"Some crimes are sweet. Others come baked with betrayal, icing, and illegal enchantments."— Notes from the confiscated diary of a Bastion agent currently lost in a parallel timeline.
The air smelled like burnt sugar and lies.
Delphira Noir, trenchcoat swaying with every sharp-heeled step, sauntered beside Asher Blackwood through Arkwick's Little Hollow District. This was the sort of neighborhood where cursed streetlamps flickered just a little too knowingly, and the pavement practically hummed with the weight of unresolved supernatural incidents. Little Hollow had survived five full-scale demonic invasions, four health code violations, and one infamous cursed food festival that ended in both legal and literal firestorms.
Asher tugged at his collar, eyes scanning the rows of quaint bakeries and enchanted tea shops that lined the narrow cobbled street. His hand lingered near the hilt of his concealed blade—a reflex he didn't even bother hiding anymore.
Their target loomed ahead:The Sweet Salvation Baking Society.Officially: a community bake club that hosted wholesome weekend events.Unofficially: a pleasure cult rumored to bake illicit enchantments straight into their pastries.
Asher gave a long, suffering sigh. "Why do I feel like this is going to end with someone's soul trapped inside a donut?"
Delphira flashed a grin that was all teeth and wicked delight. "Because it's Tuesday, darling." She reached into her coat and casually handed him a cookie. "Eat. It's laced with a mild compulsion spell—just enough to make people think you're charming."
Asher raised an unimpressed eyebrow, flicking the cookie over his shoulder. They both turned just in time to see a squirrel dart out of a tree, devour the cookie whole... and immediately start organizing the other squirrels into a political rally. A hastily scribbled sign popped up: VOTE NUTTY FOR MAYOR.
"...That's going to be a problem later," Asher muttered.
"Not our jurisdiction," Delphira purred.
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Meanwhile, at Bastion HQ...
Lieutenant Haru Baxter stared at his own reflection.
Correction: his reflection was staring back at him—independently—and then had the audacity to flip him off.
"Definitely... not me," Haru muttered, fingers tightening around the hilt of his katana. His eyes narrowed, tracking the mirror's every twitch. "Okay. Time to commit unsanctioned self-defense."
Around him, Bastion HQ was coming apart at the seams—at least mentally. Agents stumbled through the hallways, disoriented. Some wandered into broom closets and insisted it was 1997. Dennis, the intern—God bless him—was currently insisting that he was a Victorian llama and demanding oatcakes.
But Haru?He remembered everything.In fact... he remembered more than he should.
Scrambled visions crowded the edges of his mind: cities he'd never visited, wars he'd never fought, lives he hadn't lived. His jaw clenched, knuckles whitening around his blade.
"This isn't a glitch," he growled. "Someone's screwing with the Archive Core... and they're about to get archived."
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Back at Sweet Salvation...
Asher and Delphira stepped through the bakery's heavy oak door. A cozy chime rang out, immediately followed by the soft murmur of whispered spells hidden beneath the scent of cinnamon and fresh bread.
At the counter stood a sweet-faced elderly woman, hair neatly tucked under a floral-patterned scarf. Her name tag gleamed innocently: Nana Crumple.
"Welcome, dears! Would you like to try our sinfully good muffins?" she asked, voice syrupy-sweet.
"We're here for the special menu," Delphira whispered, sliding a golden coin across the counter. It gleamed with an eerie glow—engraved with a serpent devouring a rose.
For a split second, Nana's entire demeanor shifted. Her eyes gleamed with something... ancient. Dark. Dangerous.
Then she smiled wider. "Of course. Right this way."
She shuffled over to the giant industrial oven, gave it a suspiciously forceful shove—and a hidden panel clicked open, revealing a spiraling staircase that led deep underground.
"Always the classics," Delphira smirked.
They descended into a world of velvet cushions, flickering candles, and masked patrons murmuring ancient contracts between bites of glowing pastries. The air was thick with enchantment, and at the center of it all, a rune pulsed faintly on the floor—a jagged design shaped like a broken heart, radiating power.
"That's it," Delphira whispered, eyes gleaming. "That rune's tethered to The Masked Girl's last known psychic imprint."
Asher stepped forward, every instinct on high alert.
But before he could even touch the edge of the rune—
POP!
A blinding cloud of powdered sugar exploded in his face, sending him stumbling back. Out of the haze, three cult enforcers emerged—armor shimmering in candy-floss pink and gumdrop green, each one wielding absurdly dangerous-looking frosting cannons.
"Intruders!" one bellowed. "Sanitize them with frosting!"
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Asher wiped powdered sugar off his face, leveling a dead-eyed glare. "You really wanna fight a detective armed with demonic trauma and zero hours of sleep?"
Delphira bared her teeth in a grin, pulling a tray out of nowhere. "And I brought cursed cinnamon rolls."
The cult enforcers roared, charging forward as enchanted frosting started to sing—the rune behind them pulsing in time.
Above the chaos, far beyond the bakery walls, a Watcher satellite jolted to life in orbit—tagging Asher's position with a code Bastion had never activated before:
PRIORITY BLACK: MEMORY ANOMALY TRIGGERED.
[End of Chapter 42]
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Chapter 43 – "The Archive That Forgot Itself"The muffin cult raid spirals out of control, leaving Asher with a cryptic memory shard he knows isn't his. Haru, increasingly unstable but determined, breaks every rule to fix the Bastion Archive Core before reality itself unravels. Meanwhile, Delphira dabbles in time magic, because restraint was never her thing. Expect mind-bending paradoxes, existential pastries, and Haru punching a mirror that may or may not be alive.