COZMART: Corner Shop of Visiting Gods

COUNCIL CHAMBER. HEAVENLY REALM.

In the center of the Heavenly Realm's high-data archives, a cold ring of light shimmered across an endless void.

Unlike the last meeting, this one took place under the Lotus Protocol. One meant for enhanced sanctity.

The lotus opened with a low chime. Ten petals—each a radiant platform of coloured qi—unfurled slowly across an infinite celestial sea. Sealed by seven divine wards and two karma oaths, this meeting space rotated its aesthetic with every summit, honouring the traditions of balance.

This time around, the motif was Wen's domain.

Golden mist curled beneath the platforms, reflecting a soft, silvery light. The chamber echoed with an ethereal hum, the pulse of divine presence syncing like breath. Each Council seat hovered above its petal, identical in grandeur.

Equal in appearance, at least. Even if no one here believed in equality.

Eight out of ten seats were filled; one remained conspicuously empty.

Erlang Shen, seated tall in azure and silver armour, was the first to speak:

"Area 001 remains unrepresented. Again."

Lady Foxfire giggled behind her lacquered fan. Her nine tails rippled behind her silk robes. "Should we be surprised? Fifteen mortal years, darling. We've grown quite used to his absence. One wonders if the seat should just be gifted to a decorative plant."

The words weren't new, but today, they had bite.

Because for the first time in fifteen years, Area 001 had made noise.

Across from Lady Foxfire, Ao Bing's expression was carved from frost. He said nothing, but the tension in his jaw was ironbound. Beside him, Qiongqi leaned back in his seat, claws tapping faintly against stone armrests, fangs bared in a too-wide grin.

"Rare of you to be behind on the news, Foxfire," Great Peng said, wings rustling as he leaned forward, eyes gleaming behind circular lenses. "Because it looks like that, despite a decade and a half of silence, the White Tiger appears to be clawing his way back onto the field."

A projection floated between them—a layered node chart of Area 001's most recent rift breaches. Class-A signatures, stabilization spikes, and quite a few emergency squad deployments.

But among them all, it was the detainment report that caught the most attention.

"Quite the development, if I were to say myself," Peng mused.

Wen nodded slowly, his gaze keening in on the rows of data. "Two infiltrators exposed. Registry falsification. Artifact embedding confirmed."

They all knew who had planted them, but none said it aloud.

Not because they were afraid of retribution—but because no one here liked being told what to do. Council culture thrived on polite sabotage and mutual amusement. Unless something broke the order completely, infractions were entertainment.

Still, even amusement had its limits.

"I'm more irritated that we didn't get the footage of the interrogation," Peng grumbled. "That recording would've made front page on SpiritTube. Prime timestamp. Missed opportunity."

"No cameras are allowed for things like this, Peng," Wen replied, voice dry as dust. "The HQ warded its internal net. He knew what he was doing."

"Unexpected resistance," he added after a pause, "but resistance nonetheless."

Erlang Shen hadn't spoken since announcing the White Tiger's absence, but he was undoubtedly listening. Chin balanced on hand, third eye half-lidded. Observing. Measuring.

Opposite him, Qiongqi bristled. The beast deity's voice cracked through the ether like rusted metal. "The White Tiger has exposed fractures that didn't need naming."

Translation: the moles were still active, and Taeril had dragged them into the light.

Qiongqi bared his teeth—not a smile. "I'd hoped mortals might be more competent. But disposable toys snap so easily."

"Maybe ask for a refund next time," Lady Foxfire said, tapping her fan against her chin. "Warranty coverage for faulty traitors is a serious concern these days."

Great Peng chuckled, but Qiongqi wasn't amused. "They signed their contracts, and they broke their terms," the demon went on, tone sharp as bone. "Failure means payment due."

Lady Meng, ever serene, lifted her tea to her lips. She sipped in silence.

"Still," Ao Bing said at last, "Area 001 is proving more resilient than anticipated."

"Anticipated?" Lady Foxfire arched an eyebrow. "Did you really expect one missing war god to be enough to drop the whole sector? You should've tried fire ants."

Wen's voice remained monotone. "Resilience is not immunity. Nor is delay the same as survival."

Li Wei said nothing. His eyes were unreadable, but his stillness carried a certain weight, intermixed with a guilty (not really) conscience that was a tad too out of place. After all, he had been the one to deliver the "hotfix"—grey circuit, off-record. But his quiet was so typical that no one questioned it.

"I do wonder," Lady Foxfire mused, "why he hasn't made a scene. You'd think repeated attempts at obliteration would inspire more dramatic flair."

Two members of the Council had very much tried to sabotage his territory—and failed embarrassingly.

Even so, Taeril hadn't leveraged it publicly.

At least not yet.

"He's a war deity," said Lady Meng quietly, her first time speaking in this meeting. "They don't posture. They execute."

Full silence ensued this time, and even Qiongqi didn't speak again.

Lady Foxfire flicked her fan, knocking it against the side of her lotus seat to get all of their attention. A flicker lit the air—a different kind of projection, subtle as static.

"Enough boring paperwork," she said, voice growing eager. "Let's talk about the real fun. RealmNet's caught wind of the storm."

At her word, a projection swirled to life. Forum threads, chaos graphs, and spiralling image boards pulsed into view. Hashtags flickered like war banners:

#Area001 #WhiteTigerOnline #WarDeityReal?

Great Peng grinned. "They're calling it the 'Ghost Commander' arc. Threads everywhere: 'Is Area 001's commander even real?', 'Can someone drop his @ on FeatherScroll?'"

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"Most memes are just blurry screenshots and red string theories now," he added. "The kid with the bubble tea from Sector 24F is a fan favourite."

Lady Foxfire sniggered behind her fan. "You should see the chaos fandoms and meme wars. They're waging war against Area 002 stans."

Erlang Shen's expression didn't change, but his single eye glimmered faintly.

"A meme war?" Lady Meng asked, blinking once.

"Oh yes. They're calling him things like 'System Error 001' and 'Commander.exe.'" Lady Foxfire grinned. "It's delightful."

The holopad news flickered above their heads, as if reinforcing her words. Indeed, an online war was quietly raging across the realms. Gremlin bots from pro-001 forums spammed cryptic slogans, going viral fast:

"He'll walk the field again."

"War Deity Online?"

"Who's writing all this?" Peng murmured. "It's like a cult with no founder."

"Also strange how there are no photos of him found online," Lady Foxfire mused. "None. Not even a sneak peek. Doesn't that strike anyone as odd?"

"With that face?" she added. "Doesn't make sense. He'd be trending under something completely different by now."

Erlang Shen raised an eyebrow. "And none of you have tried tracing the content?"

"Tried," Qiongqi growled. "It keeps vanishing before we can strike. Posts, metadata, entire thread trees—gone."

"Even deep crawlers come up empty," Peng said, sounding almost impressed. "Someone's scrubbing the net in real time."

Li Wei furrowed his brows. "Erasure on this level isn't mortal."

"It's not erasure," Qiongqi growled. "It's hiding."

It was at that moment that they heard a subtle snap in the air.

All nine Council members tensed as static curled along the chamber's edges, qi pulses glitching like divine signal distortion.

A ripple shimmered across the empty ninth petal.

For a breath, there was silence. Then, from the edge of the empty seat, a figure phased gently into view. Their form flickered like corrupted code, refusing resolution.

Glyphs pulsed across their sleeves. Their form flickered into partial view—not occupying a seat, but phasing in along the chamber's edge like a ghost in the firewall of gods.

Not seated, not anchored—but present.

"Relax," Erlang Shen murmured, releasing an inaudible exhale. "It's them."

"The Cipher Venerable," Lady Meng whispered, setting her cup down with a soft click.

Even Wen inclined his head. Li Wei gave the faintest exhale—guilt still tucked quietly behind his otherwise impassive gaze.

Lady Foxfire arched an eyebrow. "Slippery little thing."

They all knew of them. The deity who lived between code and karma. The Cipher Venerable had many titles—Divine Cyberneticist, Information Erasure Incarnate, Firewall Ghost…

They were a deity no one truly saw—no seat, no voice, only effect.

Only Qiongqi growled again. "What does it want?"

No answer.

The Cipher Venerable didn't speak, just lingered, as if merging into the atmosphere. Only this time, they hovered in the White Tiger's empty seat for just a beat longer than anyone expected.

A brief flash of approval shimmered across their figure, and symbols spiralled across the edge of their cloak, too fast to read. Then, as if startled by their own presence, the Cipher Venerable flickered once—twice—and vanished without fanfare.

"…"

Silence fell upon the Council Chamber once again.

"So... what did they come for?" Great Peng asked, genuinely curious.

Lady Foxfire shrugged. "A vibe, probably."

Despite the comment, no one was laughing anymore. None of them spoke it aloud—but the signs were becoming clearer by each passing moment. Taeril's digital erasure was no accident, and the myth was growing. They could hear it now—on mortal lips, in anonymous posts, in cryptic user tags:

He'll walk the field again. War Deity Online.

Some on the Council bristled; others smirked. Qiongqi's claws dug slightly into the petal beneath his seat.

Despite the varying reactions, none could deny it. The White Tiger was no longer sleeping.

He was watching.

And the world was beginning to watch back.

***

HQ CAFETERIA AND COURTYARD. AREA 001.

In the wake of two moles' captures, HQ had begun to shift—not dramatically, but perceptibly.

Xu Lindon had been quiet, kind, and dependable. A medic with calming hands and a dry sense of humour. The kind of guy who kept cooling bandaids in his pocket and remembered your food allergies.

Now, he was gone.

Alongside him, Zhao Feyan—the registry admin famous for flawless attendance records—had vanished from her meticulous desk, leaving an uncomfortable vacuum in the admin wing.

Traitors, saboteurs—all unmasked in less than twenty-four hours by a commander who hadn't stepped foot in HQ for fifteen years.

By 6:00 AM, the Operations Wing already buzzed with conversation. Echoes of disbelief about yesterday's interrogation threaded through corridors like relentless fog. Overnight, HQ's official domain had quietly released short camera recordings of the interrogation—no audio, segments carefully edited—but the visuals alone spoke volumes.

Clips of the footage replayed discreetly on tablets and screens throughout the mess hall. Even without sound, the scene's intensity was starkly evident. The two captured moles, faces frozen in a primal mask of horror, confronted a composed figure whose back was turned to the camera—Commander White, posture effortlessly dominant, dread radiating even through digital silence.

Eathan had watched it only once, a brief glimpse of the complete interrogation provided by Meng Yao, yet the one-sided exchange burned into his memory. Somehow, seeing Taeril's calm, indifferent posture juxtaposed against Lindon and Feyan's crumbling composure was far more terrifying than any explicit threat. Meng Yao's casual remark stuck in his mind like glue:

"They edited out the rougher parts, of course—but morale demanded transparency."

The transparency worked. Fear, awe, and cautious respect rippled through the HQ ranks. Team members began moving with renewed focus, unease tinged by a quiet, tentative pride. Commander White's silent menace became their shield: dangerous, yes—but theirs.

Someone swore the White Tiger only needed three questions. Someone else heard it was no questions—just a look that peeled skin off the soul. But despite the differing nuances in account, every conversation in HQ's wide, glass-roofed mess hall bent toward one hushed refrain:

"If the White Tiger spotted even them, what else has he already seen?"

Eathan (with a surprising nine full hours of sleep) heard the line again while he waited for noodles—second in line to a registrar so rattled she sloshed broth onto her badge. By the time he reached Team B at their corner table, the muttered refrain had evolved into a solemn mantra:

"The Commander never blinks."

"…"

He set his tray beside Willow and Xenis. Both were busy eavesdropping behind coffee mugs the size of helmets.

"Morning," he managed.

Willow grunted. "Better watch your back, intern. HR just lost its two friendliest faces."

"Friendliest?" Xenis wiggled his brows, delighted. "Feyan stapled my expense report to a weasel spirit once. Still, morale's… interesting."

He tilted his tablet so Eathan could see the RealmNet chatter:

[TRENDING]:
"Area 001 speed-runs internal purge. Bets open on next mole!"

Eathan sighed. "Great."

Regarding Area 001's management system, the general crowd parted instinctively; fear and relief mixed in equal measure. The final verdict was that if Commander White could smoke out a four-year admin and a loved medic, the rest of them might be safe only because he chose to keep them.

A figure flopped down beside him. Tanke, still looking like a dead fish wrapped in a Team B jacket.

"You think he sleeps?" Tanke muttered.

"No," Eathan replied without thinking.

Then blinked.

"Wait, I mean—I don't know."

Willow, legs splayed and voice pitched low, tossed it off with a snort. "Of course he doesn't. Sleeping's a waste of time. And so must be blinking."

"Statistically," Xenis said, "eye-lubrication is overrated when you've got divine corneas."

"Divine what now?" Eathan muttered, sinking onto the bench. His chopsticks shook. He wasn't sure if it was lingering sleep debt or the ripple of cafeteria gossip that kept sliding up his spine like cold syrup.

Silently shaking his head, he leaned back and scrolled through the latest HQ bulletins, only to notice that his own name was now flagged under Inquiry from External Departments.

Specifically, seven request forms from Areas 004, 007, and 009 were submitted, requesting "temporary operation logs pertaining to Rift Stabilization Procedure T-0047."

"Ah," Eathan muttered, staring blankly. "So that's how it feels to be doxxed by science."

He had no idea how to respond. There were no "logs." He just… printed a bunch of receipts from his [SYSTEM] and jammed his glowing fingers into quantum leyline wounds.

And now, qi specialists were calling it a breakthrough.

Willow's team report—blunt as ever—had labelled the event: Intern utilized unknown rift-seal override. Possible cheat code. Further investigation pending. With a clickbait headline like that, naturally, other Areas started sniffing around. Eathan had already caught wind of a few casual invitations through the inter-office comms:

"You seem overqualified for an intern. Have you considered transferring?"

"There is a better work-life balance here at Area 004. We work under a beautiful commander, too."

"We're always open to collaboration."

Meng Yao rejected every offer with all the grace of a blade drawn through fog. Eathan didn't even know how she'd read his messages.

"Hey, Rift T-0047 is trending on RealmNet again." Xenis pointed out in amusement.

Eathan groaned. "Delete those before the Bunny Goddess sees them."

Willow swallowed a dumpling whole. "Relax, rookie. Meng Yao's gate-keeping the DMs; anyone who tries to poach you, she schedules them for a thirty-minute 'friendly coffee chat'. Apparently, they emerge speaking in honourifics and mild terror."

Across the aisle, two registry clerks glanced nervously at Eathan, as though wondering if Commander White's Shiny New Intern could vaporize spreadsheets on command. He gave them a polite smile; both nearly dropped their trays.

Well, Eathan thought dryly. Guess that's another [SYSTEM] power unlocked—

Inducing caffeine-fuelled panic just by existing.