The temple gates slowly sealed with the finality of a coffin lid, cutting off the wails and mechanical grinding from outside—sounds of justice being processed through industrial machinery.
Isabella collapsed on the cold metal floor, her combat suit soaked with sweat that tasted of fear and defeat, clinging to her heaving back like a second skin of shame.
Ethan held his tea mug, studying the former princess through rising steam with the clinical interest of a scientist examining a particularly fascinating specimen.
"Contract's in effect." His voice fell flat in the hall, no echo—even sound seemed afraid to linger in this place of cosmic judgment.
Isabella stared at her fingertip where the bloody contract had vanished, leaving only a faint scar that pulsed with otherworldly heat. "What exactly did you take?"
Ethan pointed to his heart, then opened his palm like revealing a magic trick that could end worlds.
"That pure bloodline you're so proud of is now First Tax Office collateral." He set down his mug, dress shoes striking the floor in measured rhythm—each step a countdown to destiny.
"Tickets to the 'Godforsaken Lands' are expensive. You're just enough to cover the price."
Isabella tried to rise but lost control of her body the moment Ethan approached—that rule-level suppression forced her to remain kneeling like a penitent before an altar of bureaucratic authority.
"I am a Federation princess..." Her voice cracked like breaking glass.
"*Were*." Ethan looked down, fingers opening that musty-scented ledger with pages that seemed to bleed ink.
"Now you're just my temp worker. Employee number 007." He tossed that blindingly red page before Isabella like throwing scraps to a starving dog.
"Look at this. Can't say I didn't give you work motivation."
Isabella's gaze fell on those words, pupils contracting sharply as if the text itself burned her retinas.
**[Stellar Federation 7th Army Group Commander]**
**[Outstanding Items: Fratricide, National Fortune Theft, Malicious Evasion]**
She gripped the paper desperately, nails tearing the edges like claws seeking purchase on reality itself.
"This is impossible." Her voice was barely a whisper. "My father was a Federation hero. He guarded the frontier for thirty years."
Ethan sneered coldly, eyes sharp behind his lenses like twin blades forged from concentrated contempt.
"Hero?" He leaned down, stopping inches from that terror-stricken face, close enough to smell her fear.
"Thirty years ago, the 7th Army Group was ambushed in the wasteland. Forty thousand elite troops, completely annihilated." His words fell like hammer blows on an anvil of truth.
"The only survivor was the commanding general—who became your emperor."
"He didn't just take forty thousand lives. He stole the 'National Artifact' that sustained Federation fortune."
Isabella shook her head frantically, face ashen as moonlight on a grave. "That was an accident. The historical records are clear..."
"History is written by winners, but ledgers don't lie." Ethan reclaimed the paper, voice devoid of emotion—a computer reading execution orders.
"In that 'accident,' one adjutant could have escaped with the truth." His voice dropped to a whisper that could freeze blood. "But he died under orbital bombardment your father personally ordered."
The hall's air grew thick and stagnant, pressing down like the weight of accumulated sins.
Ethan's voice dropped even lower, each word a nail in destiny's coffin.
"That adjutant's surname was Su."
Isabella's breathing completely faltered, her world tilting on its axis as thirty years of carefully constructed lies crumbled like sand castles in a tsunami.
She opened her mouth but couldn't make a sound—truth had stolen her voice.
"So don't look at me with that victim expression." Ethan stepped back, returning to his throne with the measured pace of a judge delivering final sentence.
"The debt your father's generation owes has compounded to astronomical figures today."
He raised his hand, system interface projecting massive red alerts that painted the air crimson.
"Since he's not dead yet, I'll collect some interest from you first."
Isabella looked up at the man on the throne—what he displayed wasn't greed or simple hatred, but something beyond human nature. Cold calculation that could audit the universe and find it wanting.
"What do you want me to do?" She surrendered, voice hollow as an empty tomb.
"Guide us." Ethan adjusted his glasses with surgical precision.
"To the Godforsaken Lands. Help me settle that 'bad debt' your father's been hiding for ten years."
He retrieved a vial pulsing with ghostly blue light from system space, tossing it at Isabella's feet like throwing coins to a beggar.
"Drink it. Your wounds will heal within thirty minutes."
"Then change into this." A black uniform embroidered with intricate golden patterns materialized in mid-air, the character "Tax" on the back glowing like a brand of ownership.
"Here, the only rule is punctuality."
Ethan turned toward Lyra lurking in the shadows like death's own accountant.
"Captain Qing, watch her. Any violations, liquidate her immediately for 'obstructing official business.'"
Lyra shifted slightly, sword at her side humming with barely contained violence, nodding acknowledgment.
Ethan closed his eyes, fingers tapping the armrest lightly—a rhythm that could make hearts skip beats.
"Marcus, fire up the station's energy core. Our first interdimensional contract is about to begin."
Marcus sweated profusely at the control panel, his voice booming with nervous excitement. "Ethan, the ride's ready! Heavy assault vehicle converted from Black Dragon wreckage—this baby's got enough firepower to crack planets!"
The temple's energy core hummed to life with mechanical precision, golden light cascading down the walls like liquid metal, transforming the previously dim space into something resembling a divine courthouse where cosmic justice was dispensed.
Isabella drained the healing vial in one gulp, feeling warmth spread through her battered body like liquid starlight. Broken ribs mended with audible pops, torn muscles knitted together like reality rewriting itself, and the crushing fatigue lifted like morning fog burned away by an artificial sun.
She stood slowly, testing her restored strength with the wonder of someone who'd just witnessed resurrection. The black uniform fit perfectly—too perfectly, as if tailored specifically for her measurements by someone who knew her body better than she did.
The golden embroidery seemed to pulse with its own inner light, and the "Tax" character on her back felt heavier than lead—a weight that pressed against her soul.
"Impressive recovery time," Ethan observed without looking up from his ledger. "Federation enhancement serums always were top-tier."
"This isn't a serum," Isabella said quietly, examining her unmarked skin with growing unease. "This is something else entirely."
"Negative entropy healing. We tax injuries and redistribute the energy as health." Ethan's pen scratched across paper like claws on a chalkboard. "Consider it an employee benefit."
Marcus's voice boomed from the control bay with barely contained excitement. "Boss! Portal's charging up! Coordinates locked on the Godforsaken Lands' outer perimeter!"
Through the temple's crystalline walls, Isabella could see space itself beginning to warp like heated glass. Reality folded like origami crafted by insane gods, creating a tunnel of swirling darkness shot through with veins of sickly green light that hurt to perceive.
"The Godforsaken Lands," she whispered, voice carrying the reverence reserved for speaking of hell itself. "No one who enters ever returns."
"That's because they went as tourists." Ethan stood, straightening his tie with practiced precision—a businessman preparing for the most important meeting of his career.
"We're going as debt collectors."
He gestured toward the portal with casual authority. "After you, Employee 007. Time to earn your keep."
Isabella walked toward the dimensional rift, each step feeling like a march toward execution. The portal's edge crackled with unstable energy that made her teeth ache, and she could smell something like ozone mixed with decay drifting through—the scent of a universe dying slowly.
"One question," she said, pausing at the threshold where reality became negotiable. "If my father really did what you claim—why wait thirty years for revenge?"
Ethan's reflection appeared in the portal's surface beside hers, distorted by dimensional flux into something that looked almost demonic.
"Because thirty years ago, I was just a child who lost his father to your family's ambition." His voice carried no emotion, but his eyes burned with cold fire that could freeze suns. "Now I'm a tax collector with the authority to audit gods."
"The interest on blood debt compounds daily. Your father's bill is finally due."
Isabella stepped through the portal, reality dissolving around her like sugar in acid rain, her last thought before the dimensional transition took hold being a prayer to gods who'd stopped listening long ago.
Behind her, Ethan's final words followed through the dimensional breach like a curse that would echo across universes:
"And in the Godforsaken Lands, even death pays taxes."