Tartarus was a petty god. His minions were often worse, as they scouted the world for people to enter into the game.
The underworld first saw its participants long before it moved into a place. It knew what it wanted, desiring pain.
Mr. Tarus had often lived in human cities, mingling with mortals. He would go to parties, clink wine glasses with the best of them. Then, he would scour their hearts, looking for the ones that were not that black yet but about to go dark.
Almost five years ago, the god found himself in a society banquet. It was full of bigwigs, doctors, lawyers, and entrepreneurs. Mr. Tarus, in his old man appearance, was bored out of his mind. Many of the people in that party were on their way to hell, anyway.
He was not interested in him. After all, he used to play wit
