Mischief had three priorities: sardines, proper napping spots, and maintaining his witch's magical education through selective chaos.

Then he got transformed into a human, stranded across dimensions, and discovered his "accident" was a recruitment strategy.

Thousands of familiars have been systematically harvested to power reality's portal networks. The bureaucrats call it necessary infrastructure. The victims call it torture. Mischief calls it grounds for aggressive territorial renegotiation.

He's stuck in a body with the wrong number of legs, surrounded by monks who keep trying to pet him, and discovering that his chaos magic works very differently without a tail to lash. Worse, he's starting to care about the displaced beings who've been waiting decades for someone to fight back.

The universe definitely made a terrible mistake giving him any responsibility whatsoever.

But someone has to teach cosmic horrors proper manners. And Mischief has always believed that problems are best solved through applied chaos.

Professional rates. Sardine bribes accepted.

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