Chapter 54: Summons to the Shard Court
The portal snapped shut behind them with the sound of sealing wax breaking. Ne Job and Yue found themselves standing in a vast chamber made of fractured mirrors, each suspended midair like shards of glass frozen in orbit. Light refracted endlessly, splitting reality into paperwork-thin reflections.
At the chamber's center rose a colossal desk — carved entirely from translucent obsidian — and behind it sat Lord Bureaucrat Xian, eyes glowing with cold divine precision.
On both sides stood the Judges of the Shard Court, spectral bureaucrats whose robes shimmered with fragmented decree scripts. Each judge's face was mirrored, shifting between neutrality, disdain, and silent pity.
Yue whispered, "We're in the oldest courtroom in Heaven… The Shard Court only opens when reality itself files an appeal."
Ne Job gulped. "Cool. Totally not terrifying."
A gavel made of crystal light struck the air once.
> "The Court is now in session,"
announced Judge Shard IX, voice sharp as paper tearing.
"Subject: Ne Job. Classification: Minor Deity, Domain of Workplace Sanity. Nature of Hearing: Determination of cosmic legitimacy."
Lord Xian rose. His robes flowed like molten gold, every fold etched with sigils of authority. His gaze locked on Ne Job, unreadable yet heavy.
"Intern Ne Job," he said calmly. "You have… disrupted the divine hierarchy."
Ne Job attempted a nervous grin. "Technically, I optimized it?"
A low murmur rippled across the Court. One shard near the ceiling cracked slightly.
Lord Xian raised a hand, silencing the whispers. "You tampered with celestial systems without authorization. You became a focus of mortal faith without departmental approval. You triggered a full-scale audit that nearly unraveled the Bureau."
He stepped closer. "And now… mortals pray in your name."
Ne Job looked at Yue for backup. She gave him a half-hearted shrug. "It's true. Even the cafeteria staff chant your name before lunch breaks."
"See?" Ne Job said weakly. "Positive workplace culture!"
Lord Xian's aura flickered like lightning behind a mask of restraint. "This is not culture, Intern. This is contagion."
He snapped his fingers.
A nearby shard brightened, projecting holographic images of mortals bowing before hastily built shrines — half made of filing cabinets and sticky notes. Offerings included coffee mugs, stress balls, and motivational quotes.
Yue muttered, "At least they're consistent."
Lord Xian ignored her. "You've created an independent faith circuit. Do you understand the gravity of that?"
"I didn't create it!" Ne Job protested. "It just… happened! They needed hope!"
A pause.
Lord Xian stared at him, then exhaled. "Hope," he repeated softly. "A dangerous currency."
He gestured toward the floating shards. "The Shard Court exists to measure truth in its most fragile form. Each shard remembers an older version of Heaven. When the Bureau's laws fracture, this court reassembles them… and decides which version continues."
The nearest shard reflected a glimpse of another timeline — Ne Job kneeling as a mortal, not a god. Another shard showed Yue working alone in a silent Bureau, her eyes tired, without Ne Job beside her.
Ne Job whispered, "These are… what could've been?"
"Or what still are," Yue murmured.
The central shard pulsed.
Judge Shard IX leaned forward. "Intern Ne Job, do you acknowledge that your actions have altered Heaven's continuity?"
Ne Job hesitated. "I guess? But—only because Heaven needed it!"
Laughter rippled through the shards — not kind laughter, but the brittle sound of reality cracking.
Lord Xian slammed his palm onto the desk. "Enough!"
Silence fell. The light dimmed until only Xian's eyes glowed.
"You think good intentions exempt you from order? You think defying the flow of Heaven's paperwork is virtue?"
His voice trembled with contained fury. "Every god before you who tried to 'fix' the system became its curse."
Ne Job frowned. "So what—Heaven's supposed to stay broken forever?"
The words hit the room like thunder.
Shards began vibrating. Reflections multiplied — infinite versions of Ne Job standing defiantly in the same pose.
Yue whispered urgently, "Stop arguing! The Court doesn't handle paradox well!"
But the damage was done. Shards started glowing red, reacting to Ne Job's question.
Lord Xian's tone dropped to a low rumble. "You misunderstand. The Bureau's purpose is not to work. It is to endure."
He gestured — and a massive shard descended, showing a scene from the past: gods collapsing over desks, mortals forgotten under divine reports, yet the Bureau continued—endlessly stamping, filing, breathing bureaucracy itself.
Ne Job's chest tightened. "That's… horrible."
"It is stability," Lord Xian said. "And stability is mercy."
Yue stepped forward, voice firm. "With respect, my lord… maybe it's time mercy took a different form."
The judges stirred. A few nodded. Others glared daggers.
Xian's expression froze. "Assistant Yue. You speak as though chaos were compassion."
"Not chaos," Yue said quietly. "Balance."
Ne Job straightened beside her. "We don't want to destroy Heaven. We just want to make it livable."
Lord Xian's eyes softened—for half a second. Then his hand slammed down again.
"Enough sentiment."
He turned to the Judges. "Proceed with verdict deliberation."
---
The shards rearranged themselves into a glowing circle above the chamber. Within their reflections, visions of multiple outcomes flickered:
Ne Job erased from existence.
Ne Job promoted to divine manager.
The Bureau collapsing entirely.
Yue standing alone in silence.
The shards began to merge, light coalescing toward one final decision—until the entire room trembled.
A new voice, distant yet vast, echoed through the fractures:
> "Petition denied."
The words rolled through the Court like an avalanche. Shards shattered midair, raining light and decree fragments.
Yue gasped. "That voice—!"
Lord Xian froze. His aura flickered, breaking for the first time.
From the largest shard at the Court's center, a figure emerged—blurred, ancient, wrapped in faded sigils and paper-thin light.
Its voice carried the weight of eternity.
> "You cannot judge what I have already chosen."
The Court erupted in murmurs. Even the Judges backed away.
Ne Job stepped forward, trembling. "Who… are you?"
The figure's silhouette leaned forward. Its eyes glowed with the color of forgotten ink.
> "I am the one who built your forms. The one who wrote your Bureau into being.
The Forgotten God of Paperwork."
Lord Xian's voice dropped to a whisper. "Impossible… you were archived millennia ago."
The Forgotten God's tone was calm, almost amused. "And yet your intern carries my ink."
Ne Job's heart pounded. "My—what?"
The god raised a hand. The red mark from the earlier audit shimmered on Ne Job's wrist — glowing brighter than ever, reshaping itself into a complex seal.
> "You signed with my authority, child. Whether by accident or design, you invoked the origin clause. That makes you… my successor."
The entire Court gasped. The shards screamed — vibrating like broken glass trying to reform.
Lord Xian shouted, "No! The Bureau cannot sustain two origins!"
The god smiled faintly. "Then perhaps… it is time for renewal."
The chamber fractured. Light exploded. The shards around them swirled into a cyclone of forms and sigils.
Yue grabbed Ne Job's hand. "Don't let go!"
"I wasn't planning to!" he yelled as they were pulled into the maelstrom.
Amid the chaos, Lord Xian's voice echoed, both furious and desperate:
> "Intern Ne Job! You will undo everything—!"
Then came the Forgotten God's calm whisper:
> "Or he will fix what even gods abandoned."
The light consumed them.