“Off the clock.” Kelm let the words hang in the air, a final, definitive declaration. He pulled his hand away from his cheap watch, feeling the familiar drag of an overlong shift finally concluding. His gaze drifted to High Lord Vael, still suspended precariously outside the shattered window, looking like a forgotten ornament. The elf’s face was a mask of utter devastation, his eyes fixed on the impossible knot of mana energy around the pillar, then flicking to Kelm with an unholy mix of fear and bewilderment. Yllis, a statue of serene victory on the ledge below, merely offered a curt, almost bored nod in Kelm’s direction, as if this entire cosmic humiliation of the elves was simply another Tuesday. Then his ribs tingled. Across the periphery of his vision, the static, holographic menu of the Overseer Interface—heretofore a sullen fixture in his eyesight—snapped into a blaze of emerald light. [CONTRACT TERMINATED. RATING EXCEEDED PARAMETERS.] Kelm stopped mid-stride. He squinted at the floating green letters. *Terminated.* *Exceeded Parameters.* The producer had pulled the plug. The studio executives had finally noticed how thoroughly he had tanked the script, and they were cutting their losses. A grin split across his face, wide and unburdened. The shift was done. “Finally!” he shouted, the syllable echoing off the cracked marble. He marched across the wet council chamber floor, completely bypassing the gaggle of sputtering Elven Lords struggling against the immobilized tether. Atop a fluted column, Vorgath licked a black paw and gave a pleased chirrup. A seam in the air split open dead center of the hall, rolling back into a smooth, circular aperture ringed by pearl-bright light. Through the distortion, Kelm saw a corner of heaven: the sunken brown upholstery of his two-seater couch, an open cardboard box containing two greasy slices of pepperoni, and the yellowed plastic casing of his baseboard heater. Real, unmagical drywall. “Well, that’s my wrap,” Kelm announced, already moving toward the aperture. He caught sight of his garden trowel resting in the rubble by a shattered vase, bent down to grab the rusted iron neck, and shoved it under his elbow. “Leaving zero company property behind.” Yllis vaulted back inside over the sill, landing without a scrape on the wet floorboards before lunging forward to clamp both hands onto his forearm, her face pitched to theatrical horror. “My Supreme Overseer! Pillar of the Waste! You cannot abandon your disciples!” she cried, voice carrying across the silent hall. “The Empire lies cracked before you, begging for conquest! The Ophalari will kneel in the mire for one syllable of your law! Ascend the high seat! Let me carry your standard across the world!” Kelm popped her thumbs off his sleeve one by one. “I hear you, Yllis, but empire management sounds like sixty hours of unpaid overtime. The mud hut nonsense got wildly out of hand, and I have five episodes of a true-crime doc waiting.” He nodded toward the rift. “That is twenty yards of foam cushion calling my name.” Out on the ledge, Vael rasped a dry, shredded cough. Gilded spit flew from his lips as he locked his stare onto the bright rift hovering above the flagstones. Digging his boots into the shattered sill, he hauled his bruised frame up into the frame. “You! Mud-spawned abomination!” Vael roared, his voice cracking with madness. “You have ruined everything! My legacy! Our dominion! But you cannot keep me here! I will escape this mockery! I will find a world where the elves still reign supreme!” He sprang forward like a cracked javelin, hands clawing blindly toward the floating threshold, crystal shard outstretched. Vorgath kicked off from his perch with the speed of an uncoiling spring. The little black shape intercepted the elf halfway across the room, planting one heavy front paw squarely across Vael’s cheek with the dry thud of an oversized flyswatter. The blow spun Vael sideways mid-arc, stripping the air from his lungs. Skewed completely off target, the High Lord skipped off a pillar and tumbled backward out into the sky, his shriek dwindling into the gray cloud deck beneath the floating city. Vorgath touched down on the tiles with silent paws, took a single swipe at his whiskers, and offered a soft *mrrrow*. Kelm shook his head, giving Yllis a lazy two-finger salute. “Keep the fortress tidy, Yllis. Don't start any crusades until the cleaning crew arrives.” He stepped across the gateway. The shift felt like sinking into a damp wool blanket. White light wrapped his shoulders, drowning out Yllis's shrill protests and the distant chime of shattered crystal. Cold grease and dry cardboard filled his nostrils. His dirty sneakers touched the matted, synthetic pile of his living room floor. Just before the green interface dissolved, a single final line flashed across his retinas. Kelm squinted at the text. [Severance Package: Transporting Sanctuary of Mud and all bound assets to Home Dimension.]