#liminal edit

What if the afterlife is just another corporation—and you're about to get audited?

A con artist bleeding out in a London alley. A cracked mirror. A fall into a monochrome city where the rain smells like copper.

Purgatory isn't fire and brimstone. It's a cutthroat banking metropolis, and demons wear tailored suits. The protagonist doesn't get a grand welcome—they get scooped up by a demon auditor named Valerius as a last-minute gamble to bypass corporate red tape. Their heart is still technically beating on Earth, making their soul a rare, exploitable anomaly.

Now they're trapped as a "Vessel," crossing spiritual barriers that pure demons can't touch, collecting debts from the dead while uncovering something rotten at the core of the system. The Bank isn't just processing souls—it's manufacturing them.

And the loan sharks who killed the protagonist upstairs? They're on the payroll.

I'm writing an original urban fantasy noir about con artists, demonic corporate espionage, and tearing down the system that profits off human misery.