trailing away as he noticed that Reincarnation was still asleep; his eyes shut closed while his little 'z' started floating from his open mouth. Mulberry was about to try and wake the scouser up, when the said blonde raised a sleepy hand into the air. "ZZZ...Carry...on..." he mumbled; saliva dripping from the edge of his lip. "I'm...ZZZ...Listening..."

I highly doubt that, mate. Thought Mulberry as he watched the raised hand fall lazily back to Reincarnation's side. But for some reason, the new lord of Death decided to carry on anyway. "Like I was saying, most religions 'ave reincarnation as a part of the belief. How can you claim to be the God of Reincarnation when no god has ever heard of you?"

"Market Research, my lad."

Mulberry eyes widened a little as he was both surprised that the blonde scouser had replied so quickly after seemingly being so drowsy and by the answer the man had given. He wasn't the only one. Every God glared down at the bizarrely dressed being, whose face was still holding a wooden smile—that only Mulberry could see— and a pair of lazy, dysfunctional eyes.

After straightening his brown furred and black scaled suit, Reincarnation cleared his throat, licked his yellow lips and began to explain what he meant, in his absent minded tone of voice. "Ya see, the big cheese up top..." He pointed a finger to the floor. "...Saw that many mortals who believe in Reincarnation are mostly atheists. So not only were they ignoring the cheese, but they were ignoring Mr Buddha over there." He nodded in the Buddha's direction; whose eyes widened with concern. "By the way, how are you here? You are technically not a –ANYWAY... So, 'cause he's such a compassionate old fuss pot, he pulled me outta some cloud formations and gave me the position of 'God who is a God of a non-religious belief which is believed by people who want a free gender change'." Reincarnation bit the edge of his smiling lip, his brow wrinkled in disappointment. "Not that I don't mind being created and all, but after getting a head for universal accents I am a bit pissed that I wasn't given a Welsh accent. A sing song voice fits a God who sorts out if a mortal comes back as a panda or a lemur, don't you agree?"

This question fell upon unimpressed ears, as the Gods all looked down distastefully at Reincarnation. For most of them, even the Buddha, felt a twinge of anger that the 'big cheese' had used his power and authority to undermine them again. The souls of atheists were the most flexible souls to take. Unknown to Mulberry, whose father had never told him what happens after a non-believer is cast into the walls of the courtroom, the Gods secretly fought over the souls in the wall of Limbo.

If an atheist has led a barren life, or a life not fully lived at all, then a soul like that get's neglected and left in the wall. But if a soul has been good and pure, then the Gods fight over the right to bring that soul into their heaven. Once a single deity has taken a pure soul, then it is theirs to own. But if there was ever a soul who never believed in any god and had committed heinous acts of sin and murder...then the gods would pull that soul apart. And as each god took each piece, torn uncaringly from the black soul, they would take it to their respective hell. The torn, broken soul would then spend eternity experiencing the torments of a thousand, different hells.

And now this God, Reincarnation, seemingly had power over the souls that in the past have been up for grabs. Sure, not every mortal believed in reincarnation...but no god knew how many did.

While the Gods brooded over this, Mulberry broke the silence by answering Reincarnation's question. "It does sound like the perfect accent for you..." The corners of Reincarnation's smile seemed to extend further in appreciation of Death's comment. "...If you really are who you say you are."

While his stitched smile remained, the blonde's eyes seem to swivel in irritation in all directions. "Oi, are you calling me a fibber? Are you such a divvy that you can't tell the symbolism in my get up?" He then began prodding individual parts of his clothes, his voice somehow staying very absentminded while having an angry undertone that didn't seem natural, like it was forced. "These phoenix-feathered trousers symbolise rising from the ashes. This shell patterned shirt is like a turtles shell, that it's...umm...Round! Like the circle of life. And this snake skin is about...umm... shedding it off for something new underneath...I think. And these monkey-fur sleeves show...umm...Evolution."

Needless to say, Mulberry wasn't impressed. While the rest of the Gods just snorted at Reincarnation's apparent naivety, the cockney man felt like the blonde was just trying to change the subject. "Not to be rude," began Mulberry in a civil tone. "But I don't wear my waistcoat for symbolism. It's because I like waistcoats."

"And I have a fetish for symbolist clothing," replied Reincarnation, with a shrug. "It's not the weirdest fetish I have, but it's still a fetish."

"But how do you know about fetishes?"

This question made the scouser's wide smile, for the first time before the God's eyes, falter. It only happened for a second and only a few immortals saw it, but it still happened. Quick to make up for his tell, Reincarnation hurriedly mumbles, "What do you mean?" His voice still sounded a bit slow-witted, but the nervous undertone sounded more real than the other undertones.

"Well, if you were really made from clouds by the big cheese, then you shouldn't have a set personality, tastes or likes. My dad, the old Death, was originally a Grim Reaper created from stone by a god who had the title of Death at the time. It took him a good century of experiencing the world of mortals and interacting with the other deities before he got a personality. Even my personality was shaped by experience, and I was born naturally. Well, as naturally as it comes to deity birth, anyway. My point is, if you were made from clouds by the big cheese, how can you know that you prefer a Welsh accent rather than a scouser accent."

"I poked around the country a couple years back," explained Reincarnation, whose eyes were spinning nervously in different directions again.

"Then why didn't you announce your presence to the other Gods before now?" Mulberry, out of the corner of his eye, saw that Odin was giving him a look that you give a hypocrite. Realising this, the cockney man turned to the one-eyed god and quickly added, "My Dad didn't want my existence known to you gents because he originally planned for me to be just a Grim Reaper..." Odin scoffed in disbelief. "...But 'Reincarnation' here was made by the big cheese. Why would he wait to send a new God that should already be implanted with the information to perform his role?"

This was a fair point, a point that made the blonde scouser gulp silently. Every God starred down at Reincarnation, their questioning looks now seemingly had the power to unnerve the lonely newcomer. Reincarnation opened his mouth, words were about to escape from his tongue before he closed his mouth and hung his head low in shame. "Fine," he grumbled; his tone now oozing a genuine sadness while still carrying a bit of naivety. "I admit it..." He looked up at Mulberry, his lazy eyes brimming with slight tears. "...I was searching for an atheist soul who believed in me."

This was not what Mulberry had been expecting. Nor was it what the other Gods had excepted, but it still got them into another, scandalous rage. "How dare you try and steal the soul of a living mortal," cried Odin; his words echoed by many. Searching for a soul was not allowed. Only Grim Reapers were lawfully allowed to collect souls, but only if the mortal where the soul had come from was dead. And even then, the only creatures that stole souls from the living were demons. They may belong to a certain religion or God, but if they were caught with an illegal soul then that demon would be punished, sent back to hell where they belong.

Reincarnation looked offended by the accusation. Aiming his eyes at Odin—or at least tried to aim them at Odin—the blonde put his hands on his hips and crossly replied, "Hey, I did not steal a soul from a living mortal. Just because I'm liverpudlian, doesn't mean I'm a thief. That's the Welsh. But the point is the guy was dead as a squashed rat. Though, his soul was odd..."

"What do you mean odd?" Asked Mulberry, curiously.

"The soul was trying to latch itself onto some black mortal," explained the scouser. "I found it odd because the soul that was trying to connect with the black mortal's soul was from a person the black mortal had clearly smashed into pieces with his bare fists." Reincarnation then raised a hand and began to grope the inside of one of his suit's pockets. "Give me a minute," he muttered, in a slow tone. "I have it right...there!"

And with a flourish, Reincarnation pulled out a small, red bottle. Mulberry recognised it at once, having once been a Grim Reaper. While the object was different for each Reaper, each could tell a Soul Carrier from a mile off. These devices were a way of carry vast numbers of souls at once. Before their invention, a Grim Reaper had to carry one soul at a time and had to use an annoying check list to do so. With a soul carrier, it only took a few seconds to use it and more souls got transported to Death's Courtroom faster. Sure it was at the cost of organisation, but every Reaper had the same thought when the soul carrier was introduced: To hell with organisation.

"So..." said the scouser cautiously. "...Do you mind I give you the soul to judge, Mr Cockney? I know what I did was wrong, but I wanted to be certain that I would get a soul so I can test my powers." His smile, which still looked stitched up, widened to the point where it could easily fly off his face. His eyes were also glistening with plea, though they were still looking in the directions away from Mulberry.

The new Death didn't reply for a long while, his ears deaf to the words that were thrown at him from the objective opinions of the Gods. Hmm...Thought Mulberry, solemnly. I don't see why it would be a bad thing to accept the soul. All I have to do is put it into the crystal and examine the soul. Since he personally picked it, I would just give it back to him and he would do what he will with it. But why didn't he just say that in the beginning, why was he determined to hide the soul and delay about telling us his name? And if he's telling the truth, then the soul ain't normal if it was trying to latch onto another soul.

Mulberry, after careful consideration, looked down at Reincarnation. After taking a deep breath, he spoke, in an attempt at a deep and professional tone, and said: "Fine, Reincarnation. I will examine your soul. Please empty the contents of your Soul Catcher into the Weight of Justice." He pointed at the towering crystal that was looming out of the centre of the room. The cockney man ignored the harsh glares that were coming from the horde of Gods that surround him, who were all questioning the decision that was made.

Reincarnation, on the other hand, let out a squeal of glee. Brandishing his Soul Catcher, the blonde scouser ran towards the Weight of Justice. For a second, it looked like he was about to run past the giant crystal. He kept on tripping over his own feet, while amazingly keeping some kind of balance, and his obviously terrible vision caused him to run in a zigzag. But surprisingly, he reached the crystal safely.

As the scouser began to pull the stopper out of the bottle, a thought struck Mulberry. "Wait," he suddenly cried out. "How did you get that soul catcher?"

"Where everyone gets their supernatural artefacts, my lad," replied Reincarnation; his voice carrying a smug undertone.

"E-Bay."

And before anything else was said, Reincarnation poured the contents of his bottle onto the crystal. The moment the soul touch the water coloured crystal, the parts it touch turned red, blood red. And like a bleeding wound, the colour spread all over the crystal. And as every inch turned crimson, a smell started to appear out of nowhere, growing stronger the darker the crystal turned. The smell wasn't new to the Gods, but never had they smelt it from the crystal. The smell of sin.

While the Gods began to mutter amongst themselves, Reincarnation was stepping away from the Weight of Justice, his foot work goofier than a drunk. "Damn," muttered the blonde, dumbly. "I don't remember the soul smelling so bad. I mean..." He took a sniff, his eyes cringing with distaste. "...It's all just violence, murder and more violence. Where's the lust to spruce things up? Did this guy even have a sex life?"

Mulberry didn't remark the scouser's comment. He was having too much trouble trying to read the person's soul correctly. It didn't help that this was the first time he had tried to read a soul, since he had been given the power by his father, but the pure pollution of sin was clouding even an image of the mortal; which apparently appeared when a soul was being examined.

After a few minutes of staring into the thick, crimson clouds, a voice appeared out of nowhere, catching Mulberry by surprise. "Hey, do you need help, Mr Cockney?"

Odin laughed at the question, his single eye peering mockingly at Reincarnation. "You fool, only Death can examine souls. And even then, he sometimes has trouble reading one, measly soul." Those last, venomous words were clearly aimed at Mulberry; and he didn't miss a single one.

Reincarnation folded his arms, trying to get his eyes to aim an irritated glare. When that failed, he simple shrugged his shoulders and stated, "Correction, scone 'ead. You and the other Gods can't examine souls, until at least you're handed them for being a good boy." Ignoring the furious glare from Odin, the blonde turned and faced the red crystal; his smiling face turned passive and unreadable. Suddenly, his eyes began to spin around and around in their sockets, until they finally centred. The amber and sea blue eyes were now aimed perfectly at the crystal.

"Ok..." he muttered, dumbly and slowly. "I think I can see the image of the mortal's body...Yep; he's wearing a plain grey hoody and a black jacket. And he's ugly as hell. Damn, he looked better when his face was smeared over the floor."

The shock that ran through the Gods was like lightning. Mulberry himself, while still recovering from the shock, looked back at the crystal. After raking his eyes over the entire crystal, the cockney deity managed to make out an image that wasn't totally shrouded in red. "...He doesn't look that bad..." mumbled Death; as realisation came crashing upon him. It wasn't as bad as the feeling that was coursing through the minds of every God who realised the truth along with Mulberry.

As if sensing the question that was about to be asked, Reincarnation—without taking his eyes off the Weight of Justice—casually answered the unasked question; his tone still ringing with a naivety that didn't match his words. "As Reincarnation, I need to examine souls in close detail. I need to manually evaluate the mortal's form, memory and personality. For what's the point of giving a mortal new life if they live exactly like they did before. And it's the small things that counts, not the overall appearance." With his eyes still fixed in place, showing no sign of the laziness they had before, the blonde addressed Mulberry, saying, "Now, like I said before. Do you need my help, Mulberry?"

It was how the absent minded tone vanished from the scouser's voice when he uttered Death's name that caused Mulberry to silently agree to Reincarnation's offer. The other Gods couldn't see why Mulberry had accepted the blonde's help, for they only saw him as a fool; as if they hadn't heard the sudden seriousness in his past few words. But the cockney deity had always been suspicious of the lazy eyed being; for he sensed that something was hidden behind the stitched smile that seemed fake in his eyes. This agreement was a dangerous one. He didn't know what was in store for him. But before you can find the truth, you had to take chances.

The first couple of minutes were silent on Mulberry's part, but Reincarnation never stopped talking since the cockney agreed. With his eyes pinned upon the crystal, the blonde had begun to pace around the target of his aim; oblivious to the fact that he was constantly side-stepping and swaying unevenly on his feet.

"Okay," said the blonde, his absent minded tone back in full, lazy force. "Let's see if we can look past all the sin nonsense and focus entirely on the soul's personality. Failing that, we gonna have to cheat and take a look at the memories. Feelings and emotions are great ways of judging a soul, but I doubt this mortal has nothing more than the standard emo rubbish."

After a few seconds of silence, Reincarnation began to talk again. If it was to Mulberry or himself, no one could really tell. "Damn, even looking at the memories is hard. There are so many of them and I doubt they actually belong to this mortal. There's no possible way he could've be born over a hundred times. Some of these jumbled up memories do mention him...others end with him slicing a person in half. Wait, what?"

What is an understatement, thought Mulberry. For after managing to comb the tangle of memoires, which did indeed seem to belong to other mortals, the cockney deity managed to see snippets of the soul's owner. And they were all surreal. Some showed the original mortal having sharp, metallic claws or a long, sharp blade instead of hands. Others showed his skin morphing into thick, steal armour. But most of them showed the mortal transforming from a differently shaped person, regardless of gender, into his normal form; followed by a fist being shot through the chest that ended the one of the many memory chains. The only thing that Mulberry could gather from this confusing muddle was that soul they were examining didn't belong to a human being.

"Mr Cockney, am I the only one seeing that this mortal has shapes-shifting abilities?" Asked Reincarnation, his voice sounding even dumber than usual.

"No," replied Death, slowly.

"Well, that explains why there are so many memories of different people," stated the blonde. "Where I come from, there are these creatures that can copy a person shape. If they spend a lot of times around a person, then they can start copying their memories. But unlike them, this mortal seems to store them like Christmas lights. All tangled up in a big, flashy mess."

What Reincarnation said seemed to bug Mulberry, and he didn't know exactly why. But before he could properly think about that, he turned his attention back to the soul; while he listened to the blonde's words softly sink into his ears.

"Hold on, I think I found the soul's organic memories!" His excitement, however, was swiftly replaced by mild irritation. "For crying out loud, this is why I hate humans...and hedgehogs. When they suffer from amnesia, I always have to wade through their memories like a pool of sticky toffee. And I hate sticky toffee!"

Mulberry was about to ask what the problem was, but then decided to look and see what the problem was himself. After combing a series of disjointed memories, he soon found what Reincarnation was talking about. The memory takes place in a dark morgue, where the mortal had woken up on an autopsy table. "What's wrong with this," asked the cockney man; whose brain, from some reason, began to feel sleepy and sluggish.

"If this memory chain is right..." Said the blonde, whose voice seemed to flow through Mulberry's ears like honey. "...then this mortal was born at the age of 29 in a morgue. The memory is organic, but a normal mortal memory chain starts with images of the inside of a female's stomach. And as I follow the memory chain, it gets filled with the memories of other people.

But at least I've finally got his name. Apparently it was...Zeus?" His eyes almost went out of focus for a second out of shock, but he quickly recovered. "Wait, no, its...Alex Mercer. Still as stupid as the last name..." From up above in a podium, the lightning god growled. "...But now I can piece together this lad."

"The kid was some kind of scientist at some fancy company called Gentek where he worked on a virus called Blacklight. But he tried to run away with the virus after a military group called Blackwatch—Boy, they do luv their black, don't they—started to kill the scientist involved with the project. He gets cornered at a station, drops the virus and gets turned into cheese. He get's infected with the virus, causing him to lose his memory and gain super powers. And he's got a sister; an ex-girlfriend who backstabbed him...Wow, some of this is just totally useless!"

The cockney being thought, at first, that the anger in Reincarnation's voice was overplayed. But this thought was quickly dropped as he began to construct his question to the scouser. It was getting harder to think for some reason as his brain seemed to be getting slower and slower. Thankfully, he managed to compose his question within a short space of time, saying: "How is it useless?"

"Most of the memories are useless because they tell me nothing but facts," grumbled the blonde, his voice still managing to sound very dim witted, despite the content of his words. "For example, Mercer thinks he dropped the virus on purpose because he was pissed off at Blackwatch. This does tell me that he is a sociopath, since he didn't give a hoot about the safety of the city, but so do all of his other memories. But he got this information from another person's memory. He doesn't know why he himself dropped it on purpose. And that is the subtle difference between knowing something and thinking something. Anyone can say 'I think he did it for this reason' but only a person who did the act can say 'I know I did this for this reason'. And Mercer doesn't know jack squat about himself."

"Sure, he knows he's a killer, monster or whatever you like to call a blatant T1 1000 rip off. But without a full grasp of his past, Alex doesn't know why he never felt disturbed after what he thinks is his first kill. Why he felt so protective of Dana and why he spared her near the end of his life; locking her away when he could have just simply killed her. And most importantly of all, he doesn't know anything about himself that remotely ties him to humanity. Sure, humans and creatures in general are selfish and imperfect, but that's the only interesting part of their measly lives. How they react to their imperfection for better or for worse. Without his own, organic findings of his past memories; Alex can't see the subtle joy of imperfection and sees fit to try and ruin it with trying to perfect all life."

As these words fell easily upon the ears of the Gods, who regarded them as the ramblings of a fool, they seemed to slowly scrape through the processing thoughts of Mulberry; as if Reincarnation's words were buffering his mind. This was because the cockney being saw underlying weight under the blonde's heavy accented rambles, something the other Gods could not clearly see. But they didn't have the power to see into the crystal, the cloudy instrument that was now easier to use because of the information that was dripped in from the scouser's yellow lips.

Mulberry could now see why Alex Mercer was so hard to read, along with the over abundance of sin and saturation of inorganic memories. Because Alex's organic memories were based around confusion, unquestioning acceptance and the lack of human emotion.

At the start of the chain of memories, when he woke up in a morgue, Alex felt nothing but bewilderment and uncertainty. He had received superhuman powers without his knowing, and without any memory of his past life, and he had been marked for death by an enemy he had forgotten. As he tried to find out who he was, he was told about relationships and events he had no memory of. He finds out he has a sister, though remembers nothing about her. He finds out he has a girlfriend, though doesn't have any fond memories of her. He discovers that he himself had unleashed the virus that was killing his city, but doesn't remember what his original motives were for doing so.

But since Alex was told this, he accepted them as fact. He accepted that a girl named Dana was his sister, though he never remembered the things that made Dana consider him a brother more than flesh and blood. He accepted that he had a girlfriend, though he doesn't know what sparked their relationship and how much it must have hurt his girlfriend to backstab her lover. He accepted that he unleashed the virus, knew what he did was morally wrong. But he never looked to discover any deeper reasons for his actions, what made him do such a terrible thing.

This acceptance of the 'truth' was a bitter pill for Alex to swallow, though he only discovered the truth by looking at the facts and emotions that were built from the memories of others. Alex never truly discovered his own past that went deeper than his actions as an adult. He didn't remember where he learnt his views on life, his reasons and motives for such views and everything that builds a person when he is young.

When Alex did try and create his own views on life, they were made from harsh facts and bad experiences. According to his memories, after he saved his city from a nuclear bomb and stunted the virus outbreak he unleashed, he travelled the world with his new powers and tried to see where he belonged in his world. But this led to him judging humanity with foul taste, as he saw selfishness and greed in every person he saw.

But it was like what Reincarnation said; these imperfections didn't mean that humanity is bad. Imperfection is a part of humanity and every being that has ever existed. Learning from flaws or indulging in them defines people as who they are. But since Alex only examines facts and has no emotional memory of his own humanity, this caused him to try and 'improve' humans.

Going back to the very city he saved, he unleashed the very same virus with the intention of creating a higher, perfect life form. He intended to stamp out humans and replace them with beings that were all connected and controlled by one mind, removing all the things that define humanity. Luckily, this plan back fired on him when he tried to control the emotions of a man named James Heller; a solider whose wife had been killed by Alex. This resulted in James, using the same powers that Alex had given him, to destroy Mercer to save his daughter.

Taking a deep sigh, Mulberry shook his round face slowly; trying to keep his mind from crumbling under the weight of information he had been given. Gosh, thought the cockney man, solemnly. I didn't expect to have such a head strainer of a first day as Death. Sure, I expected an ear full from the other Gods, but this scouser and his soul has just been one big roller coaster.

He looked down at the said blonde, who was still gazing into the crystal while blissfully unaware of his bad footwork. This bloke's motives are so unclear I'm not quite sure he has one. Why does he want this soul? It's pretty unbalanced and is clearly destined to some religion's hell...Wait...

Amidst the slowly decreasing thinking power that had appeared after the first few sentences of Reincarnation's speech, something in Mulberry's mind clicked. Managing to draw some energy back into his brain, the cockney being snapped his head in the scouser's direction and asked, suspiciously, "Reincarnation, you said that you were looking for an atheist who believed in Reincarnation."

"Yes?" Came the absentminded reply from the blonde, while he kept his mismatched eyes on the crystal.

"Then why did you pick this mortal's soul, when his memories don't mention anything about his beliefs? In fact..." Mulberry's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "...You should have technically known that because you can examine souls without this crystal. Why did you say that he believed in you when there's no evidence suggesting it?"

Reincarnation pulled his eyes away from the crystal, causing them to point in opposite directions again. Stopping in his footsteps, the blonde showed no worry at the revelation of this fact. With a casual shrug, he answered by saying, "I guessed he believed in me because of how calmly he accepted death before he got done in by that Heller lad. Should've seen him; spouting a one-liner like Arnold Schwarzenegger."

"That's not enough to justify your rights to his soul," shot the cockney with another attempt at a professional tone to fit his position as Death. "His memories don't yield any light on anything but his sins. I seem to have no choice but to cast this soul into Limbo."

Every God who heard these words were filled with a teeming sense of triumph that they tried to suppress with sever difficulty. Even the Buddha, who didn't take part in the pillaging of atheist souls, felt a small smile curl at the ends of his lips. Having been tired of the sense of unbalanced authority that both Mulberry and Reincarnation had created, both having been sent by the 'big cheese', it was satisfying that they could at least get a small benefit from the fact that the blonde was being denied the soul he had obviously craved for.

Speaking of the scouser, his disjointed eyes seemed to be quivering with suppressed annoyance at the news. Though there was no trace of overwhelming anger, just a slight irritation; his stitched smile seemed to become more noticeably fake. While trying to aim one of his unimpressed eyes in Mulberry's direction; the blonde slowly began to speak; his dumb undertone overshadowed by firm dismay. "Oi, Mr Cockney, don't you remember me saying that I was looking for a soul so I could test my new powers with. You know, the soul that you are trying to bin like a pair of busted plums?"

Before Mulberry could reply, Odin did it for him; laughing scathingly at the weirdly dressed blonde. "You heard Death, you have no claim to the soul for there is no proof that this mortal believed in any God. Furthermore, you acquired the soul like a demon! You should be punished for such a heinous crime!"

"Says a God who uses demons to steal the souls for him," replied Reincarnation in a crisp tone. "In fact, don't all God have little minions that take the souls of mortals? Because, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you have Valkyries that took the souls of mortals off battlefields straight to your heaven without consulting Death?"Odin scowled, his one eye burning with anger, but did not respond. "So I'm the one who should be punished when I find the soul myself and present it to Death to see if I can have it? I think a word called hypocrite fits this situation."

An instantaneous spout of movement followed these words, as many deities shifted uncomfortably in their podiums. These reactions where noticed out of the corner of Mulberry's eyes, leading him to silently agreeing to the hypocrisy of Odin's comment. But still...

"Be that as it may," began Death, while trying to keep his round and cheery face passive. "Alex's soul still doesn't belong to any religion—"

"So why can't I claim ownership of it?" Challenged the blonde, his tone still a mix with determination and absentmindedness. "I found the soul, I helped you examine the soul and if I get ownership of the soul, I intend to give it another chance at life. Since we can't gauge his whole existence, it'd be unfair to send the poor lad to Limbo like an unfinished dish being sent to the bin."

There was no denying Reincarnation's point. Though the mortal had lived a sinful life, the idea that he could live another life gave him a chance to make up for the wrongs he had committed in his previous life. Moreover, the mortal would be given a clean slate as he would essentially live a different life. Better that than wasting away in Limbo, where his soul would be left untouched for the rest of time (or so Mulberry thought).

But for reasons that were unknown to Mulberry, the other Gods were filled with horror. The prospect that they would lose the chance of adding another soul to their hells, especially to a deity that had irked them from the start, was unbearable. So much so that Zeus, out of panic, suddenly cried out, "No! Don't let him have it!"

Automatically, both Mulberry and Reincarnation turned to Zeus with questioning looks (even though the scouser's eyes weren't aimed properly as usual). "What's with the drama," queried the cockney being.

In an attempt to recover, Zeus began to spout out anything that came to mind. "T-the soul doesn't belong to any religion...I-It needs to be placed in Limbo..." Then, in a burst of desperation, he violently slammed his fist and roared, "THE IDIOT CAN'T EVEN SEE PROPERLY! HOW CAN HE BE CONSIDERED A GOD!?"

The silence that followed was tense, as Zeus panted silently away with sweat dropping down his forehead. Reincarnation crossed his arms, his stitched smile looking the fakest it has ever been while his eyes gleamed with distaste. "Listen, you scatty cunt," growled the blonde, who had no trace of idiocy in his voice now. "I know that the soul doesn't belong to a religion, that's why I'm asking for it. And like I said, why waste a soul that can't be fully examined by putting it in Limbo. However, excuse me if I misheard, but did I just hear you question my position as a God? Because: One, how could I have entered this courtroom, you dumb nob'ead, if I wasn't a deity? Two, if my eyes are so bad how can I be able to see into souls with precise detail? And finally, this is coming from a God whose religion has been stunted by the actions of some self-righteous Jew? You, ever since then, have been reduced to a whiny kid waiting for his mommy to buy him a new piece of Lego; so you can add it to your collection and show it off to your fellow snot-nosed brats like it actual means a damn."

These venomous words shook the feelings of every deity in the room, who were all too stunned by the abstract of truth oozing from the blonde's statement to lash back in anger and denial. Even Zeus felt the pride and anguish drain out of him, replaced by an unsuppressed feeling of melancholy. And as this began to seep into most of the other Gods; Reincarnation's stitched smile seemed to become actually genuine for some apparent reason, as he then added, in his old, dumb sounding voice. "Anyway, why does it matter to you so much that the soul should go to Limbo? It's not like it can benefit you in any way..."

From sadness to fear, that was how the emotions of the Gods changed after hearing those words. Guilty looks shined from many faces, something that Mulberry managed to pick up. While he was still a little taken aback by how much the scouser's words had affect the Gods, he was suspicious of why no God had answered that last question; like they were afraid to answer it.

When Mulberry tried to think up a logical reason to this reaction, he was interrupted when he heard the blonde's voice again. "Like I was saying before the interruption," trawled Reincarnation with his naive-sounding voice; as he tried to centre his eyes in their sockets to focus on Death. "Could I please have this mortal's soul? I really want to test my new position with one, measly soul and I think it's a waste to chuck this particular one into Limbo. Hell..." His stitched smile widened, his yellow lips stretching into thin slits.

"...For all I know, I might be able to make a believer out of him."

It took Mulberry ten seconds to give his reply, and every moment of it was a harsh, unrelenting battle in his mind. One part of his conscious sided with Reincarnation, that he had more than earned the right to the ownership of one soul. But the rest of his senses were screaming otherwise, that the blonde must not be given anything less than a crumb of bread. Ever since he had arrived, the cockney being had sensed that the scouser was hiding secrets and true his senses had been. But even now they screamed foul play, while that one ounce of being that spoke with Reincarnation's voice was telling him that there was no harm in being lenient this one time; that the cross-eyed god had told all he had kept hidden and now deserved the fruits of his labour.

If the big cheese created him, thought the single fragment that was on the blonde's side. Then who's to question his judgement? He made father Death, despite being a low class Grim Reaper. And it's only one soul and nothing more...

For a single second, Mulberry's senses faulted in their assault as they tried to combat this strand of thought. And that second tipped the scales that had been balanced for these nine past seconds. Without even constructing the sentence properly in his mind, the words tumbled out the cockney's mouth like an inevitable landslide. "Fine, you can have the soul."

Reincarnation's eyes seemed to glisten with happiness; his blue eye shinning like a sapphire while his amber one glowed like shined oak. "That's boss," he cried in a genuinely excited voice that was accompanied by natural slow witted undertone. "I can't wait to take it home to my dimension!"

It took a few seconds for those words to sink in for Mulberry, which the blonde spent turning on his heels and clumsily striding to the Weight of Justice. And when the scouser reached into his bizarre suit for the soul catcher, some things said a while ago drifted in from Mulberry's memory:

...they always do this no matter what form I'm in... I thought my form sucked...Big Cheese...he pulled me outta some cloud formations...Where I come from...I can't wait to take it home to my dimension...

It was like someone had throw off the veil that had been clouding Mulberry's thoughts since he had let Reincarnation voice wash over him while they examined Alex Mercer's soul. With the lag and drowsiness gone, all of his senses now screamed at him the warning bells he had been blissfully ignoring.

"Wait!" Shouted the cockney in desperation, as he began to clamber off his podium into the centre of the courtroom.

But his efforts where in vain.

Just as he managed to raise one leg over the edge of the podium's side; Reincarnation, whose stitched smile turned into a fully fleshed smirk, pulled out the stopper of his soul catcher. The moment the cork had been lifted out of its place, the crystal surface of the Weight of Justice suddenly began to crack. And the cracks grew and grew, sprawling across the surface of the red crystal like wild fire; until every inch of it was scarred. The clouds of sin began to seep from the crystal, escaping its containment like a leaking gas main, but that was not all that followed. As the red vapours slowly tried to escape, a screaming began to fill the court room. A screaming that did not belong to one soul, but to a thousand souls.

As the Gods suddenly realised the foul intent of the scouser, Mulberry landed at the base of his podium. His eyes aimed at Reincarnation, he tried to charge at the blonde fiend. But before he could move so much as a muscle, one of Reincarnation's eyes slide towards the cockney's direction. And the last thing he heard, whispered from the electric lipped mouth of the scouser, was:

"Bell End..."

And then the Weight of Justice, the crystal made thousands of years ago to contain the un-judged mortal souls, shattered into a thousand pieces. The explosion of souls and their combined sins and emotions burst out from the ruined crystal, yielding the brute force of a nuclear bomb. Mulberry was blasted back into the base of his podium, his immortality the only thing keeping his spine from shattering into dust. His eyes were blinded by the storm of red sin, mixed in with the colours of emotions that had been hidden by Alex's tainted soul, and the screams of the mortals almost caused his ears to burst into flames. He could not tell how long the ordeal lasted, as every one of his senses felt the punishment for not preventing their master from allowing this catastrophe.

All he knew, when his eyes regained their sight and his ears regained their hearing, was that he was almost buried under a pile of sharp, colourless shards of crystal. And that in the place where Reincarnation had stood was a single, solitary bubble.

And as his pain ridden eyes stared at the sphere of water, it began to float towards the ceiling of the courtroom. It past many podiums as it rose into the air, where many wounded Gods lay crippled and helpless. The cockney's sight stayed on the bubble until it reached the highest point of the courtroom's ceiling. It did not pop; rather it passed through the solid surface that hung over the courtroom.

There it went into the great unknown, leaving Mulberry to contend with his sad and hopeless future.