The Almighty Janitor

Part 1: Wanted (for Cleaning)

At exactly 7:01 a.m., Mop was officially declared Public Enemy #2 at Grimefall Academy.

(Not #1. That title still belonged to the cafeteria lunch lady for her crimes against pasta.)

Wanted posters appeared magically on every hallway:

WANTED: JANITOR-CLASS ENTITYName: Unknown (Alias: "Mop")Crime: Excessive sanitation, unauthorized mop usage, suspected sarcasm.Reward: One week off from grading papers.

Talia stared at one of the posters in disbelief.

"They put 'suspected sarcasm' as a crime."

"To be fair," Mop said, adjusting a fake mustache made from shredded mop threads, "that's probably the most accurate part."

They ducked behind a statue of the school's founder: Sir Grumbly Grime, the man who famously declared,

"Cleanliness is next to suspicion."

A group of enchanted brooms marched past, sweeping aggressively.

"Security's been upgraded," Mop muttered. "Those aren't just brooms. They're… faculty-patrolled self-awareness constructs."

"In English?"

"Snitches with bristles."

Their goal?Sneak into the Nurse's Office.

Because if there was one place at Grimefall that had access to everyone's records—magical, medical, and mental—it was the school nurse.

Also, she owed Mop thirty bucks and a favor.

Part 2: Nurse Knockout

The Nurse's Office was protected by:

A doorknob that required a blood donation.

A receptionist that only spoke in riddles.

And a surprisingly aggressive gumball machine.

Mop disarmed the defenses with ease.

"Gave the doorknob a papercut, complimented the receptionist's riddles, and unplugged the gumball machine. Classic infiltration."

Talia blinked.

"You're… terrifyingly good at this."

"I told you. Janitor."

Inside, Nurse Hex was napping on a bed made of heat pads and sarcasm.

She snorted awake as Mop entered.

"Mop? I thought you were dead!"

"Technically fired, not dead."

"Same thing around here."

He handed her a note. She read it, scowled, then opened a dusty drawer labeled:

"Stuff the Principal Doesn't Want Me to Know I Know"

Inside:A file stamped VEX, ISADORA – DECEASED (?)

Talia leaned in.

"So… what's in there?"

"Old staff contracts," Nurse Hex muttered. "Experimental clearance. Tooth x-rays. Spells she wasn't supposed to know. Spells she invented. And this."

She tossed a bloodstained envelope on the table.

TO: MOP. OPEN WHEN SHE RETURNS.

Mop's eyes darkened.

"She knew I'd come back."

He opened it.

Inside was a note:

Dear Janitor,Still cleaning up other people's messes, I see. Cute.You always were the sentimental one. That's why you lost.This time, don't bother trying to stop me. The school deserves the truth. And a mop can't clean what's already burning.See you at Parent-Teacher Night.

—Vex

Talia's jaw dropped.

"She invited you to a fight… during Parent-Teacher Night?!"

"She's always been dramatic."

"What do we do?"

Mop crumpled the note.

"We prepare."

Mop began tossing out disguises like a magician with a fashion problem.

"Potion Professor" look? Too many goggles.

"Flying Instructor" outfit? Too many feathers.

"Janitor in a fake mustache"? …Wait. That was just Mop.

Finally, he held up two sets of robes:One said "Guest Lecturer – Magical Ethics"The other, "Intern Substitute – Explosions and Philosophy"

Talia grabbed the second.

"I call dibs on the one with explosions."

"Deal. I'll be the ethical one for once."

Montage Time.

Cue music that only exists in 80s training montages.

Talia tripped over three robes before settling on one that didn't smell like burnt bacon.

Mop applied fake aging makeup—by smearing dust on his face.

They practiced teacher poses: hands behind back, chin up, judgmental glare set to "mildly disappointed."

They argued over chalkboard handwriting styles.

Talia added fake credentials: "PhD in Detonative Rhetoric."

By the end, they looked almost legitimate.

If you squinted.

And were drunk.

Scene: Staff Elevator.

A suspicious stone gargoyle blocked their way.

"NAME, RANK, AND DISSERTATION TITLE," it growled.

Talia panicked. Mop didn't.

"Professor Mop," he said confidently."Rank: Tenured (in my heart). Dissertation: 'Cleaning Up Institutional Corruption: A Case Study in Magical Mops.'"

The gargoyle blinked… and slowly stepped aside.

"Accepted."

Talia stared.

"You just lied to a magical security creature."

"Technically," Mop said, stepping in, "I told it a metaphor."

Ding!The elevator plunged downward.

On the wall: a sign.

"Welcome to Floor -2: Faculty Only. Unauthorized entry may result in stern lectures or temporary disintegration."

As the elevator settled, Talia leaned toward Mop.

"You realize we're in deeper than ever now, right?"

"Yup."

"And we're pretending to be teachers. Who might be expected to… teach?"

The doors opened.

A class full of students stared at them.

A chalkboard read:

"Welcome Guest Lecturers – Advanced Detonation Ethics (Practical)"

Talia turned pale.

"Oh crap."

Mop handed her a piece of chalk.

"Congratulations. You're up first."

"I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT DETONATION ETHICS!"

"Perfect. Neither did the last teacher."

Part 4: Fire in the Classroom

Talia stepped to the front of the room like a prisoner walking the plank.

Twenty-seven students stared back at her with the dead eyes of teens forced to attend a 7 a.m. class on Detonation Ethics.

One kid was already chewing a stick of dynamite like gum.

Another was asleep—but floating three inches above his desk.

She picked up a piece of chalk.

"Hello, class. I'm… Professor Boom—I mean, Professor Talia. I'm here to teach you all about... not exploding things irresponsibly."

A pause.

Someone sneezed and a nearby desk caught fire.

From the back, Mop casually sipped coffee like he wasn't witnessing a potential magical meltdown.

"You're doing great," he whispered.

"You liar."

To buy time, Talia turned to the blackboard and wrote:

'Detonation Ethics – Rule #1: Don't blow up the messenger.'

A kid raised his hand.

"What if the messenger is evil?"

"Then… blow them up respectfully?"

Nods all around.

Another hand shot up.

"What if the explosion itself is sentient?"

"In that case, ask for consent."

Suddenly, every student was scribbling notes furiously.

To her surprise, the class was… loving it?

They began debating loudly:

"What's the moral radius of a mana grenade?"

"Is a flashbang still unethical if it's adorable?"

"Would you date someone who uses remote-triggered curses?"

By the end of the hour, they had collectively invented an entirely new branch of philosophy called 'Boomtics.'

Mop gave her a thumbs-up.

"You may have accidentally revolutionized magical education."

Talia slumped against the wall.

"I want to die. But like, in a deeply ethical way."

Then the real professor walked in.

Covered in soot.

Holding a coffee that was actually just liquid anxiety.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"

The students pointed.

"Professor Talia taught us boomtics!"

The professor blinked.

Then smiled.

"...Finally. A real substitute."

Mop grabbed Talia's arm.

"Time to go while you're still a legend."

They bolted out, leaving behind a chalkboard that now read:

"Homework: Meditate on your inner explosion."

Part 5: Faculty Fight Club

The entrance to the Faculty Lounge wasn't a door.

It was a vending machine.

You had to press the buttons in a specific sequence:

[SALT] → [COFFEE] → [PAIN] → [EXTRA SALT]

Then say the secret phrase:

"I teach, therefore I suffer."

The machine buzzed and hissed, then slid aside to reveal a staircase bathed in dramatic red light.

Talia followed Mop down the steps.

"Is this seriously how teachers relax?"

"Depends. You consider gladiator combat relaxing?"

"…I'm gonna be sick."

WELCOME TO THE FACULTY FIGHT CLUB, read a sign made of broken pencils and regret.

In the center of a hidden stone chamber stood a magical dueling ring.

Around it: Teachers yelling. Spells flying. One guy was unconscious in a trash bin labeled "TIME-OUT."

A booming voice echoed:

"NEW BLOOD ENTERS!"

A muscular librarian stepped forward. She wore glasses with knives on the sides.

"Name yourselves, cowards!"

Mop bowed politely.

"Professor Mop. Specializing in mop-based deterrence."

Talia stammered.

"Uh… Assistant Professor Talia. Specializing in not dying."

The crowd cheered.

"A TWO-VS-TWO CHALLENGE!"

Their opponents?

Coach Slam, the P.E. teacher whose muscles had muscles.

Professor Ink, the Literature teacher who fought using weaponized poetry.

Coach Slam flexed.

"Hope you stretched, kids."

Professor Ink opened a book.

"Hope you like metaphors… that hurt."

Mop cracked his knuckles.

"I once took down a hydra with a plunger and a pun. Let's dance."

🌀 Fight Highlights:

Talia ducked a flying dumbbell and countered with a flashbang scroll labeled "Oops."

Coach Slam tried to suplex Mop but slipped on a magically conjured wet floor sign.

Professor Ink shouted,

"'Rage is red, pain is blue—feel the stab of stanza two!'"and launched a sonnet-shaped shuriken.

Mop caught it mid-air with a mop twirl.

"You dropped a rhyme," he said, and smacked it back like a tennis pro.

The battle ended with Coach Slam tangled in enchanted jump ropes, and Professor Ink disarmed by his own haiku.

"I am defeated.Why do I even teach this?Kids don't read these days."

The crowd roared.

The librarian with knife-glasses nodded solemnly.

"You have earned lounge privileges… and one vending token."

She handed them a coin the size of a saucer.

As they exited the arena, Talia whispered:

"We almost died."

"Yeah," Mop replied, grinning."But now we can finally get a coffee around here."

Part 6: Vending Machine of Secrets

Talia flipped the oversized vending token in her hand.

"So this thing buys… what, exactly? A lifetime supply of caffeine?"

Mop shook his head solemnly.

"No. It buys answers."

They returned to the vending machine, still glowing faintly red like it was judging them.

Mop inserted the token.

The machine blinked.

Buzzed.

And then the display read:

"SELECTION ACCEPTED. REVEALING THE PAST."

The wall beside it shuddered... and rotated inward, revealing a narrow hallway lined with old staff portraits and ominous, flickering torches.

"Oh no," Talia said, stepping inside."We're entering the backstory zone, aren't we?"

"Yup," Mop replied."Prepare for dramatic lighting."

The hallway led to an ancient, dusty archive room, filled with scrolls, ledgers, and magical VHS tapes.

On the far wall: A plaque.

"Faculty Records: Restricted Level – Forbidden by Order of Principal Vex."

Talia squinted.

"Wait. Vex? As in… the scary principal who's too pretty to trust?"

Mop didn't answer.

He was staring at an old class photo.

At himself.

In the picture:

A young version of Mop—clean uniform, proud smile, no mop.

Next to him, a woman with piercing eyes and silver-blonde hair.

The name below her: Isadora Vex – Class Valedictorian.

Talia blinked.

"Wait. You… knew her?"

"I cleaned her boots once."

"Is that a euphemism?"

"No. Literally. I was on mop duty."

He gently pulled a folder from a dusty shelf. It was labeled:

"Expulsion Records: Janitor Class X-27."

Inside, he found:

A disciplinary form.

A broken mop license.

A photo of him standing over a collapsed demon professor, smiling awkwardly.

Talia read it aloud.

"Charges: 'Excessive cleaning. Unauthorized purification. Mopping beyond mortal comprehension.'"

She looked at Mop, wide-eyed.

"You were expelled… for being too good at cleaning?"

"I mopped a demon into a coma. They called it 'exorcism via hygiene.'"

"That's the coolest thing I've ever heard."

Just then, a whisper echoed through the room.

"You shouldn't be here…"

The torches dimmed.

The scrolls rustled.

A glowing sigil burned to life on the floor.

A voice—feminine, cold, powerful—spoke:

"Mop."

Talia froze.

"Is that… her?"

"Yup," Mop muttered. "Isadora Vex. She found us."

"What do we do?"

He held up his mop like a sword.

"We clean up our past mistakes."

Part 7: Ghosts of the Mop

The archive room shuddered.

Scrolls unraveled themselves. Books hissed open. Filing cabinets began growling.

A magical voice rang out again:

"Unauthorized access detected. Initiating… Temporal Haunting Protocol."

Talia grabbed Mop's arm.

"Please tell me that doesn't mean what I think it means."

"If you think it means 'we're about to be attacked by weaponized nostalgia'... then yes."

The sigil on the ground flared.

And from it, he stepped out:

A younger version of Mop.

Slightly taller.

Hair shinier.

Uniform spotless.

Eyes glowing faintly gold.

"What… is that?" Talia whispered.

"That's… me. From before I got demoted. Before I learned humility."

"You mean back when you were hot?"

"HEY."

Younger Mop cracked his knuckles.

"You're a disgrace," he sneered at Present Mop."You had power, respect, a shiny badge. And you threw it away for… janitor work?"

Mop lifted his current mop and smiled.

"You know what they say. Cleanliness is next to badassery."

Suddenly, five more ghostly figures rose from the sigil—each one a memory given form:

1. A crying first-year student Mop once consoled.

2. A demon he once spared instead of slaying.

3. His old mop teacher, shaking her head.

4. A cafeteria tray he never returned.

5. His old self, kneeling, after Isadora Vex stripped him of his title.

Talia pulled a magic marker out of her satchel.

"If these are ghosts from your past, do we fight them… or hug them?"

"Depends. If one of them tries to throw a flashback at you, duck."

The room exploded into chaos:

- Mop dueling his younger self in a mop-staff fight so epic it made the janitor gods weep.

- Talia arguing ethics with a sentient cafeteria tray.

- The demon ghost sobbing because it never got to say thank you.

Finally, Mop disarmed his past self with a well-placed Bucket Kick and pinned him to the ground.

"I may not be shiny anymore," he said."But I'm the guy who cleans up messes no one else will touch."

Younger Mop faded, smirking.

"Still got style."

The room calmed.

The sigil dimmed.

Only silence remained.

Talia sat on a crate, panting.

"That was the most traumatic therapy session I've ever attended."

"That was only Tuesday for me."

She sighed.

"So… what now?"

Mop picked up the broken folder and tucked it under his coat.

"Now we find out why Vex tried to bury all this."

"And how many more emotional landmines we have to step on?"

"All of them."

Part 8: Cafeteria of Doom

There were few places in the Academy more feared than the Detention Dungeon.

But there was one exception:

The Cafeteria.

Specifically, Tuesdays.

Specifically, meatball day.

Talia peeked around the corner, whispering like they were in a war zone.

"Why are we here again?"

"Because," Mop replied, "the meatballs are cursed. And I think that's intentional."

"Couldn't we investigate… literally anywhere else?"

"We go where the mess is, Assistant Professor."

He stepped into the cafeteria like a knight entering a dragon's cave. The fluorescent lights buzzed ominously. The tables were scratched with ancient runes like "JENNY WUZ HERE" and "DO NOT EAT THE PURPLE THING."

The lunch lady stood behind the counter, ladling meatballs that glowed faintly green.

"Next!" she barked.

Mop stepped forward.

"Two trays. One cursed. One less cursed."

"Brave," the lunch lady muttered, and handed him two steaming platters of spherical horror.

Talia took one, holding it at arm's length.

"This thing is humming."

"If it starts speaking Latin, stab it."

They sat.

Talia poked the meatball with her fork.

It twitched.

Then rolled off the plate.

Then grew legs.

"OH NO IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN!" screamed a random upperclassman before diving behind a bench.

Within seconds, half the trays in the room erupted into meatball monsters—rolling, bouncing, snarling like marinara-fueled gremlins.

Mop calmly stood, spun his mop, and said:

"Containment protocol: Spaghetti Apocalypse."

🍝 The Battle of Lunch

Talia channeled her inner chaos witch and enchanted spoons to scoop-and-launch.

Mop surfed across tables on a giant cafeteria tray, mop-whacking meatballs midair.

A lone spaghetti noodle tried to choke a teacher. Talia cut it with a plastic knife while screaming something about gluten revenge.

One particularly large meatball revealed a rune of secrecy inside its gooey center.

Mop grabbed it, examined it mid-fight, and muttered:

"This… this was planted. Someone wanted this to explode today."

Talia shielded him from a flying baguette.

"So... like a sabotage? Or just an aggressively Italian hex?"

"Either. Or both."

Finally, after forty-nine mop strikes, two salt bombs, and one questionable breadstick sacrifice, the cafeteria calmed.

The lunch lady clapped once.

"New record. You live."

Mop handed the rune to Talia.

"It's a locator glyph. Leads to something under the school."

"Like treasure?"

"Like trauma."

"Awesome," Talia sighed. "My favorite."

Mop looked at the ceiling.

He felt it again—that odd tension. The same one he felt before Vex appeared.

A presence.

Watching.

Waiting.

He gripped his mop tighter.

"Time to go deeper."

Part 9: The Basement Beneath the Basement

The entrance was hidden behind the vending machine storage closet, camouflaged by decades of expired snack crates and broken novelty soda dispensers labeled things like:

"Goblin Grape Fizz"

"Explodo-Cola (Now With 30% Less Explosion!)"

and "Diet Hex"

Mop knocked on the floor three times, twisted a broken can tab, and whispered:

"Down with gravity."

The tiles rumbled. A trapdoor appeared.

Talia peered in.

"Why is it glowing green down there?"

"That's the color of government secrets."

"I thought that was beige."

"Only if they're boring."

They descended a spiraling staircase lit by ghost lamps—tiny floating lights that flickered when someone lied nearby.

They reached a rusted vault door with a sign that read:

"BASEMENT BETA: ABSOLUTELY NOTHING SUSPICIOUS INSIDE"(Seriously, stop checking.)

Mop inserted the rune from the meatball.

The door groaned open.

Inside: a sprawling archive filled with dust, cobwebs, and whispering filing cabinets that shuffled around when you weren't looking.

At the center stood a cage.

Inside the cage: a rat wearing glasses and a tiny lab coat.

It looked up from its chalkboard, adjusted its spectacles, and squeaked:

"About time."

"I… know I didn't eat any of the meatballs," Talia whispered, "but I'm definitely hallucinating."

"Nope," Mop said."That's Professor Cheeseworth. Exiled in Year 457 for unauthorized transmutation experiments and creating a sentient lasagna."

"I knew the cafeteria lasagna looked at me funny last week."

The rat nodded solemnly.

"You're here about Vex, aren't you?"

Mop and Talia exchanged glances.

"Yes," Mop said. "And the false records. The cursed meatballs. The ghost of my smug younger self. The usual."

Professor Cheeseworth squeaked in frustration.

"They've gone too far. Scrubbing history. Silencing the truth. And worst of all—budget cuts."

He handed them a scroll.

"This is what she didn't want you to find."

Talia unrolled it.

Her eyes widened.

"It's… a list of faculty. From before the current administration."

She pointed at the names:

Principal Vex – Listed as "Assistant."

Janitor Class Prime – Listed as "Co-Founder."

Cheeseworth – Crossed out with the word "rodentified."

Mop stared.

"They erased us. Rewrote everything."

The rat nodded gravely.

"They don't just control the Academy. They are the Academy."

Suddenly, the ghost lamps flared.

A mechanical buzzing filled the air.

From the far end of the vault, a panel slid open…

Revealing a cleaning drone the size of a small car.

Painted on its front:"AUTOMOP X-9000: CLEANSE WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE"

It locked eyes (or whatever) with Mop.

"Unauthorized janitor detected. Initiating scrub protocol."

Talia readied her wand.

"Why is it always giant robots?"

"Because," Mop growled, raising his own mop like a sword,"someone upgraded without reading the fine print."

Part 10: Robot Uprising and a Very Stubborn Broom Closet

The AUTOMOP X-9000 revved its anti-grime turbine and charged, shooting jets of pressurized lemon-scented foam that melted through nearby cabinets like acid.

Professor Cheeseworth squeaked and dove behind a filing cabinet labeled "Cursed Sandwiches: 199 Years Unsolved."

"It's adapting!" the rat yelled."Don't let it touch the floor buffer! It'll go full-polish mode!"

"What's that mean?" Talia shouted, dodging a blast of scrub-bristles.

"It'll buff the entire basement to oblivion!"

Mop somersaulted under a jet of foam, jammed his mop into a vent, and slingshotted himself onto the bot's back.

"Override code: 4-2-0-6—OW!"

The drone responded by launching a vacuum hose and trying to eat his leg.

Talia, meanwhile, found a control panel labeled "Definitely Not The Kill Switch."She raised an eyebrow.

"Suspicious. I'm in."

She cast Debuggus Flickerus, a spell she absolutely just made up, and zapped the panel.

Suddenly, the robot froze.

Its optics flickered.

Then it emitted a sound that could only be described as a mechanical sob.

"I… was just trying… to clean…"

It slumped over.

Mop landed beside it, patting it gently.

"I know, buddy. I know."

As the dust settled, a wall panel behind the fallen drone slid open, revealing a plain wooden broom closet.

Talia frowned.

"Wait. That's it? After all this… it's just a janitor's closet?"

Mop walked to it.

Paused.

Then said, softly:

"No. That's my closet."

He touched the handle.

The door resisted.

It pulsed with faint magical energy. Ancient, stubborn, and weirdly pine-scented.

Talia whispered:

"...Is it sentient?"

"It's… protective. This was my original post. The place they couldn't quite erase."

He leaned in, and murmured something no one could hear.

With a soft click, the door opened.

Inside:

A single broom.

Old.

Wooden.

Bound in runes.

Floating slightly off the ground.

Wrapped in a small cloth bearing a sigil:The First Janitor.

Talia stared.

"That broom is glowing."

"It's always been waiting."

"For what?"

"For the mess to return."

Mop stepped inside, and when he did—the closet expanded.

Becoming a full chamber.

Bookshelves. Maps. Old blueprints. Battle records. Emergency snacks.

A dusty sign above the entrance read:

"Janitor Command: Level Zero."

Professor Cheeseworth waddled in, blinking.

"They didn't destroy it… they just buried it."

Mop picked up the broom.

It hummed in his hand.

"Guess they didn't scrub hard enough."

Talia squinted at a faded blueprint on the wall labeled "Project: CLEANSE."

"Uhhh… boss? This looks like a giant magical cannon disguised as a toilet."

"...Yeah. That one was mine. Long story."

Suddenly, the lights flickered.

A glowing rune appeared on the floor.

A familiar voice echoed:

"Unauthorized memories detected. Vex is watching."

Mop narrowed his eyes.

"Good. Let her."

Part 11 – Echoes from the Toilet Cannon

Talia held the blueprint at arm's length, eyebrows high enough to qualify as airships.

"So just to be clear: your secret weapon is a—"

"—Magically reinforced, interdimensional, long-range spell-recycling cannon disguised as a public toilet," Mop finished proudly.

"Why?"

"Because no one ever suspects the toilet."

They followed the glowing rune trail deeper into the hidden command room.

Ancient diagrams lined the walls—battle schematics, mop enchantment layers, and one labeled "Squeegee Combat Formations (v3.7, After the Foam Rebellion)."

Professor Cheeseworth was scribbling notes furiously.

"This place is priceless. Half of these cleaning formulas were banned by twelve separate empires."

Then came the flush.

Low.

Echoing.

Impossibly loud.

The blueprint quivered in Talia's hand.

"Tell me that wasn't—"

"It was," Mop said grimly. "The Flush of the Damned."

A door creaked open at the far end of the chamber.

From it drifted the faint smell of lavender and dread.

A ghostly figure floated forward.

It wore:

A translucent bathrobe.

Slippers.

And a shampoo bottle labeled "DOOMSCENT."

Its spectral beard trailed along the floor like fog.

It raised a loofah wand.

And bellowed:

"WHO DARES INTERRUPT MY ETERNAL BUBBLE BATH?!"

Talia pointed.

"That's… a ghost."

"Correction," Mop whispered."That's Captain Bubbles, Warden of the Second Sanitary War."

The ghost spun dramatically, suds swirling around it like a storm.

"I FOUGHT FOR PLUMBING FREEDOM. I PERISHED IN THE BIDET UPRISING."

"We're here for answers," Mop said. "About Vex. About what she buried."

Captain Bubbles raised an eyebrow.

"Do you bring the ritual towel?"

Mop reached into his belt pouch.

Pulled out a rolled-up pink towel embroidered with:"#1 Janitor"

Captain Bubbles wept ethereal tears.

"You are the Chosen Plunger."

The toilet cannon chamber lit up.

Pipes retracted.

Steam hissed.

And slowly, a golden commode rose from the floor.

Runes pulsed on its porcelain surface.

A plaque read:

"Project: CLEANSE – One Flush to End Them All."

Talia tilted her head.

"So it's a weapon?"

"A last resort," Mop said. "Built to erase magical corruption at its root. A reset button. You don't build this unless you've lost everything."

Captain Bubbles nodded gravely.

"Vex feared its power. So she scrubbed it from memory. Literally."

"But if she's active again," Mop muttered, "then it means the corruption's spreading."

Suddenly, a klaxon blared.

Red lights swirled.

An automated voice echoed:

"Containment breach. Hallway 7G. Unauthorized slimes detected."

Professor Cheeseworth squeaked in alarm.

"That's near the cafeteria!"

Talia readied her wand.

"We goin' back up?"

Mop shouldered the golden broom.

Part 12 – Slime Time at the Cafeteria

BOOM.

A tray of mystery meat exploded against the wall, trailing green goo and burnt gravy.

The cafeteria was chaos.

Students were screaming, staff were fleeing, and in the center of it all stood—

"A slime chef?" Talia blinked."Is it wearing… a hairnet?"

Indeed it was.

Wearing a grease-stained apron, a tall, wobbling slime being held a frying pan like a battle axe. Its body wobbled with rage. Smaller slimes bounced nearby, wearing paper hats and wielding enchanted ladles.

"Mop," Talia said, "please tell me this is normal."

"Not normal, but not surprising either."

He twirled his broom and activated the Auto-Sanitize Rune, making it glow blue and hum ominously.

"That's Chef Slorbo. Banished for putting sentient chili in the soup."

"Why's he back?!"

"Probably revenge."

"...Chili revenge?"

"The worst kind."

Suddenly, Chef Slorbo let out a deep BLORP.

A wave of sticky minions launched forward, rolling over tables and trays, absorbing cutlery and mustard packets as they went.

"INTRUDERS WILL BE SAUTÉED," it gurgled.

Professor Cheeseworth dove into a fridge and slammed it shut behind him.

Mop leapt into action.

With a snap of his mop, he summoned a Swirl of Citrus Wind, blasting the first wave of slimes into the walls.

Talia conjured a Ladle Barricade, sending spoons flying like ninja stars.

"I studied hexes for this," she yelled."Mostly food-related ones, but still!"

"Perfect. Focus on crowd control—I'll handle the chef."

The kitchen door burst open.

A massive meatball slime charged through, screaming in Spaghettish.

"That's Meatblob," Mop muttered. "He was... experimental."

"He's got pepperoni armor!"

"Not even the garlic seals him anymore."

Talia summoned Spice Shield, which briefly smelled like paprika, and launched it into Meatblob's face.

SPLAT."BLÖRGH."

Meanwhile, Mop slid under a sauce stream, vaulted over a table, and struck Chef Slorbo dead center with a Sanitizer Slam.

"Time to clean up your act."

But the chef gurgled darkly.

"You have not tasted my final dish…"

It pulled out a menu card, glowing red, and read aloud:

"Entree: Slime Supreme – Cursed Buffet Mode: ON."

Every leftover in the cafeteria surged toward him: spilled stew, burnt noodles, half-eaten cookies, even forks.

All merged into a grotesque Mega-Slime.

With a chef hat.

And three glowing spatulas.

"...That's not in the handbook," Mop whispered.

Talia, wide-eyed:

"I think it just burped and said 'bon appétit.'"

Part 13 – Broom vs. Broomstick

The cafeteria looked like a battlefield.

Slime splattered every surface. Tables were overturned. The chandelier was somehow... on fire, despite being made of soup bowls.

Mop stood in the middle of it all, panting, his mop glowing faintly.

"Okay," he said, brushing a spoon off his shoulder."Next time we order takeout."

Talia slumped beside him, a smear of pudding on her cheek.

"You owe me three lunches and a clean cloak."

BZZZT.

A voice crackled from the ceiling:

"Janitor Mop, report immediately to Flight Combat Hall. You are in violation of 'Sky Hygiene Code 14-B.'"

Mop sighed.

"Of course. Nothing says post-battle like surprise mid-air detention."

☁️ Flight Combat Hall – 15 minutes later

It was a vast dome of floating platforms, gust tunnels, and a really aggressive flock of seagulls in goggles.

Hoverboards, brooms, and enchanted vacuum cleaners zipped through the air.It was chaos with altitude.

Mop floated in slowly on a beat-up Janitor Glider that looked like a plunger with wings.

Waiting for him mid-air was a woman in a crimson flight coat, mirrored goggles, and a broomstick that hummed with fury.

She smirked.

"Mop. Still polishing floors while the rest of us fly?"

"Ava," Mop said with a nod."Still compensating with loud accessories?"

Talia whispered from the viewing deck.

"Who's she?"

Professor Cheeseworth (now wearing a tiny aviator hat) replied:

"That's Ava Stormwing. Former Elite Broom Corps. She and Mop were partners… until The Great Shampoo Incident."

"Oooooh," Talia said."I don't know what that means but it sounds very banned."

Ava pointed her broom at him.

"You violated airspace sanitation codes. Standard punishment: one aerial duel."

Mop groaned.

"Can't we just scrub it out?"

"Rules are rules," Ava said, grinning.

The whistle blew.

And just like that—

They launched.

Sky boomed with magic trails and soap blasts. Ava zipped in tight spirals, firing jets of disinfectant lightning. Mop ducked, rolled, and countered with Anti-Grime Flares, making rainbow sud clouds.

"You always hated flying," she yelled.

"Still do," he yelled back, throwing a bucket that exploded into glittering foam stars.

They clashed mid-air.

Broomstick against mop handle.

Their auras clashed—Ava's blazing red, Mop's glowing teal-blue.

"You could've been the best of us," she said."You had command. Talent. Your own locker!"

"I didn't want a locker," Mop grunted."I wanted peace and proper drainage systems."

CRACK.

Both weapons struck at the same time—sparks and bubbles everywhere.

They fell.

But Mop hit a laundry cart.

Ava landed in a vat of sky detergent.

Everyone winced.

Mop stood, dripping.

"Still undefeated."

Ava sat up, coughing suds.

"Still a jerk."

But then her face grew serious.

"Mop… Vex has been spotted. Sky Division's getting spooked."

"So it's not just rumors."

"She's after something deep. Old. Buried under this school."

Mop looked up at the storm clouds brewing above the academy.

"Then we better clean faster."

Part 14 – Faculty Meeting of Doom

Somewhere in the belly of Grimthorn Academy, behind a janitor's-only elevator, past a hallway that whispered "turn back" in six languages, was a locked door with a brass plate:

🗝️ FACULTY MEETING ROOM B-13(No food, no spells, no necromancy unless scheduled.)

Inside, the mood was tense.

A round table surrounded by... not your usual faculty.

A talking skull in a cravat.

A three-eyed cat sipping espresso.

A floating crystal orb wearing pince-nez glasses.

And one retired god of minor inconveniences dressed like a substitute math teacher.

Mop arrived late, holding a clipboard and still dripping a bit from his aerial duel.

"Sorry. Had to duel someone over… hygiene violations."

The skull said, "Again?"

The cat rolled its third eye. "We really need better airspace policy."

At the end of the table sat Headmistress Thornwell, a tall woman in black feathers and legal contracts.

"Let's begin. Mop, give us your report."

He clicked his pen. Which squeaked like a duck.

"Two slime attacks, one culinary possession, and one unauthorized broom battle. Also, someone turned the 3rd-floor toilets into portals again."

The orb asked, "To where?"

"Unknown. But one student returned with six arms and a British accent."

The god of inconveniences leaned forward.

"More anomalies. She's testing us."

Mop frowned.

"Vex?"

The room fell silent.

The skull nodded grimly.

"She's no longer in hiding. Something is awakening her… something ancient."

The cat added, "And messy."

"Very messy," the orb agreed.

Talia, hiding behind a supply closet door, scribbled everything down in a notebook labeled Definitely Not Spying.

She gasped when the orb mentioned:

"The Black Vault under the school… it's weakening."

"The one sealed with mopwater and a swear word?"

"Yes."

Suddenly, the table shook.

A red rune flared beneath the room. The lights flickered.

Mop's eyes narrowed.

"She's listening."

He stood.

"Meeting's over. I've got floors to clean… and a vault to check."

As the others vanished into magical portals and puddles of tea, the Headmistress stopped Mop.

"You can't do this alone."

"I'm not alone," he said.

From behind the supply closet, Talia sneezed.

Loudly.

"...Hi."

Part 15 – End of Shift

Talia stood in silence, hugging her notebook like a life vest.

Mop stared at her, expression unreadable.

"You followed me."

"Well," she said, trying to sound casual,"I got curious. And suspicious. And then locked in a closet."

He raised an eyebrow.

"For three hours."

"...Technically four. I napped."

Mop sighed.

"You heard everything?"

"Vaults. Evil. Your secret soap society. The usual."

"Then you're involved now. Congratulations."

He tossed her something.

She caught it.

It was... a tiny spray bottle with a rune on the side. And a badge.

"APPRENTICE JANITOR – PROVISIONAL"

"Wait—are you seriously recruiting me?"

"You already spy, break into restricted zones, and survive cafeteria attacks. You're basically overqualified."

"What's the pay?"

"We don't talk about the pay."

They walked down a dim hallway behind the faculty chamber.

Rusted pipes, flickering lanterns, and what Talia swore was a jellyfish floating through a vent.

"So... the Black Vault," she said. "What's in it?"

Mop was quiet for a while.

Then, softly:

"Something I locked away."

"You?"

"A long time ago. Before I was 'Mop.' Before I chose… this."

They reached a gate made of soapstone and darksteel.

Chains pulsed with sigils. A sign above read:

"RESTRICTED AREA – UNAUTHORIZED MOPPING FORBIDDEN"

Talia stared.

"This doesn't feel like normal janitor stuff."

"It's not."

He placed a hand on the lock.

The sigils flickered.

The door moaned open.

Inside: darkness. Cold. The smell of ancient lemon-scented despair.

A massive cavern. Cracked tiles. And in the center, a floating black orb—tethered by mop strings and holy duct tape.

It pulsed.

Whispered.

"HeeEEelloooOO Mopppppppp..."

Talia grabbed his arm.

"That thing knows your name."

"It knows too much."

Suddenly, the orb surged.

Dark tendrils burst from its core, screeching in forgotten dialects of Moldish.

Mop leapt forward.

"Stay back!"

He spun his mop, activating Runes of Containment carved into its shaft.

Light blazed. The tendrils recoiled.

Talia gasped.

Mop's shadow on the wall… had horns.

And wings.

Just for a second.

The orb shrank back into silence.

The mop dimmed.

Mop exhaled.

"Shift's over."

Talia stared at him.

"You're not just a janitor."

"No," he said quietly."But I'm trying to be."

💥 End of Chapter 3

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