Dance With The Devil's Download

The dance studio mirrors had long since switched from reflecting graceful movements to merely bouncing back the harsh fluorescent lighting. Song Yunxin sat alone on the hardwood floor, her phone open to yet another debt collection message. She took a long, noisy slurp of her now-warm bubble tea, a petty act of defiance against the pristine space she could no longer afford.

"Some legendary dancer I turned out to be," she muttered, catching her own gaze in the mirror. Even exhausted, her posture remained perfect—old habits died hard. The same perfect posture she'd maintained through her parents' funeral three months ago, through the discovery of their hidden debts, through every rejection from potential investors for her studio.

Her phone buzzed—but this time it was WeChat. Chen Mei, her best friend and self-proclaimed "witch-tok enthusiast," had sent a link.

[Try this app! It's like those old soul-selling contracts but make it tech. People say it actually works! What's the worst that could happen?]

"The worst that could happen?" Yunxin snorted, but her finger was already hovering over the download button. "I end up exactly where I am now, just with another useless app taking up storage space."

The app's interface was sleek, minimalist black with red accents. No tacky pentagrams or goat heads—just a simple tagline: "Your Soul. Your Price. Your Choice."

"If this works," she mumbled, typing in her information, "I'm leaving Chen Mei the worst review as a best friend. 'Did not warn me demon deals went digital.'"

Her thumb hesitated over the submit button. The studio's silence pressed in around her, broken only by the hum of dying fluorescent lights.

The screen flickered.

The loading circle spun hypnotically, its red glow reflecting off the studio mirrors. Processing your soul evaluation...

Yunxin rolled her eyes at the melodramatic text, but her heart skipped when the screen suddenly went black. Numbers began scrolling rapidly: calculations of her debt, her potential, her remaining years—data she definitely hadn't entered.

Congratulations! Your soul has been pre-approved for premium pricing.

"Premium pricing?" she snorted. "What, is my soul organic, free-range?"

A new message popped up: Our top client would like to chat directly. Accept?

Her thumb hovered over the screen. This was getting weird, even by Chen Mei's standards. The rational part of her brain screamed to delete the app, go home, and maybe sign up for one of those debt consolidation programs her bank kept pushing.

Instead, she typed: Your top client better have top dollar.

The reply was instant: Oh, I have so much more than that, Miss Song. The studio's lights died completely. In the darkness, her phone's screen burned bright enough to hurt her eyes, its glow somehow deeper than before. The chat bubble showed someone was typing.

I've been watching your performances for years. The way you move between traditional and contemporary styles... it's almost supernatural. Selling yourself short with teaching kids' classes is practically a sin itself.

"How do you—" she started to whisper, but another message cut her off.

Let's discuss this in person. I find contract negotiations work better face to face.

Before she could respond, her phone's screen erupted in a blinding flash. As she blinked away the spots in her vision, the air in front of her began to ripple like heat waves off summer pavement. And through those ripples stepped a man who made her breath catch in her throat.

His suit was perfectly tailored in deepest black, his dark hair styled with just the right amount of calculated messiness. He could have passed for thirty, or three hundred—there was something timeless about the sharp angles of his face, the knowing curve of his smile. The temperature in the room seemed to rise several degrees as his dark eyes found hers in the mirror.

"No horns?" The words tumbled out of Yunxin's mouth before she could stop them, trying to mask how her pulse had quickened. "No tail? I feel a little cheated on the whole demon aesthetic."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm like expensive coffee, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "Would you prefer I went full biblical nightmare? Eyes of flame, wings of shadow?" His form flickered for a moment, something ancient and terrible shimmering beneath the polished surface, before settling back into the GQ cover model look. The transition somehow made him more intriguing, not less. "I find this form leads to better business relationships."

"Right. Business." Yunxin straightened her spine, grateful for years of dance training that made poise automatic even when facing down literal demons who looked like they'd stepped out of her most dangerous dreams. "Your app's UI could use some work, by the way. Very 2018 minimalist." She took another sip of bubble tea, hoping the cold would help cool the heat rising in her cheeks.

"Noted." He moved across the floor with impossible grace, each step precise as a dancer's, before settling onto one of the studio's chairs. He crossed his legs as if it were a throne, his gaze never leaving her face. The weight of his attention felt like a physical touch. "Though I have to say, your friend Chen Mei's review helped our downloads considerably. 'Literally changed my life, worth your immortal soul, great customer service.'" His smile widened, revealing perfect teeth. "She got a very good deal."

Yunxin's blood went cold. "Chen Mei sold her—"

"Oh, weeks ago. How did you think she afforded that 'surprise inheritance' that funded her witch shop?" He waved a hand dismissively. "But we're not here to discuss her account. Let's talk about you, Miss Song. A rising star in both traditional and contemporary dance, until family tragedy struck. Now drowning in inherited debt, about to lose your studio..." He tilted his head. "Tell me, what would you give to make it all go away?"

"Considering I'm literally using your soul-trading app, I think that's pretty obvious," Yunxin said dryly, though her heart was racing. She wasn't sure if it was from fear or something else entirely. "The question is, what's the catch? There's always a catch in these stories."

"Ah, a client who's done her research." He produced a sleek tablet from nowhere, its screen showing strings of ethereal text that seemed to float above the surface. He leaned forward, close enough that she caught the scent of woodsmoke and expensive cologne. "The 'catch,' as you put it, is simple: your soul... and your talents... would be exclusively mine."

Yunxin crossed her arms, trying to ignore how the word 'mine' in his voice made her stomach flip. "That's vague enough to be terrifying."

"Would you prefer the standard legal jargon? Section 1.a: 'The party of the first part hereby relinquishes all spiritual and metaphysical claims...'" He smirked as she made a gagging sound, his eyes dancing with amusement. "I thought not. Simply put, I'm offering you freedom from debt, ownership of this studio—fully renovated, of course—and a guarantee that your dance career will flourish."

"And in return?" She met his gaze steadily, despite the electricity crackling in the air between them.

"You'll perform." His eyes gleamed with something ancient and hungry that made her feel like she was already dancing for him. He rose from the chair in one fluid motion, closing the distance between them with two measured steps. "Not in this mortal realm at all, actually." He gestured at the studio with elegant disdain, his other hand offering her the tablet.

Their fingers brushed as she took it, sending a jolt through her that had nothing to do with supernatural power. "I'm offering you a position in Hell itself. Our audiences are... considerably more sophisticated than humans. They've quite literally killed to see dancers of your caliber. Several times, in fact."