The grand celestial ballroom was not, strictly speaking, designed for mortal feet. The floor shifted between solid marble and pure thought depending on which god was watching. The chandeliers were made of crystallized divine decrees that tinkled like wind chimes whenever someone broke a rule. And the music—if it could be called that—was the sound of cosmic background radiation tuned to something resembling a waltz.
None of this stopped the Death Queen from seizing Luo Feng's hand and yanking him into the center of the room.
"Darling," she purred, her grip like poisoned silk, "try to keep up."
Behind them, Li Qing sighed and cracked her knuckles. The Fox Spirit grinned, already spinning in place, her tails fanning out like a wildfire given sentience.
This was not going to be a normal dance.
This was war by other means.
The first step was simple enough—a basic turn, the Death Queen's skirts flaring like the petals of a venomous flower. But then her heel came down on a particularly sensitive tile of celestial bureaucracy, and the entire floor shuddered. Somewhere in the higher realms, a god screamed as his tax exemption forms spontaneously combusted.
Luo Feng barely had time to process this before Li Qing cut in, her frost spreading across the dance floor in intricate patterns. Where her feet touched, reality itself crystallized—just for a heartbeat—before shattering into something new. The Fox Spirit wove between them, her laughter leaving trails of foxfire in the air, each flicker burning away another thread of divine order.
It should have been chaos.
It was chaos.
But it was also, against all odds, working.
With every spin, every dip, every perfectly timed collision of their energies, the Pantheon's carefully constructed reality anchors groaned under the strain. The laws of physics, already stretched thin by their presence, began to fray at the edges. Gravity forgot which way was down. Time developed a stutter. The War God's favorite spear suddenly turned into a bouquet of very confused daisies.
The Death Queen, leading with the confidence of someone who had orchestrated at least three coups via ballroom etiquette, leaned in close.
"See?" she murmured, her breath warm against his ear. "I told you dancing was just stabbing with rhythm."
By the time the music reached its crescendo—a sound like stars collapsing into a particularly jazzy black hole—the damage was done.
The celestial ballroom was in shambles. The chandeliers had melted into puddles of half-formed legislation. The floor had given up entirely and was now just a vague suggestion of tiles hovering over the void. And the Pantheon's structural integrity…
Well.
Let's just say the Sky Father's throne now had a permanent wobble.
As the last note faded, the four of them stood amidst the wreckage, slightly out of breath and thoroughly pleased with themselves.
Li Qing straightened her sleeves, frost still curling from her fingertips. "That was… acceptable."
The Fox Spirit flopped onto a floating piece of floor, grinning. "I call that a success. Also, someone owes me a new dress—I think I melted this one."
The Death Queen, ever the picture of grace, was already rifling through the pockets of a unconscious minor deity. "Mm. I'll bill the Pantheon for damages."
Luo Feng, who had somehow ended up with his sash tied to a dangling piece of chandelier, could only laugh.
Somewhere in the distance, a plush demon was taking notes for the inevitable instructional video: How to Topple Divinity in Three Easy Steps (Step One: Find a Good Partner).
END OF CHAPTER 82