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

I bought my family’s lives with my divorce. Three souls—my parents and my brother—spared from damnation in exchange for my freedom from the Lord of the Underworld. I thought we’d live out our days in peace. I was wrong. That’s when the real daughter came home. Sylvia, a gifted psychic, declared that our family’s fortune depended on one thing: a posthumous wedding between me and the ancient spirit, Old Man Hemlock. My parents and brother, mesmerized by her promises, turned on me. They performed a vicious ritual, transforming my living body into a human marionette. With a dowry of trillions in soul coins and an escort of a thousand minor ghosts, they shipped me off to the Underworld. They just never expected who would be officiating the ceremony. My ex-husband, the Lord of the Underworld himself. 1 “Don’t be dramatic, Chloe. Don’t you see this is for the best? Marrying you off to Old Man Hemlock is the only way the family can secure its place in the Capital!” “Sylvia is the Void Master’s prized apprentice. You’ve seen her powers. We can’t ignore her vision.” “Old Man Hemlock is an influential figure down there, a gatekeeper of mortal wealth. He specifically requested you, Chloe, with your unique, cold-yin aura. Our hands are tied.” My parents and brother had me bound to a crucifix. My body was a canvas for Sylvia’s dark art, plastered with sigils she’d painted on cursed parchment. Then, following her direction, they inserted a needle and pumped a necrotic mark directly into my heart. Finally, they slit the arteries in my wrists and ankles, draining my veins dry. For forty-nine days, I was left to air-dry, my body slowly hardening, my skin turning taut and pale like treated leather. I was becoming a puppet. My lips were cracked and dry, but I fought, my voice a ragged whisper. “You’re being scammed. Old Man Hemlock is nothing. He’s just a bootlicker for one of the Judge’s clerks, a sycophant with no real power.” My previous marriage to Nyx, the Lord of the Underworld, had meant a brief residency in his realm. I’d never met this Hemlock, but I’d heard the whispers. He was once a weasel, a conniving spirit whose only talent was flattery. I even remembered the Judge complaining about him, unable to pin him down for any real offense, forced to tolerate his presence. Tying the family’s fate to a creature like that was a death sentence. My mother sighed, her eyes a venomous mix of pity and contempt. “We invested so much in you, Chloe. We hoped you’d climb the social ladder, marry into a powerful family, and lift us all up. But you were a disappointment. If it weren't for Sylvia arranging this match, our family would be destined for ruin.” I shook my head, the movement stiff and jarring. I wanted to scream that Sylvia was the source of their ruin. Her dabbling in forbidden arts had upset the cosmic balance, and to save her own skin, she’d redirected the karmic backlash onto her closest kin. It was I who had defied the Underworld's laws, trading my marriage and my future with Nyx to save their ungrateful lives. But before I could speak, Sylvia pierced my lips with a needle and red thread, sewing them shut. Pain, white-hot and absolute, shot through me. Tears blurred my vision. She chanted a quick, sharp incantation, and the red thread vanished, leaving my lips sealed as if they had never been parted. No matter how hard I tried, no sound could escape. And then, my mouth moved, but the words weren't mine. “Mom, Dad, brother… for the future of our family, I am willing to marry Old Man Hemlock. Don’t worry about me. Just focus on building your wealth and living the good life you deserve!” My own eyes widened in horror. For a moment, my family looked just as stunned. Sylvia, standing beside me, simply smirked. “Old Man Hemlock is a man of tradition. He dislikes taking a bride by force. He wants a wife who will bring him happiness,” she explained, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “So, I’m sorry, sister. The role of the marionette suits you perfectly.” She then turned to my family. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure my sister is a most willing and obedient wife. Old Man Hemlock will be very, very comfortable.” Relief washed over their faces. My father couldn’t stop praising Sylvia’s brilliance. My brother beamed, proud to have such a powerful true sister. And my mother took Sylvia’s hands, her eyes filled with adoration. “You’ve worked so hard all these years, learning these difficult arts. Once we’re established, once we’re truly wealthy, we’ll make it all up to you.” Sylvia’s response was a masterclass in feigned humility. “As long as I can be with you, my family, I would do anything.” 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. 3 “Your Excellency! Judge Gabriel!” Sylvia exclaimed, her composure instantly shifting to one of deep reverence. She hurried forward. “My sister’s wedding procession. We meant no offense.” She quickly ordered the spirits to move the palanquin to the side. “Please, Your Excellency, after you.” Gabriel’s brow furrowed slightly. “A bride for the Underworld?” he asked, his voice low and resonant. Sylvia nodded eagerly. “Indeed. A match arranged by a medium in the mortal realm for Old Man Hemlock.” Gabriel’s expression darkened. “A ghost marriage? It’s been years since one of those was sanctioned… Are you certain the bride in that palanquin is a willing participant?” The custom of ghost marriages was ancient, but it had all but ceased three years ago. After his divorce, Lord Nyx had become volatile and unpredictable, and he’d refused to officiate any new unions. The few that had taken place were illicit, secret affairs, conducted far from his sight. But Sylvia was prepared. She produced a black, official-looking document—a marriage certificate, already bearing the Lord of the Underworld’s seal. “As you can see, Your Excellency, the certificate is in order. It only needs the bride and groom’s signatures after the ceremony.” Gabriel took the dark booklet, his eyes narrowing as he read it. “So, it’s that old weasel Hemlock.” Somehow, the pathetic creature had managed to sweet-talk Nyx into granting him a sanctioned certificate. It was baffling. Gabriel handed the document back to Sylvia with a faint, dismissive sniff. “If the Lord himself has approved it, it’s not my place to delay the happy couple. Proceed.” He stepped back, clearing a path on the spectral bridge. A triumphant smile flashed across Sylvia’s face. She thanked the Judge profusely before leading the procession forward across the bridge. Trapped inside the palanquin, I struggled with all my might to make a sound, any sound, to alert Gabriel to my presence. Gabriel, it’s me! Don’t you remember? I’m the former Lady of the Underworld! Gabriel, three years ago, when you broke Lord Nyx’s favorite chalice, I took the blame for you. Don’t you remember? But no matter how frantically I screamed in my mind, my lips remained sealed, my body still. Just as the palanquin was about to pass him, a chilling voice cut through the air, emanating from just behind the Judge. “Wait.” That voice… it struck my heart like a bolt of lightning. Instantly, the entire bridge erupted in a bloom of blood-red spider lilies, their petals unfurling from the spectral mist. The spirit bearers shivered, a wave of primal fear that I felt in my own petrified core. I suddenly remembered that Nyx was utterly incapable of managing his own affairs. Wherever he went, someone had to be at his side. That person used to be me. After our divorce, someone else must have taken my place. Looking at the sea of spider lilies, a flower he grew only for me, I knew who it had to be. His most loyal servant, Judge Gabriel. “Lord Nyx! You’re here as well!” Sylvia’s voice was a choked gasp of shock. Every spirit in the procession, a thousand strong, dropped to their knees, prostrating themselves. The palanquin, abandoned, crashed onto the bed of crimson flowers. “We did not mean to disturb you, my Lord! We beg your forgiveness!” Sylvia bowed her head, yanking my brother down to his knees beside her. My brother, his face a mask of confusion, stared at the impossibly handsome man before him. There was a flicker of familiarity, but he couldn't place him. Seeing Sylvia’s terror, however, he knew to be cautious. Nyx’s eyes, long and sharp, scanned the scene with an air of bored amusement. “It’s 2025. Are we still doing ghost marriages with this level of tack? This palanquin looks like something out of a bad horror movie.” Gabriel cleared his throat. “A result of mortals watching too many period dramas, I suspect.” Nyx’s gaze drifted lazily until he flicked a finger. The black marriage certificate flew from Sylvia’s hand and into his. He toyed with it for a moment. “Three years,” he mused. “It’s been too quiet around here. Since I’m the one who issued this license, I might as well witness the ceremony. And let it be known: the moratorium is over. Tell all those who have been waiting to get their unions certified.” Gabriel’s eyes widened. “My Lord, you’re sanctioning ghost marriages again?” Nyx scoffed. “If I don’t, the entire order of this realm will fall into chaos.” Gabriel hesitated, then asked quietly, “My Lord… have you moved on?” Nyx’s brow snapped into a frown, and he ignored the question completely. Gabriel, realizing his misstep, fell silent. “Let’s go,” Nyx declared, striding forward. “I could use a drink.” He led the way, with Gabriel a step behind. The spirit bearers scrambled to lift the palanquin, following Sylvia and my brother as they hurried to keep pace. 4 Sylvia, ever the schemer, had already sent a spirit ahead to warn Old Man Hemlock of Nyx’s impending arrival. The procession resumed its clamorous, grotesque celebration. As for me, I stared out at the endless carpet of spider lilies, my vision blurring with unshed tears. Three years ago, because I loved them, Nyx had magically bonded the seeds to his very being. Ever since, wherever the Lord of the Underworld walked, spider lilies bloomed in his wake. “This flower is so morbid,” he’d complained, even as he wove the spell. “Obsessed with death. What’s to like?” I’d sniffed. “I just like them. You wouldn’t understand my sorrow.” He’d pulled me into his arms. “Sorrow? I give you the finest things in this realm. What sorrow could you possibly have?” I miss my home, I’d told him. The Underworld is your home now, he’d replied. And for a time, I had tried. I had tried to make this place my home, to make him my home. But fate, it seemed, had other plans. Soon, the procession arrived at the gates of Old Man Hemlock’s estate. He stood there waiting, a large red flower pinned to his chest, his face stretched into a wide, toothy grin. The moment he saw Nyx, his smile froze. He and his entire staff of ghost servants dropped to their knees. “All hail the eternal Lord Nyx!” Nyx ignored him completely, striding into the main courtyard and settling into the seat of honor. Gabriel followed, issuing a crisp order. “Get on with the ceremony. The Lord is thirsty.” Hemlock scrambled to his feet, ordering servants to bring wine. With Nyx present, the traditional rituals—carrying the bride over a brazier of coals—were forgotten. He just wanted to get this over with and appease the Lord. He hissed at Sylvia to lead me inside to the bridal chamber. My brother, however, was looking displeased. “This Hemlock grovels before a mere Judge,” he muttered to Sylvia. “Is he really powerful enough to help our family?” Sylvia shot him a sharp look. “Are you having second thoughts about marrying Chloe off, brother?” He shook his head. “No, I was just thinking… wouldn’t it have been better to marry her to the Judge? Or better yet, this Lord Nyx? Imagine the power our family would have then!” Sylvia sneered. “Take a good look at our dear sister, brother. Do you honestly think a man like Lord Nyx would even glance her way?” He grumbled under his breath. “Besides,” she added, “the Lord of the Underworld already has a wife.” “A wife? But I heard they divorced years ago.” “They did,” Sylvia confirmed. “But everyone in the Underworld knows he’s never taken another. He’s waiting for her to come back.” My brother chuckled. “Huh. The great Lord is a romantic.” Listening to them, a wave of despair washed over me. Nyx would never wait for me. He hated me. Hidden beneath a red silk veil, I allowed Sylvia to lead me into the courtyard. To appease Nyx, Hemlock wanted to skip straight to the consummation, ordering Sylvia to take me directly to the bridal chamber. But she couldn't move me. I planted my feet beside Old Man Hemlock, fighting with every ounce of my will against the silver threads that controlled me. I knew, with chilling certainty, that if I didn't get help now, I would be lost forever. Sylvia’s fingers twitched, her voice a strained whisper. “Sister, what are you doing? We’re going to the bridal chamber!” I clenched my teeth, my whole body trembling with the effort of resisting her. She began muttering incantations, her power pulling against my own desperate struggle. The two forces tore at me, a silent, agonizing war within my own skin. Sweat beaded on my brow, and dark, bruise-like blotches began to appear on my neck. After a minute that felt like an eternity, I lost. My body betrayed me, my feet beginning to move in the direction of the chamber. At the main table, a servant presented wine to Hemlock, who personally carried a cup to Nyx. Nyx sipped it, his expression flat. “This bride of yours, Hemlock. What’s her story?” Hemlock, sweating, offered a half-truth. “A fated connection from the mortal realm, my Lord. A love match, I assure you.” Nyx had long ago forbidden forced ghost marriages. Hemlock wouldn’t dare tell the truth. “Is that so? Then let’s see the license signed before any… festivities… commence.” Hemlock froze. Gabriel smirked coldly. “What’s the matter? Afraid the bride won’t sign?” The old weasel looked panicked until Sylvia shot him a reassuring glance. She took the marriage certificate and a pen, holding them out to me. “Sister, sign your name.” Nyx’s sharp, cat-like eyes were fixed on me. Driven by the silver threads, my hand began to write. The first part of the name appeared. Sy— Nyx raised an eyebrow. “Her name is Sylvia…” My hand continued to move. The rest of the name flowed onto the page. 5 Sylvia. The name on the certificate was Sylvia. “How utterly, painfully common,” Nyx murmured, a hint of disdain in his voice. My eyes burned with tears. How could it be her name? “Why did it write your name?” my brother whispered urgently to Sylvia. She pursed her lips. “I’ll explain later.” He couldn’t possibly know that Sylvia was the one Hemlock had originally wanted. I was just the scapegoat. After Hemlock scrawled his own name on the document, Nyx pressed the unique seal of the Underworld onto it, making the union official. “Thank you, my Lord! All hail the eternal Lord Nyx!” Hemlock and his followers fell to their knees once more. “The marriage is witnessed. You may attend to your… duties.” Nyx placed his cup on the table and rose to leave. “I’m tired.” As he passed me, he paused, his gaze sweeping over my veiled form. Gabriel sighed softly. “She does have a slight resemblance to the former Lady… My Lord, perhaps you’d like to see the bride’s face?” Nyx scoffed. “A passing resemblance is all. Any mortal woman who would willingly marry that weasel holds no interest for me.” “As you say,” Gabriel replied, shaking his head. But as they took a few steps toward the gate, Nyx stopped dead. He turned his head, his eyes landing on my brother, who stood beside Sylvia. “You,” Nyx said, his voice low. “I’ve seen you somewhere before.” My brother swallowed hard, frozen. Sylvia, quick-witted as ever, jumped in. “This is my brother, my Lord. He has a rather common face… You honor him with your notice.” Nyx’s brow furrowed. “Her brother?” A look of dawning horror crossed Gabriel’s face as he, too, seemed to remember something. With a flick of Nyx’s eyes, a gust of wind snatched the red veil from my head, sending it fluttering down to land on the spider lilies. My face, streaked with tears and etched with despair, was revealed to all. “Chloe!” The name was a raw cry torn from his throat. Gabriel stared, his eyes wide. “My Lady!” The crowd murmured in confusion, but Nyx was already moving, appearing before me in a blur of motion, his eyes glowing like embers. “When,” he growled, his voice a dangerous whisper, “did you change your name?” I wanted to explain, to tell him everything, but I couldn't. I could only let more tears fall, praying he would see that something was terribly wrong. “We had an agreement,” he hissed. “We were never to see each other again in this life. What is the meaning of this?” He demanded an answer I couldn't give. More accurately, an answer Sylvia couldn't give. She was too stunned, too slow to react to the catastrophic turn of events. “Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot,” he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “Today is your wedding day. Your wedding to this… weasel. After throwing me away without a second thought, you choose to marry this thing?” He gritted his teeth, his crimson eyes burning with a rage so intense it felt like it could incinerate my very soul. “Have you lost your mind, or have you just gone blind?” My body trembled, but it was Sylvia’s fear I was feeling. My lips moved, forming her terrified words. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, my Lord…” Nyx’s hand shot out, his icy fingers closing around my throat. “You don’t know, or you’re pretending not to know? Are you truly going to marry this pathetic creature today?”

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