The morning sun should've been rising over the crystal domes of Uttarakṣetra. Instead, it was replaced by a spinning audit seal floating in the sky, casting a dull, bureaucratic grey across the land.
Even the divine birds known as Śabdahaṁsas stopped mid-verse. Their melodic warbles, tuned to ancient slokas, had been overwritten by an ominous chant echoing from the heavens:
"Sampādyaṁ ca nirīkṣyaḥ… karasaṅkhyāṁ likhatāṁ…"(All quests must henceforth be audited. May receipts be upon you.)
And then... they descended.
[Enter: Ṛṇagaṇa – Auditor of Unsanctioned Quests]
From the sky fell a man who didn't fall so much as declared descent with triple attestation. He landed with such precision that dust rose in a perfect circle — not a grain beyond the required radius.
Clad in layered robes stitched from cancelled policies, outdated tax codes, and wrinkled declaration forms, he bore an expression only achievable through decades of rejecting joy.
"I am Ṛṇagaṇa, first of the 108 Accountants of the Inflexible Order," he intoned, voice like dry parchment scraped across ambition.
Nikāma blinked twice.
"Did he just say 'Inflexible Order'?"
Kaśyapī sighed, already dreading the paperwork. "Yeah. That's... the worst kind of order."
Ṛṇagaṇa's abacus floated beside him, but it wasn't the innocent kind. Its beads pulsed with mana-draining runes. With each flick, it emitted a quiet yet soul-eroding sound: chik-chik-chik-chik.
"I am here to file an interdimensional penalty complaint. You, heroes, have retrieved the Ladle of Limitless Laughter, a Class-7 Relic of Irreversible Mirth, without proper permissions."
He held out a scroll longer than Vātraka's lineage, stamped with hundreds of red seals. "Violation of the Ancient Precedent: Śruti K-17/Appendix LOL."
Vātraka, the goat of infinite questions, raised a hoof. "Excuse me. What is Appendix LOL?"
"Legalities of Laughter. Sub-clause 2 mandates no relic of comedic potential may be wielded by unlicensed jesters."
"But I'm a talking goat with excellent comedic timing," he protested.
"That makes you a liability, not a licensed practitioner. Also, you are not registered as an independent entity with the Central Livestock Registry of Bhū-Vāni."
"SOUL-INSULT!" Vātraka bellowed.
[The Auditors Multiply]
Ṛṇagaṇa tapped his abacus.
The ground cracked. The sky folded like origami dipped in bureaucratic ink.
Out of swirling ink portals emerged eleven more figures — all identical in posture, expression, and hatred for joy. Each wore enchanted robes designed to resist sarcasm, with monograms stitched in golden Devanāgarī.
Leading them was Mahā–Lekhak Adya, the Supreme Compiler of the Ledgerverse.
His robe dragged behind him like an unfurled constitution. His presence alone raised the local GST rate.
"You have committed 16 violations, not including the spontaneous goat recital performed last chapter," he said, voice devoid of vowels or mercy.
Kaśyapī coughed. "Okay, how do we appeal?"
Mahā–Lekhak Adya pulled out a cosmic binder.
"You must complete:
Form 27-Rakta: Justification for Divine Relic Acquisition
Form 3-Kūṭa: Goat-Based Entity Registration Request
Appendix Dōṣa-444: Accidental Epic-Level Storyline Enrollment
And the Bonus Round: Defeat the Audit Beast."
Nikāma's smile froze. "Wait. Bonus round?"
A thunderclap of ink. A growl of suppressed complaints.
[Behold: The Audit Beast]
It rose from below the ground, stitched from forgotten invoices, compliance letters, and every OTP that never arrived. It had eyes made of rejected loan requests. It had three mouths — one for quoting obscure tax codes, one for consuming your will to live, and one that recited endless passwords.
Its bellow sounded like:
"Produce your Form 16, NOW!"
[The Goat Saves the Day (Sort Of)]
Nikāma and Kaśyapī reached for their weapons — the Ladle, and the Kṛtrimāstra (synthetic bow of condensed irony).
But Vātraka… stepped forward.
He danced.
It wasn't beautiful.
It wasn't structured.
It was chaos with a rhythm. The Bleatāṭṭam — the forbidden goat-dance of his ancestors, once banned for being too anti-structural.
Hooves slapped, ears flapped, bleats matched no tempo.
The Audit Beast's mind, wired for structure, blue-screened. Literal smoke erupted from its receipts. It tried to re-categorize reality, but the Bleatāṭṭam had no tax code equivalent.
"ERROR 404: Filing Pattern Not Found…"
And with a final despairing whisper of "Non-claimable expense…", it imploded.
[Post-Battle Debrief]
Mahā–Lekhak Adya glared.
"This… is not the end. You are now flagged for perpetual audit. Any action taken from now shall be accompanied by a notification of scrutiny."
A seal imprinted itself into the air around them.
Their status bar (visible only to the divine) now read:🧾 Status: UNDER REVIEW. Compliance Rating: 2.1/10
Vātraka spat. "Even the gods weren't this annoying."
"Especially the gods," Kaśyapī muttered. "They don't get audited."
[Aftermath]
They camped that night beside the ruins of a tax kiosk vaporized during the fight. The stars above flickered with mild disapproval.
Nikāma stared at the fire. "Why would accountants of all people come after us first?"
Kaśyapī leaned back. "Because nothing terrifies chaos more than… regulated absurdity. These accountants? They're not enemies. They're the immune system of the cosmos."
"And what about us?" Nikāma asked.
"We're the infection," Vātraka said proudly.