Chapter 164 — "The Interview Panel"
Yue did not understand how someone could sweat ink.
But that was exactly what Ne Job did as she held him.
His veins pulsed black beneath his skin; every exhale left tiny glyphs drifting into the air like cigarette smoke. His palm shook in hers, trembling with the aftershocks of the Auditor's death.
Arden crouched next to them, panting, trying to see if anyone else was coming.
"What did he unleash?" Arden muttered. "I've killed gods before. They don't trigger sirens."
Yue wiped Ne's cheek, ink staining her fingers. "He wasn't a god. He was infrastructure."
Arden cursed under her breath.
And then the sky split.
---
Not like the Vein had, vertical and screaming.
This was calm.
Horizontal.
Elegant.
A seam in reality unzipped like a folder.
Bright, bureaucratic white poured through the tear, bathing the scorched field in sterile luminescence. Yue blinked hard; she could smell disinfectant, printer toner, and anxiety.
Arden stepped in front of her. "Weapons up."
"I don't have any weapons," Yue hissed.
Arden cracked her knuckles. "Then pray."
Something descended from the tear.
Not winged.
Not armored.
Not monstrous.
A table.
A long rectangular council table of pale marble and glass, lowered on chains that glowed with digits and signatures. It settled on the earth with a corporate thunk.
Seven chairs slid into place.
Seven figures sat.
Yue's stomach dropped.
The Interview Panel.
She had heard myths.
Even angels feared it.
---
The Panel
The one in the center spoke first.
A slender woman with hair in a silver bun and eyes like filed gemstones. Her suit was white. Her tie was a black barcode.
"Disciplinary Tribunal 09-Ω convening," she said, voice empty of emotion. "Case: Unauthorized Termination of Auditor-Class Entity by Intern 0000-NE."
Her gaze flicked down the table.
To her left, a man with twelve fountain pens clipped to his lapel, each filled with a different shade of ink. His presence hummed with contract law.
To her right, a towering robed being whose body was a column of floating memos; no face, just paper.
Further down:
A woman made entirely of stamps.
A figure wrapped in scrolls like mummy bandages.
A being whose torso was a filing cabinet of teeth.
And at the end —
Yue swallowed.
A person who looked like a very tired office clerk.
Mid-30s. Black hair. Dark circles. Mild hunch.
He was the worst of them.
The Clerk God.
The one who never lost a case because he didn't care if he won — only that the forms were filled.
Ne Job's eyelids fluttered.
He weakly muttered, "No—not them—"
The silver-haired chairwoman raised a hand.
"Intern Ne."
The air vibrated.
Yue felt her heart hammer.
"You stand accused of dereliction, abandonment of scope, unsanctioned signature escalation, and the unilateral deletion of an Auditor."
Arden scoffed. "He didn't just—"
The Clerk God opened a folder.
A real folder. Manila, dog-eared.
He flipped one page.
Arden disappeared.
Literally.
There was no light, no flash—one second she was there, the next there was only burnt grass.
Yue screamed.
"STOP—You can't—"
"Correction," the Clerk God said mildly, still reading. "I can. She was not on the attendance list."
The panel glanced at Ne Job in unison.
"Intern 0000-NE," the chairwoman continued. "Explain yourself."
Ne Job coughed. Ink.
He sat up slowly, trembling.
"I…I resigned."
A ripple of murmurs at the table.
The robed memo-being fluttered violently. Pages clacked like teeth. One of the stamp-women's arms thudded against the table, leaving a pattern of VOID impressions etched into the surface.
"You cannot resign," the pen-lapel man sneered. "Interns are not employees. They are liabilities."
Ne Job wiped his lip. "You'll forgive me if I don't care."
Yue grabbed his hand. He squeezed back.
Not strong.
But human.
The Clerk God closed his folder with a bored sigh.
"Intern attempted to abandon assignment. Rejectable."
"Agreed," said the scroll-wrapped figure.
The table glowed.
Seven red checkmarks formed in the air.
Verdict:
GUILTY.
Yue shot to her feet.
"You're condemning him without a hearing—!"
The Clerk God lifted one eye.
She couldn't breathe.
Her lungs stopped moving.
The silver-haired chairwoman did not look up.
"Mortals are not permitted to interrupt adjudication."
Yue clawed her throat, desperate.
Ne Job roared — not like the Auditor, not with power — but with raw fury.
"LET HER SPEAK."
Something cracked.
The Tribunal paused.
The Clerk God blinked.
"…Unusual."
The silver-haired woman leaned forward. "Intern, your voice carries new authority. The Fourth Vein has blessed you."
She smiled.
It was like watching a shark grin.
"That gives us leverage."
---
Panel Offer
The stamp-woman spoke, her voice like ink drying.
"We amend protocol. Not execution."
She gestured.
A parchment unfurled in midair like a scroll of divine ultimatum.
PROPOSAL: PROMOTION IN EXCHANGE FOR PENANCE.
Ne Job frowned. "Penance…?"
The memo-being flapped violently.
"Replace the Auditor. Accept His caseload. Manage Veins One, Two, and Three. The Fourth shall remain dormant."
The Clerk God pointed at Yue without looking.
"She will be processed as collateral."
Ne Job stood so fast the ground cracked beneath him.
"NO."
Every panelist glanced at him.
The air bent.
The silver-haired chairwoman tapped her papers.
"You decline…?"
Ne Job inhaled.
He looked at Yue.
Her eyes streamed silent tears.
He faced the panel.
"Yes."
---
Cosmic Silence
Even the wind held its breath.
The Clerk God slowly lifted his head.
His eyes were utterly empty.
"You reject promotion."
"I reject slavery," Ne Job said.
The panelists moved at once.
The memo-being exploded into pages that sliced like razors.
The pen-lapel man hurled ink spears across the battlefield.
The stamp-woman swung an arm that slammed down, carving the ground with REJECTED sigils.
The scroll-lord unraveled into bands of binding law.
Yue braced for slaughter.
Ne Job raised one hand.
Ink erupted from him like wildfire.
It met the incoming cyclone of forms and edicts.
The battlefield became a storm of black and white:
rammed paragraphs, shattered clauses, shredded memos, bleeding ink.
The ground buckled.
The world wailed.
And then—
Everything froze.
Mid-motion.
Mid-slaughter.
Mid-judgment.
The panelists hung suspended like marionettes.
Only one had moved.
The Clerk God.
Standing behind Ne Job, one finger extended, calm.
"You misunderstand something," he said.
Ne Job gasped for breath.
The Clerk God continued, eyes lazy.
"This is not a courtroom. Not a negotiation. Not even an execution."
His finger pressed into Ne Job's spine.
"This is onboarding."
Pain detonated.
Ne Job screamed.
Yue lunged—
A single paperclip appeared in front of her.
Not thrown.
Placed.
It hovered in the air, inches from her eye.
The Clerk God didn't even look at her.
"You will stay seated, mortal."
She collapsed.
Not physically.
Her soul buckled.
The Clerk God turned to the panel.
"All processes stalled. I will handle this personally."
Every Tribunal member bowed their heads.
He faced Yue, voice soft as exhaustion.
"Do not misunderstand us, girl."
He pointed at her heart.
"The moment he signed, he became ours. And so did everything he cares about."
He turned to Ne Job, who knelt, trembling ink.
"Welcome to Phase Two."
The Clerk God snapped his fingers.
---
The sky folded inward.
The ground inverted.
Yue felt her body wrench upward like a receipt pulled from a register.
Arden reappeared beside her, vomiting.
A wall of obsidian cubicles manifested around them — endless, stacked into the void. Each cube flickered with cosmic case files.
An office.
A cosmic one.
Ne Job hung in the center, suspended from chains of red tape.
The Clerk God strolled below him like a manager arriving five minutes late.
"Orientation begins."
A bell chimed somewhere in the infinite dark.
Yue screamed his name—
And the darkness answered with a single word:
"Intern."
---
End Chapter 164