The waiting area was a holographic zen garden made of shifting sand and floating stones.
Ethan Cross sat in a levitating chair, his left side flickering like a broken TV screen. Through his translucent chest, you could see the neon sign behind him: **Styx Bathhouse - Members Get 20% Off**.
"Don't move." Lyra Vane knelt beside him, her mechanical arm clamping down on his dissolving shoulder.
Her damaged cybernetic eye sparked red as it tried to physically "lock" his existence in place.
Across the room, security guards with bull heads and horse faces huddled in the corner, staring at him like he was a dirty bomb about to detonate.
"That's the guy who owes three thousand years?"
"Shh! Stay back. Touch that karma and you'll reincarnate as bacteria!"
Ethan ignored the chatter. He raised his half-transparent hand and opened his black ledger. As his body faded, the numbers inside glowed blood-red, writhing like living leeches.
**BOOM!**
Thirty-foot obsidian doors slid open, releasing a wave of soul-freezing cold.
Inside wasn't some ancient throne room—it was a sterile corporate boardroom.
Ten black leather chairs. Ten figures in expensive suits. The dark energy swirling around them wasn't special effects—it was millions of years of accumulated power.
The Underworld Holdings Board of Directors. Full attendance.
Chairman Qin sat at the head of the table, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses while rolling two miniature screaming skulls between his fingers. He looked at Ethan like spoiled paperwork.
"Ethan Cross, age twenty-two. Assets: negative three thousand years of high-dimensional lifespan. Credit rating: toxic waste."
Qin flicked his finger, sliding a blood-red document across the table.
"Bad debt must be liquidated. By unanimous board vote, we're executing 'Forced Soul Dissolution.' Your remains will be dumped in the River Styx to write off the loss."
No negotiation. Just execution.
**Click-click-click!**
Wall panels flipped open. Two rows of exoskeleton-armored reapers emerged, particle rifles instantly targeting Ethan's forehead.
"You want him? Go through me first!" Lyra snarled, drawing her broken blade.
Qin didn't even look up.
**Hum!**
Crushing gravity slammed down.
Lyra's knees shattered the floor tiles. Her mechanical eye sparked and smoked. Every bone in her body creaked as she was pinned flat, unable to move.
"Mortal struggles." Qin tapped the table. "Execute."
One second before the triggers pulled—
"Heh..."
A sandpaper laugh cut through the tension.
Ethan's translucent throat vibrated as he chuckled, his eyes holding no fear—only the pity of watching idiots throw gold bars in the trash.
"You're really that eager to kill me? Bunch of financially illiterate fossils."
Qin paused. "What did you say?"
"I said you're stupid."
Ethan leaned forward, his head phasing through the holographic contract like a cyber-ghost.
"You think those three thousand years are just numbers? That's high-dimensional karmic debt—toxic assets locked into your core systems. This debt is hardwired into the Underworld's foundation code. I'm the only vessel containing it."
Finance Director Song's face went white. His fingers flew across a virtual keyboard. The next second, holographic market charts showed catastrophic drops.
"What does that mean?" Wheel King asked grimly.
"It means..." Ethan pulled out a dented grenade from his coat.
He'd lifted it from the Black Steel Guild.
His thumb flicked the pin free. Instead of throwing it, he pressed the cold metal against his translucent temple.
"I won't resist. Since we're all dying anyway, let me save you some bullets."
Ethan stared at the ten Death Lords' changing expressions and released the safety lever.
The striker clicked. Only his finger held the detonator.
"Three... two..."
**BEEP-WOOP-BEEP-WOOP!**
The moment Ethan's grip loosened, the massive "Underworld Currency Exchange" board flashed red across every screen.
Crash colors.
Ear-splitting alarms shrieked through the building as crimson pop-ups flooded every display:
**[ALERT! CORE DEBT CHAIN CRITICAL FAILURE!]**
**[RISK WARNING! UNDERWORLD INFLATION RATE EXCEEDING 10,000% IN 0.1 SECONDS!]**
**[WARNING! SIX REALMS REINCARNATION SYSTEM BANKRUPTCY IMMINENT!]**
"STOP!"
Qin roared, slamming into his priceless ten-thousand-year shadowwood chair.
"Hold him down! Get that grenade! He's not allowed to die!"
Ethan's finger stayed steady on the detonator, one millimeter from detonation.
Watching the Death Lords scramble for cover, his mouth curved into a maniacal grin.
"Scared? If I die, those three thousand years of bad debt instantly explode across your balance sheets."
His voice was quiet, but it cut like a scalpel through their defenses.
"Your currency becomes toilet paper. Reincarnation stops. When the High-Dimensional Council investigates, you ten fossils will be stripped of your divine status and thrown into your own eighteen levels of hell. Forever."
Too big to fail.
Owe the bank a hundred bucks, the bank owns you. Owe a hundred billion, you own the bank.
Right now, Ethan owned the Underworld.
Silence.
Qin's chest heaved. The skulls in his hands crumbled to powder. He stared at the mortal who could self-destruct at any moment, his killing intent finally melting into helplessness.
"...Stand down."
The words squeezed through gritted teeth.
The reaper guards exchanged glances and retreated like a tide. The pressure lifted. Lyra gasped and struggled to her feet, staring at Ethan like he was some kind of monster.
One minute ago they wanted him dead. Now the Death Lords had done a complete one-eighty.
"Mr... Mr. Cross." Wheel King rubbed his hands together, forcing a smile uglier than crying, pulling out a premium Styx cigar. "Young man, don't be so hot-headed. Here, have a smoke. Stabilize your spirit."
River King was more direct, shooting out a stream of pure dark energy.
**Sizzle—**
Ethan's glitching body rapidly solidified. The weakness vanished instantly.
He wasn't polite about it. Taking the cigar, he bit down and leaned forward slightly.
Wheel King blinked, then quickly produced a lighter, personally lighting it for him.
**Whoosh—**
Ethan took a deep drag, harsh smoke cycling through his lungs. He kicked his feet up on the table symbolizing the Underworld's highest authority, his shoe sole pointing directly at Qin's face.
"Now." He blew smoke rings, studying these gods held hostage by capital through the haze. "Can we discuss 'debt restructuring'?"
Outside the glass, reaper guards' jaws hit the floor—that debtor was putting his feet in Chairman Qin's face?!
Qin took a deep breath, sat back down, and resumed his executive composure, though his tone carried new wariness and respect.
"What's your game?"
"Give me an identity." Ethan flicked ash. "Something that lets me legally walk between realms and help you handle this bad debt."
Qin considered for a moment, then pushed over a new holographic contract.
**[APPOINTMENT: Chief Asset Restructuring Officer (Part-time Reaper)]**
**[Benefits: S-Class Reaper Form, Underworld VIP Access, Legal Kill License]**
Ethan scanned it and signed.
Massive data streams flooded his mind as permissions unlocked. He opened his black ledger. The previously blurred first page suddenly became clear.
The original bad debt that had bankrupted the Underworld five hundred years ago.
But what made Ethan's pupils contract wasn't the amount—it was the signature.
Just one character in wild cursive:
**[Graves]**
Hidden in the brushstroke's curve was a string of coordinates so tiny they were invisible to the naked eye.
Ethan's heart pounded.
A smuggling route straight to the High-Dimensional Council's back door.
"Chairman Qin." Ethan closed the ledger, seemingly casual. "This five-hundred-year-old bad debt... left by someone named Graves?"
Qin's expression instantly changed.
Fear mixed with reverence, as if the name itself was forbidden.
"Mr. Cross." Qin stood, dismissing his subordinates and lowering his voice. "You're a smart man. Some debts even we can't investigate."
He pointed upward. "If you don't want to die faster than you already are, pretend you saw nothing."
Ethan narrowed his eyes, fingers tracing the character "Graves."
Old bastard.
Looks like you're more than just a bragging pawnshop owner.
"Lyra, we're leaving."
Ethan pocketed the ledger and headed for the exit, his black coat billowing.
"Where to?" Lyra followed.
Ethan adjusted his glasses, data streams flashing across the lenses.
"Debt collection. Since I'm the Underworld's restructuring officer..."
He glanced back at the Death Lords, his mouth curving into a greedy smile.
"Time to make examples of those mortal 'deadbeats' who borrowed lifespan and never paid it back."