A Zoologist’s Guide to Surviving Magical Creatures

I started to make my way toward Domos Haidou, the eerie structure standing on the horizon like a dark silhouette against a starlit sky.

Agnos, Dr. Philippe, and Eldrin were all standing nearby, watching with encouraging expressions.

"Go on, Carl," Agnos said with a sly smile, nudging me forward. "Time to show them what you're made of."

I took a hesitant step forward, my heart racing a little faster with each passing moment. And as I did, I realized—wait, they weren't coming with me.

I turned around and saw the three of them standing there, waving at me.

Dr. Philippe gave me a nod and a thumbs-up, his face hidden behind his usual air of serious professionalism. Eldrin, ever the enthusiastic one, shouted, "Good luck, Carl! Don't forget to win!" His words echoed in my ears, but it did little to calm the gnawing feeling in my gut.

Agnos, with his trademark sly grin, added, "Break a leg, Carl."

I blinked. "Why aren't you coming with me?" I called back, a little louder than intended.

Agnos chuckled, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. "We can't enter, even if we wanted to. Only those with an invite can go inside. We'll be waiting right here for you."

"So I have to go there... ALONE?!" I asked, the words tumbling out in a panic I wasn't quite prepared for.

Dr. Philippe chimed in, his usual calm demeanor tinged with dry humor. "Don't worry, Carl. If you die in there, I'll have MECCP's founder retrieve your body. We'll make you a VVVVIP of Mictlan, no mandatory education required."

I stared at them, deadpan. "Thanks, that's… comforting."

Sighing, I turned back toward the staircase that led to the Domos Haidou. The weight of the situation sank deeper into my chest. There was no turning back now.

I began walking, my footsteps echoing in the vast, golden expanse. The air felt too perfect—like something was just a bit off, too calm, too pristine. It was the kind of perfect that made my stomach churn.

The more I walked, the more I felt the absence of my companions. They were still standing there, but it was like they belonged to a world far removed from the one I was about to enter.

A final goodbye? Maybe.

But I couldn't dwell on it. I had to keep moving.

At the bottom of the staircase, I reached the edge of a river. The gentle flow of water contrasted with the eerie stillness of the land around me.

A figure stood there, waiting. He looked like something straight out of a myth—tall, cloaked, with an air of both menace and odd cheerfulness about him.

"Ah, you must be Carl!" the ferryman greeted me with a wide grin. He wore a long cloak and a bright red scarf that fluttered like a flag in the still air. His posture was casual, as though ferrying souls across the river was just another part of his daily routine.

"Name's Charon! Welcome aboard."

I blinked. "Charon?"

"That's me!" he said with a clap of his hands. "Hop on! The ride's a bit long, but you'll get to know me. I've got so many stories to share."

I hesitated for a moment, wondering just what kind of stories a ferryman in the underworld would have. But there was no other option, so I climbed onto the boat, bracing myself for whatever was coming next.

As soon as I was settled, Charon began chatting, his voice upbeat, and far more friendly than I was expecting.

I was anticipating something dark and mysterious, given the setting. But instead, Charon launched into a lively conversation about his twelve wives. I was too stunned to say anything at first, my mind trying to process what was happening.

"Yeah, I have twelve wives you know. My first wife, Azalea… oh, she was a real handful," Charon said, shaking his head with a rueful smile. "Always rearranging the furniture, trying to keep me on my toes. She'd get all upset if I moved something… like, really upset."

He chuckled to himself, clearly amused by the memory. "She even set up a whole shrine to the furniture gods, can you believe that?"

I blinked, unsure if this was one of those "underworld humor" moments. "Furniture gods?" I asked, keeping my voice light to mask the bewilderment.

"Oh yeah, they're real. You didn't know that?" Charon asked with a twinkle in his eye. "There's a whole pantheon. Mostly very specific deities—like the god of armchairs. Don't even get me started on that one. Man, he really has a thing for cushions."

Charon winked at me. "But Azalea, she loved them. As for my second wife, well, she was a bit of a—"

"Wait, hold on," I interrupted, just to give my ears a brief respite. "You've got twelve wives? And you're still standing here talking to me like nothing's wrong with that?"

Charon gave me an exaggerated shrug. "What's wrong with it? I'm a good catch, Carl! I'm tall, I'm charming, and, well, let's just say I've got great boat-driving skills." He grinned, motioning to the ferryboat.

"Besides, each wife has her own special... thing. Take Helga, for instance. She's obsessed with moonflowers. Obsessed." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "The jealousy, though? Man, let me tell you about that."

I raised an eyebrow. "Jealousy?"

"Oh yeah. She doesn't like it when I talk to the others, even if it's about something as innocent as… you know, the weather or the afterlife or whatever."

Charon shook his head, chuckling. "Last week, I mentioned how great Selene's new garden was looking—she literally threw a potted plant at me."

I blinked. "She threw a plant at you?"

"Yeah," Charon said, grinning. "A heavy one too."

He paused, as though considering how much damage the plant might've done. "I dodged it, of course. But still… nothing says 'I'm jealous' like a flying geranium."

I nodded, doing my best to maintain composure. "I… I don't know what to say to that."

"Oh, don't worry. You don't have to say anything. You're just a listener, Carl." Charon's grin was mischievous. "I bet you've got a ton of stories in that head of yours, huh? I'm happy to lend an ear... unless, of course, you want to hear about the time Malina took up competitive knitting."

I swallowed hard, wishing I could tune out the tidal wave of stories threatening to drown me. "I'm okay for now, really…"

"Great! Then you should definitely hear about the time I tried to teach Nessa how to sail..."

By the time we'd been on the ferry for an hour, I was seriously considering whether it might be worth swimming across the river. Charon was still going strong, this time talking about his most recent wife, and I could feel my ears starting to ring.

But I didn't want to be rude. After all, this was the underworld. Who knew what might happen if I stopped listening to Charon's endless chatter?

"I tell you, Carl," he continued with a grin that bordered on mischievous, "she's really into gardening. Spends all day planting flowers. If you ever meet her, I think you'd get along."

At this point, I was starting to wonder if he was trying to break me with the sheer weight of his conversational endurance.

When we finally reached the far side of the river, Charon flashed me a grin. "You're such a good listener, Carl. Most people zone out after a few minutes, but you stayed with me the whole time! You've got a real ear for it."

I didn't know whether to feel relieved or slightly offended. "Uh, thanks, I think?" I muttered, stepping off the boat.

Charon just waved merrily from the ferry, still chatting about his kids, as I walked toward the entrance of Domo Haidou, which was just up ahead.

The place looked much closer when I first saw it from the boat, but after an hour of listening to Charon's stories, it felt like a century had passed.

The path ahead seemed shrouded in an unnatural fog, the looming walls of Domo Haidou casting an eerie shadow across the ground.

But I had to keep moving. I had no choice.

The air thickened with every step as I approached the gates of Domos Haidou.

The place loomed in front of me, its obsidian walls like jagged teeth in a moonless night, reflecting an otherworldly glow.

It was the kind of building that could make even the bravest of souls think twice.

Yet, for reasons that only the bizarre gods of Mythica could explain, I was standing there, my heart pounding—not from fear, but from sheer disbelief that this was where I'd ended up.

As I neared the entrance, something moved in my peripheral vision.

Three massive shadows shifted, and I found myself staring at the unmistakable figure of Cerberus, the legendary three-headed hound of the underworld.

It was guarding the entrance, its three heads tilting this way and that, each one growling softly, the red glow from their eyes illuminating the stone beneath them.

The creature was supposed to be an unstoppable force of terror, an embodiment of death itself. But what I wasn't expecting—what I was definitely not prepared for—was how oddly… tame it seemed.

I stopped at the base of the stairs, watching as the hound's three heads slowly turned toward me. No snarls. No lunging.

Just curiosity. It wasn't quite what I had expected.

The heavy silence hung in the air as I swallowed hard. And then one of the heads barked—an unsettling sound in the stillness. But it wasn't aggressive. It was more like... an invitation.