Manifestations—And One Broken Disco Rock

Lian, who had been fainting moments ago, was now wide awake—staring at Zhuxen like she'd personally dragged the entire Tartarus fashion police into the room.

The woman maid's disbelief was practically radiating off her.

Zhuxen could feel the judgment radiating from Lian's eyeballs, burning holes into the grim reaper cloak now draped over her divine figure.

Thanatos tapped his chin, surveying her with a critical eye.

"Hm. Underworld cloaks don't look bad on you."

Zhuxen's head slowly turned toward him, a smile stretched across her lips like she was weighing whether to kill him or marry him just like she always planned.

"I know, my love." She struck a breathtaking pose, fingers resting lightly on her chin. "Even if you made me wear sackcloth, this face and body would make it look like celestial silk spun by the moon goddess herself — kissed by phoenix feathers and blessed by the tears of angels."

Lian's eye twitched behind them, clutching at her own threadbare dress like it personally offended the laws of beauty.

Thanatos nodded seriously, as if this were a very normal conversation and not the beginning of his slow, painful execution. Because he chose this life. He could not possibly complain at his own stupidity.

"I appreciate your positivity."

He gave her shoulder a light, reassuring pat — mostly to check if she was vibrating with barely suppressed homicidal rage.

She was.

Because Zhuxen Mingzhu Song — imperial jewel, empress of beauty, terror of concubines — was now wrapped in secondhand underworld polyester thanks to Azaziel's outrageous pricing.

$999.99 for one demonic GPS pebble.

Another $200 for the "Loose Lips Sink Scythes and Dragging Two Living Humans in Hell for a Sight-Seeing" confidentiality package.

And the cherry on top?

Azaziel do not accept devil coins — only human possessions worth the exact amount.

Thanatos might have traded Lian's soul without blinking, but even Azaziel wouldn't touch it once he sniffed out that Lian had the bloodline of a provincial peasant girl who probably only ended up in Zhuxen's service because she was the only one brave or dumb enough to handle her temper tantrums.

Which left one option.

Zhuxen's gown — the gown of legends as what Azaziel referred to with exaggeration— embroidered with golden threads blessed by the moon goddess, rumored to have caused four royal engagements and two fainting princes during a single banquet — of course, Azaziel had to exaggerate things since he already had his eyes on Zhuxen's gown the moment she enter his forge.

Human possessions in Hell were worth millions — black market gold. And since Zhuxen and Thanatos clearly had no choice but to walk out empty-handed, Azaziel did what any self-respecting demon entrepreneur would do.

He grabbed the God-forbidden opportunity like a Black Friday shopper fighting for the last flat-screen TV.

"Finder's keepers," he muttered, stuffing a half-melted Rolex into his apron pocket while Thanatos glared at him like he'd personally invented sin.

They had no choice but to buy one rock and a confidentiality clause using Zhuxen's gown whose fists clenched beneath the cloak as the memory of the hot scamming demon grinning while folding her gown into his cursed Etsy inventory burned into her mind.

"I hope that rock finds your scythe, my love," she said sweetly, eyes still fixed forward. "Because if it doesn't—"

She turned slowly, voice as soft as silk.

"—I will carve you a new one from your bones."

Thanatos blinked. "Understood."

Lian immediately started lighting incense for his funeral behind them.

Azaziel's low chuckle echoed from the forge, probably already drafting the product description:

"Lightly worn heavenly gown — cursed by 99% pure feminine vengeance."

Zhuxen flicked her cloak ethereally and marched toward the door

"Let's go. Before I start manifesting unpaid debts."

The three of them halted just at the gate of Azaziel's cursed little Etsy shop when the stone suddenly shuddered on top of Thanatos' palm — like it was having second thoughts about its entire existence.

Zhuxen's breath caught in her throat.

"Did you break it?!"

Her mind was already sprinting ahead, imagining at least 372 different ways to murder Azaziel — starting from cutting his hair in his sleep to shoving that overpriced pebble straight down his lying throat.

Thanatos didn't answer — mostly because he, too, was considering his life choices.

The stone flickered, glowing a sickly yellow this time — and instead of one steady beam pointing in a clear direction, the light suddenly split into half a dozen chaotic lines like a malfunctioning disco ball.

Zhuxen's eye twitched so hard she nearly dislocated her soul.

"Oh, that evil uncultured swine!" she seethed. "Where's the receipt? I'm marching back in there and make him swallow this goddamn rock with the packaging included!"

Thanatos' lips curled into a barely-there grimace.

He slowly glanced at Lian, who was still swaying behind them like she was halfway through her application to the afterlife.

"I think your maid... burned it into her incense earlier."

Zhuxen blinked slowly, her murderous smile never quite reaching her eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, she gracefully glided towards Lian — the way a swan would... if the swan was possessed by seventeen vengeful spirits and owed rent to hell.

Lian's half-dead eyes blinked back, still swaying like a broken wind chime.

"Y-Young Miss...?"

Zhuxen gently placed a hand on her maid's shoulder with all the warmth of a mafia boss about to order a hit.

Then — with the most elegant flick of her wrist — she kicked Lian square in the stomach.

The poor woman maid shrieked as she somersaulted straight towards the endless abyss of Tartarus — limbs flapping like a dying pigeon — before getting caught on a stray branch at the edge of the cliff.

Zhuxen brushed imaginary dust off her hands and turned back to Thanatos with the sweetest smile anyone about to commit a double homicide had ever worn.

"So." She clasped her hands together like they were discussing picnic plans. "Where do we start? Should we begin with murdering Azaziel — or pick which direction to follow first?"

Thanatos' jaw hung halfway to the underworld floor.

"Y-You... you just kicked your maid into the abyss—"

Zhuxen's twitching eye cut him off.

"Oh, don't be dramatic." She waved a hand. "She'll climb back. Probably."

A distant "I CANNOT!" echoed faintly from the depths.

Zhuxen's smile widened. "See? She's fine."

Thanatos glanced between her and the still-glowing disco rock in his hand, silently weighing his survival chances.

He cleared his throat, eyes fixed forward.

"I-I think we should choose one direction."

"Great!" Zhuxen chirped, voice a little too cheerful.

Without another word, she marched straight past him like she hadn't declared her undying love for him just a few hours ago — and like she absolutely wasn't contemplating carving his name into Azaziel's wall of forgotten debts.

Thanatos flinched as she brushed past — because for one cold, terrifying second, he genuinely thought she was going to push him into the abyss next.

Behind them, Lian's faint screams echoed from below.

"...I still... can't... climb!"

Zhuxen didn't even spare Lian another glance. Besides, she was too busy acting like the CEO of Hell Inc., standing with one hand on her hip as if she were the official tour guide of Tartarus.

"We start with this." She pointed dramatically at the light glowing towards a narrow, suspicious-looking alleyway filled with ominous fog and what smelled like expired sin. "You have no objections, right?"

Thanatos — a literal death god — glanced at the alley like it might mug him for his own soul.

"Oh! No. None at all." He nodded so quickly it looked like his neck might detach.

"Good." Zhuxen's heels clicked on the jagged stones as she strutted forward like the grim reapers were her underpaid employees.

Thanatos sighed and followed — because clearly he was the side character now — leaving Lian still dangling off the cliff, muttering prayers to at least three different gods who were definitely ignoring her.

The deeper they went into the alley, the thicker the stink of brimstone, burnt hair, and questionable life choices became.

Zhuxen's nose wrinkled.

She side-eyed a demon slumped against a wall, slurping something suspicious out of a cracked skull cup.

"Ugh." She muttered. "Public drinking in broad abyss daylight? No self-respect."

Another demon with half a head and three chins sat next to him, rattling a tin cup for spare coins.

"Excuse me, beautiful lady... Spare a cursed penny for the damned?"

Zhuxen's eye twitched.

"Do I look like I carry small bills?" she sniffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "I just sold a gown worth more than your entire bloodline, thank you very much."

The beggar squinted at her cloak.

"Are... are you wearing one of Azaziel's Etsy clearance specials?"

Zhuxen spun around so fast the beggar almost combusted on the spot.

"WHO TOLD YOU THAT?!"

Thanatos grabbed her elbow before she could manifest a lawsuit into existence.

"Okay! We're moving. Keep walking."

They passed a pair of imps playing rock-paper-scissors with actual severed hands — and an old demon grandma beating the hell out of someone with her handbag while screaming about overdue rents.

Zhuxen sniffed again, stepping delicately around a pile of what looked like demonic barf.

"Disgusting." She muttered. "If Tartarus had a homeowners association, I would report this whole neighborhood."

Thanatos glanced at her sideways.

"You do realize you're judging hell, right?"

Zhuxen flicked an invisible speck of dust off her stolen cloak.

"Even hell needs standards."

They passed a hellhound sitting on a broken couch, lazily smoking a cigar and scratching itself like it had a 9-to-5 shift at the gates of doom.

It looked up at Zhuxen.

"Hey, sweet cheeks—"

"Not in this lifetime." Zhuxen slapped a handful of salt out of her sleeve and into its face without even breaking stride.

Thanatos blinked. "Did... did you just carry salt around in your dress?"

Zhuxen adjusted her cloak, chin high. "A lady is always prepared."

Behind them, the hellhound sneezed fire and started crying lava.

They turned another corner, and Zhuxen wrinkled her nose harder.

"Ugh, this place smells like Azaziel's customer service policies."

Thanatos tried — and failed — to hide a smirk.

Meanwhile, behind them, Lian's distant voice echoed faintly through the abyss.

"...I still... can't... climb..."

Zhuxen sighed without turning around.

"Try harder, Lian. I'm manifesting."