My Ex, The Lord of the Underworld, Went on a Rampage After I Died Chapter 2

Sylvia’s goal in turning me into a marionette was simple: total control. She’d already stolen my voice. Now, she was coming for my body.

One by one, she pressed silver needles into my limbs. They slid beneath my skin, leaving no mark, drawing no blood. They navigated my desiccated veins, pierced my marrow, and latched onto my nerve endings. The agony was a silent scream that threatened to shatter my soul.

And then, it was over.

A moment ago, I was a heap on the floor. Now, with a flick of Sylvia’s fingers, I rose to my feet. My expression was serene, my posture graceful. I faced my family not with agony, but with the joyful anticipation of a bride-to-be.

“Mom, Dad, brother… thank you for raising me these twenty years. I will repay your kindness. I promise I won’t be a burden to you anymore.”

No matter how fiercely my mind rebelled, my body was no longer my own.

Seeing me so docile, my family was overjoyed.

“Chloe, Old Man Hemlock will be good to you,” my father said with a reassuring nod.

“He’s an older man; he’ll know how to dote on you. Just be sure to serve him well,” my mother added.

“It’s time for you to grow up, Chloe,” my brother chimed in. “When you get to his estate, don’t be willful.”

Sylvia’s fingers danced in the air, and I responded to their silent commands. “Yes. Chloe will be good.”

Under Sylvia’s direction, my brother procured my dowry: trillions in soul coins. My parents commissioned the finest artisan of paper effigies, who worked for seven days and seven nights to craft a magnificent eight-bearer palanquin and a bridal gown of fiery red paper. Sylvia, for her part, used her psychic abilities to summon an entourage of a thousand minor spirits to escort me to my doom.

April 4th. A day of remembrance for the living, but a most auspicious time in the Underworld, when the gates between realms swing wide open.

With Sylvia at my side, I was placed in the palanquin. The procession began, a thousand spirits hauling chests overflowing with soul coins, a macabre parade marching toward the path to the Underworld.

The air filled with the discordant wail of horns and the clash of gongs. It was a ghastly celebration.

My brother, usually so stingy, had shed his miserly ways. He walked alongside, handing out red envelopes of spirit money to any ghouls or specters we passed, buying good fortune.

My parents waved goodbye from the threshold. I couldn't fight, I couldn't scream. The only sign of my dissent was the silent tears that streamed down my face.

Sylvia noticed and dabbed at them with a handkerchief. “What’s there to cry about?” she cooed. “Your very essence, that cold-yin aura of yours, destines you for a spirit marriage. Old Man Hemlock is a fine catch, all things considered. You’re going to a life of comfort. Left to your own devices, a body like yours would eventually be devoured by some malevolent entity. Really, you should be thanking me for finding you such a perfect match.”

Old Man Hemlock. The spirit of a wretched weasel. Not only was his appearance said to be grotesque, but he was rumored to have a penchant for tormenting female ghosts. If I had known this was my fate, I never would have divorced Nyx.

Nyx… for all his faults, at least he was devastatingly handsome.

To save my family, I had defied the Lord of the Underworld himself. What a fool I’d been. I should have listened to Nyx and let these vipers face their damnation.

But it was too late for regrets.

“Who dares block the path?” a familiar voice boomed from ahead.

My heart seized. Through the swaying curtains of the palanquin, I saw the figure barring our way.

Not a man. A ghost.

And not just any ghost. It was Gabriel, Nyx’s most trusted right hand, the Judge of the Dead.