“And that’s the full story…” the Noodle Shop Repair Demon said, leaning back in his chair with a triumphant grin. He took a sip of his wine. “As you can see, all branches of the Noodle Shop Repair Sect have been busy. Another incomparable victory for the New Evil.”

Skullslurper sat there horrified, jaw halfway to the ground and despair clear in his eyes. “That- that- you call THAT evil? You opened a new, indestructible noodle shop, stopped multiple groups of cultivators from destroying restaurants, called an international conclave to advance repair logistics and administration, and to top it all off you’re- you’re-”

“That’s right. We’re running a charity drive to teach more youths the ideal cultivation arts behind noodle shop repair, to further decrease the number of noodle shops destroyed by cultivators or otherwise mitigate the degree of their destruction.”

“…Once again, how is this evil?”

“And to think, we even have a chronicler recording these momentous moments in the cause of evil and despair,” the Noodle Shop Demon said, thumping a fist on the published version of chapter forty-four. “Boy, this whole ‘publishing on the Interdimensional Broadways’ idea was based.”

“Based on what?” Skullslurper plaintively cried.

“Oh, one of our readers on the Interdimensional Broadways transmigrated. He taught it to me. It means cool, no cap.”

Skullslurper was on the verge of asking the Noodle Shop Repair Demon about why it meant being cool without a hat when all of a sudden there was a pounding on the door. Azcabellon began to rise to his feet, a comment about late night guests on his lips, when the pounding was followed by a crash.

A dozen demonic cultivators burst into the small and cosy cabin, briefly scanned its humble environs, and charged straight for the unassuming Noodle Shop Repair Demon. They said nothing, their faces fixed in determination as they rushed forwards, weapons unsheathed and techniques activated.

Skullslurper leapt backwards in a panic, reaching for something at his hip, but the Noodle Shop Repair Demon just waved one arm lazily, motioning for Skullslurper to refrain from action. The demonic repairman whistled a brief tune. “Yoohoo, Mr. Fluffles.”

Something shook loudly on the upper story, then leapt down the stairs in a single bound.

The demonic cultivators nearest to Azcabellon’s pet cat gave a great scream as their bodies liquified, bones drooping across the floor. The others backed up, panicking, as the cat merrily traipsed into the room.

Mr. Fluffles’ tongue lolled out of his mouth, his eyes rolled around in his head, and his overall form was the very picture of youthful exuberance. Azcabellon gave an involuntary awww at the adorableness of his beloved pet.

The demonic cultivators gave an involuntary aieee as Azcabellon's beloved pet scooped one up with his tongue, innocently slurping him down, then speared three more before the others could react.

Skullslurper cringed in sympathy as the fuzzy wuzzy pet that the Noodle Shop Repair Demon kept in his cottage began to enjoy a rare midnight snack, making a fancy feast of the marauding cultivators.

The demonic cultivators put up a valiant resistance. There were several explosions of demonic energy, a dozen thrown weapons, and an aborted portal technique which accidentally engaged the cottage’s anti-teleportation formation and caused its user to be splattered halfway across the table.

It shortly became apparent, however, that whatever Azcabellon’s pet was, it was more than the demonic cultivators could handle. A couple demonic cultivators tried to escape, but found their way blocked by the Noodle Shop Repair Demon, who had coincidentally picked that precise moment to buff his doorknob. (A possibly unnecessary act, given that the door itself was in no less than three hundred thirty-seven pieces.)

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Skullslurper winced as they too were turned into paste, a splash of saliva spattering across Azcabellon’s body. The demon wiped it off, paying no heed to the hissing of his burning flesh as he examined the room full of corpses. He nodded, satisfied, albeit a titch irate at all the mess he’d now have to clean up.

Skullslurper watched Mr. Fluffles lick the blood off his fur, the demon’s face a mixture of disgust and admiration. “I didn’t know you kept such a hideous monster in your employ. Colour me impressed.”

“Thank you,” the Noodle Shop Repair Demon replied. “Though I don’t ‘employ’ Mr. Fluffles here for an awful lot - except maybe giving the local kids rides about the park.”

Skullslurper sighed. “Typical. Successfully raise a vile and terrifying beast; use it to make kids happy. I’d expect nothing less from you.”

“My, aren’t we feeling complimentary this evening. I thank you once more. On occasion I also get Mr. Fluffles to help in community construction projects, and he drives my sleigh on Christmas, when I give toys to all the good little boys and girls and some of the bad ones.”

Skullslurper was about to make a sarcastic reply when a shattering sound caused them to pause their conversation. It seemed, evidently, that the demonic cultivators had not been quite as dead as first they'd thought. One had lived, and escaped.

“Should we go after him?” Skullslurper asked.

“Enh, whoever they were didn't seem very impressive. He's probably harmless,” Azcabellon replied, failing to notice what was now missing from the table.

***

“So what you’re telling me is, we lost our entire contingent, for a piece of paper?” Gan Mao asked, his voice the epitome of deathly calm. It was with a delighted certainty, however, that Tou Tong shook his head.

“No. We lost our entire contingent, for the key to final victory. This isn’t just any piece of paper… This piece of paper has the billing address of the Noodle Shop Repair Sect’s chronicler affixed to it.”

The pair were sitting inside the headquarters of the Flaming Bloody Organs Sect - an ancient castle built by the olden monarch King Wu the Yeren-Obsessed, and long abandoned to the winds of time - drinking a cup of wine and reviewing the documents Tou Tong had stolen in his mad dash from the cottage. Gan had looked positively murderous when he saw only Tou return after an entire squad had left, and the revelation that all he had to show for the loss was an invoice hardly improved his mood.

“So?” He snarled.

“So? If we kill him, then we take control of the sect’s stories - their Fate falls into our hands. It’s only a matter of time from there until Hong is ours.”

“…Correct me if I’m wrong here, but isn’t he only a chronicler? How does he control their Fate?”

Tou Tong tapped on the financial section of the invoice. A torch went on in Gan’s largely empty head, although he still seemed unimpressed with Tou Tong’s brilliant plan. He examined the piece of paper once more, cocking one ungainly eyebrow at his still-excited second.

“And what, pray tell, is your brilliant plan to kill the chronicler? In case you didn’t notice, this address is for another world. We can’t reach him.”

Tou Tong began to cackle maniacally, and twirled his threadbare moustache. “We can’t reach him, but we don’t need to - you see, I was able to reach his house through Secret and Hidden Methods known only to myself, and I discovered something very interesting.”

“Do tell,” Gan Mao intoned sceptically.

“Long, long ago, the chronicler bought himself a wheel of cheese.”

“A wheel of cheese?”

“Yes, a wheel of cheese. He bought the wheel of cheese, and he put it into… his refrigerator.”

“Okay? What does a wheel of cheese in the refrigerator have to do with horrible and heinous acts of murder?”

“You see, he then forgot the wheel of cheese… and slowly, ever so slowly, across the interminable years, it cultivated its way into consciousness.”

There was a moment of silence in the large hall as Gan digested this information, his face a mask of shock and disbelief. At last he spoke.

“Wait, really? Man, I can understand procrastinating, but that’s, uh, something else. Still, I don’t see how a conscious wheel of cheese helps us much.”

“For ages, the wheel of cheese sat alone and unloved in his refrigerator. For ages, it waited for the chronicler to notice it. For ages, its rage simmered endlessly, as it sat and cultivated all alone… until it reached immortality.”

Gan accidentally activated the Jaw Dropping Technique, his jaw smashing through the floor. “Wait, it cultivated its way to IMMORTALITY? Just how rarely does this guy clean out his fridge?”

“Yes, it cultivated its way to immortality… but it could not attain that final step… for it had developed heart demons - its feelings of being abandoned by the man who once purported to snack on it were too strong to handle. Until, that is, one very enterprising (and very handsome) demonic cultivator spoke to it, and convinced it to pursue the policy of… VENGEANCE.”

Slowly, ever so slowly - as slowly as the wheel of cheese had once cultivated - Gan Mao’s face broke into a hideous grin.