Elder Li presented me with three options: two pinnacle Embryonic Inquisitors and one newly-ascended whelp.

He—or his handler—wants me to assassinate Maitreya's prospective pupil, Tathāgata.

Lance, my underling, holds the Nihility fragment—an item coveted by the Mahāyāna Order.

Anlîthëma, who hails from Pure Land Buddhism, conveniently falls into my lap.

Is this luck? Fate?

Or, my supposed namesake, Karma?

Divination tells me one thing. Instinct screams of another.

But I am neither oracle nor beast.

I am Non-Linearity, Contradiction, and Karmic Collapse.

Coincidence does not befall me; I befall Coincidence.

Careful, my would-be puppeteers.

There are few entities more horrifying than a puppet who sees its strings.

And laughs.

**

Stewing in a din of ponderous silence, Karma abruptly stood. His isotropic-omega Avatar hummed its anomalous song, profaning natural law to its antithesis.

"Due to unforeseen circumstances, I will be accelerating our plan, Anlîthëma."

"Understood."

Reality split apart, beckoning his preeminent personage. Karma obliged, hewing an irreverent path through time and space's many shackles.

**

Fwoosh!

Lance ducked a viperous lash, diving into a rocky alcove. His Nihility affinity surged about the stalactite-enclosed cavern, erasing his sweaty odor and choking heaves.

Fucking overgrown lizard ...

Grimacing, he summoned the platinum-gilded Nihility fragment to his matted hands, readying himself for the perilous gambit ahead.

Pat.

Lance jerked back, whipping the pyramidal artifact at whatever had brushed his shoulder. His strike neared a vaguely-green carapace and—

Move! Why won't you move!

Helpless, he could only despair as the looming monstrosity grunted, grabbed his wrist, and ... gently pushed it away?

"Apologies for the interruption; there's been a change of plans."

Straightening his neck, Lance incredulously regarded the obscured visage before him. "Boss?"

"The one and only," Boss chirped, relaxing his grip about Lance's arm.

Odd ... he seems less enthusiastic than usual?

"Perhaps I've skimped too much on sleep." Turning to the over-large viper's den, he casually led Lance out from the cranny. "Not bad, eighth-level Qi Formation in—what?—a little over a week? Time dilation, what a treat!"

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Hisss.

Slitted, saffron-yellow eyes framed by a triangle head bore down on them. A maelstrom of keeled-brown scales blotted the periphery, precluding all escape.

How's Boss going to swindle us out of this one? Is snake-charming among his scheming repertoire?

Lance, confounded, watched Boss meet the viper's cavernous gaze with a leisurely smile.

Sliiit!

A shrill, piercing wail wracked the air, forcing Lance to cover his ears. Yawning gashes carved the earthen hollow into a sieve, drawing the sky's turquoise rays onto a burial of diced and bloody chunks.

"I believe you were looking for these," said Boss, gesturing to a pair of vacant eyes bobbing in the flooding, crimson bier.

**

Karma bounded through the inter-spatial void with Lance in tow, brusquely directing them to a soon-to-be-completed Culling event.

Elder Li included Melinoë and Thrax in his hit list to maintain a farce of autonomy, meaning he places my battle prowess around the peak of Embryonic Inquisitor.

They exited atop a lush, tiered escarpment overlooking a harrowed ruin. Palls of charcoal smoke reached for the heavens. Below, mounds of burning deceased formed a circle of sordid pyres.

The "payment" was likely an invitation to hoard the Abyssal Crow Earthly Monarch slots, thus allowing me to farm easy kills. As I told Anlîthëma: you underestimate me, Elder Li.

A lone woman stood imperially at the desecration's center. Her lashes, coated with winter-blue mascara, fluttered lazily at the blooming vista.

Want a dog? Go to a kennel. You sought out sheep.

Expect a wolf.

**

Melinoë shifted her gaze upward, looking unto a green-robed stranger as they descended amid the smoggy sky.

"Do my eyes deceive me," she purred, donning a playful pout, "or are those the robes of an Abyssal Crow disciple? It's not gentlemanly to intrude on another's playground, you know?"

Their feet touched down with muted grace—as if immune to gravity's pull.

"Do my eyes deceive me," they parroted with a nebulous tonality, "or are those the garbs of a mewling quim? I overestimated the harlot's virtue, it seems. Modesty, woman!"

She gasped. "You must have me confused with my sister, little one. I can smell your early-stage cultivation; there are politer ways to provoke death." She licked her lips. "Gentler, more enjoyable ways."

The stranger paused. "I'm not interested in older women ... Please, keep your perversion at bay. What if your grandchildren were to hear?"

That's it. I'm splitting their skull.

Viscous shadow tendrils drilled from her midnight gown, gathering into four draconic heads. They split between land and sky, collapsing on her foeman like mountainous mandibles.

Unmoving, they declared, "I would love to play but, unfortunately, I'm in a bit of a rush."

"That's not for you to deci—"

An onerous force abruptly slammed Melinoë to her knees. Veins bulged along her neck as she strained to peer upwards. Overhead, she found the stranger's doppelgänger lording over her, a glowering man hefted by their waist.

"Don't worry," placated the original, jogging up to them—her hydra torn to shreds in their wake. "I'm not going to kill you!"

The weight doubled, crushing her face into the muddy plateau beneath.

Thud!

Melinoë felt a concussive blow crack against the back of her skull, shocking her lucidity.

"Oof, you're gonna feel that one in the morning! I wonder what you'll be more upset about ..."

Her consciousness scattered, only to reform within a quaint cabin. Across from her, a silver-bearded elder sipped at his tea before enunciating, "Where was I? Oh, yes, the 12th year of the first millennium AC. That's 'After Conquest,' by the way; some memorialists prefer 'ACSC' or 'After Conquering Schrödinger's Crucible,' but I digress.

"Anyhow, on the eve of the 12th millennium, an aristocrat by the name of Cornelius Orchard III—a most scandalous fellow—tried to smuggle his son in by means of bribe and favor ..."

...

"The 13th year; my, what a hoot! All the while, it was revealed Cornelius's fourteenth daughter was actually ..."

...

"If that wasn't exciting enough, you won't believe the antics of Cornelius Orchard IV! Forget everything you know about Cornelius Orchard III—you're in for a wild ride. It all started in the 14th year ..."

**

While Boss was bent over fiddling with the vixen's bracelet, Lance conferred with his ... other Boss.

"Sorry, how many millennia?"

"Three. If you're interested, I could—"

Lance hastily dug an emergency steam bun from his spatial pouch, deferentially offering it to Boss#2 with both hands.

"Oh, who am I kidding?" mused Boss#2, swiping the aromatic treasure. "You're a merchant, not a historian. Silly me. Though, now that I think about it, merchants have a lot to—"

Another steam bun.

"—juggle as is. Three millennia of history could be difficult to stomach. Two, on the other hand—"

Sighing, Lance resignedly forked over his entire stash.

"—or even one, is completely unnecessary."

"It's done!" blurted Boss#1, barreling to Lance and fastening the bracelet to his wrist. "Follow my instructions to the letter. You're a wonderful employee, but if you mess up here, the Mahāyāna Order will be the least of your problems."

Nodding with a gulp, Lance and his two chaperones surrendered to a tide of spatial currents. Soon, they were standing amid a pitch void, illusory mosaics dotting their surroundings ...

**

Karma whistled, "2,600 Culling Merit! A busy bee, that Melinoë."