The streets of Blackspire City bled filth.
Oil-slicked rain pooled in alleys. Buildings leaned like drunken corpses. The stench was alive—mold, smoke, spoiled meat, and the cold iron of something ancient buried deep.
Kazuki stood on a rooftop overlooking it all. The pressure washer hissed softly beside him, runes glowing a pale blue.
"This city doesn't need a mop," he muttered. "It needs a miracle."
Morbath's Iron Grip
Duke Morbath had made Blackspire his fortress.
Once a minor noble turned pharmaceutical tycoon, he'd fed on disease for power—creating fake cures, selling "remedies" that worsened illness, and engineering plagues to crush his enemies.
Now, as Kazuki's fame grew, Morbath retaliated.
He unleashed his Corrupted Knights—elite warriors infected with weaponized pathogens. Their armor was fused with rot. Their blades dripped venom. Their loyalty had been bought and boiled in filth.
And worst of all?
They couldn't feel pain.
Kazuki's first encounter came at Blackspire's outer district.
Six Corrupted Knights, mounted on plaguebeasts, blocked the sanitation vanguard's path.
Their leader, Sir Verdan the Rusted, lifted his pike. His voice echoed like phlegm down a drainpipe.
"Bleach-Bringer. Your purity is poison to progress."
Kazuki responded with a blast from the Holy Pressure Washer—piercing Verdan's helmet and melting through layers of crusted decay.
"Your progress smells like feet and injustice."
Battle erupted.
Mops clashed with swords. Soap bombs exploded into sizzling mist. Kazuki launched water-blades that sliced through toxic armor. Students cast [Sanitize Field], burning rot off the ground with radiant heat.
But the Corrupted Knights kept coming.
Meanwhile: Beneath the Cathedral
Far below the city's crumbling cathedral, Grand Inquisitor Varain of the Church of Suffering knelt in a pool of blood, surrounded by candles made of diseased wax.
Duke Morbath stood beside him, face covered in ritual oils, one hand gripping a vial of Kazuki's purified water—stolen weeks ago.
"The time has come," Varain rasped. "Cleanliness is heresy. Let the god of all decay be born anew."
Together, they poured corrupted blood and holy bleach into the summoning bowl.
The cathedral trembled.
From the sludge-filled altar, a voice gurgled:
"Who dares scrub the world clean?"
The Birth of a Filth God
The fog above Blackspire cracked like thunder.
From the cathedral spire, rot spiraled into the sky.
And then it fell—
A colossal, writhing mass of mold, broken idols, pus-dripping limbs, and whispering mouths.
It landed in the center of the city with a sickening thud.
The people screamed.
The rooftops wept mildew.
A title echoed through the air like a curse:
BLORGA'MUTH, THE GOD OF FILTH AND FORGOTTEN STAINS
It spoke in burps and bile:
"Kazuki Tanaka. Bleach-Bringer. You shall drown… in the unwashed sins of this world."
The Turning Point
Kazuki looked up at the god, pressure washer shaking slightly in his hands.
For a second—just a second—he faltered.
Then he remembered the child in Mireholt who could finally breathe.
He remembered the shining trees of Feymoor, free of mold.
He remembered what it felt like… to breathe air that didn't burn.
He grabbed a fresh soap crystal. Loaded the washer.
"Alright, you walking trash heap," he growled. "Let's clean your clock."
Lila stepped beside him, dual-wielding enchanted scrub brushes.
The Vanguard lined up, weapons glowing.
And then—together—they charged.