Kent stood before the towering door, looking dazed. One couldn’t tell if he was overwhelmed by the towering sight before him or the fact that he had just died—killed, actually.
“So, I died,” Kent muttered, no emotion whatsoever on his face. Perhaps the towering structure was doing all the emoting for him, so he just stood, watching it with a flat expression.
“How disappointing, to think I died without getting laid.” Kent smiled slightly. “Truly disappointing, indeed,” he added with a sigh.
Then he moved, walking toward the door that seemed to have opened slightly. One might wonder what Kent was doing, but as a movie director who had made many films based on reincarnation and similar themes, he knew walking through the door was the next move for him.
He didn’t need an angel to tell him he had died. In fact, he knew from the moment Director Nancy and her goons broke down his door.
Because of his fame and “professional ethics,” many actresses wanted to work with him. Some even terminated their contracts just so they could sign with Kent Media. However, it seemed the actress who came from Nancy Media and Promotions was a piece of bad news.
Still, he never expected things to escalate that fast. In fact, he had conversed with Nancy at the movie premiere he’d just returned from, and they had seemed all right. But alas, it was all a smokescreen.
She was just saying her final goodbyes before murdering him.
“How interesting. I have been guarding the Gate of Hatred and Resentment for millions of years, but never have I met a mortal who holds more hatred than even I,” a voice spoke from behind Kent as he approached the enormous gate.
Kent halted his steps, then turned casually to face the most stunning woman he had ever seen in his 34 years of existence. She had the hips, the curves, the figure, and the face. Silvery-red hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall.
Her eyes were slightly red, both enchanting and dangerous, filled with hatred and resentment. They seemed like a reservoir for all the hate in the universe.
“And you are?” But as always, Kent felt nothing. Though he asked with a mildly curious expression, that was all—no lust, no longing.
It was as if he had made peace with his situation. Even though he had just died, he wasn’t angry or anything. As the woman had said, he held all his hatred deep within his heart; at a glance, anyone would say he was perhaps the happiest person in the universe.
“Fascinating,” the woman said, her expression neutral, though her eyes remained filled with hate.
“Why don’t you step away from the door first so we can have a conversation,” she suggested. Kent sighed and moved as she instructed.
“Make it quick, lady. My life has already been hell, so I’d rather continue my journey than spend time with a beautiful woman I can’t have,” Kent said, walking forward.
“You don’t seem angry for someone who was just murdered,” the woman remarked.
“What’s the point, anyway?” Kent stopped when he was far enough from the door. “I’m all ears, lady.”
“Before we go any further, may I know your name?” she asked.
“You already knew I was murdered; what’s stopping you from reading my mind to find out? I don’t mean to be rude, but next time you meet someone, maybe try asking their name instead of reading their thoughts,” Kent replied, his tone raised.
Inwardly, though, he wondered why he’d shouted at her. He was always reasonable and never lashed out at anyone, not even at the priest who conducted the burial rites for his parents when they passed.
“It’s the realm you’re in. It’s not your fault,” the woman responded, reading his mind again. Kent just sighed and looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
“Very well, Kent. My name is Vexthra, the goddess of Hate and Resentment,” the woman introduced herself, and Kent raised an eyebrow.
“The goddess of Hate and Resentment. That’s a new one,” he muttered with a curious tone. “Nice to meet you, goddess.”
“Tell me, Kent, who do you hate the most? And please, do not lie. I’ll know, and there won’t be a second chance. If you lie, I’ll toss you through the gate, where your next several years before reincarnation will be filled with nothing but pain and suffering.”
Kent narrowed his gaze at her for a minute and then said,
“Is that supposed to be scary? Because it’s not. In fact, that would be a better existence for me than being born with an amazing body, only to be deprived of everything that should come with it.”
“So, Vexthra, if I have to hate something—if I do hate something—then it’s gods and goddesses like you who pretend to care about others. If they wanted to make fun of me, they could have just created me as a pig instead of this humiliation.” Kent’s dam burst, and the pain he had been hiding for years poured out.
He had endured it for many years. First, there was high school, where most boys and girls had their first experiences. But for him, it was nothing more than a cycle of going to school and coming home.
Every time he took a bath, he’d try whatever he could to get his “dragon” to wake up, but he was cursed with the inability to feel pleasure.
His massive rod had never entered any nether cave, nor did his body ever crave it. At one point, he even tried to go down on a woman, but it ended in disappointment.
When he joined the adult industry, he started to see the appeal of not having any desire. He had been squirted on, pressed against by huge boobies, and gazed into pink caves through his camera lens. Yet, his mind never even hinted at arousal.
All his lifeless body brought him was money and fame, and for that, he was grateful. But over the years, his hatred had accumulated to the point that Vexthra was now its target.
He had prayed to the heavens, the gods, and the goddesses for help, but no one listened. So for a goddess to stand here, judging him and threatening him, his buried anger erupted.
Although he knew Vexthra wasn’t the one to blame, he had to let it out. He was already dead, and whatever came next would likely be punishment for the life he’d led, so he held nothing back.
Vexthra simply stared at him with eyes that seemed to embody hatred itself. Yet, deep within those eyes, another emotion lingered—something softer, almost hidden.
Strangely, it seemed that even the goddess of hate held a strand of something else within her. The more she listened to Kent’s outburst, the more pronounced this hidden emotion became, softening the hard edges of her gaze. When he finally finished, Kent felt a pang of regret over his harsh words.
But it was done, and there was no taking it back.
“Now, can I be on my way?” Kent turned, ready to leave, but Vexthra’s voice stopped him in his tracks.
“I can fix your situation, you know… I can help you regain your body with all its pleasures,” she said, her voice smoother, almost tempting. “But in return, I want you to help me kill someone.” She paused, waiting for Kent to face her again.
When he turned and their eyes met, she added, “I want you to help me kill the God of Alchemy.”