The speakeasy's walls shuddered as a black-hole briefcase materialized, vomiting out a thousand scrolls stamped "URGENT: FINAL NOTICE."
Nishanth picked one up. "'Failure to comply will result in asset forfeiture, soul repossession, and… mandatory community service?'"
"Worse," Lilith said, her voice tight. "He's here."
The air crackled as the Supreme God of Taxes descended—a towering figure in a charcoal-gray suit, his face a shifting mosaic of tax codes. His briefcase hummed with the gravitational pull of a dying star.
"Nishanth von Valtros," he intoned, "your fiscal recklessness has destabilized cosmic equilibrium. You are hereby… audited."
Zara snorted. "Can't audit us if we're dead!" She lunged, swiping his tie pin—which immediately burst into a Broadway rendition of "Tomorrow" from Annie.
[ DEBUFF ACTIVATED: "ZARA'S SHOWTUNE SWAGGER" ]
[ EFFECT: All stolen items now sing show tunes at max volume ]
