Clean Up

The moment the snap echoed, the Dharmavitra idol's countless arms tightened, their grips crushing the necks of every cult member in an instant.

"Burst!~"

"Smash!~"

"Squelch!~"

"Thwack!~"

Heads burst like overripe fruit, blood and bone spraying in a crimson mist, skulls shattering with wet, sickening pops. The S-tier leader, a titan among humanity, was no exception, his head exploded in a gory shower, his mana fizzling out as his body went limp.

The cult guards, enforcers, blessed of every rank, fell as one, their headless corpses collapsing to the warehouse floor in a bloody deluge, limbs twitching like headless chickens, blood pooling in a grotesque lake that lapped at Mika's boots.

The A-tier also had no chance. As the snap rang out, the Chains he was being held by yanked with merciless force, tearing his limbs from his torso in a spray of blood and sinew.

His arms and legs flew in opposite directions, thudding wetly against the walls, while his head and torso plummeted to the ground, landing with a sickening splat.

Yet his face remained serene, his eyes dull but peaceful, as if death was a release he welcomed. He'd seen true power, glimpsed Mika's unfathomable strength, and in his final moment, he was content, carrying that truth to his grave.

Mika stood amidst the carnage, his blood, soaked uniform clinging to his frame, the bone, gripped dagger still in his hand, its blade slick with crimson. His eyes surveyed the slaughter with a faintly tired expression, not of remorse or exhaustion, but of mild inconvenience, like he'd just finished a tedious chore.

"Damn." He muttered to himself, his voice low and exasperated. "I really wanted to keep this quick and we easy? Stick to the dagger, no fancy stuff, since using my actual abilities always brings out those...urges and annoying effects later, that are always so damn annoying to keep under control...But I guess that plan went over my head." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, smearing blood across his skin. "Today's just a bad day, huh? First that accident, then I gotta massacre these idiots...Total pain in the ass."

His tone was casual, as if the act of slaughtering an entire cuit was secondary to the irritation of unleashing his powers. The massacre itself barely registered; what gnawed at him was the aftermath, the side effects of his abilities that he seemed to dread, a hint of something darker lurking beneath his calm exterior.

"And of course, I can't just leave this here." He glanced around, his shoes squelching in the blood, soaked concrete, and grimaced at the mess. "If someone stumbles on this, it'll be all over the news, global outrage, mass murder mystery, blah blah blah. People panicking, authorities sniffing around. Way too much hassle." He shook his head, muttering. "Guess I gotta clean it up myself."

He then paused, his gaze sharpening, and whispered, a few words under his breath.

[Mulkorr the Dissolver, Lord of Tissue and Tears]

[Krobbit the Ever-Empty, What You Had, He Has Now]

The words carried a weight that warped the air, reality shuddering as two apparitions flickered into existence.

The first was a grotesque lord slime, a towering mass of gray, gelatinous ooze that dwarfed Mika, it's surface rippling with a sickly sheen. A single, massive eye bulged at its center, yellow and veined, staring with an unblinking, revolting intensity. Tendrils of slime dripped to the floor, sizzling faintly, and the stench it exuded was vile, a mix of rot, acid, and something unnameably foul that made the air feel tainted.

The second was a green goblin, barely waist, high, its scrawny frame draped in gaudy jewelry, rings, chains, and bracelets that clinked with every twitch. An eyepatch covered one eye, and its body was festooned with bulging sacks, their seams straining as if stuffed with stolen treasures. Its single visible eye glinted with a greedy, manic hunger, darting over the carnage like a thief casing a vault.

The moment they appeared, the creatures bowed low, their deference unmistakable, as if Mika were their sovereign. He too barely acknowledged them, his expression unchanging, and issued his orders with a flick of his hand.

"You..." He said, nodding at the slime. "Take care of the bodies. Every last one. Don't leave a drop of blood behind." He then turned to the goblin. "As for you, handle the clothes, weapons, anything left over. Dispose of it all. Make it like this never happened."

The creatures bowed again, their obedience absolute, and set to work without hesitation.

Mulkorr slithered forward, its bulk quivering, leaving a trail of sizzling ooze that ate into the concrete. It oozed over the first corpse, a headless grunt, its translucent body enveloping the remains like a living shroud.

Through its gray mass, the body was visible, flesh bubbling and hissing as it dissolved, skin sloughing off in chunks, muscle melting into a frothy sludge. Bones softened, then crumbled, vanishing entirely, leaving no trace.

The slime's eye pulsed, unblinking, as it moved to the next body, the process repeating with horrifying efficiency. Clothes and other material ornaments however, were ejected, pushed out of Mulkorr's body like waste, sodden and bloodstained but intact, piling up in a grotesque heap.

Krobbit scuttled behind, its claws snatching the discarded garments with feverish glee. It stuffed them into one of its sacks, a small tattered bag that seemed impossibly deep, swallowing swords, pants, even a machete without bulging.

The goblin's eye darted greedily, its fingers twitching as it grabbed rings, belts, even a broken watch, hoarding every scrap with a thief's obsession. Its jewelry jangled, a chime that echoed in the warehouse's eerie silence, as it followed Mulkorr's path, erasing every trace of the cult's existence.

Mika watched for a moment, his arms crossed, his expression one of detached approval. "Good enough." He muttered, satisfied they'd handle the job.

But then his gaze dropped to himself, and he grimaced, lifting his arm to inspect his jacket, sodden with blood, bits of flesh clinging to the fabric, the stench of death baked into every thread.

"Ugh, I'm a damn mess." He groaned, wiping his face and smearing more blood across his cheek. "I can't go back to Charlotte looking like I crawled out of a slaughterhouse. She'd lose it or worse, try to hug me anyway and I'd have the smell of these pests on her as well."

He turned to Mulkorr, who was mid, dissolve, a cultist's bones fizzing into nothing within its bulk.

"Hold up a sec." He called, and the slime froze, its eye swiveling to him, obedient and unblinking. Mika hesitated, then shrugged, muttering. "Screw it." With a casual step, he jumped into the slime, plunging into its gelatinous mass, sinking to its center.

The cult's remains had dissolved in seconds, but Mika was untouched, standing within Mulkorr's transparent body like a statue in glass. The blood on his jacket, his hair, his skin began to bubble, melting away in a hissing froth, the grime and gore dissolving while leaving him pristine. His clothes, his skin, even the dagger in his hand remained intact and he stood there, eyes closed, letting the process finish, then stepped out, his uniform clean, his hair damp but free of blood, the stench gone.

Mika then gave himself a once, over, nodding with a satisfied grunt. "Not bad." He said, brushing a stray droplet from his sleeve.

He glanced at Mulkorr and Krobbit, still working, another body dissolving, another sack filling, and muttered, "Keep it thorough, you two and make sure that there are no mistakes. I don't need some cop finding a tooth and starting a manhunt."

He then turned, picking up the paper bag he'd carried, the one with the knife's wrapping, and tucked it into his pocket with a careless flick and with a final glance at the vanishing carnage, he strode toward the entrance, his clothes no longer squelching, his figure a shadow against the flickering lights.

The warehouse's horrors faded behind him, the slime and goblin erasing every trace of the massacre and Mika stepped into the dusk, the city's hum greeting him, oblivious to the slaughter he'd wrought.

He pulled out his phone, checking the time, and muttered, "Better hustle, or Charlotte's gonna track me down for real."

With a faint, amused smirk, he set off toward her, the endless stream of blood and bodies left behind like a fleeting dream, his duty to her and the rest of the nine girls he voved to protect against the rest of the world, unshaken, carved in the silence of his unyielding will.