The silence in the lobby was so absolute it felt like a physical weight. It was broken by a choked, sputtering sound from the lead knight. He stared at the perfectly baked loaf of bread lying on the floor where his divine weapon should have been, his entire body trembling with a mixture of disbelief and incandescent rage.
"You…" he finally growled, his magically amplified voice cracking. He ripped the now-useless handle from his gauntlet and threw it to the floor, where it clattered noisily. He pointed a trembling, armored finger at Leo. "What have you done? What foul sorcery is this?!"
Leo's heart was trying to beat its way out of his ribcage. His mind, however, was surprisingly, terrifyingly clear. It was the same hyper-focused clarity he used to get in the final moments of a hostile negotiation when he knew he had his opponent cornered, only this time, he was the one with his back against the wall. He knew one thing with absolute certainty: showing fear now would be fatal. He had to bluff. He had to act like this was all completely normal, just another Tuesday in his strange new life.
He forced his expression into one of mild annoyance, an expression he'd perfected for clients who were five minutes late. "Sorcery? Please. I'm simply enforcing house rules."
The knight to the leader's right seemed to recover from his shock first. "Heresy! You mock the divine authority of the Sun!" He thrust his hands forward, and a brilliant golden light began to gather between his palms. He began to chant in a language that sounded like cracking stone and chiming bells. "Be cleansed by the holy flame! Solaris Ire!"
A torrent of what should have been divine fire erupted from his hands. But it wasn't fire. The blast of energy that shot across the room was a shimmering, iridescent cascade of harmless, multi-colored bubbles. They floated gently through the air, popping with a faint, pleasant plink sound against the tables and chairs. One drifted over and popped softly on Leo's cheek, leaving behind a faint, clean scent, like soap.
The chanting knight stared at his hands, then at the cloud of pretty, harmless bubbles, his entire posture screaming confusion.
Seeing both his leader's weapon and his comrade's magic fail, the third knight made a decision born of pure frustration. He was a man of action. With a furious roar, he abandoned magic and ceremony and charged directly at Leo. He was a two-ton engine of muscle and golden plate, his fist raised to pulp the insolent innkeeper into the floorboards.
Leo braced himself, every muscle in his body screaming to dive out of the way, but he forced himself to stand his ground. He couldn't dodge. Dodging was what a victim did. A manager stood his ground.
My property. My rules, he thought, the phrase becoming a silent mantra.
The knight swung. His fist was a golden blur, aimed directly at Leo's face. But halfway through the swing, the knight's trajectory faltered. A look of profound confusion flashed in the eye slits of his helm. His arm, which had been moving with lightning speed, suddenly seemed to gain an impossible amount of weight. It was as if his gauntlet had been instantly filled with lead.
The momentum of his charge, combined with the sudden, supernatural weight of his arm, threw him completely off balance. He let out a surprised grunt as he was dragged forward and down, his own punch pulling him into an ungraceful, crashing heap on the floor. He tried to push himself up, but his right arm was pinned to the floorboards by its own inexplicable gravity, refusing to move even an inch.
Two knights, two failures. One magical, one physical. Both utterly humiliating.
The leader stood amidst the slowly settling soap bubbles, looking at one comrade who could only produce bath time distractions, and another who was apparently wrestling with gravity and losing. He slowly turned his helm back towards Leo. The burning rage in his posture had been replaced by something else: a sliver of genuine, unnerving fear.
"What are you?" he demanded, his booming voice lacking its earlier conviction.
Leo took a slow, deliberate breath, praying the knight couldn't hear the frantic drumming of his pulse. He allowed himself a small, dismissive sigh, as if dealing with unruly patrons was a tedious, everyday occurrence.
"I already told you," he said, his voice level and cool. "I'm the manager. And you three are breaking the rules." He gestured vaguely at the scene of chaos with one hand. "Frankly, you're disturbing my other guest."
He nodded his head towards Lyra. She had managed to push herself into a sitting position, her back against a sturdy wooden pillar. Her stormy eyes were wide, staring at Leo with an expression of pure, unadulterated shock.
The leader followed his gaze, then looked back at Leo. The gears were turning in his head, trying to process a situation that defied every law of combat and divinity he had ever known. This place, this man… they were an anomaly that his power could not touch.
With a snarl of frustration, he made his decision. There was no victory to be had here. Only more humiliation. He strode over to his fallen comrade and, with great effort, hauled the man to his feet. The knight's right arm still hung limp and uselessly heavy at his side.
"This is not over, sorcerer," the leader spat, his threat ringing hollow. "The Order of the Sun will not forget this slight. Your dark magic will be your undoing."
"Right," Leo said, crossing his arms. "File a complaint with corporate on your way out. And please, try not to slam the door."
The sheer, baffling mundanity of the response seemed to stun the knight into silence more effectively than any magical attack could have. With one last glare filled with impotent fury, he and the bubble-mage half-dragged their gravity-afflicted companion towards the exit. They stepped back out into the swirling, pearlescent mist, and the massive doors began to swing shut behind them, closing off the outside world once more.
The lobby fell silent.
For a long moment, Leo didn't move. He just stood there, his arms still crossed, his face a mask of calm authority. Then, as the final, deep thud of the doors sealing echoed through the hall, his composure shattered like fine crystal.
His knees went weak, and he stumbled back, his hand catching the edge of the bar to keep himself from collapsing. A wave of cold sweat washed over him, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, the adrenaline crash hitting him like a physical blow. His legs felt like jelly. His hands were shaking uncontrollably.
He had done it. He had faced down three holy warriors who could probably level a city block, and he had won. He hadn't just won; he had humiliated them.
His gaze fell upon the simple, crusty baguette lying in the middle of his floor. It was the most ridiculous, most terrifying, and most powerful thing he had ever seen. It was tangible proof. This was real. This power was real.
And it was his.