Name: Xyntra
Species: God Of Chaos
Position: Maid (4th Rank)
Performance Overview: Xyntra gets results… but at what cost? She doesn’t clean—she unmakes filth from reality. She doesn’t organize—she warps spatial understanding until things appear neat. One time she mopped the floor and it just… turned into water. And stayed that way. Forever. Despite the endless metaphysical damage and occasional timeline fractures, her results technically meet workplace standards. Mostly because no one is brave enough to say otherwise.
Strengths: Invents cleaning tools mid-task. Speaks in riddles that somehow result in spotless windows.
Immune to logic, authority, and gravity.
Weaknesses: Refuses to use “mortal” cleaning products.
Occasionally opens voids in the breakroom to “see what spills out.”
Demands praise in the form of interpretive dance or teeth.
Laughs at jokes no one told.
Notes from Management: Has been warned against altering coworker memories just because they “rolled their eyes funny.” When asked to stop using eldritch glyphs as chore reminders, she simply scribbled them on stickies instead. Nozomi said she “saw God in the coffee machine” after Xyntra fixed it. She hasn't had caffeine since.
Coworker Interactions:
Miren: Mutual cryptid respect. They speak without speaking.
Nozomi: Refuses to look her in the eye. Claims her dreams are “louder” after eye contact.
Enma: Challenged Xyntra to a fight once. Lost. Time looped. Forgot it happened.
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Koko: Thinks Xyntra is “SO COOL OMG” and tries to follow her around. This is a mistake.
Himeko: Tolerates her only because no contract technically forbids reality distortion.
Employee Goal: Quote overheard during an unsanctioned ritual in the supply closet: "Order is the lie we tell ourselves to sleep. But I do not sleep. And I do not lie."
[ARC: THE HOUSE] // CH.04: GLUTTONY [Xyntra]
Isoka. Not paid enough for this.
I’ve been assigned to shadow Xyntra.
I didn’t know gods could be employees. I also didn’t know breakroom coffee could scream, but apparently both things are possible here.
The assignment sheet just said: “Fourth Maid. Use caution. Do not sign anything.”
I found her in Storage Room 3B, surrounded by mops that were melting into the walls. She had tied three spray bottles into a triangle and was using it to chant over a very clean floor that I swear wasn’t there ten minutes ago.
“Hi?” I said.
“Oh, wonderful! You exist. That’ll be helpful.”
“…I’m your assistant for today.”
“You poor thing. That’s like assigning a candle to a thunderstorm. Anyway, come in! Just don’t step on the sigils unless you want more arms.”
She said that like it was a choice.
Following her was a workout. Not because she moved fast—but because reality moved weirdly around her. I swear the hallway kept getting longer and shorter. At one point we turned left three times and ended up on the ceiling.
I asked if she was lost.
“Lost?” she grinned, “I’ve transcended the concept of destination.”
Then she handed me a duster that whispered my name.
She talks a lot. Not normal talking. The kind that sounds like half prophecy, half inside joke you’re not in on.
“See, the filth isn’t the problem, Isoka. The problem is the assumption that things shouldn’t be filthy.”
“Right.”
“I once cleaned an entire bathroom using only guilt and a stolen spoon.”
“Mhm.”
“Also, you have very symmetrical eyebrows. Keep that. It’ll help later.”
I didn’t ask what she meant. I’ve learned not to.
Midway through the day she decided we were “doing windows,” but instead of wiping them, she just stared until the grime dissolved into sparkles and regret.
“Don’t worry, I filed a reality requisition slip last week. This one’s legal.”
“There’s a form for that?”
“No. I invented it. The trick is to file it before the law exists.”
I think I blacked out for a minute after that. When I came to, she had organized the supply closet by mood.
We took a break. I didn’t think gods took breaks. She offered me a snack that looked like a granola bar but tasted like my most vivid childhood memory.
“So, Isoka,” she said, smiling way too wide, “how’s the whole… sanity thing going?”
“Wearing thin.”
“Good. That means you’re learning.”
End of Day Four. I’m physically fine but conceptually exhausted. I now understand how the windows feel.
I think Xyntra likes me.