The midnight air in Ashvilliah didn't smell like adventure; it smelled like damp stone and the ozone of a gathering storm.
"Check the perimeter," Jessica hissed. She was no longer the radiant beacon of the Durmount court. She had traded her silk cape for a stolen wool poncho, but the holy sword still hung at her hip, its pommel glowing with a faint, stubborn light that she couldn't seem to douse.
"Perimeter's clear," Jason muttered, leaning against a rain-slicked barrel. He was fiddling with his iPhone—a useless slab of glass and metal that he still carried like a lucky charm. "But Jessica, we need to talk. About the 'start a war' thing. That was just... heat of the moment, right?"
Jessica didn't look at him. She was busy sharpening a dagger with a rhythmic, metallic shink-shink-shink. "The Demon King is a 'business partner,' Jason. If we don't disrupt that partnership, we aren't just irrelevant—we're evidence. Evidence of a failed investment."
"I'm with her," Jennifer said, emerging from the shadows of the stable. She was carrying three heavy packs. "I didn't get summoned across dimensions to be a line item in a ledger. If the world won't let us be its saviors, then it doesn't deserve its peace."
"That is literally the plot of a supervillain origin story!" Anna whispered, her voice cracking. "We have the artifacts! We could just... hide. Go to the mountains. Start a farm."
"With what gold, Anna?" Thomas asked, stepping into the light. The strategist looked older than he had that morning. "The official wasn't joking. Our faces are on the 'Recovery' list now. Every merchant with a Golem-link is going to see our bounties. We can't buy bread, let alone a farm. The only place left where Leornars's reach is shaky is the Demon Lands."
A heavy, mechanical thud echoed from the main street. Then another. It wasn't the sound of marching boots; it was the sound of pressurized steam and heavy iron.
> Note: The "Recovery Golems" aren't the magical protectors of legend. They are industrial, mass-produced enforcement units.
>
Through the fog, a silhouette appeared. It was twelve feet tall, bronze-plated, and had a glowing blue sensor where a face should be. Attached to its shoulder was a loudspeaker that crackled to life with a tinny, polite voice.
"Attention, Unallocated Assets. You are currently in violation of the Sovereignty Restructuring Act. Please surrender your weapons and submit to a visual scan for inventory appraisal. Failure to comply will result in a force-multiplied repossession."
"Inventory appraisal?" Jennifer spat, her hands igniting with white fire. "I'll show you a return on investment!"
"Wait!" Thomas yelled, but it was too late.
Jennifer lunged. The fire didn't just burn; it screamed, a manifestation of her refusal to be a "nuisance." The blast hit the Golem's chest, melting the bronze—but the machine didn't flinch. It merely tilted its head.
"Damage detected to state property. Initiating insurance claim and lethal defense protocols."
The Golem's arm hissed, a hidden compartment sliding open to reveal a rapid-fire bolt-thrower. The bolts weren't tipped with silver or holy water; they were tipped with glowing blue crystals—mana-disruptors designed to shut down "Heroic" energy.
"Run!" Jessica roared. She didn't retreat. She swung her holy scabbard, hitting a nearby water main. As the water sprayed out, she channeled her light into it, creating a blinding mist. "To the South Gate! If we reach the border by dawn, the Auditor's jurisdiction gets complicated!"
As they sprinted through the muddy alleys, the polite, pre-recorded voice of the Golem followed them, echoing off the ancient walls:
"Your cooperation is valued. Please remain still to minimize repair costs."