A man sits bent over a steel table littered with papers, the sprawl of documents is so thick the surface of the table is no longer visible. This was the gentleman Rene knew as Scyld Siluvar; the window in front of him displays the night, yet he still maintained the white suit he wore this morning.

He was in a silver room of metal, but contrary to their appearance, the walls absorbed the sounds of sighing and pen scribbling over paper as if they were foam.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG—

Someone assaulted the door as if they were trying to break it down, the steel door stood firm however.

Scyld averted his gaze away from his papers, “Come in~” he called out hearteningly with no sign of his usual gentlemanly tone.

BAM!

The door slammed open as if someone had kicked it. Stelle Siluvar stood in the doorway, her eyes as cold as they were dark, her pupils slightly twitched as her gloves were outlined with the veins of her fists.

“Ah, my dear daughter~ How nice it is to see–”

“Shut up.” Stelle snapped at her father, “Don’t ‘dear daughter~’ you senile bastard.” She walked past his desk without as much as a look towards him. In the corner of the room was a lofty sofa, she grabbed it by the backrest and tilted it onto its hind legs.

SCREE- CLA- SCREE- CLA SCREE—

A skin crawling noise was emitted as the metal hind legs of the chair scraped along the wooden floor, leaving behind two deep grooves. Clacks sounded at equal intervals indicating something heavy had been dragged over the seams of the floorboards.

“My floor…” Scyld whimpered as he saw his precious room be defiled. A BOOM then diverted his attention, Stelle had recklessly set down the sofa, she sat across from him with an expression of absolute ire.

Stelle leaned back, crossed her legs and interlaced her gloved fingers. She forced a fake smile across her face as she delightedly spoke, “My dear father~”

“Would you like to know how my day has been?” The veins on her forehead betrayed her smile and tone, her aura was like that of a volcano on the verge of eruption.

“W-what seems to be the source of your anger, my precious daughter?” Scyld nervously adjusted his collar and re-buttoned his suit jacket.

“I wake up in the morning from a great night’s sleep. ‘Today will be a wonderful day,’ I think to myself. I had planned to meet with my friends for the first time in weeks, and that day had finally arrived.” Stelle looked aimlessly at the ceiling as she reminisced about the positive memories.

“I get dressed in my casual clothes, my friends and I had scheduled breakfast at Areonos. I think to myself, ‘It would have been shameful if I were to appear late, even worse, if I were to not appear at all.’ These were the teachings of someone very important to me afterall, I mustn’t go back on my words.” Scyld listened without daring to move a muscle.

“I hear a knock on my door, and I open it to see my stuttering, panicked father, rambling about 'you must dress accordingly for an important guest.’ Guest? I wonder, why haven’t I heard about this until right now? He goes on and on about how this guest is ‘indispensable to the revitalisation of our company.’ and how I should ‘cancel any and all plans for this entire week.’ I complain, but begrudgingly accept, after all…”

“It is for the company.” The man in the white suit shivered as a pair of pitch black eyes preyed on him. The eyes quickly turned away as if they were looking at a pile of doo doo.

“I put on my suit and I get told to wait at the dinner table. I wait, and wait, and wait. The food has now turned cold. It gets thrown and my father pesters the chefs to cook another set. More time passes; no one is allowed to eat, the food turns cold again, the chef is forced to cook another set. The kitchen staff is overworked from washing the dishes and pans, the maids have to join them. This cycle repeats three more times; three more fucking times. I watch in horror as my precious father turns into a tyrant. I see the sun rest midway above the sky and realize I could meet up with my friends and still return. Who is this guest that could be so important I wonder? Finally, I meet him.”

Her tone turns cold, “A child with no rank. Worst, one’s who’s completely ignorant.”

“No rank?” Scyld was caught off guard by the fact, his eyes widened. “N-no matter, it was never about the rank, knowledge–”

Stelle couldn’t care less for her father finishing, she continued, “I am forced to accept my father’s demands, we get to the library. There’s a problem with the Artharian’s blood, the machine doesn’t respond as if he didn’t have an ID.” She eyed her father, who shamefully looked away.

“I curry favor with the staff by bribing them, we are finally allowed in. The child makes a beeline for the erotic literature section–” suddenly cutting herself off, “Oh, so that’s what he meant by ‘red light’.” Stelle mutters under her breath, before continuing on.

“The moron then passes out for a few seconds upon reading one of the eroticas, wakes up, and then picks a number of very particular books to take back. I was suspicious of his behavior, but I didn’t question the judgment of my wise father at the time, oh—I do dearly regret my decision now.”

Scyld smiled wryly, there was nothing he could say.

“After being told to deliver those documents to a specific police station like a servant, I managed to question the staff working there. I wonder if you’re curious regarding what I found out…”

“Ten rounds.” She spoke calmly.

“You spent ten rounds to bail out a prisoner whose sentence was ten days.”

“Ten rounds.” Stelle spoke again with the same volume.

But then, the volcano erupted.

“Ten rounds?! TEN ROUND?!? TEN ROUNDS!?!? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?!” Her chair fell over as she stood up. Stelle flailed her arms wildly as her father shied away from flying saliva.

Scyld raising a quaking finger over his mouth, “Shush shh shhh– You’ll wake him up!”

“His sentence was TEN DAYS!! TEN DAYS!!! Why couldn’t you just pay the appropriate amount? Or better, WAIT UNTIL HE WAS OUT OF PRISON!!!??”

“I-” The gentleman of steel shrank back into his chair, his voice meek as a mouse, “I-I didn’t know how long he was in for until I had already handed in the money…”

“You— Wha— I—” Stelle’s flailing ceased, her mouth fell agape as she struggled to find words to describe the asinary of her father.

The two stared at each other wordlessly until the silence was broken with a sigh.

Stelle uprighted the chair and lowered herself into it.

*Tsk* “Dummy,” she muttered as she shook her head. “Alright alright—whatever,” Stelle spoke with a tired voice, “Just tell me about the information the amnesiac sold you.”

“What?” Scyld blinked, “Amnesiac?”

“You didn’t know?” It was Stelle’s turn to be surprised this time, “Apparently the police found him to have memory issues when they questioned him. Back at the library, he was reading children's history books and he borrowed a dictionary upon our return.”

Scyld mumbled in a low voice, “The dictionary makes sense, he’s an Artharian who wouldn’t be familiar with our local diction, but the children's novels…”

The daughter didn’t hear her father as she continued, “He even asked a question about who Resplendent Paradise is.” *Tsk* “Can you imagine? An Artharian asking an Aphelion about the Monad of Life? Hmph, it’s the very definition of irony. It’s obvious that he was either born a week ago or lost his memory somehow.”

“Well? Are you going to tell me or not?” Stelle pouted as she looked impatiently at her father, snapping Scyld out of his train of thought.

“Tell you what?”

“The information that would ‘revitalize the company’, the information that was so valuable as to make our family slaves to him.” Her tired voice was gone, replaced by a pair of beaming eyes and a brilliant smile, ”So, what is it?” She waited in anticipation until she saw Scyld’s face: blank as a sheet.

Stelle smiled as she playfully poked her father’s arm, “Oh, come on, Mr. Siluvar~, I’m your daughter, do I really not have the right to know? After all that I’ve sacrificed over these years?”

Scyld pursed his lips, silent as a brick.

He looked to the corner of the room as he fiddled with his cane.

“...” Stelle froze.

Her brilliant smile vanished like a flame smothered out.

“Y–you did make him deliver his end of the agreement first right? Right? Hey!” She poked him harder and harder. The latter’s mouth was zipped shut.

“Papa” She pleaded, “I didn’t just cancel my plans for nothing right? You didn’t just waste ten whole rounds, right? Right!? Hey! Look at me! Say something!!”

Scyld ignored her prodding and wordlessly pinched his cane to form a rectangular silver slip; he showed it to Stelle who promptly snatched it away.

The contract was held close to her face, pupil scanned across the page line by line. They darted faster and faster until she finished. Then, she read it again.

Her breathing became noticeably louder and deeper as she read. The room expanded and shrunk alongside her lungs. Veins could be seen through her gloves as she tightly gripped the silver contract, which creased and strained from the tension.

Scyld held his breath.

Stelle stopped reading and closed her eyes. Her hands loosened, next, she took a deep breath and gently placed the contract on the table in front of her as if she was handling a baby.

The silver paper retained the creases made by her fingers, it didn't lay flat. Scyld glanced at the pitiful contract before he saw Stelle open her eyes.

They were not friendly eyes.

The legs were crossed once more; her hands went back to their original position, interlocked and above her lap.

“My dear father.” She said with no emotion.

“Tell me that such a contract has not been signed.” Stelle commanded. The air fell still and the moon grew dark.

Scyld opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air, there were no words.

Stelle rested her elbows on the table and placed her chin on a den of interlaced fingers. She tilted her head without breaking her stare.

“Tell me.”

Her voice didn’t come from her mouth, but her eyes. Every syllable was a thunderous boom.

“Now.”

“B-b-b–” Scyld’s lower lip quivered, “B-before you were gone, he–”

The chair Stelle sat on flew across the room colliding into the metal bookcases causing an ear splitting crash. Mr. Siluvar squeaked and covered his face as he cowered away from the flying books. Stelle walked towards the ruined bookshelf and damaged chair, treading on any books that dared cross her path.

Grabbing the chair by the backrest with both hands, she lifted it over her head and slammed it into the ground. The momentum in the air made the window planes shiver; wooden flakes from the shattered floorboards flung through the air as the chair lay dismembered.

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” The dam breaks, Stelle unleashes a primal roar of sheer fury with her head pointed towards the heavens; her hands were fists as she raised her arms above her shoulders. The suit jacket she wore rips from her bulging muscles.

Scyld peeked out from the gap between his arms to see his daughter tear off her silver jacket with one hand and throw it to the ground. Her abyssal eyes looked to him; she was walking towards him now. He pulled his legs onto the chair and hid behind his arms once more.

He felt a small breeze before his eardrums rippled from another thunderous crash. Scyld peeked out again to see his table no longer in front of him, he spotted it on the other side of his room leaning against the wall. The air was filled with a flurry of documents, as they slowly fell, he saw his daughter. Stelle was expressionless, her hair became undone as one of her abyss black eyes was covered; she stood menacingly close to her father.

She breathed heavily, Scyld felt her breath on his hair. Her hair tickled his hands.

“Look at me.”

She gave a command. He hesitantly loosened the shaking arms from his face; He was met with the eyes of death. They were hollow and soulless like that of a doll. They looked at him, unblinking and mute.

Stelle spoke, her tone one of absolute contempt.

“You vacuous, shit-stain of a man.”

Her words echoed within his ears, it was too much. Scyld pursed his lips and he felt the warm water arise from his eyes. Stelle didn’t waste another second of her time looking at trash as she paced to the door.

Scyld reached out an arm. “S-telle wait–" *Sniff* “W-Where are you going?”

Stelle turned to him as she opened the door, “To confront the fucker who deceived my dad.”

Bam!

The door slammed shut behind her.

**********

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG—

Stelle knocked heavily on the door to the Artharian’s room, “Mr. Spring! I’d like to speak with you for a moment!”

Upon hearing no response, she kept going.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG—

Still no reaction. She no longer waited—touching the lock, her gloved fingertips glowed a dim silver light as the door unlocked with a click.

“Mr. Spring—” Stelle cut herself off upon realizing no one was inside, the entire room was unlit.

Did the fucker run? No, he’s not smart enough for that.

Hmm?

After closing the door, the sounds of quick footsteps running up stairs entered her ears, she recognised them to be Sophia’s.

The young maid looked a little flustered once she saw Stelle, “Miss Siluvar, I didn’t expect to see you here! What was that banging noise?” Her eyes trailed over Stelle’s unkempt appearance, she spoke with a concerned tone.

“Is everything alright? There was a loud noise earlier as well, I was wondering if it was—”

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine, I was just looking for our dear guest.” Stelle reassured the maid with a wry smile.

Sophia placed a finger on her chin, “Hmm, I remember seeing Oliver escort Mr. Spring down the basement stairs, is he perhaps in the Sir’s workshop?”

Basement? With Oliver? What is he up to?

“Thank you, I’ll be heading there now.”

“Shall I accompany you, miss?”

“No worries Sophia, I’ll go alone. Take care, have a good night’s rest.”

Sophia bowed respectfully to the miss as Stelle waved her goodbye.

***********

Oliver handed Rene the pen and a stack of empty papers. “Will these suffice?” The butler inquired.

Rene tried out the pen, “Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll be taking my leave now, please call me down whenever you wish by shouting my name.”

Does he not sleep?

It was quite late already, but he was always available? Now that he thought of it, he had never seen a sleeping Aphelian. Did they even sleep?

“Alright, I’ll be sure to do so.”

The butler bowed and turned to leave, “Miss Siluvar? What are you down here for?”

Stelle?

Rene turned away from his papers, it indeed was Stelle Siluvar; when did she arrive? She also looked rather different from her usual refined demeanor. Her silver suit jacket was gone, leaving her with only a short sleeved black buttoned shirt. Upon closer inspection, the shirt’s first button was undone, no—the silver button was missing. Her hair was also quite messy, making Rene think she was vigorously exercising not long ago.

He awkwardly waved at her, but Stelle didn’t seem to notice. She turned to Oliver the butler as if she was purposely ignoring him, “Oliver?”

Without any further explanation, old Oliver began explaining, “Mr. Rene has expressed to me that he wishes to fulfill his portion of the contract right away, thus, I brought him here, to the Sir’s workshop. Upon arriving, he also requested pen and papers as to draw out his designs, and so I hath brought them. Was this not appropriate of me miss?”

Stelle’s face showed an expression even Rene’s unobservant eyes could detect: confusion. Upon seeing her reaction, Oliver spoke again, “The contract was something the Sir–”

“I know what the contract is.”

The old butler took a moment to think, before lightly smiling, “Hmmm, the source of the disturbance presents herself.”

Stelle made an embarrassed expression, confirming the old butler’s conjecture.

What? The noises came from her? Now that I think of it, the appearance does match… Was she wrestling someone?

“Alright alright, piss off you old sod,” Stelle shooed Oliver away, “Up, up the stairs you go. Close the door on your way out!” Oliver let out a scoff before going upstairs.

Rene felt surprised seeing the sudden shift in Stelle’s behavior.

I guess this is the difference between how someone treats outsiders vs family.

Stelle diverted her gaze back to Rene, the latter felt a chill run up his spine.

What happened? Why is she looking at me like that?

She walked past him, and grabbed a steel chair by the backrest. Next, she dragged it to behind where Rene was sitting and sat on the chair in reverse.

“Do you plan on drawing something?” She spoke while resting her chin on the top rim of the backrest, her usual polite tone had vanished without a trace.

Is she drunk or something?

“Y-yes.” He couldn’t tell if she was genuinely asking or if it was a rhetorical question, from her tone, he assumed the latter.

He turn back to the empty pages, just as he was about to draw the first line,

“What is it?”

So it wasn’t rhetorical.

“Um, i-it’s a device that will help decrease the stench of public restrooms, it’s called a ‘toilet’.”

Rene had said ‘toilet’ in English since they didn’t exist in the Aphelian vocabulary, what existed instead was something much more primitive.

He had asked Oliver why the public restrooms stank to the high heavens when compared to toilets here. The answer to his question was “Our latrines are equipped with formations within the strand of aroma, they activate upon detecting undesirable odor.” Upon further questioning, Rene had learned that this was an expensive addition, since each time these ‘aroma formation’ were activated, they would ‘expend essence’.

That’s why the toilet was the first thing he would design. The demand for toilets in comparison to the current alternative was in proportion to how badly poop smelt, and who woulda thunk, poop smells terrible.

Flushable toilets, at least in a world without them, was certainly one of the most profitable options that could be easily manufactured.

“Ooooohhh, ‘toilet’... Of course, ‘toileett’ hehehe, ‘tooiiiilleeettt’!” Stelle hollered as she laughed, ”Hmmmmmm, very well then, carry on.”

She really is drunk…

Rene looked at Stelle, she sat in her chair with focused eyes and a faint smile. Apparently she planned to watch him work. It was a bit awkward, but he was a bit fearful in telling the drunk to leave.

The pen’s tip touched paper, Rene drew a line.

His hand paused, something was wrong.

The line he drew—was too straight! He was free handing, and yet he drew a line as straight as a ruler?

Probably a coincidence.

That was the only logical conclusion.

He drew another; it ran perfectly parallel to the first, it was just as straight and exactly the same length. The length… somehow it felt like he instinctively knew how long the line was.

It was precisely 65.33 cm long—huh? Two decimal places? That's impossible. Rene shook his head in order to shake himself out of this odd trance—no, this wasn’t a trance, he was perfectly lucid.

Another line, it came out to be the same as the last. The three lines were spread out perfectly, the distance between them equal.

Again, again, and again, vertical lines this time. Rene gawked at the rectangular grid in front of him, he could spot no faults.

A circle this time.

It was perfect. He had just drawn a perfect circle free-handed. A number also seemingly entered his mind ‘30.00’. The circle was 30.00 cm in diameter.

What is going on? This is such a strange thing to be worried about; did my head injury give me these skills? What am I supposed to be happy that lady pointed her stick at my face?

He looked at the size of the paper he drew on. No numbers came up.

It seems like I only know what the dimensions of something is after I draw it.

So this measuring skill is activated tactilely, not visually, no wonder I haven’t discovered it until now.

He felt the weight of the pen he held, 31.2 grams exactly. What the hell is going on?

“Something the matter? You seem to be rather hesitant for some reason. You didn’t forget anything did you?”

An annoying voice rushed him from the rear, he quickly thought of an excuse.

“Just getting used to the pen…”

“Is that so… hehehe… Is that so…”

Bloody hell that’s a creepy smile…

Rene sighed inwardly, this was not the time to test out the limits of these skills, not with a volatile drunk looking over his shoulder.

He started on a new sheet of paper, with his newfound powers, he could skip over the drafts and immediately start drawing the finished, complete diagram. The first toilet of this world was going to be born today.

**********

A lone steel toilet stood in the center of a destroyed room, scattered leaves of paper lay piled up in the corners; scraps of wood, metal amongst broken things have been brushed up and pushed to the edges of the room, around the toilet is that of bare floor. Faint rays of sunlight from a newborn sun shine through the cracked windows, illuminating the toilet’s smooth bends.

Click–

Tap Tap–

Scyld Siluvar paced around the silver throne holding his cane, occasionally using it to tap the toilet in its various curves.

“Hollow,” he remarked, “While this factor decreases weight and materials spent, with its odd shape, the manufacturing difficulty will go up. Why not use rarefied steel?”

Stelle sat on her father’s chair while carrying dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. Her hair was a mess, and her clothes reeked of a metallic stench. She observed her father’s keen examination with a tired expression and crossed arms, “I asked the same question as well, he said that it doesn’t have to be constructed in one piece, only the ‘bowl’ and the ‘tank’ have to be ‘waterproof’.” She imitated the Artharian’s voice when saying his foreign words. “This is only the final product, but this ‘toilet’ may be constructed from many smaller, and simpler parts. He provided detailed drawings regarding each component and instructions regarding how to assemble them.” Stelle threw the roll of design papers to her father who took his time to look over it. Since his chair was taken, he just awkwardly stood in place.

“I admit it would be advantageous for the main body to be constructed separately due to its complicated nature, but why take the time to detail out so many small, yet simple parts? It would be ideal if everything was the same complexity.”

“Heh,” the observer gave a smirk, “I had the same concern, but he was strangely quick with his answers. The manufacturing process of these toilets are unlike anything we have tried, the complex components are to be crafted by the skilled workers, while the smaller, simpler components are to be mass produced by the others.”

Scyld took some time to think, “This concept—I’ve heard it before. When more than one artisan is involved in the creation of a product: a production line. But conflict between the lingering wills of different artisans corrodes the metal and shortens its lifespan, what is his solution?”

Stelle dug around her pants pockets and took something out.

“This.” She tossed it to Scyld.

The gentleman looked at the thing in his palm. Small, cylindrical in shape, a helix shaped trail of metal ran down its body.

“Curious—its name?” He examined it like a piece of jewelry, rotating it so he could see it from every angle.

“A ‘screw’. You see the holes that are in every component? The walls within the holes are shaped with the opposite fill of the screw’s threading, so when these screws are rotated in, the respective components are locked in place. There is no essence requirement during the assembly step, even an unranked mortal is able to do it.” The girl in the chair leaned back on her chair and rubbed her tired eyes.

Her father clearly had a good night's rest, he spoke with a lively tone: “I see, by introducing a thin layer of static steel in between the components, the differing wills are able to remain separated.”

Playing around with the screw, he continued after taking a moment to think.

“I’ve seen something similar to these ‘screws’ in the past, the weakness is shared: holes have to be bored in the respective components, and when they said components are conjoined together, they are held together solely by the strength of these screws. Such a method offers less stability as compared to simply mending the components together. However, the assembly process may be completed by unranked mortals, you say? That will greatly decrease manufacturing costs.”

“Ahem, yeah yea,” Stelle had nearly fallen asleep in her chair, she hunched forwards and pinched her noseridge.“He designed a respective tool specifically for unranked mortal use, its called a screw– screwd– d– something—fuck. The last component, check the sodding blueprint.”

Scyld flipped through the pages, to see the vast number of components involved, “Hm, let’s talk about manufacturing later, run me through its phenomenological statistics.”

Someone replied with a groan, “There are none, this is it.”

“Huh?” The rank 5 showed a rare surprised expression before his face immediately shifted back to a state of calm, “My apologies, you wouldn't have had time to collect them.” He walked up to his daughter and lifted a hand to her shoulder. “You’ve done well, have a good nights res–”

“No,” Stelle shook off his hand and rubbed her eyes, “I mean there aren’t any stats because there aren’t any formations carved anywhere.”

“What?” His face returned to one of surprise. It didn’t shift back this time.

“How? No catalyst essence? How is it activated?”

“No catalyst.” She pointed to the toilet’s handle, “See that handle in the corner? I was told it ‘flushes’ after it’s pushed downwards like the handle of a door. Inside is a lever attach– Stop looking at me like that, it’s already filled with water as he specified, just press the sodding thing down already.”

“You haven’t tested it?”

“I brought it up here as soon as I finished,” Stelle’s bloodshot eyes peeked out of the fingers rubbing her face, “Are you going to push it down or not?”

Backing away from the half-asleep creature, Scyld lifted the toilet’s lid, “This lid isn’t airtight, how will it restrain the smell?”

“It doesn’t.” The creature groaned, “The water does.”

The gentleman nodded, that made sense, “Then what about this secondary lid? There’s a giant hole in the center and the tip doesn’t even connect? What is its purpose?”

“Aaagghhh,” Stelle crazily ruffled her hair, “I don’t know! So many sodding questions! Why not just ask your precious contractee himself? I’m sure he knows everything doesn’t he?!”

Scyld twitched, he lifted both lids and grabbed the handle of his cane; it came off as if it were made of butter. The detached silver piece then began morphing, growing more cylindrical in shape and its two ends were rounded off.

He dropped the silver turd within the toilet.

“I have just defecated.” He declared.

His daughter stared at him with her head tilted to one side; her face carried a half dead expression.

“Do I close the lid first?” he asked, turning to Stelle for advice. The latter responded by tilting her head in the other direction.

Pursing his lips, Scyld pressed on the handle with the lids open, he wished to see the turd go down.

“Hm?” He pressed it down again, there was a gurgling noise but not much else.

“Lift it up, the floor is blocking the output pipe.” A voice came from behind him, the creature had spoken.

With one hand gripping the bowl, Scyld lifted the toilet. With his other hand, he pressed on the handle.

There was action this time! My, my! No catalyst essence required!

“Oh? A swirl is forming in the water, the excrement is being washed–”

Water poured out from the bottom like a waterfall and crashed against the ground. Scyld stared at the floor with a blank expression as his favorite pair of shoes and pants were ruined by the onslaught of toilet water splatter. The noise of splashing water filled the dilapidated room. As a translucent blue circle slowly expanded outwards, Stelle lifted her boots up on the chair so as to not suffer the same fate as her father.

*Creeeeak*

The door opened as the butler entered suddenly without warning. Oliver looked upon the remnants of an office, once destroyed and now wet. He gazed at the sir’s daughter, with bloodshot eyes and a bird nest for hair, hugging her legs to escape from the flood. Then, he looked at the sir he once respected, holding up a dripping monstrosity with soaking wet pants.

“Sir I–”

*Plop*

The silver turd collided with the floor with an unimpressive splat. Oliver flinched as several droplets of liquid flew on his face. The room was one of silence as the three stared at each other, the turd slowly deformed due to gravity whilst they did.

“Please knock the next time you enter Oliver.” Scyld was the one to first break the silence.

“The door hath no lock sir, it once did, it does no longer. If I were to knock, the door would still open.” Oliver replied promptly, his eyes glancing on the Stelle slumped over in the chair.

Placing down the toilet, Scyld sighed, he picked up his silver turd and merged it back with his cane, “What matter is so urgent for you to rush here so early in the morning?”

“This sir,” Oliver held up the contract, “I discovered that Mr. Rene’s blood did not trigger its activation. Technically, it remains unsigned. I brought it here so that you may unearth its faults.”

Squish Squish Squish–

“It didn’t activate?” Scyld walked up to Oliver, with each step, his shoes made a squishing noise; a trail of foot shaped puddles were left behind in his wake.

Holding the contract, the gentleman examined the droplet of dried blood within the white circle. “This is certainly real blood,” he lightly grazed it with his finger, “It’s only a few hours old…”

Scyld placed a finger on his chin, “Was there a hidden conflict between his essence and this contract?” Suddenly, he remembered something, he turned towards the disheveled Stelle

“Your thoughts?” He asked.

The creature flung her hair back to unveil a set of bloodshot eyes.

“The contract has been signed successfully.” She spoke with a dry voice, “For now.”