The silence after the Hasshaku was heavy, but now it was just silence. We leaned against the cold stone of the church's outer wall, just breathing.
"Inside," I said, my voice hoarse. I nodded toward the heavy wooden door. "Now."
The change was instant. The door shut behind us, muting the city. The air was still and warm, smelling of old wood and peace.
And then we saw him.
In the soft light before the altar stood a Soul Defender, made of a transparent, yet strong blue material inlaid with veins of glowing gold. He radiated immense, ancient authority.
Kephriel actually stilled.
"The Holy Sentinel, it's been a while..."
he muttered.
The Sentinel's smooth mask turned toward us. A feeling of profound calm washed over us:
You are safe here.
He then inclined his head in a slow, deliberate nod.
—
The walk back to Dao's house was quiet. We filed into the living room and collapsed onto the couches, the adrenaline crash leaving us hollow.
I sank into the cushions, staring at my hands. What was the plan? Wait for the next disaster?
A movement in the corner of my eye made me flinch. A small, wispy spirit—a domestic kobold that usually hid in the walls—shuffled into the room, trembling. It placed a glass of water on the table in front of me with a soft
clink and scrambled away, too terrified of the Mindbreaker power inside me to look me in the eye.
I stared at the glass. The contradiction was dizzying.
Kephriel phased through the wall, dragging a half-asleep Thomas behind him. The Devileater flopped onto the rug and instantly started snoring.
"Make yourself at home," Dao deadpanned.
"He requires recalibration," Kephriel said, as if that explained everything. He eyed the water glass.
"The help is learning. Adorable."
"We need a goal," I said, ignoring him. "We can't just—"
FZZZT—POP!
The air in the center of the room didn't tear open. It glitched. One second it was empty, the next it was filled with the sound of screeching fax machines and screaming printers. A portal of sickly, bureaucratic green energy spat out a figure onto Dao's carpet.
It wasn't a monster. It was a woman.
She was petite, almost doll-like, dressed in a severely tailored red dress that was slightly too big for her. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a lopsided bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. A pair of round glasses were perched on her nose, magnifying her wide, furious eyes. She clutched a massive, smoking ledger book in one arm and a quill pen that dripped acidic black ink in her other hand.
She stumbled to her feet, adjusted her glasses with a little huff, and brushed carpet fuzz from her dress with sharp, irritated motions. Then her eyes, blazing with the fire of a thousand unpaid overtime hours, locked onto Kephriel.
"YOU!"
she squeaked, her voice a mix of a angry chipmunk and a dial-up modem. She pointed the leaking quill at him like a weapon.
"Kephriel! Citation number 7-41-9-Delta! Unauthorized, off-the-books, forged temporal-spiritual alteration! Do you have any idea the paperwork you've caused?!"
Kephriel looked genuinely, for the first time ever, caught off guard. He took a half-step back.
"Uh... what?"
...
"Y-you mean that minor edit—?"
"MINOR?!" The woman—The Contracter—squealed, stamping her little foot.
"You changed a core existential variable without filing a 7-B! You didn't even submit a request for a hearing! You created a cascade of paradoxical paperwork that has backlogged my entire department for a CENTURY!"
She flipped open the massive ledger, pages blurring.
"I have been auditing reality for three straight cycles without a coffee break because of YOU! I am hereby declaring a full spiritual audit and asset seizure on your entire operation! Effective immediately!"
She slammed the book shut with a sound like a judge's gavel.
The room was dead silent. Thomas snored on the rug.
Niran leaned over to me and whispered, "Is that... hell's IRS?"
The Contracter's head snapped toward him. "Do not interrupt during proceedings! This is a lawful—"
She didn't get to finish.
Preecha, who had been silent and observant in the corner the entire time, simply raised his hand. He didn't say a word. He just clenched his fist.
The intricate pattern on Dao's rug suddenly writhed. The threads twisted and shot upward like silken snakes, wrapping around the Contracter's ankles, then her wrists, yanking her off her feet. She let out a startled
"Eep!"
as the ledger and quill flew from her hands. The threads cocooned her in a fraction of a second, mummifying her in a tasteful beige wrap until only her outraged, magnified eyes peered out over the top of the fabric.
She looked like a very angry, bespectacled caterpillar.
Preecha lowered his hand. "So... who's this woman?"
We all stared at the wriggling, muffled bundle on the floor.
Kephriel stared at Preecha, then at the bundle, a slow, deeply impressed smile spreading across his face.
"Well,"
he purred.
"It seems we've captured a bureaucrat."