Chapter Text
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Beneath the mortal realm lies an upside-down city humans call ‘Hell’. Contrary to popular beliefs, rather than having derelict buildings splashed in sanguine substance, or streets covered in gallons of lava, ‘Hell’, or rather, Khaenri’ah, is a monotonous city; lifeless, decrepit, and tainted with sins and remorse. Murky waters infested with parasites feeding on carcasses surround the place, producing a pungent stench unbearable to humans of the Overworld, Teyvat.
Of course, residents of Khaenri’ah are immune to it, having lost their sense of smell and taste upon signing a mandatory contract with the Princess–the figure who governs over Khaenri’ah.
At least, that’s how it should be.
For the prudent reaper Alhaitham, he still had his senses intact. He was referred to as a ‘Calamity’ on Judgement Day, a weekly event where the Abyss Order decides the fate of the influx of unsuspecting souls.
Once the contract is signed, one’s sense of smell and taste would be forcefully taken away through barbaric ways in the chambers of the Dark Castle where the Princess resided. In addition, one must adhere to the overwhelming number of rules written on the contract, the most notable being the severe mental and physical punishments meted out by the Abyss Order when your information was disclosed or on the verge of being leaked to mortals in Teyvat. Sometimes, you’d even be tortured for the members of the Abyss Order’s own entertainment.
Despite being dead, a hierarchy persists – the highest, of course, being the Abyss Order (but really, there was no order), followed by Reapers like Alhaitham who were responsible for collecting souls before they descend, then the Black Serpents who safeguarded the place, and lastly the people of Khaenri’ah; lost beings desperate to linger a little longer, to see the world a little more. In addition, there was also a rebel alliance known as the Fatui, whose sole purpose is to overthrow the Princess and initiate a revolution to transform Khaenri’ah into a thriving underworld enterprise.
Their rankings are decided not by their strength, but by the amount of Karma they’ve accumulated. Once you’re assigned a position, you must commit to that role until your time is up. Naturally, the more authority you have, the longer you’ll ‘live’. To some, this was a blessing, while to others, it was a curse.
Unlike the rest, Alhaitham came in unscathed. Perhaps it was the trauma which caused him to forget how he died, and all his memories in Teyvat. He stared blankly at the Judges when his turn was up, his laconic replies nearly driving one of the Abyss Lectors insane. No data could be gathered on him, but his outstanding Karma left the Judges in a dilemma. It was enough for him to become a prominent figure in the Abyss order, yet they didn’t trust him enough. Furthermore, he was handsome. It would be a shame to have his features concealed by a mask.
So, there he was, serving his 500th year, and also his last, as a reaper, next to the putrid water he was accustomed to.
As a veteran, he was allowed to travel freely between Teyvat and Khaenri’ah, to collect souls and pass time. After much turmoil, he managed to rent a place in Sumeru a few years ago, a nation of verdure (also his area of jurisdiction), after rediscovering the purpose and the usage of Mora. To his dismay, however, his roommate was an absolute airhead – a retired architect who pursued his love for arts by becoming a florist, largely due to his outstanding debt.
To exacerbate things, flowers were the bane of the reaper’s existence. He had chosen Sumeru as his residing place solely because of convenience’s sake. Age has caught up with him in a land of no ageing, thus he no longer had the patience and time to commit to days, sometimes even weeks of travelling.
A loud thud broke his reverie. Pierro, widely known by his alias ‘The Jester’, sat in front of him, his brooding shoulders emphasised by a lavish coat which draped around him. Right, this monotonous exposition caused Alhaitham to forget he was in a game of chess with the Fatui’s strongest.
He glowered at the reaper, tapping his fingers against the chessboard impatiently. No words were exchanged throughout the match, yet they understood each other through swift movements of their fingers across the board, replicating a warzone as they steadily deployed the pieces to various parts of the board.
Alhaitham pondered his moves, his brows furrowing. The atmosphere was tense as the onlookers watched, their gaze following the hands of the ‘commanders’. For a city which lacked entertainment, the weekly chess tournament was one of the few events they anticipated.
Deafening silence. Clenched fists and heavy breaths. Perspiration trickled down their forehead in rivulets. It was a scene that came straight out of a novel.
Alhaitham hoisted his hand slightly above the board, as if declaring victory. “Checkmate,” he said, his demeanour unwaveringly serene. The crowd burst into an uproar. Some clasped their hands together as if thanking a God who never existed, while others slunk back into their seats.
To spectate the game, one must bet Mora on either of the players. Richer entities like the Black Serpents could bet thousands on one round alone, while poorer residents, especially those who were swindlers or exploitative entrepreneurs in their past life, could only watch through unethical means—bribing with items which aren’t Mora, such as their limbs or their organs.
The reaper didn’t care, as long as the money went to him. He maintained his 60th winning streak, earning plenty from the spectators. Of course, one-third of his revenue was spent on exorbitant rent prices and utility bills, because his roommate spends countless nights arranging flowers with the lights on, all while blasting music on the jukebox.
The two took turns paying the bill—or at least, that was what they had promised, but never fulfilled. Nearing the end of each month, he would find a note blotched with dried-up alcohol pasted onto the study table, with the words “thx for paying” hastily scribbled onto it.
“...This bastard,” Alhaitham would mutter, before pasting the note onto the bulletin board outside their tavern and exposing his housemate as a rogue. Normally, he wouldn’t bother participating in childish ruses like that. Yet, something about the sole existence of his roommate provoked him.
He wasn’t one to be infuriated this easily. If he was, he would’ve already dragged his roommate down to hell with him.
“Checkmate isn’t where the game ends, Haitham,” Pierro whispered, grazing past the reaper. Without bidding farewell, he disappeared into the crowd, with faint traces of luminescent shards trailing behind him.
Decades of playing chess together, and never once has Pierro won against him. They’ve engaged in numerous physical battles because the Jester was certain he cheated, before he finally accepted that Alhaitham truly was a scholarly jerk who was adept at almost everything he does.
Even in their brawls, Alhaitham’s fighting ability was unrivalled, and he managed to parry attacks which many others couldn’t. The Fatui diplomat often left chagrined, in the same manner he did now.
Gradually, the crowd dissipated, their pallid complexions returning as their smiles ceased. Some could be seen with a missing arm or leg, and few even had their eyes gouged out. As they scattered, a familiar face greeted him – a blond man, clad in all black with strips of enchanting blue emphasising his beauty, with a four-pointed star embedded in his iris. “Dainsleif,” Alhaitham said, maintaining a tepid tone.
Dainsleif–the one who witnessed Khaenri’ah when it was still teeming with life; the one who existed long before everyone did. Rumour has it that he took the form of a small, floating… thing who accompanied the Princess throughout her journey in Teyvat 500 years ago, before she eventually became the ruler of the underworld. As her life-long companion, he lived for as long as she did.
“She wants to see you,” he announced dryly.
When two socially inept figures meet, what more can they say? A million questions formed in his head, but Alhaitham simply nodded before he was escorted to the Ruined Castle in silence. After what seemed like hours, he found himself in front of an abnormally enormous, heavily bolted door wrapped around in thick, thorny veins. Alhaitham gulped.
His fate awaits him behind this very door.
Dainsleif outstretched his arm and spread his palm, emitting a constant stream of sparks which coruscated in the darkness. In an instant, the bolts were removed and the veins receded. The door creaked open, revealing nothing but pitch black.
Cautiously, the reaper stepped in, scrutinising the void. The door slammed shut behind him, and he felt a hand grab onto his. “Don’t let go,” Dainsleif warned. Woah, for a moment he thought he was stuck in a romance novel. “You’ll die if you do.”
…A psychopathic one.
Together, they manoeuvred through concrete walls and uneven tiles, while Dainsleif fended off the snarling creatures who leered at them as they passed. They continued running until they crossed a threshold marked in an ominous red. As their feet touched the ground, a brightly-lit hallway unveiled before them, eradicating the darkness which tried to consume them.
Chandeliers swung overhead, pictures of the Princess and someone else whose face had been blurred out sprawled along the walls. Indecipherable words were scribbled all over the floor, and patches of blood tainted the entire hallway. It was his first time meeting her at where she dwelled. He certainly hoped it would be his last.
It resembled an asylum more than a castle. Alhaitham shuddered at the thought of the Princess descending into delirium as she slew the intruders–perhaps even those who worked under her, her very own guards and servants.
“We’re here,” Dainsleif reported, knocking gently on the door as large as the one at the entrance.
Slowly, it opened.
Ripped wallpaper, broken glassware, drawn curtains, floor stained with one’s essence of life. It was just as Alhaitham had expected. He hoped he’d make it out alive, even if he already wasn’t.
A petite figure stood on what he assumed to be a pile of carcasses. Did they dump some into the river because they had no space in the castle? Alhaitham glanced at her, moonlight piercing through the gaps of the curtains, illuminating her features.
The Princess was blonde, and her hair slithered over her shoulders down to her ankles. A withered flower rested on her ear. Her gown was pitch black, its end trimmed with pearls and jewels. “Reaper,” she finally spoke, her voice stentorian. Alhaitham felt his knees go weak, and he collapsed onto the floor, kneeling against his will.
This was the power of the ruler of Hell.
This was the power of Death itself.
“I need you to harvest one last soul for me, before you can ascend.” There was no space for negotiation. Alhaitham maintained his silence, groaning at the excruciating pain which pierced his abdomen. The hilt of his sword pressed against his ribcage, but he was unable to wriggle free.
“We had some trouble capturing him previously,” the Princess explained, oblivious to his discomfort. “So we’ll give you a month to collect his soul. Failure will result in immediate termination and banishment from Celestia after the ascension.”
A month? Which bastard needs so much time just to die? He grunted at the thought of missing the weekly chess tournaments, and the amount of Mora he would lose.
“You,” the Princess continued. “Will be in charge of Kaveh.”
The reaper’s eyes widened. Isn’t that…? A screen appeared before him, divulging the profile of his next target.
[ Kaveh. 29. Florist from Sumeru (Teyvat). – Death : ◼◼ / Cause : ◼◼ ]
Blond hair, brown eyes, and a sheepish smile. Oh my god. It was a jumpscare to see his roommate’s face before him. What’s a naive person like him doing in Hell? He furrowed his brows. As far as he knew, though he hated to admit it, Kaveh was a genuine person.
He had once been swindled thousands (back when he still had Mora) because of an innovation a stranger proposed; one which would use the funds of the people for the goodwill of the children in Sumeru, completely forgetting that access to education and medicine was free.
Regardless, it was about time. For all the times he evaded tax, embezzled, and for being a pain in the ass. Yes, this was the best revenge anyone could ask for. In fact, he wanted to thank the Princess for delegating this task to him.
“I will do as you say, Your Highness,” he said, his lips curling into a sly smile.