The hum of IDP Headquarters felt heavier than usual that afternoon, as if the weight of infinite paperwork had somehow leaked through the dimensional barriers. Zane Vortex—Commissioner Z—sat in his office, staring at a stack of holographic reports that could rival the Leaning Tower of Pisa if they were physical. His silver hair was tousled from a quick post-mission nap, and his tactical jacket hung open over a plain black tee that read "Multiverse's Worst Nightmare" in faded letters.
A new alert chimed on his desk console, pulling him from a half-formed daydream. The screen flickered to life, projecting a chaotic scene: a sprawling office complex in Realm 666—aptly named the Nether Bureaucracy—where skeletal clerks in tattered suits shuffled through endless corridors, stamping forms with bony fingers. But this wasn't business as usual. Portals ripped open across the realm, spilling undead legions into adjacent worlds, including a fringe Earth-adjacent dimension where they were "processing" living souls via forced reincarnations disguised as tax audits.
Z rubbed his temples. "Undead bureaucracy invasion. Because nothing says 'fun Friday' like zombie accountants summoning souls for eternal filing."
The alert details scrolled: Led by Arch-Lich Auditor Grimwald, the invasion aimed to "streamline" the multiverse under undead red tape, turning free souls into indentured clerks. Victims were being yanked from their lives, reincarnated as ghoulish interns bound by unbreakable contracts.
Z's internal system stirred faintly—a whisper of sealed power itching at the edges of his consciousness. Lately, these pings came more frequently, accompanied by fragmented visions: swirling voids, ancient chains forged from starstuff, and a voice echoing, "You are the balance, sealed for the greater chaos." He shook it off. Mysteries later; bust now.
He hit the intercom. "Team, briefing room. We've got a paperwork apocalypse on our hands."
Reyes arrived first, her cyber-arm gleaming under the lights. "Let me guess: More summons?"
"Worse," Z replied. "Undead ones. With forms in triplicate."
Jax lumbered in, chuckling. "Why did the skeleton go to the party alone?"
Sparks and Lena filed in just in time for the punchline.
"Because he had no body to go with!"
Groans all around. Lena smirked faintly while cleaning her phase-rifle. Sparks adjusted his holo-pad. "Realm 666. High necrotic energy. Portals unstable—could chain-react if not contained."
Z nodded, projecting the map. "Grimwald's holed up in the Central Vault, a fortress of infinite desks and filing cabinets. Plan: Infiltrate, disrupt the master contract, extract victims. Non-lethal where possible—these are just overworked dead guys."
Reyes cracked a smile. "And the lich?"
Z's eyes twinkled. "Him? We'll audit his ass right back to the grave."
The jump platform activated. Energy swirled. They stepped through.
Realm 666 materialized as a nightmarish blend of corporate hell and gothic horror. Endless gray cubicles stretched under a blood-red sky, lit by flickering fluorescent bulbs that buzzed like angry hornets. Skeletal clerks in rumpled shirts and ties shuffled between desks, stamping papers with stamps that glowed with soul-binding magic. Moans of "Overtime… eternal overtime…" echoed through the air.
In the distance, portals yawned open—swirling voids dumping undead auditors into vibrant realms: a fantasy village here, a sci-fi space station there. Victims screamed as they were dragged back, forms thrust into their hands: "Sign here for reincarnation as Junior File Clerk."
Z's team crouched behind a overturned water cooler (still bubbling ectoplasm). "Fan out," Z whispered. "Sparks, hack the central ledger. Reyes, Jax—clear paths. Lena, overwatch. I'll take the lich."
As they moved, Z's system pinged louder.
Threat level: Elevated Necrotic.
Anomalous energy detected: Echoes of primordial sealing.
A flash in his mind: Chains wrapping around a formless entity—him?—in a void older than time. "To prevent the unraveling," the voice intoned. Z blinked it away. Not now.
They advanced through the cubicle maze. A group of zombie interns shambled toward them, clipboards raised like weapons.
"Stop! Hands up—or bony appendages where I can see them!" Z called.
The undead paused, hollow eyes sockets flickering. "Form 47-D required for interdimensional interference," one rasped.
Z grinned. "How about Form Z-1: Kiss My Ass?"
Battle erupted. Reyes charged, cyber-fist smashing through ribs. Jax swung his shield, bowling over a row like dominoes. Lena's shots disrupted magical stamps mid-air. Sparks knelt by a terminal, fingers flying. "Bypassing firewalls—necromantic encryption's a bitch."
Z weaved through, copying a clerk's Soul-Stamp ability on contact. His version? Enhanced with precision—stamps that unbound instead of bound.
An auditor lunged at him, quill dripping ink like venom. Z sidestepped, stamped the forehead: "Rejected." The undead crumpled, soul freed in a puff of green smoke.
"Why don't undead bureaucrats get promoted?" Z quipped as he stamped another.
The clerk gurgled.
"Because they're always dead-end jobs!"
The team pushed deeper. Alarms wailed—ethereal sirens like filing cabinets slamming. More undead poured in: vampire managers with blood-red ties, ghost receptionists phasing through walls.
In the chaos, Z felt another ping. Vision: Him, or something like him, born from a collapsing singularity, power infinite, sealed by elder forces fearing his potential to rewrite reality. "The ultimate joke," the voice laughed, "a god playing cop."
He shook it off, focusing. They reached the Central Vault—a massive chamber lined with towering filing cabinets that stretched into infinity, guarded by elite wraith enforcers.
At the center throne sat Arch-Lich Auditor Grimwald: a skeletal figure in a pinstripe suit, crown of quills, eyes burning with unholy green fire. In his lap, the Master Ledger—a tome pulsing with stolen souls.
"Intruders!" Grimwald hissed, voice like rustling papers. "You dare audit the Auditor?"
Z stepped forward. "Grimwald. You're under arrest for multiversal fraud, soul trafficking, and running the most boring invasion ever."
The lich cackled. "Fool! The multiverse drowns in chaos! I bring order—eternal, binding order!"
Z rolled his eyes. "Order? This is just death by paperwork. Ever heard of digital? PDFs?"
Grimwald slammed the ledger shut. Waves of necrotic energy surged, summoning spectral chains that lashed out.
Z's system blared.
Threat level: Critical Undead Dominion.
Abilities detected: Necrotic Binding, Soul Ledger Command, Bureaucratic Despair Aura.
Copying… adapting… enhancing with comedic rebuttal matrix.
Seal integrity: 85%. Minor fracture detected—accessing deeper layer.
Power flooded Z—not fully, but a notch more. He copied the chains, twisting them into glowing red tape that wrapped Grimwald's minions, binding them in loops of "Pending Approval."
The lich roared, unleashing Despair Aura: a wave that sapped will, whispering doubts. "You are nothing… sealed… forgotten…"
Z felt it probe his mind—touching the seals. Vision intensified: Ancient council of cosmic entities, fearing his birth would tip balance. "Seal him in layers. Let threats unlock—controlled chaos." His origin: Not black hole fart, but the multiverse's punchline—a being of pure potential, sealed to prevent boredom from ending existence.
He laughed it off externally. "Despair? Buddy, I've seen scarier in my inbox."
Copied aura reversed: Instead of despair, it became Uplifting Ridicule. Waves hit the undead, forcing giggles from skeletal throats. "Why… funny?" a wraith wheezed.
Z advanced. "Why did the lich fail at stand-up? His jokes were too grave!"
Grimwald thrust forward, ledger opening to summon a horde of contract golems—paper titans with staple teeth.
Z met them, punches laced with copied commands. Golems crumpled into origami swans.
The lich charged, bony claws extended.
Z grappled, system enhancing strength. They tumbled across desks, papers flying.
"You cannot win!" Grimwald snarled. "I am eternal order!"
Z pinned him. "And I'm the guy who makes order fun. Surrender, or I'll make you file your own defeat in triplicate."
Grimwald's eyes dimmed. "Mercy… the seals… you are the one they feared."
Z paused. "What do you know?"
The lich whispered, "Your power… sealed by the Primordials. Born to end the game. They hid you as a joke."
Vision confirmed: Z, the ultimate entity, sealed for amusement by bored creators. Unlocks tied to threats—to keep infinity interesting.
He shook it off. "Spoilers. Now, cuffs."
Energy bands snapped on. The invasion portals collapsed as Sparks purged the ledger.
Victims freed—souls returning to bodies across realms. Cheers echoed faintly through closing rifts.
As the team mopped up, a figure approached: a sultry succubus administrator, horns polished, suit hugging curves. She'd been "enslaved" by Grimwald but fought from within.
"You dismantled the Auditor," she purred, eyes smoldering. "Impressive."
Z winked. "All in a day's work. Name?"
"Lilithara. Care to… debrief?"
The team exchanged looks. Reyes: "Boss…"
Z: "Handle extraction. I'll catch up."
In a side office—amid scattered forms—they debriefed thoroughly. Passionate, playful—her tail adding flair, his jokes eliciting moans and laughs. No strings, just mutual release.
After, dressed, she smirked. "Come back if paperwork piles up."
Z grinned. "Only if it's the fun kind."
Back at HQ, debrief done, Z sat alone. Seals mystery gnawed. Born for balance? Sealed for laughs? More visions would come.
Alert pinged: New threat.
He smiled. "Bring it."
The patrol continued, secrets unraveling.
(Chapter 4 end.)