Blorga'muth, the God of Filth, towered over Blackspire—oozing sludge and whispering rot into the hearts of all who dared defy it.
Buildings wilted in its presence. People wept blood from their eyes. Entire streets peeled away in decay.
And Kazuki Tanaka?
He stood defiant, soaking wet, soaked in cleansing spells and resolve, his pressure washer hissing with glowing runes.
"You're not a god," Kazuki whispered.
"You're just what happens when the world gives up on caring."
The Final Spell: Absolute Sterilization
Kazuki raised his hand and shouted the name of the spell he'd spent weeks secretly perfecting:
"ABSOLUTE STERILIZATION!"
Light erupted.
It was not gentle.
It was not warm or peaceful or divine.
It was pure—unapologetically, explosively, mercilessly clean.
A beam of radiant cleansing surged from the sky, targeting Blorga'muth's festering core. The filth god screamed, not in pain, but in panic. Mold peeled off its skin like paper in a firestorm. Parasites burst. Lies crumbled. Mildew wept.
The spell created a zone of total purity—a glowing circle where not even dust dared linger.
Kazuki stepped into it, eyes shining, the Holy Pressure Washer now levitating beside him like a relic.
"Be disinfected," he said.
And with one final burst of pressurized holy water, he blasted straight through the god's center.
Blorga'muth collapsed into steam and salt.
Silence fell over the city.
Then, from the rooftops, someone shouted:
"HE DID IT! HE CLEANED A GOD!"
Another yelled:
"BLESS THE BLEACH-BRINGER!"
Then, from the crowd of former refugees, plague victims, and desperate townsfolk, a chant began to rise:
"Saint Kazuki! Saint Kazuki!"
Over and over, until it became a roar that shook the sky.
Kazuki stood stunned, blinking.
"…I don't even go to church."
The Church Responds
Within hours, the Church of Healing issued a furious decree:
"Let it be known: Kazuki Tanaka, self-proclaimed purifier, is hereby excommunicated from the holy orders. His magics are unnatural. His followers, misled. He is no saint—but a danger to divine suffering."
Kazuki read it aloud, sipped tea, and said:
"If your religion requires people to stay dirty to feel holy, maybe it's not worth saving."
But the World Had Already Decided
The people ignored the excommunication.
Shrines appeared in alleyways: little soap altars, glowing runes of purification drawn in chalk.
Children in towns once cursed by filth now played with toy mops, chanting:
"Sanitize, Sanitize, for Saint Kazuki!"
A statue was built in Mireholt—depicting Kazuki holding the Holy Pressure Washer like a sword, foot atop a defeated plague rat.
He wasn't just a janitor anymore.
He was a symbol. A myth. A saint of soap and sanity.
Kazuki tried to remain humble.
But when asked what he thought of the new title, he simply smiled and said:
"I'm no saint. I just hate dirt."