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ChapterOne
Bax
Ugh, Monday already? Another day in the pit. My alarm shrieks like a damned soul, jolting me from a perfectly good nightmare. Bleary-eyed, I slap around until I find the infernal snooze button, silencing its wailing. Just five more minutes of hellish rest…
But despite my efforts to burrow back under the heated blankets, peaceful slumber eludes me. With a resigned sigh, I haul myself upright, spine cracking from eons of less-than-heavenly sleep. Being an archdemon doesn’t leave much time for indulging in restful luxuries—too many mortal souls to torment with endless paperwork and audits.
Sure, judging the recently deceased and sentencing them to eternal punishments sounds badass, but in reality, it’s just a job. And after a few thousand years, you’ve seen it all. The chaos, the screaming, the rivers of fire, etcetera, etcetera—meh, you get desensitized. Now it’s just reports, quotas, and paperwork. Hellish paperwork.
I stumble through my gloomy apartment toward the bathroom, scratching idly at centuries-old burns etched into my skin. One quick sulfuric shower later, I’m looking a bit more alive and dressed to torment.
A crisp white shirt is tucked neatly into tailored black slacks. Adding a sleek black tie completes the look. The white provides a nice contrast against my crimson skin tone. Obsidian cufflinks shaped like tiny screaming souls fasten my shirt sleeves. A splash of brimstone cologne to give the day a fighting chance.
Very dapper by demonic standards. Running a clawed hand over my smooth, curved horns, I nod at my reflection.
In the kitchen, I skip my routine breakfast blood sacrifice. Not in the mood to hear the begging and whimpering so early, even if it would soothe my soul—if I had one. Instead, I settle for a strong cup of liquid hellfire brewed from the coffee maker I ‘borrowed indefinitely’ from work last month. The searing heat scalds my throat deliciously, jolting my senses awake. Ah, sweet sinful caffeine.
Might as well get this week over with. Mondays are the worst.
Finally prepared, I’m ready to head into the office and wreak some bureaucratic havoc. Stepping through a swirling portal, I land in the fiery halls of Damnation Financial, the largest soul accounting firm in the underworld. The air hums with the whirring of torture devices and the hissing of damned paperwork. Just another day on the deathly grind.
As I stride toward my department, lesser demons scatter from my path, not keen to provoke my ire on a Monday morning. But they also seem tense. Murmured whispers stop as I pass cubicles.
They’re hiding something.
What drama awaits me this week?
I make a mental note to schedule random torture sessions later to loosen their tongues. But before I can interrogate the nearest cowering lackey, my section manager head, Asmodeus, slithers up with a too-wide grin.
“Bax! There you are. I have news from corporate—we’re getting a new team member.”
My eyes narrow to slits. A new minion? I run a tight operation down here. No need for useless additions mucking up my system.
Asmodeus steamrolls on, cheerfully ignoring my simmering annoyance. “Upper management sent her specifically to help improve productivity. She’ll be arriving shortly to—”
“She?” I interrupt. “Who authorized an incubation minion without my approval?” Infernal resources are already stretched thin without diverting energy to a useless she-demon.
“Well, that’s the thing…” Asmodeus falters, smile dimming. “It’s not a demon. She’s human.”
Now I know he’s playing games with me. “Human?” I scoff. “Since when does Damnation Financial employ mortals?” The notion is utterly absurd. No human could withstand the pressures of soul-crushing audits or endless torture quotas.
“Straight from corporate,” Asmodeus insists with a helpless shrug. “We must cooperate fully to welcome her.” His tone makes it clear this isn’t up for debate.
Fuming silently, I storm toward my office. A human assistant? Ridiculous. This has failure stamped all over it. I’ll give the mewling quim a week before she’s begging for the sweet release of death instead of this job.
Settling behind my desk, I crack open the first tome of the day. As Chief Soul Auditor, I decide which fate befits each pitiful human who ends up on our registration rolls. Eternal torture in the fiery pits? Reliving their worst nightmares? Or special personalized hells tailored to their misdeeds in life? The options are, of course, deliciously endless.
This is an art form perfected over eons of creative cruelty. We have quotas to fill. Sinful souls don’t punish themselves. Only a fool would think a human could understand our work down here.
I’m halfway through categorizing adulterers for specialized torment when my senses tweak. My head snaps up, awareness heightening as I stare at the thick mahogany that separates me from the rest of the office. Something has caught my attention.A creature with a soul is at my door. Without a second thought, I extend my senses and brush against this visitor’s essence. Just a cursory glance, merely to gather the proper context before greeting the next condemned spirit pleading their worthless case outside my door.
What I encounter nearly makes me swallow my own forked tongue. Blinding purity untainted by neither sin nor hellfire. An abundance of compassion wrapped in ironclad will. It’s like gazing into the fiery heart of a star, blazing with virtuous intention.
It almost makes me want to hurl.
No, surely not. This goody-two-shoes do-gooder can’t be my new assistant. The corporate buffoons upstairs can’t be this idiotic, saddling me with a naive mortal untested by the harsh realities of existence. Is this their idea of a joke?
Because having this naïve altruist disrupt my gleefully corrupt domain is the furthest thing from amusing. I’ve crushed far mightier spirits than some starry-eyed mortal.
