Lorenzö straightened a sheaf of fiscal parchments, filing them in a cabinet atop his mahogany workstation.
"This week's information request went to the Elba Faction for 450,000 SSF," he announced, meeting Lance's lackadaisical gaze across the trestle table.
"Anything notable?" Lance intoned dryly.
"They're investigating their young master's sudden disappearance following an—"
Jolting, Lorenzö blinked furtively at a pane of obsidian-black looming over Lance's backside. Terror-stricken, he witnessed their enigmatic boss's upper body emerge, hold a finger to his upturned lips, then retreat into the depthless gloom.
"What? Is there something behind me?" asked Lance, bemusedly peering over his shoulder.
Nothing.
"Ah, no, apologies; my lunch may have been too spicy ..."
"I've been meaning to comment on that: please, visit a medical ward." Lance recentered his posture. "This is the second time I've been informed of your indigestion. Don't let there be a third."
Lorenzö cringed.
The door of darkness ... had returned.
"I'll"—cough—"book a consultation."
Disembodied arms breached the lightless canvas, their fingers wiggling nigh-pervertedly—as if tickling an invisible ribcage.
"What of the Elba Faction?"
"Right—they wanted a dossier on their young master's disappearance following an auction at the Ornamental Treasure Pavilion."
The floating arms gesticulated in wide, arcing "X"s.
"Sounds relatively standard. Any explicit areas of interest?"
"Areas of interest ..." Lorenzö received two thumbs up. "Yes, they repeatedly cited one Temporal Inversion Dandelion as their nexus of suspicion."
"I—the fuck!?"
With rapacious vigor, the hands clamped down on Lance's shoulder blades and wrangled him through the abyssal pane.
"Damn you, Lorenzö!" echoed Lance's tapering recrimination.
Will I be spared?
No.
Please be gentle.
Maybe.
Lorenzö's doorway to purgatory gaped from beneath, swallowing him and his chair into its midnight embrace.
**
Lance tumbled over craggy earth, kicking up plumes of arid silt.
"Whoever you are," he blustered through clenched teeth, whirling to his purported abductor, "know that my boss is capable of horrors beyond—"
Opposite him, Lorenzö reared with a frightened yelp. "I was obedient! Surely, that counts for something!"
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Huh?
Pivoting once more, Lance found his unreliable 'savior' regarding them from a familiar ladderback seat.
"Hello, dear Lance! How do you do?"
...
"Why?"
"Amusement."
"How?"
"Secret."
"Where?"
"Schrödinger's Crucible."
"What?"—"Really!?"
**
"Yup!" exclaimed Karma, prancing around with childish glee. "You see, I have an upcoming business opportunity, but you two are grossly underqualified."
"Therefore, you trespassed into a universally-coveted strategic resource to ... train your employees?"
"An apt summary, Trainee Lance. Welp, no need to thank me; I've got other matters to attend to." Waving at the befuddled duo, Karma hollowed another Spatial Tunnel. "Work hard, my beloved trainees!"
Then, he was gone.
**
"Finally," sulked Anlîthëma, "residing in your 'space jelly' is nothing short of torturous. So, to the harrowed detriment of the myriad realms, I presume you've grasped teleportation?"
"And a few other goodies," cheered Karma.
"It seems harrowed was too mild a descriptor. Damned, doomed, condemned ..."
"You underestimate me."
"Don't we all, don't we all. Where did you sojourn off to, by the way?"
"You'll know soon enough. So—wanna hear my latest master plan?"
"Fine. What atrocity have you conjured up this time? Genocide? Blackmail? Mass extinction?"
"Nope, nope, and not yet. Today's menu begins with a taste of unlawful entry ..."
...
"For the appetizer, there's an exquisite bludgeoning served with an infiltrative jus ..."
...
"The entrée, rife with rich and decadent savors, rests on a bed of marauder purée ..."
...
"Then dessert—a platter overflowing with divine delicacies—shall arrive for our shared enjoyment. That reminds me: do you have any dietary restrictions? I don't want to order anything ... unpalatable."
"First off, I am very much in favor of your menu. It's well-crafted, boasts a plethora of unique flavors, and flows into a composite whole," solemnly declared Anlîthëma, earning Karma's equally solemn nod.
"Secondly, I practice a strict convalescatarian-thistlevore-only diet which, for the uninformed, involves the sole consumption of foods beginning with 'Convalescence' and ending with 'Thistle.'"
"I will notify the chef post-haste."
"Many thanks."
"My pleasure."
**
"Oh, shit."
"What's 'oh, shit?'"
"I believe it is I your humble master refers," interjected a sagacious, droll timbre. Plumes of alabaster fog overlaid Karma's Spatial Solidification perimeter, converging into the scholarly aspect of—
"Oh, shit."
"Salutations, Elder Li! How can this ordinary, inconspicuous Junior be of service?" greeted Karma with a bow.
"And salutations to you, young ???," Elder Li chortled, mirroring Karma's bow. "Do excuse any mispronunciation. I must admit, I'm not the best with names."
"I suffer a similar impairment," Karma bemoaned, forlornly shaking his head. "It's quite tricky, you know, juggling aliases like Divination Hut Shopkeeper, Talisman Stall Owner, and Elder Li ... Lepers, the both of us!"
"A constant struggle, but we endure. Shall we retire to my cabin and discuss terms? I've prepared lemongrass tea."
"Let's!"
Elder Li snapped his fingers, warping the inn dwelling into his personal abode with uncanny fluidity.
Karma, nabbing his porcelain cup of steaming brew, plopped onto an embroidered cushion. Combing his patriarchal beard, Elder Li did the same—though with preternatural grace rather than Karma's boarish hooliganism.
Slurp—"Will I be executed?" inquired Karma, smacking his lips.
"Close," said Elder Li, sampling his own beverage. "How about: Executor?"
"Will I be compensated?"
"The role change is not sufficient?"
"Perhaps it was ... yesterday."
"Ah, you've ascended, and so soon at that! Hence your uncovering my clandestine behavior. Bravo!"
"Flattery, while appreciated, is not the compensation I seek."
"Yes, indeed. Your conduct has suggested a distaste for the unprofitable. Well, out with it, what do you want?"
"What or—more precisely—who do you want?"
"My thoughts don't betray me?" chuckled Elder Li.
Karma snorted, "Old man, you've switched languages, ciphers, and chronology twenty times in the last second."
"Master was right—you really are more calamity than human," muttered Elder Li. "There are three: Tathāgata, Melinoë Áïs, and Thrax."
Twin Ouroboroi flared about Karma's pupils. "Maitreya, Thanatos, Letum—you want me to assassinate the pupils of not one, not two, but three Transcendants."
"Will you?"
"Absolutely not."
"Two?"
"One."
"Melinoë?"
"Tathāgata."
"Fine."
...
"So, payment?" queried Karma, an anticipatory flush to his cheeks.
"Youngsters, so impatient," sighed Elder Li, his facade—and the entombing cabin—gradually blurring. "Who, in your infinite wisdom, do you think presides over the Fourth Culling's Earthly Monarch allotments?"
"You?"
Karma's suite was restored to its former layout, all traces of Elder Li having completely dissipated.
"You."