[The Dwarven Deep Mines - Sector 7]
The Dwarven Deep Mines were a marvel of subterranean engineering. Massive gears turned above rivers of molten magma, powering the legendary mythril forges.
Grond, the stout Dwarven Guild Inspector who had once tried to tax Victor's caravans, sat on his golden throne, gnawing on a roasted boar leg.
Suddenly, a blinding ring of dark spatial magic ripped open in the center of his throne room.
It was a Pantheon Prime portal.
Stepping out of the portal was Inspector Vance, adjusting his enchanted pinstripe suit. Behind him stood Seraphina, clipboard in hand, and the towering, steel-plated Class-A Chimera wearing its high-vis security vest.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Grond roared, dropping his meat and grabbing his rune-carved warhammer. "You dare open an unlicensed portal in the Deep Mines?! Guards!"
Dozens of heavily armored dwarven warriors rushed into the room, leveling their crossbows at the intruders.
Vance didn't flinch. He calmly pulled a glowing silver clipboard from his briefcase.
"King Grond of the Deep Mines," Vance's nasally voice echoed over the bubbling magma. "I am the Director of Compliance for the CDSA. You are currently operating an active dungeon without a valid Class-4 Magical Ventilation Permit."
Grond's bushy red eyebrows shot up. "A what?! We've been mining this mountain for six thousand years! We don't need permits from human bureaucrats!"
"Ignorance of the code is not an excuse," Vance scribbled furiously on his clipboard. "Furthermore, the magma rivers lack standardized guardrails, your warriors are not wearing regulation hardhats, and your dragon-breath forges are emitting unlicensed carbon-mana into the atmosphere."
Vance ripped a long, golden receipt from his clipboard and let it flutter to the floor.
"I am issuing three hundred and twelve citations. The total fine is eighty-five Million Gold, payable immediately. Failure to pay will result in an immediate operational shutdown."
"Eighty-five million?!" Grond turned purple with rage. "I am a King! I will smash your skull and mount your head on my forge! Fire!"
The dwarves pulled their triggers. A volley of armor-piercing crossbow bolts flew toward Vance.
Before the bolts could hit, Seraphina casually tapped her silver pen. A shimmering, hexagonal barrier of pure corporate law materialized, deflecting the bolts effortlessly into the magma.
"Assaulting a federal inspector," Seraphina noted coldly. "That triggers an automatic Cease and Desist order."
Vance pressed a glowing red stamp onto his clipboard.
Instantly, the massive, ancient gears of the Dwarven Deep Mines locked in place with a deafening screech. The magma rivers magically cooled into solid, black rock. The fires in the mythril forges instantly snuffed out.
"My forges!" Grond dropped to his knees, his warhammer clattering to the stone. "What did you do?!"
"Your operating license has been revoked," Vance said smoothly, checking his pocket watch. "Because you are insolvent, the Pantheon Group has purchased your debt from the CDSA. You are being foreclosed upon."
The Pantheon Prime portal behind Vance widened.
Lord Sterling and five hundred Abyssal students jogged through the portal, wearing their high-vis moving hats and carrying massive rolls of bubble wrap.
"Alright, shareholders, you know the drill!" Sterling clapped his hands, his vampire fangs gleaming. "Wrap the mythril carefully! Box up the runestones! Anyone who breaks a dwarven relic loses their dividend!"
Grond watched in absolute, mind-shattering horror as his six-thousand-year-old kingdom was legally dismantled and packed into cardboard boxes by a corporate repo team.