This one gets its hooks in you the second the paperwork stops mattering. It looks like a procedural, ability users logged and managed by the Deviant Control Bureau, until Xuan Ji digs up something the Bureau's filing system was never built to contain: Sheng Lingyuan, an emperor who has been dead long enough to find modern authority genuinely funny. That's the engine here, a civil servant with fire in his hands arguing with a millennia-old sovereign who remembers when the rules were written and by whom. It's a Priest adaptation, so the supernatural casework is really a delivery system for old grief, and every case file you open turns out to have someone's ancient wound at the bottom of it. Stay for the moments when Sheng Lingyuan drops the amused-ghost act and you remember exactly what he used to be.
A hidden faction of humans harbors extraordinary powers that set them apart from ordinary society. To prevent chaos, the Deviant Control Office maintains surveillance and authority over these gifted individuals, enforcing a fragile peace built on constant vigilance. But not everyone accepts this arrangement. Some embrace their abilities as a path to dominion, hungry for strength beyond what regulations allow. Others genuinely believe the system protects everyone, including themselves. When these conflicting philosophies collide, the line between order and rebellion blurs dangerously. Characters find themselves caught between loyalty to established authority and the seductive promise of liberation through power. The question becomes whether control exists to save the world or suffocate it. Intense combat sequences showcase the scope of these abilities while personal stakes ground the action in genuine moral conflict. The narrative refuses easy answers, instead presenting a world where power corrupts differently for each person who wields it. This is a story about resistance, conviction, and the impossible choices that arise when freedom and safety can't coexist.