Designer Scythe

Thanatos, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, suddenly reached out and grabbed Hypnos by the scruff of his perfectly golden collar — which was frankly the bravest thing anyone had ever done, considering this man looked like he showered in ambrosia every morning.

"Alright, Narcissus," Thanatos growled, practically dragging him away. "Back to your cave before you start seducing the furniture again."

Hypnos didn't even resist — he simply tossed a wink over his shoulder as Thanatos manhandled him like a misbehaving golden retriever.

"We'll meet again, Lady Zhuxen."

Zhuxen dramatically fanned herself with both hands.

"Oh, I sincerely hope so."

Thanatos muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like I'm going to throw both of you into the River Styx.

Lian just dry-heaved behind them, ready to personally request her own death.

"Wait—" Zhuxen gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like a scandalized Victorian widow. "Did you call him here? How did he know me? Did you perhaps... sing about me in your dreams?"

Thanatos looked like he was seriously debating whether leaving her soul here as payment for passage was worth the paperwork.

"Hypnos is my twin brother," he muttered through gritted teeth. "And for some weird reason, he can sense whenever I do something... stupid."

Zhuxen blinked.

"Are you saying bringing me here is stupid?"

"I'm saying I shouldn't be doing this."

"And that's because you can't live while away from me—"

Thanatos didn't even flinch. He just stared at her with the cold, dead-eyed patience of someone who had been around for literally all of human history and had witnessed every type of delusion known to mankind.

Zhuxen paused, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"You didn't even react."

"I stopped reacting thirty minutes ago," Thanatos said flatly.

Lian, who was still lying half-dead on the ground, weakly waved a hand. "That's because you're not his type, My Lady... you're too... alive..."

Zhuxen swatted the open air once again. "Silence, Lian. This is a couple talk."

Thanatos sighed long and hard, probably regretting every immortal second that led him to this exact moment.

"Listen carefully," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Bringing living humans here is highly prohibited. Hypnos might keep his mouth shut—"

"Because he's hot," Zhuxen interjected.

"—because he's a lazy bastard," Thanatos corrected without missing a beat. "But it won't be long before someone notices two very loud, very mortal women walking around Tartarus like they're on a vacation tour."

Zhuxen opened her mouth. Thanatos shot her a look so sharp it could cut through centuries of human nonsense.

"And before you ask, no — there is no 'Honeymoon in Hell' package. You're not here for love. You're here because I need to find my scythe and I might wanna need your help."

Zhuxen resisted the urge to squeal, biting down on her knuckles like a hormonal teenager at a boy band concert. She had to remember — demons all around — and blowing her cover just because her long-time crush finally acknowledged her existence would be the absolute dumbest way to die.

"Anything for you, mi amore," she purred, batting her lashes so hard they could generate wind power. "Now, where do we start? Do you, like, have a radar or some kind of scythe-tracking app or—?"

Thanatos blinked, his hand freezing mid-chin tap. For a moment, Zhuxen saw something in his deadpan face — confusion? Amazement? Possibly indigestion? It was the first time she'd ever seen him genuinely acknowledge she had... a brain.

"No," he said slowly, as if still processing the concept. "I don't have a radar. I'm not Amazon Prime." He resumed tapping his chin. "Besides, as I mentioned before, I'm just one Grim Reaper out of many. There are thousands of scythes. They all look the same... give or take some flair. Different brands, that's all."

"Wait—brands?" Zhuxen squinted, trying to picture a glossy Reaper catalog. "Like what—Grim Reaper™ Spring/Summer Collection?"

Thanatos shrugged. "You know... brands. On Earth, you have Chanel, Louis Vuitton—"

"Chanel," Zhuxen corrected.

"Whatever." He waved her off. "Same thing. Mine is... Morthokian forged by a demon blacksmith, Azaziel."

Zhuxen's eye twitched.

"Morthokian." She deadpanned. "You mean to tell me the weapon that harvests souls has a designer label?"

"Limited edition," Thanatos nodded solemnly. "Comes with built-in soul siphoning and ergonomic grip."

"What the fu—" Zhuxen almost choked on her own tongue. "Yeah, whatever. Do you have any clue where we even start?"

Lian, now flickering with soft hues like a half-formed rainbow, wobbled as she clambered back onto Zhuxen's feet. She raised a trembling finger, her voice still stuttering from the strain of existing.

"H-How about... the b-blacksmith? The one who must have forged your scythe out of... h-human bones and misery?"

Zhuxen snapped her fingers. "Oh, Lian! What a brilliant idea! You're finally using that wrinkled little brain of yours."

Lian blinked, still half-dazed from her fifth fainting episode of the hour. "T-Thank you, My Lady... Wait, was that an insult—"

"Anyway!" Zhuxen cut her off, flipping her extravagant curls over her shoulder. "Mi amore, what do you think? Surely this Azaziel fellow will remember crafting such a magnificent, limited edition, death-dealing luxury weapon?"

Thanatos stared at her like she'd just suggested they solve the mystery by holding a tea party with Satan himself.

"Oh sure," he deadpanned. "Because ancient demon blacksmiths who forge weapons that could slice souls in half always keep customer service records and offer free returns."

Zhuxen gasped, clutching her chest. "Do they?!"

"No. They don't."

"Ah." Zhuxen's face fell. Then her eyes sparkled again. "But they should! What kind of hellish business model is this? I simply must write a letter of complaint!"

"To who?" Thanatos asked dryly. "Satan's Better Business Bureau?"

"Yes! Exactly! Maybe they'll give me a voucher."

Thanatos massaged his temples, probably regretting not letting the Cerberus puppies eat them at the gates.

"Okay, fine," he muttered. "We'll go to Azaziel. Perhaps, he really could help."

Zhuxen's face lit up so brightly it could've powered the entire underworld.

"I knew you'd see things my way, mi amore!"

"But," Thanatos added darkly, raising one long, bony finger, "you will not flirt with the blacksmith. He's six thousand years old, smells like burnt flesh, and hasn't bathed since the fall of Babylon."

Zhuxen pursed her lips, clearly still considering it.

"Six thousand years old, you say? Hmm... experienced."

Thanatos looked one second away from hurling himself into the River Styx.

"Just please grant me this one thing."

Zhuxen batted her lashes, leaning dangerously close — the perfume from her mortal world corset filling the air with the scent of roses and bad decisions.

"Anything for you, mi amore."

Thanatos glared. "No seducing the demon blacksmith."

Zhuxen gasped like he'd personally ripped out her heart and stomped on it.

"But... but what if he gives us a discount if we have no choice but to ask him to forge you another scythe?"

"He's a demon, not a thrift shop owner!"

"You don't know that!" Zhuxen huffed, crossing her arms. "Every powerful man has a price. If I have to bat my eyelashes and show a little—"

"NO."

Zhuxen dramatically turned to Lian. "Did you hear that, Lian? He's trying to suppress my feminine wiles! Typical man behavior."

Lian, who was now actively considering throwing herself into the nearest pit of lava, wheezed. "W-With all due respect, please don't talk me, My Lady."

Thanatos cut in, voice sharp. "If you so much as wink at Azaziel, I will personally toss your soul into the Pits of Torment, and I won't even need my scythe to do it."

Zhuxen blinked.

Then she smiled sweetly.

"So... you're saying you would personally touch my soul?"

Thanatos looked to the sky — or what passed for the sky in Tartarus — silently praying for divine intervention that would never come.

Moments later, Zhuxen strutted down the cobbled streets of Tartarus like she was walking the red carpet at the Met Gala. The whole underworld seemed to shimmer in her presence — partly because she radiated the unstoppable confidence of a woman who truly believed the Grim Reaper was in love with her...

...and partly because she was dragging Lian behind her like a half-dead mop.

Meanwhile, Thanatos trailed behind them like a long-suffering babysitter whose charges had somehow outlived their expiration dates.

The marketplace buzzed with demons haggling over stolen souls, bartering with cursed objects, and offering 2-for-1 deals on freshly harvested despair.

Zhuxen, naturally, stopped at every single stall.

"Oooh! Look, Lian! Designer misery! I simply must have one."

"My Lady, that's just a cursed doll possessed by seven dead souls—"

"How much for the misery?!"

Thanatos snatched her wrist and dragged her away before she could haggle for a haunted voodoo doll like it was a limited edition Birkin bag.

Finally, they reached a soot-covered forge tucked deep in the labyrinthine alleys of Tartarus.

Smoke billowed from the chimney, filling the air with the distinct scent of brimstone, regret, and whatever unholy deodorant demons used down here.

Thanatos sighed.

"This is Azaziel's forge."

Zhuxen adjusted her dress, smoothed down her hair, and practiced her best seductive smile.

"No. Absolutely not," Thanatos growled.

"But what if he likes women who are a little... bold?"

"He's seven feet tall and once ate an angel alive."

Zhuxen's eyes gleamed.

"Ah. Tall, dangerous, emotionally unavailable. I see the family resemblance."

Thanatos stared at her like he lost his will to live for some ironic disgrace.