《Veildark Records: The Melody of our sins》


 Welcome to Hells Gate City.

    What are the consequences of sin and a life lived in darkness? At first glance, the answer seems simple: you end up in Hell, and that is correct but that only serves you as a singular unit of sinner suffering the consequences of your mistakes. But what is the consequence of sin? Of real sin, of ages and ages of greed, Lust and... Well, you already know.


    Madness, insanity, disturbance all concentrated in an nightmare that spreads its roots throughout hell. Hiding the true demonic nature in its notes of torment, A melody that echoes through the depths, carrying with it the weight of every evil ever committed. The sins of demons and sinners alike, who have come and continue to come, feeding something so diabolical that not even the sanest souls could hear it without succumbing to it''s harmony.


    So I ask again, what is the consequence of sin? Well, It''s music. Because for some, Hell is not just torment-it''s the grandest, most diabolical orchestra ever composed.


    (Prologue) Welcome to Hell''s Gate City.


    The sky over the city was a strange mix between red contaminated by gray, not because of the lack of Hellish atmosphere but because of the soot from the factories in the sea of pride, whose pollution was carried through the rivers and canals that were once crystal clear and today carry the weight of the factories, And the air, in addition to pollution, also carried the sound of gears and industrial machinery that joined with the sounds of footsteps, conversations and boats blending in with the life on the city creating almost a hellish cacophony. Surprisingly, the air is tolerable, thanks to massive industrial filters. While they don''t eliminate the pollution, they make the atmosphere breathable.


    And in this City a boat bus crosses Avenue 17, a large canal that crosses the entire Metropolis, the boat was wide with large windows, Very well-kept red seats and an interior painted in white with several lamps on the ceiling, a astrange mix between steam technology because its engine was steam-powered and the latest modernities of hell. a television was also attached to the ceiling broadcasting A talk show alled saturday night sins.


    In that boat, sitting Near the exit door, a demon slumped in his seat, head tilted back and mouth slightly open as he slept. A crow rested on his lap, the demon as wearing a custom-made suit with several signs of wear, leather shoes, unshaven beard, bottle-mouth glasses and with his mouth open, rocking softly, exposing his slightly sharp teeth.


    "Kain... Kain... Kain..." The crow muttered quietly so as not to disturb the other passengers but Kain stirred, grumbling under his breath, but didn''t quite wake. The bird clicked his beak in irritation, fluttering his wings impatiently. Then he had an idea, the crow flapped his wings and hopped onto the sleeping demon''s shoulders, his claws gripped the fabric of Kain''s Suit tightly, leaving even more marks of use on top of the others he had already done.


    With a sharp peck to Kain''s forehead, the crow finally got the reaction he wanted. Kain jolted awake, wincing and rubbing the sore spot. "Greasy! Why did you do that? Ouch..." he muttered, still half-asleep.


    "To wake you up you idiot, there are only five minutes left to reach the district of Hellquiem and you are sleeping." Greasy replies crossing his wings with an annoyed huff.


    "Okay, but you don''t have to peck me, damn it. I was about to wake up." Kain said adjusting his glasses, streching his legs and rubbing his forehead.


    Kain Longheart, now awake, begins to pay attention to the sounds of the environment. For him the world is a black canvas and every sound he heard painted his reality.


    One particular noise caught his attention-the faint hum of the television commercial overhead.


    "So you work at Sea of Pride?" The anchor of the advertisement asks, looking directly at the camera, with a overconfident smile plastered on his face "And are you tired of the effects of Hellitia on your blood ? Hahaha "He laughs. "Don''t worry anymore my lower hellborn, with Hellimia, that nasty mineral will be flushed from your system-quickly and safely! No more hair loss, skin pigment changes and no more gut-wrenching abdominal pain!"


    He laughs dramatically as the camera zooms in a bottle on a table the label is blue with the name ''Hellimia'' written in white with the logo of a company called ''DMED'' in the bottom corner of the label.


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    "It is serious, with one pill a day and Hellitia will no longer be able to take you down, but hey, you don''t need to trust me even though I have a very pretty face hahahaha." He laughs more. "See the opinions from those who use and approve." He says excitedly then, the image of the advertisement changes to show several videos and reports of Demons working in the Sea of pride who use the medicine, praising the medication.


    Greasy looks at the screen and then to the blind demon and says "Do you think they will ever find a solution for this? Without relying on pills?"


    Kain picks up his cane and takes a deep breath before answering.


    "If you don''t want a generalized increase in fuel prices all over hell... Then no." He says, snuggling into the seat.


    Greasy just sighs and hopped back into Kain''s lap.


    A few more minutes pass and a loud female voice announces over the intercom inside the boat bus.


    "Attention passengers! Now arriving at the Hellquiem district, Please go to the exit door when the lights turn yellow, thank you for traveling with Hell''s Gate Nautical Services , We hope you have a great day."


    "Ok, Greasy we have things to do." Kain said, slowly getting up as Greasy hopped onto the blind demon''s head.


    The crow looks around and notices that the lighting on the boat has changed.


    "To the exit door Kain." Greasy says excitedly.


    "Sure, Sure, Sure."


    Kain starts walking towards the door, Greasy helps him by pointing the right direction.


    "Now go left." Greasy says as Kain walks his cane tapping on the floor.


    The sound of the boat in the background, the gears in the distance, the conversations nearby, the cane hitting the ground and Greasy''s wings - all these sounds shape Kain''s perception but end up becoming a problem because how can a blind demon live in a city with so much noise?.


    And after a few more steps Kain finds the exit but ends up bumping into the back of another demon at the door.


    "Hey! Look where you''re going, idiot!" The demon screams angrily, turning around.


    A snake demon the same height as Kain, that is, around 6 foot tall, with a jacket and very dark skin, as well as dirt stains from pollution and large red eyes that almost jumped out of his face. A white blouse under the jacket.


    "Oh, I''m sorry, it wasn''t on purpose." Kain said, waving his hands.


    "Liar, you did it on purpose." said the demon, getting more and more angry.


    "No, no, look, I didn''t see you there." Kain says defensively and Greasy just cawls confirming.


    The demon then looks at the cane and then at Kain''s glasses and comes to an unexpected conclusion.


    "Wait... K-Kain Longheart!? Like the rhythm demon!" The demon screams in surprise at seeing the figure in front of him.


    "In flesh and sin." Greasy says proudly, shaking his wings. Kain just sighs and says.


    "Yeah...."


    "Oh my Lucifer, I''m a fan I''ve been to some of your shows back in Pentagram City, You even autographed an album that I bought, I didn''t expect to see you here specifically like.... This." The demon said, looking Kain up and down.


    "Work kills you." Kain says, the doors then open and a female voice comes out of the intercom again.


    "Doors open to all passengers, please disembark calmly thank you again for sailing with HGNS. We hope to see you again."


    The Passengers begin to disembark, including Kain, via a sort of bridge that connects the boat''s exit door with the river terminal docks.


    "I saw that show you did at the Morningstar Theater, it was fucking awesome!" The fan exclaimed, his eyes shining with excitement as he walked alongside the blind demon.


    Kain smiled remembering the heat of the moment, it was one of his best performances in Hell''s Gate City.


    "Yeah, it was fun, the energy was really cool." Kain kept walking until eventually exit the terminal the fan said goodbye and they both went their separate ways.


    Kain then continued to walk through the Hellquiem district, his demonic crow guiding him by sound, indicating directions and giving him support. The atmosphere of this polluted city is weird, The Hell''s industrial Gates Divided by polluted rivers and everything, it''s hard to imagine that a place like this could thrive, but it did.


    And the Hellquiem district is considered the richest in the city, at night the squares are filled with music and glamour after all the district is the furthest away from the sea of pride so the pollution is not so strong. During the day, an important commercial point in the city, with demons coming from everywhere in a disorderly manner, and their faces dirt in sin. Vendors selling cheap potions and medicine that promise to cure the ills of Toxic environment of the city which in some cases could even work but most likely you will get scammed, but contrary to popular imagination, Hell''s Gate City is not a ''Poor'' city, after all, being connected to the Sea of Pride gives it an unparalleled economic advantage over any other in the Ring, it is just polluted.


    "My ears... This is too much noise, it''s hard to know where to go like this." Kain muttered, as he walked his tapping on the floor making even more sound in the cacophony of the city.


    "Relax Kain, we''re almost at the record label." Greasy says trying to comfort the rhythm demon.


    "Yeah, sure." The demon said rolling his eyes as he keep walking.


    After a few minutes of walking, Kain and Greasy arrive at a building in the end of the street , in the middle of this street there was a canal where small rowing boats or public service boats passed by with demons coming and going across the bridges. As they continued walking the sound sometimes, of the footsteps and machines in the distance that practically blocked the view of the sun It was replaced by something more harmonious and dissonant from the atmosphere of the city, as he gets closer and closer the sound gets louder, until Kain stops in front of a building, not very tall with only 2 floors, a modest facade with posters on the walls of musicians, festivals and stickers on the windows advertising instruments or promoting artists, but the main thing is the huge sign shining in Neon changing colors every minute with the words ''Veildark Records''.


    "Ready for another day of work Greasy?" Kain asks with a smirk.


    "Definitely Kain! Caw!" Greasy says excitedly hopping several times on the musician''s head.


    Kain laughs lightly and takes off his glasses revealing his completely black eyes with audio visualizers like the ones you see on DJ tables.


    Kain then approaches the door beneath the flickering neon sign. On the door another neon sign this time only in red. reading ''Composing your sin'', for a moment Kain hesitated. A strange dissonance hummed in the air, as if something had been disturbed-quick but noticeable. He brushed it off, assuming it was just the noisy industrial metropolis playing tricks on his old ears again. With a sigh, he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it, pushing the door open to another day in Hell.

 1. A complicated meeting.

    1. A complicated meeting


    As Kain entered and closed the door, a sense of relief washed over him. The clamor of gears and industrial chaos outside had finally ceased, allowing him to focus on more important sounds. The harmonious yet discordant noise he had heard outside? Just an electric guitar being played deeper inside the record label. Kain and his crow, Greasy, now stood in the reception area of Veildark Records. The atmosphere was calm, with soft jazz playing in the background-though it was difficult to hear over the guitar. The walls were painted a deep red, and noise suppressors were strategically placed on the walls, ceiling, and even the floor. A few potted plants served as simple decoration, and a large poster next to the reception desk advertised Kain''s first concert, held over seventy years ago in a now-defunct Pentagram City gym. The poster showed the same smiling Kain, still wearing-impressively-the same suit.


    At the reception desk sat a demoness with her pink hair in an updo, wearing a white tank top that accentuated her neckline and black cargo pants. Her eyes were closed, and she stomped her bare feet on the ground, practically dancing in her chair. With a headset on, she was completely absorbed in the music from an MP3 player clipped to her waist, lost in her own world as if the rest of reality didn''t exist.


    Kain folded his cane and tucked it inside his suit, walking over to the reception desk. He placed his hands on the counter, feeling the texture, but the demoness didn''t seem to notice his presence.


    "Cinder," Kain said, trying to get the receptionist''s attention. She didn''t hear him and merely turned her back to him.


    "Caw... She''s listening to music, Kain. She won''t hear you. Let me handle this," Greasy said, flapping his wings and hopping onto her legs.


    Cinder Lune felt the touch of the bird''s claws on her pants and opened her eyes, revealing purple irises that sparkled like sapphires-an extravagant contrast amidst the red-toned environment.


    "Aww, Greasy! It''s great to see you," Lune said, stroking the crow''s head. Greasy cawed back without even opening his beak.


    Then a thought hit her. Wait, if he''s here, then... Cinder slowly turned around and came face to face with the rhythm demon.


    "Good afternoon, Miss Cinder Lune," Kain said, a mischievous smile forming on his face. "Are you doing your job well?" His words appeared in the audio visualizers that lit up within his eyes as he spoke.


    The demoness screamed, almost jumping out of her chair in fright. The headset flew off, along with the MP3 player, which luckily didn''t break. Greasy just laughed, flying back to perch on Kain''s head.


    "B-Boss!? You scared me, showing up like that!" Lune exclaimed irritably, shaking her head.


    "If you''d been paying attention at the entrance, this wouldn''t have happened," Kain said, rolling his eyes.


    "Sorry..." Cinder muttered, looking down, a little embarrassed.


    Kain sighed, bringing his hands to his eyes and frowning. "Just pay attention next time, okay?"


    "Okay..." Cinder replied, still embarrassed.


    "I''m not going to ask what you were listening to. Are the others here?"


    "Yes, sir. But if I may ask... Why did you show up so late? It''s already two in the afternoon."


    "Work kills, Cinder Lune. I had to stay late last night sorting out the expenses for repairing the studio," Kain said, slightly irritated, crossing his arms.


    "Was that incident really that serious?" Cinder asked, concerned.


    "Yeah. Anyway, I''ll talk to you later. Let the others know it''s time for our daily meeting."


    "Y-Yes, sir," Cinder replied with a quick salute.


    Kain chuckled lightly and left the reception, gripping the metal bar on the wall to guide himself deeper into the record label.


    Kain finally arrived at the source of the guitar sounds, walking down the hallway toward the meeting room. In one of the label corridors, a bat demon was playing an electric guitar while a spider demon listened intently, scribbling notes on a piece of paper.


    "Alright, Lenian, I think we''ve tested enough," the spider demon said, pausing his writing to look up at the bat.


    The bat was tall and wore a black coat marked by years on stage, protruding wings and And thin pants with intentional rips that went down to the knee. And thin black shoes worn from frequent use.


    "Got it. So, what do you think?" Lenian asked, placing the electric guitar on the floor and unplugging it from the amplifier.


    Rash adjusted his purple beret, which matched his oil-stained engineer''s overalls and the holsters at his sides, each with a six-round revolver nestled inside. He wore a purple dungaree jumpsuit full of pockets typical of an engineer in addition to a bell on the left handle and a lever-action rifle magazine loaded on his back. His four eyes, arranged in a neat rectangular formation, blinked as he considered the equipment.


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    "These new amps are perfect. Those folks from the Greed Ring really know their stuff," the spider demon replied, carefully folding his notes and tucking them into his pocket.


    Lenian glanced to his left and saw Kain approaching.


    "Oh hey, the best musician in Hell has finally arrived," Lenian said, gesturing to Kain with a grin.


    "Cut the introductions, Lenian. Are these the new amps?" Kain asked, stepping closer.


    "Yep, they came in last night along with the other new gear. We figured we''d take advantage of the... incident to give the studio a bit of an upgrade," Lenian explained. "Ronnie even pitched in some funds so we could grab a few premium items, like this electric guitar from MTFD and some others like new headphones and even a Helltek Pro soundboard. It''s quality stuff, boss." He picked up the guitar from the floor and held it out to Kain.


    "Kain, pick up the guitar," Greasy cawed, nudging him.


    Kain reached out, feeling around for a moment before his hands found the instrument. He held it carefully, fingers brushing over the polished metal and sturdy string joints of the MTFD Lior electric guitar.


    "It''s impressive, alright... but tell me, how much did this cost? I bet it wasn''t cheap." Kain said crossing his arms and returning the guitar to Lenian.


    "Boss, sometimes quality is priceless," Lenian said, raising an eyebrow.


    "Ronnie..." Kain sighed, shaking his head.


    "Well, boss, we had to buy a lot of things to replace what was lost. Even the window needed replacing," the spider demon, Rash, added, his extra left hand never leaving his holster.


    "I know, I know," Kain replied. "Look, I already asked Miss Lune to inform everyone. Meeting''s now."


    "Want me to help you get there, boss?" Rash offered, leaning slightly forward.


    "No need, Rash. I''ve walked this place so much, I''ve memorized it," Kain assured him, adjusting his suit. "But you know where to go."


    He continued down the corridor, his hand occasionally brushing the wall as he passed framed records and albums-relics from his career and those of other artists who''d recorded at Veildark Records. The red walls, softly lit by warm yellow lights, gave the space a calm and elegant feel, a striking contrast to the industrial chaos just outside. Closed boxes of equipment were stacked along the hall, remnants of the fire that had struck only a week before, leaving the studio scrambling to replace much of its gear.


    After climbing the stairs to the second floor, Kain finally reached a door at the end of the hallway with a white metal plaque that read "Meeting Room." He opened the door and entered, making his way to his usual chair at the head of the mahogany table, the room''s focal point. The meeting room was spacious and meticulously arranged, each chair placed with precision around the polished table. On the left side of the room, a wide window-closed and shaded by white blinds-concealed the view of the polluted metropolis outside.


    Greasy hopped down from Kain''s shoulder, landing on the table with a loud, creaking scratch as his claws made contact with the wood. A few minutes later, the employees began to file in. One of them flicked on the lights, illuminating the room with a soft glow. They took their seats, glancing at one another with a hint of nervousness, the recent events still fresh in their minds.


    "So... is everyone here?" Kain asked, his tone curious.


    "Everyone but Ronnie," Cinder replied.


    "That maestro... Alright, let''s get started," Kain said, clearing his throat before continuing. "As you know, we recently had a little ''incident'' in the studio that cost us sixty thousand souls'' worth of recording and audio equipment-not to mention the structural damage."


    Rash rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, "It was complicated... I''m lucky to have left the studio in one piece. At least I managed to save half of the drum set."


    Lenian slammed his hand on the table, frustration evident. "How was I supposed to know that lizard breathed fire?"


    Kain raised an eyebrow. "Well, that doesn''t change the fact it''s your responsibility, Lenian. As A&R director, you should''ve known."


    "You nearly burned me alive, you bastard," muttered a imp sitting beside Lenian. She wore a gas mask under a green hooded sweatshirt, black shorts, fingerless gloves and a prosthetic on her left leg which gave her a distinct look, and her 4-foot frame contrasted sharply with Lenian''s towering 6 feet.


    Lenian glanced down at her, exasperation flickering in his eyes. "I didn''t burn you, or almost burn you, Vixy. It was the damn lizard."


    Vixy huffed, crossing her arms and pointedly looking away.


    The silence stretched for a moment before the door swung open, and a tall demon strolled in, twirling a baton with a wide grin on his face Wearing casual clothes, even a little sloppy, which is strange due to the profession he practices. "On the bright side, this Luxuria Mundi has a killer sound. And with heavy metal on the rise among those rebellious types not so keen on Lucifer''s teachings, I''d say we''re onto something profitable. Nice find, Mr. Bloodbite."


    Everyone''s eyes turned to the door-except Kain, who, arms folded, remarked dryly, "Look who finally showed up. You''re late, Ronnie. Where were you?"


    Ronnie rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorway with a casual shrug. "Well, I was out having lunch with my boyfriend. Then some fans showed up... and, well, it took a little longer than planned."


    "Hey, Ronnie!" called a cyclops demoness in a pink dress, seated to Rash''s left.


    "Oh, if it isn''t the best opera singer in the city!" Ronnie replied with a grin. "Caught your last show at the Opera House Red Bride, It was amazing."


    "The city?" the demoness replied proudly. "Everyone knows I''m the best in all of Hell."


    "Don''t get carried away, Lumiere," said another cyclops demoness sitting next to her with a smirk. "You''ve still got a long way to go."


    Lumiere rolled her eye, sighing. "Stop killing my buzz, Luvenna."


    Ronnie approached Kain, then turned to the rest of the room and cleared his throat. "If I could have everyone''s attention for a moment."


    The demons shifted their gaze toward Ronnie, while Kain, unable to see, simply focused on the sound of his voice.


    "As manager of Veildark Records, I''m pleased to announce that despite the recent setbacks in our studio, our efforts have been a success. We reached our half-year profit target in record time, thanks in large part to Miss Lumiere''s stellar work in promoting our artists and-"


    "But," Kain interrupted sharply, cutting through Ronnie''s words, "with the accident in our studio, the increase in taxes, rent, and emergency repairs-totaling over a hundred thousand souls-and the cost of new equipment, which I haven''t even seen the final price tag for yet, our target has had to increase."


    Ronnie rolled his eyes. "Geez, Kain, you''re such a pessimist."


    "I''m not a pessimist, Ronnie. I''m a realist."


    "That''s what every pessimist says," Ronnie retorted with a smirk.


    "Whatever. If things keep going this way, we may have to get a loan or start cutting expenses," Kain said, crossing his arms. "Maybe the coffee machine, or the Dance Dance HELLVolution machine in the break room."


    "WHAT!? NOT THE HELLVOLUTION MACHINE!" Lenian yelped, eyes wide. "My high score on Purple Sin is perfect!"


    "I almost tied with you last week," Rash said with a smirk. "Got 660 points on Purple Sin."


    "That''s the difference, my arachnid friend," Lenian shot back, puffing out his chest. "''Almost tied'' isn''t a tie. You''re still short of the perfect 666 points-my record."


    "It''s only a six-point difference," Greasy chimed in, his claws tapping across the table as he strutted toward Lenian.


    "IT''S STILL A DIFFERENCE!" Lenian shot back, arms crossed defiantly.


    "You''re quite childish, Lenian Bloodbite. I think it''s cute," Lune said with a light laugh, crossing her arms.


    Lenian blushed and looked away, flustered by the comment.


    "Look, it doesn''t matter who has the highest score," Kain said, his tone drawing everyone''s attention back to him. "What we need now is to think of ways to increase our profitability without resorting to cuts or loans."


    "Excellent idea, Kain," Ronnie chimed in with a smirk. "If anyone has a suggestion, please raise your hand..." He glanced at Kain and added with a grin, "Or, you know, just speak."


    "Oh, oh! I have a suggestion," Vixy said, raising her hand eagerly.


    "Go ahead, Vixy. Let''s hear it," Kain encouraged.


    "We should... start selling drug-"


    "Alright, does anyone have a less criminal idea?" Kain interrupted, deadpan.


    "The Longheart Museum," Ronnie suggested, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.


    "The what?" Kain asked, eyebrows raising in confusion.


    "Listen, Kain, you''re a demon with a well-established musical career spanning over seventy years in the world of jazz. You have fans all over Hell-they''re constantly at our door wanting to talk to you. So let''s make the most of it. We could set up an exhibition showcasing your long career and offer paid tours. It''s a great way to boost income without a huge expense. The record label itself is already quite a landmark, so we could profit from guided tours, use the money for new equipment, and maybe even expand operations. It''s a win-win situation. Think about it: we''d not only make money but also set an expectation of quality for the artists under our contract. It''s an excellent idea, don''t you think?"


    Greasy chuckled from his perch on Kain''s head. "You think fast," he remarked, giving an approving caw.


    "A museum about me?" Kain repeated, rubbing the back of his neck with a hint of doubt. "I don''t know, Ronnie..."


    Ronnie just crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Look, you brought this on yourself when you decided to leave your money stashed in Pentagram City for, what, some moral reason? Besides, from what I''m seeing, no one here has a better idea-so, it''s either that or... you know, selling drugs."


    Kain sighed, leaning against the table. "Alright, let''s hear more about this ''museum'' idea..."

 2. The last tick of the clock is always the most lethal.

    You already understand that the consequence of sin is music. But what about the more tangible consequences? The ever-increasing population of Hell has led to heightened production in the Sea of Pride, an effort to stave off inflation caused by growing consumption. More factories mean more labor, and more labor means more jobs, which increases the population''s income. However, this also leads to increased pollution, which breeds discontent-a snowball effect that worsens day by day.


    Despite the vastness of the Sea of Pride, there will come a time when the factories can no longer meet demand, inevitably resulting in inflation and further discontent. Coupled with a precipitous drop in Hell''s stock market, this discontent can lead to unrest. Once a society adopts a common currency for trade, such economic instability becomes a looming threat. It''s not complicated; it''s basic economics.


    But what happens if the princess, or whoever holds power, manages to solve the overpopulation issue in Hell? Demand will decline, yet prices will remain dangerously low because production hasn''t slowed down alongside the end of uncontrolled population growth. This scenario would create an inflationary bubble, leading to factory closures and, Guess what? If you said fried chicken with barbecue sauce then you are wrong, it obviously leads to discontent and revolt.


    It seems that no matter how you approach this situation, the conclusion is always the same. Economists have termed this inevitable downfall the ''Collapse of Pride.'' On the bright side, the increase in population within Hell''s Gate City will never be a problem; after all, to maintain the aristocracy of Hell and the arrogant smiles of its rulers, the Sea of Pride will always require a labor force.


    2. The last tick of the clock is always the most lethal.


    While the meeting at Veildark Records unfolded, elsewhere in Hell''s Gate City, an imp dressed in a tiny, fancy suit struggled under the weight of a stack of papers that was nearly as tall as he was. His oversized glasses magnified his eyes, giving him a comically exaggerated appearance, while his skin was an unusual shade of yellow, something strange when remembering that imps usually have reddish skin, the result of years and years of exposure to Hellitia.


    Beside him walked a cyclops demon clad in a sharp blue suit, chuckling lightly at the imp''s discomfort. They navigated the narrow streets of the Pentagram District-a name that, despite its familiarity, had nothing to do with Pentagram City, but rather referred to a local bank. This district was the closest to the Sea of Pride, It was where the gates of the infernal industries were located, where several boats and ferries and even ships passed daily that carried goods produced in the Sea of Pride to the rest of the city and then for the rest of the ring and hell.


    To their right, buildings and businesses lined the bustling streets, benefiting from the proximity to the Sea of Pride; land here was more affordable than in other parts of the city. To the left, beyond a low parapet, lay a large canal known as Avenue 3, one of the city''s first waterways.


    "Fuck... these papers are really heavy," the little imp grumbled as he trudged along.


    The cyclops continued to laugh, running his hands through his blue hair. He dashed ahead of the imp, then turned around and extended a hand in support.


    The imp scowled, irritation flaring in his voice. "I don''t need your help..." He raised one hand, pointing defiantly upward, his eyes closing as he added, ''I can easily carry these papers to Sir Clockhauser.''"


    The cyclops made several animated gestures with his hands, prompting an exasperated response from the imp.


    "I''m not selfish!" the imp snapped, then took a deep breath to calm himself. "I''m just trying to show that I''m an excellent employee for the Accounting Overlord."


    The cyclops continued with his gestures, clearly teasing, and the imp sighed, replying once more.


    "Do I know what''s in these papers? No, I haven''t had time to check," he admitted, rolling his eyes. "Look, it doesn''t matter, okay? Let''s just keep moving. We have to get to the bank soon."


    The cyclops folded his arms, and the two continued walking through the district. Demons bustled around them, each preoccupied with their own tasks-some cleaning layers of soot off rooftops, others stepping in and out of boats docked along the canals. The streets were grimy, coated with a thick layer of industrial residue that seemed to cling to every surface, a byproduct of the City''s relentless pride in its factories. Sounds echoed off the water, creating an eerie, constant hum, though footsteps were few. Hell''s Gate was quiet during the day, as much of its population spent daylight hours laboring in the factories of the Sea of Pride.


    After more walking, the two turned onto a bustling street and found themselves before the city''s grandest landmark. Surrounded by canals and commercial buildings taking advantage of its prestige, the area was crowded with demons coming and going, unusually lively even by the city''s daytime standards. The building itself was massive, its golden facade gleaming as though even the city''s pollution dared not mar its polished steps. At the entrance, an immaculate garden greeted visitors, offering a rare sense of luxury and security amid Hell''s Gate''s grime. But most striking of all was the sign beside the entrance, proudly declaring, ''Welcome to the Pentagram Bank HQ''.


    "We''re here! Hurry up, Arch, the boss is waiting for us!"


    The cyclops nodded, his broad figure moving in sync with the smaller imp as they crossed a bridge toward the bank. The imp struggled to keep a firm grip on the stack of papers, attempting to hold the top down to prevent them from flying away, but his short stature made it nearly impossible. As a gust of wind blew, the papers fluttered dangerously.


    The cyclops extended his hand in assistance once again, but the imp shot him a glare, quickly pulling the papers tighter to his chest.


    "I already told you, I don''t need your help!" he snapped, his face flushed with determination.


    The cyclops rolled his eye, sighing as he kept walking. He glanced over his shoulder, the rhythmic sound of their footsteps blending with the distant noise of the bustling district. As his eyes wandered across the scene, he took in the chaotic beauty of Hell''s Gate.


    Boats-endless boats-cut through the murky water, carrying cargo and passengers with ease. Tall, buildings loomed over the streets, their sturdy forms standing resilient against the constant hum of labor. The water below was a dark gray, tinged with streaks of red, resembling a sea of blood straight out of a fantasy tale. But it wasn''t blood-it was the thick, polluted remnants of industry and pride, swirling in the currents.


    In the distance, beyond the boats and towering structures, the enormous gates of the Sea of Pride stood tall. The metal structure was massive, a port where ferries came and went, their cargo scrutinized before continuing their journey through the city''s maze and beyond into the depths of Hell. It was a stark reminder of the unyielding grind of production, the constant motion of a city that never rested, just like the demons who lived and worked within it.


    "The industrial gates of Hell," the imp muttered, his eyes fixed on the horizon alongside the cyclops. "Humans think death is the end, that it''s some eternal rest. What a fucking lie. Hell doesn''t care how you ended up here. It''ll just use you for eternity, a consequence of your own damn mistakes."


    The cyclops sighed as they both continued walking across the bridge. Eventually, they reached the other side, coming face to face with the well-kept gardens. A demon tending to some flowers noticed them and walked over.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    "Well, well, look who''s back. The yellow imp and the mute cyclops," the gardener demon said with a saccharine tone. He wore a black outfit beneath his gardening overalls, a big, cheerful smile on his face as he worked. His short orange hair was matted with dirt, and he looked like he never took a break from his cheerful labor.


    The imp rolls his eyes. "Oh, shut up, Gurnesh. You knew exactly where we were."


    "Not really," Gurnesh replied with a shrug. "I''m just the gardener." He glanced at the towering stack of papers the imp was carrying, raising an eyebrow. "That''s a whole load of paperwork you''ve got there. So, what''s all that about?"


    "We''re not sure yet, but we''ll find out soon enough. Now, we really have to go; Sir Clockhauser is waiting for us," the imp replied. With that, he and the cyclops made their way through the garden, heading toward the bank entrance.


    After descending the stairs, weaving through the crowd of demons moving in and out, the duo finally reached the entrance of Pentagram Bank HQ. The revolving doors spun continuously, never pausing for even a second under the constant flow of demons.


    "Let''s go, Arch we have no time to waste"


    They entered the bank, greeted by an immaculate interior. Not a speck of dirt marred the floor. White walls reminiscent of classic French architecture stood in contrast to the stained glass windows, which narrated Hell''s history in vibrant mosaics visible only from within. Plush red carpets and extravagant chandeliers contributed to an air of opulence, though beneath all the luxury, it was still unmistakably a bank-complete with the relentless weight of infernal bureaucracy.


    The pair moved through the heart of the bank, surrounded by the hum of conversations with tellers and the steady flow of financial transactions. Within these walls, the usual infernal euphoria and chaotic energy of Hell gave way to a collective monotony. Here, even in the afterlife, demons faced the mundane drudgery of financial obligations, each dealing with the persistent tedium of paperwork and transactions.


    After a few more steps, the pair arrive at a kind of elevator a little further away from the common area for customers.


    After a few more steps, the pair reached an elevator set apart from the customer area.


    This elevator is for employees only. Please step back or provide the password,'' a large, muscular demon announced, his suit straining over his frame.


    "Stop wasting my time," the imp snapped, carefully balancing his stack of papers.


    "Password accepted. Good afternoon, Mr. Dazzle. You may proceed," the demon replied, stepping aside to let the imp and the cyclops pass.


    Dazzle glanced sideways and noticed the cyclops looking over at the customer area, exchanging gestures from a distance with a demoness working in customer service.


    "Arch, focus. You can talk to your wife later... or, well, exchange gestures with her," Dazzle muttered, grabbing the cyclops''s hand and pulling him into the elevator.


    Once inside the elevator, Arch pressed the button for the top floor. The doors closed, and they stood in silence during the ascent. Arch tried offering his help with the stack of papers once more, but the imp promptly refused again.


    After some slightly uncomfortable time with those typical elevator songs playing, the doors finally open and they find themselves on the top floor of the Pentagram Bank.


    The two exit the elevator and enter a spacious, well-lit hallway. At the end of it stands a large wooden desk, cluttered with papers, office supplies, and a computer. A small metal plaque on the desk reads, ''Dazzle, Secretary of Pentagram Bank.''


    "My desk," Dazzle says, wiping a tear from his eye with mock sentiment.


    They walk past the desk and continue deeper down the corridor, passing several large portraits of notable figures from both Heaven and Hell. Finally, they reach a rather unassuming door with intricate black carvings along the wood and a golden plaque reading, ''CEO''s Office''.


    The cyclops approaches the door and knocks gently. A few seconds later, a voice calls from the other side.


    "Come in."


    The cyclops opens the door, and the two step into the office.


    The room was impeccably organized, almost to an obsessive degree. Even the lights were positioned with exact precision, ensuring none of them cast shadows on one another. The walls were painted in dull gray tones, deliberately understated to avoid drawing attention or causing distraction. In the left corner of the room stood a shelf stacked with books, files, and documents of various sizes and colors. Above, silver chandeliers illuminated the space with soft, even light.


    At the center of the room sat a comfortable leather chair, and in front of it, a desk crafted from Lustwoor wood-a rare tree native to the Lust Ring. The desk was adorned with office supplies and a very old tube computer. But what caught the eye most was a small Lucifer bobblehead on the desk, measuring only 16 cm tall. The inscription on its base read: ''To the best watchmaker in Hell.''


    , there was also an almost full ashtray and in addition, of course, to a gold metal plaque that says ''Sir Clockhauser CEO of Pentagram Bank''


    On the other side of the desk was a tall armchair with deep red upholstery, custom-made to fit the Overlord''s stature. To the left of the room was a massive crystal window, reinforced to withstand even a rocket launcher shot. Through the window, an impeccable view of Hell''s Gate City and the Sea of Pride unfolded, with factories stretching endlessly toward the horizon. Sitting in the armchair was a demon, an imposing figure standing at an incredible 8 feet tall. He wore an overcoat over casual clothes, a red tie, long pants, and expensive shoes. However, what stood out most wasn''t his height, but his head - a massive clock face, with no eyes, nose, or mouth, just the ticking hands slowly turning clockwise, marking each second with a distinct, rhythmic tick.


    "I understand your concerns, Mr. LotusFrost; the Collapse of Pride has struck fear into the hearts of many," the Overlord said, raising his hand to beckon the imp closer. "But demons are... difficult. Their interest wanes quickly when the subject turns to economic matters that are, let''s say, more... complicated."


    A demon seated across from Sir Clockhauser frowned, crossing his arms. Though much smaller than the Overlord, he radiated an intimidating, icy aura, his appearance as if he had been carved from a massive block of ice. His suit complemented his frozen look, while his hair appeared to ripple like glacial waves. His cold presence was distinctly unsettling in Hell''s usual heat.


    "That''s precisely why I''m here, Sir Clockhauser. I want to ensure my company''s security and survival when the inevitable strikes," Vecian Lotusfrost replied, his breath misting the air with a chilling presence.


    The imp then stepped forward, placing the papers on the Overlord''s desk. Sir Clockhauser nodded in thanks, and the imp moved back to stand by the door, with the Cyclops beside him. To their left, two armed guards-likely Vecian''s-stood watch.


    "Dazzle," the Overlord said, turning his gaze to the little imp.


    "Y-Yes, Sir?"


    "Why did you carry all that by yourself? There''s a reason I sent the two of you."


    "I wanted to show my dedication, Sir Clockhau-"


    "Enough. I didn''t hire you to be a lone wolf, Dazzle. If you want to impress me, learn to work as a team. That applies to both of you."


    Vecian cleared his throat, redirecting the Overlord''s attention.


    "Oh, yes, of course..." Sir Clockhauser responded, glancing at the stack of papers. He picked up one sheet, studying it.


    "What exactly is in those papers?" Vecian asked, curious.


    "These," Sir Clockhauser replied, "are all the financial reports from your dairy food sales company in the last 50 years. Each document represents a year, totaling 50 papers of records-one for each year."


    Vecian''s eyes narrowed, his voice tinged with anger. "H-How do you have access to this? This is private information about my company-"


    Sir Clockhauser interrupted him calmly, his voice steady. "Relax, Vecian. This is data provided to your investors. I''m not talking about industrial espionage."


    Vecian remained silent, though his anger was still palpable.


    "Good," Sir Clockhauser continued. "Now, as we can see from these financial reports, your company''s income-especially in the Pride Ring, where we are now-has dropped by nearly 23% over the past year. This is a concerning trend, particularly if you expect Pentagram Bank to invest funds into a business that''s in decline."


    Vecian''s tone remained tense as he spoke, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface.


    "Look, all I''m asking for is financing-three hundred thousand souls for my company. It''s not an exorbitant amount, but I need it. After all, you''ve been handling my company''s treasury services for what? Two hundred years?"


    "And you are correct, Mr. Lotusfrost," Sir Clockhauser replied, his tone cool but firm. "Since the beginning of our partnership, my team has done everything to keep your finances in order. However, there is one variable in this equation that doesn''t add up. You."


    "What?" Vecian replied, a sense of unease creeping into his voice.


    "When we examine these financial reports more closely, we uncover something critical. The drop in profitability didn''t result from a decrease in sales-it came from an increase in expenses. More specifically, employee-related spending."


    "This... How do I explain this?" Vecian stammered, clearly caught off guard. "Hmm, I had some issues with my employees-nothing personal, of course-but I asked them to exclude these details from the financial reports."


    "I don''t care what happens in your company," Sir Clockhauser said, leaning in just inches from Vecian''s face. "My problem isn''t that your profitability has dropped-we all face ups and downs, and your products are good. What bothers me is that YOU LIED in the reports, all for the sake of selfish pride. You''re no different from the other demons who step into this room. I can''t risk the funds if I''m financing a company led by someone who lies."


    "I ask for forgiveness..." Vecian said, looking down.


    Sir Clockhauser sighed, his gaze cold as it fell on the floor.


    "You''ll get your money. Even with your lies, your company still holds great value to this bank. But I expect good relations with InferDessert LTDA moving forward. I hope this doesn''t happen again."


    "Yes, sir," Vecian said, his voice trembling slightly.


    "Good. You may leave."


    Vecian stood up, muttering to himself, "Man, that was intense, Fu-"


    Before he could finish, Sir Clockhauser''s pocket watch shot out at high speed coming out directly from the wrist of his left hand, wrapping around Vecian''s neck in the blink of an eye. With a sharp pull, Vecian was slammed face-first into the Overlord desk, blood dripping from his nose as he fell back in pain. The security guards immediately aimed their guns at Sir Clockhauser, while Arch summoned a bow, aiming an arrow at them. Dazzle, trembling, ducked behind the Overlord.


    "Ouch! Why do you do this!?" Vecian gasped, struggling to remove the watch and chain from his neck.


    "I must remind you," Sir Clockhauser said coldly, his voice low but commanding, "you are not in the rings, you are not in Pentagram City, and you are not in your home. You are in my bank and my office. You follow my rules. No swearing, no deviant behavior of any kind. This is a place of business and nothing more. Do you understand?"


    "Alright, alright, geez... Let''s go," Vecian muttered, finally standing up. He and his guards left the room, one of them handing him a cloth to stop the bleeding.


    The Overlord turned to Dazzle, giving his head a gentle pat.


    "You two, get back to work."


    Dazzle nodded, and he and Arch left the office. Once the door closed behind them, Sir Clockhauser sat back down at his desk, powering on the computer. As always, he was ready to do what the Accounting Overlord does best-be an accountant.

 3. Studio on demand.

    ''Hell is not just torment-it''s the grandest, most diabolical orchestra ever composed.''


    Though no one knows which demon first coined this phrase, it holds an undeniable truth. The economic collapse of Hell looms on the horizon, according to analysts. But how do these elements-economy, music, hell and madness-intersect? At first glance, they may seem worlds apart. Yet they''ve always moved in unison. Music is profit, from advertisements to albums crafted solely to sell. Musicians teeter on the edge, seeking the perfect composition, while hell itself orchestrates the melody of sin.


    Since the dawn of time, it''s been this way-the red of blood from fingers worn down by guitar strings, the seductive chaos of a dissonant note, and the rise of a new star. Music is sin, it''s economy, it''s madness. But most of all, music is consequence.


    3. Studio on demand.


    Back at Veildark Records, shortly after the intense meeting, everyone returned to their duties. Kain, accompanied by his manager Ronnie, walked through the corridors of the record company, making their way toward the studio.


    "I still think it''s a bad idea Ronnie." Kain said, his red cane hitting the floor.


    Ronnie smirked, keeping pace beside him. "Kain, it''s easy money. That''s what I''m talking about. Let''s capitalize on your incredible career."


    "Yeah... but a museum about me? It still feels... strange."


    "We''ve already been through this, Kain. It''s decided."


    "Then make a museum about yourself. You''re just as famous-a classical composer since the 17th century, creator of the Grim Void Orchestra, and blah, blah, blah."


    "I''m not the owner of Veildark Records or the one with a huge poster in the lobby."


    "I didn''t put that poster there. You did."


    Ronnie raised a finger to Kain''s lips. "Details, Kain, details."


    Kain pulled Ronnie''s hand away. "Do that again, Ronald, and I''ll break your finger."


    "Okay, I understand," Ronnie replied, rolling his eyes.


    After a few more steps, Greasy, the crow, began lightly pecking Kain''s head, drawing his attention. Kain gently scooped up the bird, cradling it in his arms as he walked, petting it softly.


    "What do you want, Greasy?" he asked.


    "Caw! I''m hungry..."


    "You already had lunch this morning," Kain replied.


    "That was in the morning. It''s already three in the afternoon..." Greasy responded, wrapping his wings around Kain and looking up at him with dark red eyes.


    "Alright, alright... I''m a bit hungry myself."


    Kain reached inside his suit and pulled out a package of chocolate chip cookies labeled "There''s No Cocoa In Hell." He took a cookie and offered it to Greasy, who eagerly ate it right from Kain''s hand.


    "You carry that packet of cookies everywhere," Ronnie observed.


    "You never know when you''ll need it," Kain replied, taking a cookie for himself and biting into it.


    Kain tucked the cookie packet back into his suit and continued walking alongside Ronnie. After a few more steps, they finally reached the door of the Veildark Records studio.


    "Here we are. It''s been a week, Ronnie-I hope Rash at least cleaned up the ashes," Kain remarked.


    Ronnie adjusted his clothes with a grin. "You''re about to touch, why I haven''t let you in here all week."


    Kain smirked. "Try to impress me, Ronnie."


    With a sly smile, Ronnie opened the door and nudged Kain inside. The studio was spacious, packed with high-end professional equipment-mixing desks, various instruments, microphones, and more. Most of the room was dark, painted black, except for the door, which was a deep red. Inside the recording booth, soundproofed walls were complemented by a pulsating red neon sign that read Veildark Records: Composing Your Sin in stylized letters.


    Despite the studio''s tidy appearance, the window between the mixing desk and the recording booth was shattered, with numerous scorch marks visible. The walls bore signs of past burns, though it seemed everything had been cleaned and put back in order since the incident.


    Under the mixing desk, the spider demon Rash was busy connecting some cables, while nearby, Vixy fiddled with her phone. She looked up at the sound of the door opening and spotted Kain and Ronnie.


    "Hey, Boss," Vixy greeted, giving a casual wave.


    Kain nodded toward the sound in response.


    Ronnie stepped forward with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Hello, Vixy! Today is the day I unveil our newly renovated studio to none other than the glorious rhythm demon, Kain Longheart-"


    His speech was abruptly cut off as his eyes darted to the broken window and the scorch marks on the walls. He turned sharply, narrowing his gaze at Rash, who was still busy with the cables. "Rash! You promised the studio would be spotless today!"


    Rash''s voice was muffled beneath the table, making it impossible to hear what he said.


    "What?" Ronnie asked, leaning closer.


    Rash crawled out from under the mixing desk, rubbing his head in frustration. "I said, we had a little mishap-called the mixing desk. I''ve been trying to install it for days, and... it''s a lot harder than I thought."


    "That''s what happens when you don''t pay for professional assembly," Vixy chimed in, her voice slightly distorted through her gas mask.


    "I-I don''t need anyone to install equipment for me!" Rash shot back, defensive. "I built a robot Hellhound, and I''m not about to let a bunch of cables defeat me!"Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Vixy smirked, crossing her arms. "You really take the ''Pride'' part of the Pride Ring too seriously, Rash."


    Rash scoffed, narrowing his eyes. "And look who''s talking-the one who gave up her DJ career because of her pride in her appearanc-"


    Before he could finish, Vixy detached her prosthetic leg and hurled it at Rash with precision. The leg hit him square in the head, sending him sprawling onto the floor in a daze.


    Vixy calmly retrieved her prosthetic, reattaching it without a word. She bounced lightly to test its fit, then crossed her arms and looked away with an irritated huff.


    "Ouch... Okay, I deserved that one," Rash muttered, rubbing the fresh bruise on his forehead before crawling back under the table.


    Kain let out a weary sigh, bringing a hand to his face. "What an amazing team..."


    "Anyway, feel free to touch everything," Ronnie said with an exaggerated gesture toward the studio.


    Greasy hopped off Kain''s head and landed on the mixing desk, tilting his head inquisitively. Meanwhile, Kain ran his hands over the various surfaces, exploring the room with meticulous care. He felt the smooth texture of the impeccably clean equipment, the cold, solid floor, the faintly charred walls, and the intricacies of the soundboard. His hands finally rested on the door to the recording booth.


    Greasy fluttered back to Kain''s shoulder, letting out a soft caw. "You can open the door, Kain."


    Kain turned the handle, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. Instantly, the muffled sounds of the studio vanished, replaced by an eerie silence. Yet within that void, something else lingered-a strange, haunting noise.


    It wasn''t the typical ambiance of a quiet room. No, this was dissonant, chaotic. The sound twisted and turned, refusing to follow any coherent melody. It was as if screams of hatred and cries of love intertwined with unsettling harmony. Notes clashed like a battle of emotions, creating an oppressive atmosphere.


    Kain froze, his breathing shallow as he realized it wasn''t just his imagination. This was no ordinary sound. It clawed at the edges of his mind, a haunting memory he had buried long ago. Something he had sworn never to confront again.


    His heartbeat quickened, and a sense of dread overwhelmed him. He stumbled out of the booth, desperate to escape the suffocating noise. As the door swung shut behind him, and the soft Jazz of the record label invades his ears again,


    he felt relieved, the calm Jazz silenced something even more Sinister.


    "Kain! What happened? Are you okay?." Greasy said flapping his wings with a worried caw.


    "I''m fine, I''ve been through this before."


    The record company employees who were in the room went to Kain asking what had happened, he simply said waving his hands "It''s okay, this is a blind thing...", Rash and Vixy believe it and go back to what they were doing but Ronnie wasn''t convinced.


    "Are you sure you''re okay Kain?" He asked, crossing his arms and speaking quietly enough for only Kain to hear.


    "Yes, I am fine." Kain said using his walking stick to stand up. He gave Ronnie a reassuring nod, though the tension in his audio visualizers hinted otherwise.


    Ronnie didn''t press the conversation any further, but he could tell something was off. He and Kain had been friends for a long time-long before Kain Longheart first stepped onto the stage, long before he went blind. They had history. But for now, Ronnie chose to let it slide.


    "Okay then, if you say so," Ronnie said, still not fully convinced by Kain. He quickly shifted back to his usual cheerful demeanor.


    "So, what do you think of the amazing, renovated studio from the best record label in Hell, Veildark Records?"


    "It turned out well, but we''re going to have to work hard to pay for it."


    "You''re such a pessimist."


    "I''m not a pessimist, I''m a realist-"


    "Let''s not start this again."


    As Kain thought about what had happened, the studio door creaked open, and the bat demon stumbled inside, a bag of blood clutched loosely in his hand.


    "Rash... I-I think this blood isn''t healthy," Lenian Bloodbite slurred, wobbling his way toward the spider demon.


    "Lenian? Are you drunk?" Vixy asked, narrowing her eyes at him.


    "I was hungry," Lenian mumbled, blinking sluggishly. "So I went to the fridge in the breakroom to grab a bag of blood for lunch. Turns out... it''s bad to drink blood from someone who''s been drinking alcohol. I get d-drunk way too fast."


    "It''s hard to tell what''s in a blood bag just by looking at it. I''m not a vampire," Rash muttered, shrugging as he continued working on the cables.


    Lenian groaned, swaying slightly. "I''ll never let you buy me blood bags again. I''d rather starve to death or bite someone before risking this again."


    Ronnie chuckled lightly at the scene before him. Lenian, still sipping from the half-empty blood bag through a straw, shifted his attention to Kain and staggered toward him.


    "B-Boss," Lenian began, his voice slightly slurred. "I have some excellent news."


    Kain raised an eyebrow, tapping his cane lightly on the floor. "Really? Okay then, tell me. I''m all ears."


    "You know that promising rapper who came here last week?" Lenian asked, taking another sip from the straw.


    "Uhhh, yeah, what''s wrong with him?" Kain inquired, his tone cautious.


    Lenian grinned, revealing his sharp teeth. "There''s nothing wrong, sir! I just came to let you know-he called me earlier to say he''s accepted the record deal!"


    Kain''s eyes widened in surprise.


    "Really?"


    "Yes, sir," Lenian confirmed, swaying slightly as he spoke. "He agreed to our terms-30% of all his revenue goes to the label." He paused, clutching his stomach. "Now, if you''ll excuse me, I''m going to vomit." With that, Lenian stumbled out of the studio, heading straight for the bathroom.


    Ronnie smirked, crossing his arms. "I told you, Kain, he''d accept. It was just a matter of time."


    Kain frowned slightly, tapping his cane on the ground. "Yeah, but we''ve never had a rapper on this label before."


    Ronnie shrugged casually. "There''s a first time for everything. Anyway, we should go back to work, I still have to talk to Miss Lumiere about Luxuria Mundi''s advertising plan. And you still need to discuss our partnership with that fast food chain, see you later Kain."


    "I guess," Kain replied in a dry tone.


    Ronnie gave him a light pat on the back and left the room, chuckling to himself.


    "Man, I never imagined I''d have so many headaches when I opened this place," Kain muttered, rubbing his eyes.


    "Caw! Don''t worry, Kain. You''re a smart devil, and you''ll get through this. The second year of the label''s operation has just begun. You should be more excited," Greasy responded, settling on Kain''s head.


    "I should," Kain said with a sigh."Rash, can you finish installing the mixing desk today?"


    Rash crawled out from under the desk and replied, "Yes, sir. Vixy, call RB and ask him to bring the new glass window."


    Vixy nodded and left the studio to find RB. Kain, after a brief moment, followed her out, heading to his office while Rash remained behind to work and there is nothing that represents the city better than this so a few hours later, Hell''s Gate transitioned into its nighttime phase, its busiest period. The factories along the Sea of Pride began to shut down for the evening, and employees departed either by boat or on foot, traversing the endless web of bridges connecting the industrial expanse.


    Far from the bustling heart of the Sea of Pride, a small cargo frigate sailed through the shadows, heading toward the gates that separated the industrial region from the rest of the city. The darkness was oppressive; the Sea of Pride at night was poorly lit, and the surrounding marshy landscape offered little in the way of comfort or beauty.


    The boat itself was a rusty relic, bearing the scars of years of wear and neglect. Despite its battered appearance, it remained impressively functional. Its cargo consisted of containers packed with vehicle spare parts, bound for an assembly plant in a distant city.


    Among the few demons aboard, the most notable was the captain in the cockpit, skillfully maneuvering the helm. His movements were precise, even methodical, as he steered the motorboat through the murky waters with a steady hand. He wore sailor clothes, a lit cigar clenched between his teeth, and sported a thick beard that seemed to blur the line between where it ended and his hair began.


    "Another night of sailing this river..." the captain muttered with a yawn.


    "Relax, man, it''s the last trip of the day," said his assistant, lounging in a chair behind him.


    "The problem isn''t the trip. It''s that we always take the same route, and this frigate is falling apart. It needs maintenance. I think I''ll suspend tomorrow''s deliveries and take this rust bucket to the shipyard."


    "No complaints here," the assistant replied, stretching lazily in his chair. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small bottle of Hellimia, and popped a pill before leaning back again. "I''m taking advantage of any free time I have."


    Suddenly, the boat jolts, hitting something with a loud crash that shakes the entire frigate.


    The assistant topples out of his chair in shock.


    "What the hell was that?"


    "I don''t know, go check!"


    "Y-Yes, sir."


    The assistant stumbles out of the cabin, rushing down the stairs to the deck. As he reaches the bottom, he sees his colleagues gathered around, staring at something in the water.


    "What happened!?" Jake screams, his voice filled with panic.


    One of the crew members slowly turns to face him.


    "Nothing major, Jake, we just hit this... thing."


    "What thing?"


    "You better see for yourself," another crew member mutters, shining a flashlight toward the water.


    Jake approaches them cautiously, peering down at the dark water below. As the beams of light illuminate the surface, he sees something strange in the water.


    "Looks like a barrel... Bring it here."


    The demons pull the barrel onto the boat. The walls were low enough that they could simply reach into the water and grab it.


    "Wow, this thing looks like it''s over 30 years old," said one of the crew members, setting the barrel upright.


    "Alright, open it."


    The demons try to open the barrel, but the lid is stuck.


    "Hmmm... We need a crowbar," Jake said, tapping his chin. "Ah, I got it!"


    "What?" Ajah replied, rolling his eyes.


    "Go get the crowbar."


    Ajah huffs but heads up to the storage room. He rummages through old junk until he spots the crowbar under a pile of shoes.


    "Found it," he mutters, grabbing the crowbar and heading back down to the deck. The crew clears the way as Ajah sets the crowbar against the barrel lid. He grunts and, after several tries, the lid finally pops off.


    "Perfect."


    "What''s going on down there?" the captain''s voice echoed through the boat''s intercom.


    "It''s nothing! Just a barrel. We''re all safe!" Jake shouted back.


    Jake is the first to look inside the barrel. He reaches in and pulls out a handful of soggy papers.


    "What is that?"


    "They''re musical scores," another demon says, taking the papers from Jake. "But they''re too wet and old to read anything, except one word: Diabolus."


    "It doesn''t matter, no one here''s a musician. What else is in there?"


    Ajah sticks his hand into the barrel and pulls out an object. He screams and throws it away.


    "Geez, Ajah, what was it?" Moldih asks, startled.


    "I-I think it was a human skull."


    The demons laugh.


    "A human skull? In Hell? Yeah, right."


    Moldih reaches into the barrel, too, and pulls out one last item. It''s wrapped in red cloth. When he unwraps it, he finds an old tape recorder.


    "Oh, it''s just an old recorder. How exciting... Some musician threw a barrel into the water, is that it?"


    The recorder looks ancient, a standard model from the ''80s, scratched and worn. The buttons were faded, with only the play button still legible.


    "What a stupid thing..."


    "Well, at least we can sell it and make some money on the side. Some people love old stuff," Ajah says, shrugging.


    "Does this thing still work?" another demon asks.


    "Well, there''s only one way to find out," Moldih replies, pressing the play button.

 4. The Bloody Cat Gig Pt 1

    Everyone assumes that being an Overlord automatically makes your life more exciting. Perhaps that''s true for some-those who revel in exerting power, taking candy from a baby, or using their title to pick up free prostitutes while laughing maniacally at three in the morning. But for Sir Clockhauser, the title of Overlord is nothing more than an obligation, a burden he carries without enthusiasm or pride.


    For him, life revolves around a single purpose: work. He works to keep Hell''s Gate City functioning. There''s no time for relationships, no interest in sex, and certainly no inclination to save anyone from drowning. To Sir Clockhauser, life is about control through manipulation and the monotony of sitting at his desk, day in and day out, ensuring everything runs like a clock, precise, as time always is.


    4. The Bloody Cat Gig Pt 1.


    Night finally cloaked the polluted metropolis, casting a dim, hazy glow over Hell''s Gate City. Inside Overlord Sir Clockhauser''s office, everything proceeded as it always did-efficiently and without disruption.


    The Overlord meticulously reviewed the day''s financial reports, his sharp eyes scanning for any inconsistencies or signs of fraud.


    "Seventy... and eight thousand," he muttered, holding a document in one hand while typing figures into his computer with the other, his focus unwavering.


    Aside from the distant hum of the industries and the soft whir of the air conditioning, the only sounds in the room were the rhythmic scribbling of pencils and pens on paper, and the steady ticking of an old clock on the wall. Every now and then, the Overlord would stand to stretch his legs, his movements deliberate and measured, avoiding any muscle strain despite his watch head being unattached to his body.


    When night falls and the factories of the Sea of Pride wind down-though never entirely-Hell''s Gate City doesn''t grow any quieter. The streets come alive with music, and the city''s strange nightlife flourishes. Casinos and restaurants buzz with activity, boarded-up shops seem almost forgotten under the neon glow, and the shimmering lights reflecting off the canal waters offer an odd sense of comfort to its citizens. The canals teem with boats, the sidewalks and bridges crowded with demons eager to shake off the day''s grind. For those who spend their days toiling in factories, the night offers a fleeting escape-a chance to lose themselves in drinks from the countless bars, whether floating on the canals or nestled along the streets. But if you are looking for more ''Adult'' entertainment, feel free to visit brothels that roam the city, Who never stay in the same place for long, helping with the mystery marketing of their indugent services.


    Hell''s Gate City always has something to offer, but caution is key. Don''t let yourself be fooled, or you might find demons emerging from the dark waters to snatch your belongings before disappearing back into the depths. And if you''re drinking, watch your step-falling into the canals could mean getting run over by a passing boat before you even realize what''s happened.


    "And that''s it," said the Overlord, reclining in his chair as he surveyed the towering stack of completed documents on his desk. "Seven hundred documents in one day. I think that''s a new record."


    The clock demon turned his head toward the antique clock hanging on the wall, its hands precisely aligned to mark seven o''clock in the evening.


    "I''m professional," he remarked. Leaning forward, he pressed a small button beneath his desk.


    "Dazzle, bring in the cart," he commanded.


    A few seconds later, Dazzle, Sir Clockhauser''s imp assistant, entered the office, pushing a platform cart.


    "Any news?" the Overlord asked, turning off his computer.


    "You''ve outdone yourself again, Boss," Dazzle replied, handing the Overlord a steaming cup of coffee. "The bank''s revenue surpassed expectations, and Hell30 is projected to close today with an approximate growth of 0.05 points."


    With practiced efficiency, the imp began loading the stack of papers onto the cart.


    "Geez... This whole situation with the Collapse of pride is driving me insane," Sir Clockhauser muttered, taking a sip of his coffee-a peculiar sight, given that he had no mouth at least a not visible one.


    "I understand, sir, but as you always say, it''s inevitable," Dazzle replied, finishing stacking the papers onto the cart.


    The Overlord glanced at the Lucifer bobblehead sitting on his desk. With a flick of his finger, he sent its head wobbling from side to side.


    "It''s hard to explain the obvious to someone who refuses to listen," he mused. "But in the end, it''s just a matter of time."


    With that, the Overlord stood up from his chair, his movements precise and deliberate.


    "Do I have anything on my agenda tonight?" asked Sir Clockhauser, adjusting his tie and taking another sip of coffee.


    Dazzle pulled a clipboard from the cart and scanned the list of the Overlord''s commitments.


    "You have a dinner meeting with Miss Fraise at the Bloody Cat Gig," the Imp reported.


    "Anything else?"


    "No, sir," Dazzle replied, shaking his head.


    The Overlord sighed, setting his coffee cup down. He walked toward the door, his movements as precise as the ticking of a clock.


    "Lock everything up when you''re done, and call my driver. Have her waiting at the docks as usual," Sir Clockhauser instructed while opening the door.


    "Yes, sir. Have a great night," Dazzle responded enthusiastically.


    "You too, Dazzle. See you tomorrow," the Overlord replied with a small nod before stepping out.


    He strode down the corridor, flanked by thrle portraits of notable figures from both Hell and Heaven, Not even the Overlord himself knows why these paintings are there but he never complained. The hallway was brightly lit, ensuring the paintings stood out sharply against the pristine white walls and the architectural elegance of the rest of the bank. In truth, the Pentagram Bank resembled an imposing French chateau, with its pale walls and refined construction radiating opulence and grandeur. This starkly contrasted with the gray, lifeless office of the Overlord, who was not only the CEO of the bank but also seemed almost disconnected from the splendor of the very building he oversaw.


    Sir Clockhauser walked through the hallway, passing by Dazzle''s desk before finally reaching the elevator. However, instead of taking it, he turned left and opted for the stairs, descending the many floors of the bank. He did this deliberately, knowing he spent most of his day seated and needing the activity to stretch his legs.


    After several minutes of descending the stairs, the Overlord finally arrived on the ground floor of the bank, the place where infernal monotony met financial management. As soon as he stepped off the stairs, nearly every demon in the area turned their attention toward him. Transactions halted at the ATMs, clerks and reception staff paused, and even the customers couldn''t help but glance in his direction. Sir Clockhauser sighed once more, his shoulders slumping as he slowly made his way toward the revolving doors. He may have been leaving the bank, but the Pentagram Bank never stopped; it operated 24/7.


    Sir Clockhauser passed through the revolving doors, stepping into the stream of demons rushing in and out of the bank. Despite his imposing height and distinctive clock-like head, no one paid him any mind. Everyone was too focused on their own financial woes, rushing to solve their problems and leave as quickly as possible. After all, that was the purpose of a bank. Only when boredom crept in did anyone stop to notice their surroundings.


    Descending the front staircase toward the garden in front of the bank, Gurnesh tending a bed of vibrant red flowers. As the Overlord was heading out to leave the Garden and go to the Docks, Gurnesh straightened up, leaning on his hoe drawing the Overlord''s attention.


    "Good evening, Mr. Clockhauser," Gurnesh greeted politely. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    "Good evening, Gurnesh. Did you get treatment for those hives?" the Overlord replied, pulling a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his overcoat.


    "Not yet. You know how it is-health insurance here sucks," Gurnesh replied, rolling his eyes.


    "I completely understand," Sir Clockhauser said, lighting a cigarette and bringing it to where his mouth would presumably be on his clock-like face. The cigarette seemed to hover on the surface of the clock, a surreal sight. "If you need to take time off for treatment, don''t hesitate to ask. I want the best for my employees."


    Gurnesh nodded appreciatively.


    "And how are things in the garden?" the Overlord continued, exhaling smoke that dissipated into the evening air. "Anyone try to poison the plants again?"


    "No, sir. After you beheaded one of those rioters in the public square, the rest never dared come back. The garden''s been immaculate ever since!" Gurnesh said with a hint of pride.


    He then removed his blue gardening gloves, slinging them over his shoulder, and began scratching at the red spots on his hands.


    "Ugh, I''ll tell you, sir, that poison was top quality," Gurnesh added with a grimace, grunting while scratching.


    "Well I guess so... Anyway I have to go, see you tomorrow Gurnesh."


    "Until tomorrow sir, have a great night." Waving to Sir Clockhauser who waves back.


    The Overlord strolled through the meticulously maintained garden, heading toward the bank''s docks. In Hell''s Gate City, where canals replaced traditional roads, docks served as the primary mode of transit, much like parking lots elsewhere.


    As he passed the bank''s imposing facade, his gaze drifted to the polluted metropolis. In the distance, the shadowy outlines of factories loomed, shrouded in the perpetual haze of industrial smog. Their silhouettes were softened by the nighttime gloom, but the glow of city lights shimmered across the canal waters and reflected off the polished surface of Sir Clockhauser''s head.


    Pausing momentarily by the canal''s edge, he took in the view. Despite its flaws, this city-his city-was thriving. For Sir Clockhauser, watching its prosperity unfold was a salve for the monotony of his work. Endless forms, calculations, and the relentless grind of his office all felt worthwhile in these moments of quiet reflection.


    Yet, Hell''s Gate City was far from perfect. Crime, drugs, and the troubles that come with hell are found around every corner. But at night, these blemishes seemed muted, suffocated by the neon haze and submerged in the icy depths of the canals. By day, they were veiled by plumes of industrial smoke-a perpetual dance of chaos and concealment, creating something unique and beautiful in the monotony of infernal chaos and industrial noise.


    Upon reaching the docks and passing another mob of demons some curious about his presence, others just ignoring him heading towards the bank, Sir Clockhauser sees a parked boat and goes to it.


    The boat wasn''t particularly large, nor did it need to be. Its sleek design resembled a speedboat, though its enclosed roof and elongated structure gave it the appearance of a compact limousine. The tinted windows provided privacy, while the entire vessel gleamed with a pristine white finish accented by brown detailing along the doors and window frames.


    The hull, painted a pearlescent black, mirrored the rippling surface of the water, lending an air of sophistication to the vessel. Its rear engine, high-beam headlights, and additional touches made it unmistakably unique. On the front of the hull, bold lettering read HG700 Speedboat - Hell''s Motore, with the Overlord''s name etched neatly beneath it in striking white font-a symbol of understated power and prestige.


    As he approached, the backseat doors of the boat swung open automatically. He stepped inside, and they closed behind him with a soft click, revealing the luxurious interior.


    The cabin was pristine, illuminated by two discreet floor lamps on either side. The floor featured a meticulously maintained white carpet, beneath which a polished wooden surface gleamed faintly. The windows, darkened from the outside for privacy, allowed a clear view from within and could be lowered or raised with buttons, much like those in a car.


    At the rear of the cabin, a bench with flawless white upholstery accented by red stripes provided a comfortable seat. The armrests featured cup holders and a built-in ashtray for convenience. Mounted in the corner was a sleek television, while the center of the cabin housed a small table stocked with jars of snacks and candies. Opposite the table sat another bench, designed more like a plush sofa for added comfort with a window a little above which could be opened by the driver by pressing a button on the control panel.


    To complete the setup, a beer cooler stood neatly alongside a compartment filled with fine wines and crystal glasses-a touch of elegance befitting an Overlord who worked tirelessly and deserved moments of indulgence in such refined surroundings.


    The Overlord settled into the backseat, taking a slow drag from his cigarette before placing it in the ashtray. Smoke curled out from the edges of his clock face, drifting into the cabin without ever passing through his lungs.


    The driver''s window slid open, and an excited female voice broke the silence.


    "Good evening, Mr. Clock. Any commitments for tonight?"


    The Overlord leaned back, reclining until he was nearly lying down on the cushioned seat.


    "I have a dinner with Myrella-a business dinner, obviously," he said, picking up the TV remote. "Take me to the Bloody Cat Gig, please, Jane."


    The driver let out a light laugh. "Dinner with Miss Fraise? Hah! Conversations between Overlords never end well. Think she''ll try to get you into bed again, boss?"


    "I hope not... but you know how succubosses are," Sir Clockhauser replied, casually reaching for the jar of sweets on the table.


    "Got it! Bloody Cat Gig, here we go!"


    The window slid shut, and with a low hum, the boat eased away from the bank docks, gliding into the dark waters of the city.


    At night, the canals of Hell''s Gate City are always teeming with boats, creating a chaotic scene that resembles a floating vision of hell. It''s both impressive and expected-after all, the city lacks asphalt or dirt roads for cars, trucks, or motorcycles for obvious reasons. The only real land connection to the Pride Ring is at the city''s entrance, but those roads are short and rarely busy. After all, who would willingly visit a polluted metropolis floating on water?


    Hell''s Gate City was constructed on a series of small islands near the Sea of Pride. Some of these islands are natural, while others are artificial, designed to optimize urban planning. The boat traffic jams have given rise to a unique practice among the city''s criminals, who often leap from boat to boat in daring escapes from their pursuers.


    Inside the boat, the Overlord turned on the television while snacking on some sweets. It was almost time for his favorite program, Saturday Night Sins, a hugely popular talk show in Hell. The only odd thing about it was that, despite its name, the show aired every Friday and Wednesday-never on Saturday-according to Inferno Television''s schedule.


    After a brief commercial break, the program resumed. Following its signature introduction, the camera focused on a centipede demon. His slightly reddish skin shimmered under the studio lights, and he wore a suit that covered only half of his massive body, which stood over seven and a half feet tall when fully extended. Curled comfortably behind a wooden desk engraved with the show''s name, the demon''s many legs also functioned as arms, shuffling through papers. Completing his eccentric appearance was a comically small top hat perched on his head.


    "Welcome back to another edition of the


    Saturday Night Sins! After the day we''ve all had, good evening to those heading home wondering if tomorrow might be the day an angel finally find you. Sit back and enjoy the rest of tonight''s show on your Television, Radio wherever you are watching. That said, let''s get started," the demon said, clearing his throat. "Good evening, Pride Ring. My name is Guilhamor, and tonight I have the distinct honor of interviewing a demon whose work has brought entertainment to all through his incredible books. If you''ve already guessed who it is, congratulations. If not, please welcome our guest."


    The camera zoomed out from Guilhamor''s face, revealing the vibrant set and a sofa where a gargoyle demon sat. His dark, stony skin contrasted with the rich velvet of his suit, and his lifeless red eyes glimmered faintly under the studio lights. The gargoyle laughed warmly, waving to the applauding audience as the show''s theme song played.


    "Hulian Fearwing!" Guilhamor announced, raising one of his many hands to quiet the audience. Lowering his voice, he continued, "It''s a pleasure to have you here tonight on my show to talk about your career as an author."


    "The pleasure is all mine Mr. Guilhamor, I''m a big fan of your program so it''s an honor for me to be here."


    "I can say the same about you," the centipede demon replied, flashing a wide smile. "And, I don''t want to spoil any surprises, but... I heard you have a new project to announce tonight! I''m especially excited because, from what I''ve heard, it''s the sequel to a book that, if I may brag a little, I happen to own an autographed hardcover version of."


    "Hehehe, take it easy there, you''re getting ahead of yourself," the gargoyle demon said, leaning forward.


    The audience laughed, and the gargoyle paused, suddenly realizing his slip-up, which made him a bit uneasy.


    "I apologize for that. It''s just that I''m really excited and looking forward to it. But you''re right," he continued, "Tell me, Hulian, what are some of the biggest challenges you face as a writer in Hell?"


    "Well... That''s a tough question to answer," Hulian replied, pausing for a moment. "But if I had to sum it up, I''d say it''s finding the reader."


    "Finding the reader? What do you mean by that?"


    "Well, in Hell, it''s hard to find your audience. Demons don''t read as much as they used to, or they''re only interested in, let''s say, more... adult material. My stories are light, with action and romance. It''s tough to get recognized here with that type of literature. There''s a lot of prejudice against it."


    "You''ve mentioned something similar in your autobiography, and I''d say that was one of the biggest hurdles early in your career."


    "No, no," Hulian laughed. "My biggest problem wasn''t that. It was actually finding a publisher. No one wanted to take a gamble on a gargoyle who wanted to write."


    The audience chuckled, and the gargoyle continued, "But after I paid to publish my first book, everything started to change."


    "You paid to publish your first book? Geez, why did you did that?"


    "The answer is simple-lack of confidence in my work," Hulian said with a shrug. "I''ve said it before, no one wants to bet on a gargoyle author, so I had to pay for the first print run to convince the printer that they wouldn''t lose out too much. I laughed a lot when Infernal Tales of Cisplatina hit number one on the bestseller list for four weeks in a row."


    The interview continued as Sir Clockhauser watched intently, nibbling on the treats from the passenger cabin table-treats that simply vanished the moment they touched his clock face. While he was immersed in the program, the driver''s window slid open.


    "Hey, boss, we''re here. Good luck out there."


    The Overlord let out a deep sigh, switched off the television, and carefully placed the jar of sweets back on the table. Rising from his seat, he brushed off his coat and exited the boat as the doors opened, stepping onto a sea dock.


    The sounds of the city, previously muffled by the insulated cabin and the TV, now filled the air. The cacophony of Hell''s Gate City returned-only this time, instead of the industrial hum, it was music that dominated the night. Some demons turned to glance at the Overlord curiously, but he paid them no mind, letting out another sigh as he made his way toward the cockpit of his boat.


    The cockpit window slid open, revealing the driver. Her green hair, streaked with oil, fell messily around her face, while her jacket hung over a skull-printed shirt, paired with denim shorts. She stared directly at the imposing figure blocking the faint glow of the city''s neon lights behind him.


    "Hi, boss," she said with a grin, flashing sharp teeth, one of which was chipped. "Need anything else?"


    The Overlord pulled a wallet from his coat pocket, extracted several banknotes, and handed them to her. "This might take a while. Here''s three hundred souls-buy yourself something to eat while you wait."


    The driver took the money, her grin widening. "Soon, I''ll start to think you like me," she teased with a chuckle.


    He sighed once more as the window closed. Turning away, he walked across the slightly unsteady platform. These floating docks, tethered to a massive boat, swayed gently underfoot, but the Overlord didn''t care.


    As he walked, some demons came and saw him at the docks, most of them wealthy and pompous demons, the classic type that Sir Clockhauser has to deal with every day.


    "I won''t waste my time for nothing, Myrella," muttered the Overlord as he made his way toward the entrance.


    The vessel was massive, a grand steamboat with a design seemingly frozen in the 1940s. Moored in the center of the canal, its hull was painted black, while the upper structure gleamed in deep red. Towering spotlights pierced the polluted skies of Hell''s Gate City, casting an almost ethereal glow on the boat, a stark contrast to its gritty surroundings.


    The exterior radiated luxury, but unlike the Pentagram Bank''s cold, functional elegance, this ship oozed indulgence. It was tailored for demons to escape their monotony through the typical vices of Hell, it was a temple to temptation, housing a casino, a restaurant, a bar but the main thing was a Jazz club famous throughout all hell.


    The Overlord approached the entrance, where even the doors were adorned with glowing lights. He frowned slightly. The chaotic opulence and unrestrained energy of the place unsettled him. His sterile office, with its dull predictability, felt worlds apart from this floating carnival of indulgence.


    Ignoring the long line of demons waiting to get in, he strode directly to the door. The security guards stationed there noticed him but didn''t make any attempt to stop or question him, for them it was the best thing to do.


    As he took a few steps inside, the pulsating rhythm of jazz swelled around him. Glancing upward, the Overlord''s gaze fell upon a grand, illuminated sign hanging above the stairs leading to the upper deck.


    Welcome to the Bloody Cat Gig Jazz Club.


    "Here we go..."

 5. The Bloody Cat Gig Pt 2

    Money, for some, is everything. For others, it''s what defines them. Material arrogance has become the new law, and powerful entities will always find a way to exploit it-whether inside the Bloody Cat Gig or anywhere else. This truth permeates all beings: demons, angels, humans, or otherwise. But what truly defines right and wrong? Morality?


    A deity decides whether you''ll endure pleasure or pain for eternity, trapping us in a purgatory of feelings and reason. Arbitrary decisions no one dares to question-because payment doesn''t always come in the form of money. Many believe themselves superior simply because it was ''God''s will.'' So, the pursuit of ego continues.


    Plato argued that philosophers were superior because they were the only ones who understood the nature of the world. Angels see themselves as superior for guiding humanity and be pure, while humans claim their supremacy lies in material wealth and by the ability to have morals. Does consciousness breed arrogance? If so, perhaps the best response is to write an alternative album about it.


    5. The Bloody Cat Gig Pt 2.


    After climbing the stairs and arriving at The upper deck, the Overlord approached the reception desk, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, faintly tinged with the ever-present pollution and smoke of Hell''s Gate City. That subtle, almost imperceptible scent served as a reminder of where they were-a metropolis that never let you forget its infernal nature.


    "Excuse me," the Overlord said, placing his gloved hands on the counter.


    Behind it, an Imp sat shuffling through papers. Upon noticing the towering figure looming above, the Imp froze, his eyes widening in terror as he craned his neck to take in the full view of the Overlord.


    "S-Sir... C-CLOCKHAUS-E-ER!" the Imp stuttered, trembling so hard the papers in his hands fluttered to the floor. The glowing sign above illuminated every sharp detail of the Overlord''s presence, making him even more nervous.


    "Uhh... Yes? I have an appointment with Myrella. Didn''t she inform you?" the Overlord asked, his tone calm but tinged with confusion at the Imp''s reaction.


    "M-Miss Fraise mentioned you''d be coming, b-but she didn''t say it would be tonight-especially during my shift!" The Imp''s tail twitched nervously, and beads of sweat formed on his brow.


    "I''ve never seen you here before. Are you new?"


    "I-I work in the kitchen," the Imp stammered, trying to steady his voice. "I''m just filling in for the receptionist while she''s on break."


    "I see," the Overlord replied with a small nod. "Well, it doesn''t matter. There''s a long line outside, and I don''t want to get in the way anymore. Let Myrella know I''m here."


    "Y-Yes, sir. I''ll let her know." The Imp replied, picking up the phone.


    Satisfied, the Overlord turned to leave. However, just before he stepped away, he paused and twisted his clock-like head back toward the Imp without moving his body.


    "One more thing," he said in a low, menacing voice.


    "Y-Yes?" the Imp asked, trembling even more.


    "Boo!"


    The Imp let out a shriek and toppled off his chair, landing in a heap on the floor. The Overlord chuckled softly, his laugh echoing faintly.


    "Why so much fear? What are they saying about me in the streets?" he mused, shaking his head lightly. "Actually... it''s probably better I don''t know." With that, he strode away, his footsteps loud as he walked into the club, the red neon lights illuminating his shoulders.


    As he stepped into the upper deck, the Overlord felt a wave of disgust wash over him. The place embodied everything he despised, a direct reflection of its owner. The walls were painted in a faded pink that had dulled into a weak, lifeless gray over time. The narrow corridor leading in was equally worn, its age apparent in every crack and scuff.


    But as he exited the corridor, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Sir Clockhauser found himself in a large, bustling restaurant. Directly ahead, a grand stage dominated the space, where a jazz band played a soothing melody similar to the one played on Veildark Records.


    The room itself was expansive, with tables scattered across the floor, nearly all of them occupied. The polished floor gleamed under the light of ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, their soft glow casting a sophisticated ambiance over the crowd. Red velvet curtains adorned the windows and draped behind the stage, framing the performers. Spotlights positioned in front of the band illuminated the singer, drawing attention to their soulful performance without overshadowing the rest of the musicians.


    Sir Clockhauser''s gaze shifted to the band. The demon singing at the center of the stage was strikingly handsome, his light-colored suit accentuating his appearance. He was performing a song titled A bottle of cheap Blues, a old composition made by a blind demon whose name Sir Clockhauser couldn''t quite recall.


    Sir Clockhauser approached the hostess, a Hellhound with soft white fur dressed in an elegant suit adorned with a rose in the left pocket. Her glasses rested neatly on her nose as she stood behind the host stand, the restaurant''s reservation book open before her.


    "Good evening, Mr. Clockhauser," she greeted warmly, bowing slightly in respect. Her tail swayed gently from side to side. "Are you here tonight for dinner with Miss Myrella, or is there another service you''re seeking on this vessel?"


    "Well, you nailed it on the first try. I''m here looking for Myrel-"


    "Looking for me?" interrupted a voice, cutting off Sir Clockhauser mid-sentence.


    The Overlord turned to see her-a Succubus with vibrant pink skin and a distressed, twitching tail. She was dressed in a tailored white coat with pink accents, The buttons were shaped like hearts cut in half. The coat clung snugly to her figure, accentuating every curve. She paired it with pink boots and white knee-high socks, while her face bore scars that added an air of intrigue to her striking beauty. Her appearance was almost paradoxical-at once relic-like in its agelessness and yet exuding an almost youthful vitality.


    "Myrella, I should have guessed you''d appear like this," said the clockmaker demon, slipping his hands into his pockets.


    "The receptionist told me you''d arrived, so I came straight over," she replied, her tone smooth.


    "Impressi-" Sir Clockhauser began, but was abruptly cut off as Myrella threw her arms around him in a sudden embrace.


    "It''s so good to see you!" she exclaimed, holding him tightly. "It''s nearly impossible to drag you out of that office." She leaned in even closer, adding with a teasing smile, "I''ve been waiting for this dinner for two weeks."


    "S-Stop it, you walking hormone bomb," he stammered, squirming as he attempted, unsuccessfully, to push Myrella away.


    "Come on, I''m not doing anything wrong, plus you smell so good... The smell of a hard worker," she chuckles lightly, "Make me so horny..." She adds biting her lips.


    Clockhauser firmly grasped Myrella''s head, peeling her off him as if she were a stubborn sticker. Holding her at arm''s length, he brought the Succubus closer to his face.


    "I''m here for business, Myrella. Business," he said pointedly. "And besides, you and I both know that will never happen."


    "It doesn''t hurt to try," Myrella replied, flashing a seductive smile.


    "Ugh, you''re impossible," he grumbled.


    "You bring it out in me," she teased.


    The Overlord sighed in exasperation, finally letting her go. Myrella turned her back to him, adjusting her coat with an air of triumph. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    "Fine, fine. If you want to talk business we will talk business," she said. Then, glancing at the Hellhound hostess, she continued, "Cirvane, is our table ready as I requested?"


    "Yes, ma''am," Cirvane replied calmly, her tail wagging slightly. "Table 4 in the VIP section, near the window, just as ordered."


    "Perfect! Follow me, accountant," Myrella said with a playful smirk, gesturing for Sir Clockhauser to join her.


    The two start walking around the restaurant. bringing the eyes of several demons to the scene. After all, it''s not every day that you see two Overlords in the same place.


    "Is it normal for you to attract so much attention?" Clockhauser asked, following Myrella past the tables, his towering 8-foot frame looming like a wall behind her comparatively smaller 6.5-foot figure.


    "Of course it is. Look at me," Myrella replied with a confident grin. "Most of the male demons here practically devour me with their eyes. And sometimes," she added with a sly tone, "I have to pay attention to them. After all, I''m still a Succubus-I need it to survive." She then laughs lightly, "But none of them compare to you. They see girls as nothing more than objects, they fall for the most basic tricks," Myrella said with a smirk. "But you... Well, you are special."


    "I don''t have time for this kind of thing," Clockhauser replied with a sigh. "You need to understand my reasons. This isn''t the first time we''ve had this conversation, and knowing you, I doubt it''ll be the last."


    Myrella groaned, rolling her eyes. "Gosh, sometimes you''re so boring. Don''t you ever take time for yourself? Go out, drink something strong, anything? With you, it''s always work, work, and more work. So fucking boring."


    "I... Make watches in my spare time," Clockhauser replied matter-of-factly.


    Myrella stared at him with wide eyes, her expression turning serious.


    "That''s exactly why you''re in the B.B.H. category."


    "What would B.B.H. be?" Clockhauser asked, genuinely confused.


    "Boring, Bland, and Hot," she replied, placing a hand on her chin in mock contemplation. "That''s where I classify men who are hot but boring as hell. Actually... you''re the only one in that category."


    Sir Clockhauser sighed deeply, and they continued walking toward a more secluded part of the restaurant, heading toward a metal door with a digital card lock.


    "You still have your club membership card?"


    Clockhauser didn''t respond.


    "It makes sense." Myrella muttered, pulling a red keycard from her pocket and swiping it through the scanner, causing the door to open.


    Myrella passed through the door with ease, but Clockhauser had to crouch slightly to fit through. As they Ascend the very well-kept staircase painted nearly the same shade as her skin, he couldn''t help but comment.


    "I still wonder why you made the staircase almost your color."


    "The boat is mine; that''s your answer," she replied, glancing down with a hint of embarrassment before adding softly, "Besides, I think it''s cute..."


    "Whatever..." Clockhauser muttered, brushing off her comment as they walked side by side.


    Upon reaching the upper floor, he found himself in a section overlooking the restaurant below. From the edges, he could see the the demons dining at the tables and the band playing on stage. This level was far more exclusive, reserved for the already mentioned elite demons Clockhauser often dealt with. The atmosphere was quieter, with warm, subdued lighting, and a large bar stood prominently to the left of the VIP lounge.


    "This way," Myrella said, taking Clockhauser''s hand without hesitation and leading him through the upscale area to a private table near a window.


    The table was set with a pristine white cloth embroidered with the club''s name in bold red. A lit candle flickered softly at its center, surrounded by neatly arranged napkins and other standard restaurant settings.


    Myrella settled herself near the window, while Clockhauser, due to his imposing size, struggled to fit comfortably into the chair opposite her. Myrella chuckled softly at the sight, her amusement contrasting with Clockhauser''s clear discomfort.


    She snapped her fingers, and moments later, a waiter appeared, carrying a tray with a bottle of wine and a single glass. The waiter silently placed the bottle on the table, opened it, poured a generous amount into the glass, and then departed without a word.


    Myrella picked up the glass, sipped the wine casually, and set it back on the table with a playful smirk.


    "I won''t bother offering you a drink," she teased. "You''re so boring, you probably don''t even drink."


    "I don''t have the time or inclination to get drunk," Clockhauser replied dryly. "The only wine I touch is non-alcoholic."


    "Ugh, boring..." She rolled her eyes, then smirked and added, "But I know your ultra-fancy boat has wine and beer stocked up."


    "Not for me," he clarified, his tone steady. "It''s for my guests. Negotiations are easier when the other party is drunk... Although sometimes it makes it more difficult."


    "It makes sense, I guess... Anyway, how are things at your bank?" Myrella asked, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers.


    "Do you really want to talk about this?" Clockhauser leaned forward slightly, Her face being reflected on the surface of Clockhauser Face.


    "To be honest, no."


    "That''s what I thought," he replied, sitting back in his chair. "Let''s just say the economy keeps turning, and time keeps ticking."


    "I''ll pretend I understand," she said with a sly grin. "Look, I know you''re all about pragmatism, but life isn''t just about paperwork and accounting forms. Governing is much more than that, and that''s why I''m here."


    "You''re right," Clockhauser admitted with a nod. "And that''s why I value your services, Myrella. But you know very well I didn''t come here for idle chatter."


    With a smirk, Myrella snapped her fingers. The waiter returned promptly, and she leaned over to whisper something in his ear before he departed swiftly.


    "You know, ever since that archangel broke your clock hands, you''ve become colder," Myrella said, her tone softening.


    Suddenly, an unnervingly loud clock tick echoed through the Boat. The hands on Clockhauser''s face shifted slightly, now showing 2 AM.


    "A-Alright, I won''t talk about it..." Myrella muttered, quickly averting her gaze.


    After a few seconds, Clockhauser abruptly rose from his chair, taking his hand to the face and letting out a pained scream. The sudden outburst caught the attention of everyone in the lounge.


    "Clo-Clockhauser!" Myrella cried out, rushing toward the Accounting Overlord as he steadied himself and got back on his feet.


    Clockhauser took a deep breath, before finally meeting Myrella''s concerned gaze.


    "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice filled with worry.


    "Let''s just get this over with, okay?" he replied curtly, brushing off the moment.


    "Okay..." she muttered, still uneasy.


    The two then returned to their seats, the tension between them now heavier than before.


    "So, let''s get down to business," Clockhauser said, pulling a cigarette from inside his overcoat and lighting it with a flick of his fingers.


    Meanwhile, in the Solis district-one of the five sprawling areas of Hell''s Gate City-the Imp named Dazzle was unwinding in his apartment after a long day at work. He had finally shed the tight suit he always insisted on wearing, convinced it made him look more professional than he felt. He was only in his underwear.


    In fact, this was a common result of how Hell''s Gate City operated. The price of land was exorbitantly high, as the city was essentially a sprawling conglomeration of islands with the only real connection to land being in the Hellquiem district and the Sea of Pride. Proper houses were a rarity, with most of the population living in apartments or compact residences. The Solis district, however, was a notable exception. Predominantly residential, it boasted more houses than other districts, though buildings and apartments still dominated the landscape.


    The apartment was spacious by Hell''s Gate City standards, featuring a kitchen, living room, bathroom, and bedroom. The walls were well-maintained, recently refreshed with a new coat of paint. The Imp sat comfortably on his couch, eating vanilla ice cream straight from the tub with a spoon. His eyes were glued to the television, tuned to a soap opera titled Demons by the Sea.


    "''No, you don''t understand, I have to do this for the future of the company," said a demon standing dramatically at the entrance of a mansion.


    "''But, love, you''d be sacrificing everything your family has built,'' replied a demoness, clutching his hands desperately.


    "''You need to understand, Leonora. I''m doing this for our future," He said, gently caressing her face.


    The Imp sniffled, wiping away a stray tear with his free hand. "He''s sacrificing everything for her!" he exclaimed, voice quivering with emotion. Shoving another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, he mumbled through the cold treat, ''This is beautiful.''"


    Suddenly, Dazzle''s phone started vibrating on the back of the couch.


    "Uhh... Who''s calling me at this time?" he muttered, reaching over to grab the device. Without bothering to check the caller ID, he placed it to his ear.


    "Good evening, this is Dazzle, the best secretary from Pentagram Bank speaking," he answered in a cheerful tone.


    On the other end, a rushed and slightly panicked voice-likely a night operator from the Sea of Pride gates-spoke rapidly. Dazze replied "Yes... Boat!? Didn''t respond!? Death!?", leaving Dazzle''s expression shifting to one of worry.


    Back at the Bloody Cat Gig, Sir Clockhauser casually smoked a cigarette, the faint trail of smoke curling upward as he continued his conversation with Myrella.


    On the table, a variety of dishes were neatly arranged: a plate of pork, rice, spaghetti, and a salad with mashed potatoes sat in front of each of them. A second bottle of wine sat unopened next to one that was nearly empty. Clockhauser ate with meticulous calmness, bringing a forkful of mashed potatoes close to his face where it vanished, accompanied by the faint sounds of chewing. Myrella, meanwhile, seemed unbothered, more focused on her food and the alcohol, eating with reckless abandon as her cheeks flushed from the effects of the wine.


    "That''s why I believe your participation will be essential for the preparations for this year''s Extermination," Clockhauser said smoothly, setting his fork down with practiced precision, aligning it perfectly with the edge of his plate.


    "Using my club as a shelter? I don''t think that''s a good idea. I already deal with enough chaos as it is," Myrella replied, her tone slurring slightly but still retaining a measure of sharpness.


    "I understand your concerns," Clockhauser acknowledged, adjusting his posture slightly. "But you know how it is-When the big day approaches, the value of home insurance skyrockets. Besides, it''s a practical solution. Honestly, I''ve never understood why the angels bother coming here. Hell''s Gate City has never had a problem with overpopulation."


    "They don''t care, it''s all about killing us or rubbing false morality in our faces." Myrella responds slightly irritated.


    "I understand-", He starts to say but his phone starts to vibrate cutting him mid-sentence. Glancing at the screen, he saw it was Dazzle calling. With a sigh, he turned to Myrella.


    "Sorry to interrupt our conversation, but I need to use the restroom," he said, already standing.


    Myrella pointed lazily behind him. "Oh sure, it''s over there-those two doors at the back."


    "Thanks," Clockhauser replied curtly before making his way toward the indicated doors.


    As he approached the men''s bathroom, an unpleasant odor wafted through the air, but he ignored it. Opening the door, he squeezed inside, his tall frame making the small, dingy bathroom feel even more cramped. The walls were painted a deep red, matching the ominous aesthetic of Hell, and the dim lighting gave the space a gloomy, oppressive atmosphere.


    Clockhauser closed the lid of the toilet, sat down carefully, and put the phone to his ear.


    "Dazzle, I''m in the middle of something and you know what it is. This better be important," he said, rubbing his temple.


    "I-I know, boss! But something strange happened tonight in the Sea of Pride," Dazzle stammered nervously.


    Clockhauser''s brow furrowed. "Explain."


    "In sector 4, a delivery boat was supposed to arrive at the gates around eight, but it never showed up," Dazzle began.


    "And?" Clockhauser prompted impatiently.


    "The night gate supervisors tried to contact the boat by radio, but there was no response," Dazzle said, his voice growing more anxious. "A team was sent to track it down using its signal, and when they arrived..."


    "What did they find?" Clockhauser leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a lower tone.


    "All the crew members were dead-except for one. He was on the lower deck fixing something. They brought him back and detained him."


    Clockhauser''s eyes narrowed. "Unusual, but not unheard of. Is that all?"


    "No, sir! There''s more!" Dazzle gulped audibly before continuing. "Although the radio communication didn''t work, the team managed to capture some audio from the boat''s transmission. It''s... strange."


    "Strange how?"


    "I-I think it''s better if you hear it yourself, sir."


    "Then play it already," Clockhauser ordered.


    "Y-Yes, sir!" There was a pause before Dazzle played the recording.


    Clockhauser tilted his head but heard only silence. "I''m not hearing anything, Dazzle."


    "Boss, check your phone screen," Dazzle replied, his voice shaking.


    Clockhauser glanced at the screen and noticed Dazzle had sent him the recording as a file. He tapped play, but still, there was nothing.


    "I still hear nothing," he said, growing irritated.


    "Sir, look closely at the audio visualizer."


    Frowning, Clockhauser leaned in, noticing that the visualizer was moving erratically as though something was being played-something loud.


    "This is peculiar to say the least," Clockhauser muttered, his voice heavy with suspicion.


    "Exactly, sir. The audio exists, but for some reason, we can''t hear it," Dazzle explained nervously.


    "And the survivor? He''s being held?"


    "Yes, sir!"


    Clockhauser straightened. "Cancel my afternoon appointments tomorrow. I want to speak with him personally."


    "Understood, sir. Have a good night," Dazzle replied.


    Clockhauser ended the call, staring at the phone in silence for a moment. He took a deep breath, his mind racing, For him, this incident was nothing more than one of the bizarre things that hell produces even in industries, at least that''s what he thought. After all, answers take time to come.

 6. Diabolus in musica

    Diabolus in musica. If you don''t live in a cave or aren''t a complete musical ignoramus, you''ve likely heard this term. It refers to the tritone-a musical interval spanning three whole tones-which was banned in medieval Europe. The church deemed it diabolical, sinister, and corrupting due to its dissonance. The tritone''s effect is particularly fascinating, creating feelings of anxiety and unease in listeners, as it demands resolution.


    But to label an interval ''diabolical'' simply because it''s discordant is, at best, peculiar. Still, if you''ve read this far, warrior of the golden sword, you may have begun to grasp the truth. The Diabolus in musica-the devil in music-does indeed exist. Yet, it isn''t confined to a mere arrangement of notes. It could never be explained by something so simple.


    No, it''s there, woven into actions and interactions, playing in your dreams, invading your thoughts. It lingers, relentless, because the consequences of sin-your sin-can never truly fade. The devil in music will not grant you peace.


    6. Diabolus in musica.


    At Veildark Records, Kain sat in his office on the second floor of the record company.


    The office, though not massive, was tailored perfectly to suit its occupant''s unique needs. The walls were elegantly adorned with rich red fabric, exuding warmth and sophistication. A bookshelf lined with Braille books took up one corner, its contents meticulously organized. Above, a birdcage hung from the ceiling, reserved for Greasy. In the center of the room stood a sturdy wooden desk, its surface marred by claw marks from the crow. Each drawer was equipped with metal plates inscribed in Braille, allowing Kain to identify their contents.


    A shelf displayed various trinkets, while the walls were decorated with a mix of memorabilia: classic posters of legendary Hellish artists and other striking artifacts. The centerpiece of the room, however, was a framed gold record displayed behind a glass case with a padlock, illuminated by a small light. It was Kain Longheart''s first major achievement, earned nearly 50 years ago for the album Sinful Sides of Me. The accompanying album cover depicted a grinning Kain lounging on the hood of a burning limousine, his head resting on his cane.


    Behind the desk, a window offered a clear view of the canal that ran in front of the record company. The floor was designed with subtle, smoother inclines to prevent Kain from inadvertently walking into the walls. Though the office was pristine and extravagantly arranged, Kain often dismissed its aesthetic as unnecessary, arguing that his blindness rendered it irrelevant. Ronnie, however, countered that the lavish design wasn''t for Kain but for the demons visiting the office, ensuring they felt surrounded by luxury.


    Kain now sat in a comfortable armchair behind his desk, speaking on the phone. Beside him, Greasy perched on a red bird stand attached to the armchair, occasionally scratching the underside of his wings with the beak.


    "Yes, sir, of course the concert will go ahead as scheduled, but I can''t just force the artist to sign a guarantee contract. We''re a record label, not a law firm," Kain said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "No, the sponsorship value has already been agreed upon. No, we do not accept payment in pizza."


    "Caw! I accept," Greasy interjected, leaning closer to Kain with a mischievous glint in his eyes.


    "Shut up, Greasy, I''m in the middle of a call," Kain snapped, then quickly addressed the phone. "No, not you, Mortiali-it''s my... associate beside me. Look, you can''t just change the payment method for a contract that''s already been signed."


    He paused, listening with growing irritation, before cutting in. "Alright, let me explain it clearly, and I''m only going to say this once: the concert already has a date and location. You''ve seen the pictures-it''s that beautiful beach in the Solis district. Yes, it''s expensive, but it''s worth every sin-drenched penny."


    Kain shifted in his chair, his tone softening slightly. "Do I intend to expand my operations beyond Hell''s Gate City? Sure, but that''s... complicated right now. What matters is this: I deeply appreciate your decision to sponsor Emizie''s next concert. You can rest assured, this is not a scam. No, there''s no hidden agenda, just old good business. Any other concerns? No? Great. Goodbye."


    He hung up the phone and exhaled deeply, running a hand over his face as if trying to shake off the stress.


    "I don''t even like pizza that much; I prefer lasagna."


    "I eat everything," Greasy responded with a hint of pride.


    "I know, Greasy, I know," Kain replied, placing his hands on the bird and gently petting him. "Cute crow."


    Greasy''s eyes snapped open, and he looked at Kain angrily, pushing his hand away with a sharp nudge.


    "I''m not cute! I''m a powerful demon!" Greasy retorted, flapping his wings dramatically.


    "If you were even a third the size of the Prince of Goetia, maybe you were more intimidating," Kain shot back with a smirk.


    "Are you saying I couldn''t hurt you just because of my size?"


    "Wow, we have a Sherlock Holmes here," Kain replied with a slight laugh.


    Greasy huffed angrily and leapt onto Kain''s face, pecking him ferociously.


    "Stop pecking me, idiot!" Kain shouted, trying to hold back the crow that was pecking him.


    Kain lost his balance and fell off the chair, but he finally managed to immobilize Greasy by pressing him against the floor.


    "Ha, I got you, I win."


    "Caw! Let me go, caw!" Greasy kicked his bird feet, beak pressed against the floor.


    Kain laughed and released him, and Greasy stood up, shaking his feathers.


    "Next time I will win," Greasy declared, flying up and landing on Kain''s head.


    "I''m sure you will," Kain replied with a smirk getting up from the floor.


    Kain then hears knocking on the door.


    "Hey Kain, now that the day is over, is there any way we can go to that hot dog stand?"


    "No," Kain replied, moving towards the door.


    "Why?" Greasy asked.


    "Because I don''t want to. I''m sleepy. Today was a very tiring day, talking to fans and broken studios..."


    Kain opened the door.


    "KAIN!!!!!" Ronnie exclaimed, opening his arms and hugging him.


    "Ronnie, enough, we just met."


    "I know, I know... So how was the conversation with Mortiali? I''m sure this show is going to be amazing! Half of the tickets are already sold out," Ronnie said excitedly.


    "I spent almost an hour explaining the obvious to an Italian demon," Kain said, rubbing his face. "Seriously, is this the best sponsorship you''ve gotten for this show?"


    "Kain, you need to understand that folk music isn''t very popular here. No big brand will sponsor it, and not every artist will have all the support from the world of sponsors even those linked to Veildark Records, making them stars is our job but everyone starts at the bottom. That''s part of the process. But leaving that aside, I spoke to Miss Lumiere about Luxuria Mundi''s marketing plan, and she has something good to show."Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    "E-Exactly, I think I''ve come up with something good," Lumiere responds, carrying some presentation boards.


    "Well, It''s almost the end of my shift, but... Ok, come in," Kain says, stepping aside to let the demons pass.


    As they enter, Kain closes the door and sits back in his chair. Ronnie, instead of sitting down, leans against one of the walls, while Lumiere sets up the presentation boards on the stand. Greasy flies off Kain''s head and enters his cage.


    Lumiere clears her throat and adjusts her posture, adopting a more serious demeanor.


    "As you know, recently, Lenian signed a contract with our record label for a Heavy Metal band that''s very popular in the underground rock scene of Hell''s Gate City," she says in a professional tone, using a pen to point at the board. The board features a drawing highlighting a region in the Solis district known as Villa Inferious, a poorer area within the residential district.


    Kain listened to the situation with a wide, closed-mouth smile, while pretending to look at the board that he didn''t know where it was.


    "That''s why I believe it''s crucial to focus the band''s marketing on this area, not on the more upscale parts of the city, obviously. With Luxuria Mundi under contract, we can leverage their appeal to promote the band within the underground scene of the Pride Ring, expanding their popularity beyond Hell''s Gate City. Now, you might ask me how we accomplish that."


    "How to do it, caw!" Greasy chimes in from his cage.


    "Let''s be honest, they''ll never agree to perform on those overly fancy stages, so the key word here-one that has been repeated before-is..." She pulls out the first presentation board and declares, "Underground.", Pointing to a picture of the band with the pen.


    "Underground? You mean, like... hmmm, spreading the record label''s name through the suburbs?" Kain asked.


    "Exactly," Lumiere replied with confidence. "We''ll build the band''s popularity like an ant colony-starting with the outskirts of Hell''s Gate City. Little by little, even the rich will want to know what all the buzz is about. This is called Guerrilla Marketing. We won''t take the band out of their comfort zone; instead, we''ll brand their name into it."


    "Are you done?" Kain asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "Yes," Lumiere confirmed, standing tall.


    Kain and Ronnie began clapping.


    "Thank you," Lumiere replied, bowing slightly.


    "But... this isn''t just up to me. We need to talk to the band directly about this. We''ll take advantage of their visit tomorrow to discuss it further. From what I see, though, you''ve got a solid plan, Miss Lumiere. I suppose all those years in show business really paid off."


    "Thank you, boss," Lumiere said with a proud smile.


    Kain stood up, walked toward the door, and opened it.


    "Now, if you''ll excuse me, I have to go kill myself again," he said nonchalantly.


    Greasy flew out of his cage and landed on Kain''s shoulder, following him out.


    Kain walked through the halls of Veildark Records, heading toward the stairs. Upon reaching them, he placed his hand on the railing and began descending carefully, with Greasy perched on his shoulder.


    "Caw! It''s gonna be really cool seeing demons coming here to learn about your career. This museum idea is really nice," Greasy commented, flapping his wings lightly for balance.


    "I just hope no one steals anything," Kain replied, moving slowly down the stairs, his grip firm on the metal railing.


    After several steps, Kain reached the reception area and adjusted his glasses. He wasn''t alone. Cinder Lune, the receptionist, was tidying up the desk to wrap up her day, as Lenian leaned back against the reception desk trying to look cool. Rash, the spider demon studio technician, was engrossed in a conversation with a robotic Hellhound. The Hellhound had sleek gray metallic skin, no fur or clothing, two large red eyes on its face, and sharp, menacing teeth.


    Luvenna, the artist manager, was also present, observing Rash as he worked on the Hellhound''s left arm.


    "I''ve told you not to carry so much weight on your own, RB40! Do you want to destroy the hydraulic connection in your arm?" Rash scolded the Hellhound while unscrewing a metal plate from its damaged limb. "I specifically asked you to split the new recording booth window into three parts to make it easier to transport. But no, you just had to carry all three pieces at once. And now look-your arm''s blown out! I''ve warned you a thousand times to take it easy with the old hydraulic joints while I design the new mechanical ones."


    Frustrated, Rash finished his tirade by lightly smacking the Hellhound''s metallic head with the palm of his hand, producing a loud clang. "Idiot," he muttered.


    "I apologize, sir. I believe I miscalculated and overlooked some variables," the Hellhound said in a metallic, robotic voice. Its mouth remained motionless as it spoke.


    "It doesn''t matter what matters is that you are still operational," Rash replied, waving off the apology.


    "Understood, sir," RB40 said, tilting its head forward slightly in acknowledgment.


    "Relax, everything will be fine," Rash reassured, his tone softening.


    He unscrewed a metal plate from the Hellhound''s arm, holding it in one of his extra left hands while gripping a wrench in the other. Leaning closer, he examined the hydraulic mechanism and quickly spotted a leak in the hose. Reaching into the front pocket of his engineer''s robes, Rash retrieved a roll of duct tape. He tore off a piece with his teeth and carefully applied it over the hole.


    "You didn''t lose much fluid; this should hold for now," Rash said, stepping back and screwing the metal plate back into place. With the repairs done, he released the robot''s arm.


    "Does this happen often?" Luvenna asked, eyeing the robot curiously.


    "When you''re dealing with hydraulic mechanics, it certainly does. But RB is a smart robot-I know because I designed it myself, from the ground up," Rash replied, his tone tinged with pride.


    "But why the hell a Hellhound? You could''ve made it look like anything. Why choose a Hellhound?"


    "We''re in Hell, Luvenna. I figured it fit the theme," Rash said with a shrug. "Besides, Hellhound starts with Hell."


    "So, Miss Lune, I was out in town and happened to end up at the cinema," Lenian began, leaning casually on the counter. "There''s this new action film everyone''s been raving about, and when I went to buy a ticket, there was a mix-up, and I ended up with two. If you''d like to join me, I''d be more than happy-after all, you''re a great friend."


    Cinder Lune glanced up at Lenian and replied, "I appreciate the offer, but I can''t go today. I need to clean up at home, I''m going to take advantage of the fact that today wasn''t a very busy day at the record company and rest a little, clean the house, go to the gym, you know, take some time for myself, I think you understand."


    "I suppose so," Lenian muttered, rolling his eyes.


    Suddenly, he felt a light tug on his clothes. Looking down, he saw Vixy.


    Startled, he let out a small shout. "Where did you come from?"


    "Can I go with you?" Vixy asked innocently.


    "No," Lenian replied curtly.


    Meanwhile, Kain walked through the reception area toward the exit, drawing the attention of everyone present.


    "You should shave, Mr. Longheart. Just a suggestion," Rash remarked, slipping a coat onto the robot beside him.


    "I know, I know. Did you finish the studio repairs?"


    "Yes, sir, as promised," Rash replied, then glanced at the Hellhound. "Even though my assistant made a few mistakes."


    "That''s great. So I guess we can get back to our standard label activities," Kain said, running a hand through his hair. He sighed and added, "It''s going to be hard to explain why we had to close the studio for an entire week."


    "It happens. Anyway, I''m off. See you all tomorrow," Rash said, putting on a pair of purple glasses with four lenses before heading out the front door with RB40.


    "Yeah, I''m heading out too," Lenian said, following Rash, attempting to maintain his usual cool demeanor despite looking a bit downcast.


    "LUMIERE!" Luvenna called loudly.


    "I''m coming, I''m coming-damn, sister, no need to shout!" Lumi¨¨re replied, descending the stairs alongside Ronnie.


    Luvenna rolled her eyes, grabbed her sister''s hand, and the two exited through the front door. One by one, all the employees of Veildark Records departed to enjoy the chaotic night of Hell''s Gate City.


    As usual, Kain was the last to stay. When it was finally time for him to leave, Greasy flew to the reception, took the set of keys and placed them in the rhythm demon''s hand. Kain ran his hand over the keys and noticed one that had a different relief, he separated that one from the others and opened the door to leave the record company, but when he was going to leave.


    "Interesting," Ronnie commented, leaning against the wall at the base of the stairs.


    "Ronnie? I thought you had already left," Kain said, his tone calm but uncertain.


    "And you still think you can fool me. After over a century of knowing each other, you still believe that?" Ronnie laughed, though his smile didn''t reach his eyes.


    "What do you mean?"


    Ronnie''s laughter stopped abruptly, his expression shifting to something far more serious.


    "Greasy," Ronnie said firmly. "Take a little flight-this is grown-up talk."


    Sensing the tension in the room, Greasy didn''t hesitate. With a flap of his wings, he flew out the door, leaving the two alone.


    "So," Ronnie began, his voice low, "how long has it been?"


    "I don''t know what you''re talking about-"


    "DON''T TREAT ME LIKE AN IDIOT. YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I''M TALKING ABOUT," Ronnie snapped, his voice reverberating through the space. He exhaled deeply, regaining his composure. "How long has it been happening again?"


    Kain hesitated, his hand brushing against the wall as though seeking support. "About two weeks ago. It started suddenly... no specific reason."


    "The melody of our sins, which is what you call it" Ronnie said with a bitter laugh before his face darkened. "We agreed to never talk about this again."


    "And we don''t talk about it, Ronnie. It''s not my fault. I was just a young demon back then."


    "It is your fault, Kain. And compared to me, you''re still young," Ronnie replied, stepping closer. His tone grew sharper. "You said it yourself-there are songs that were never meant to be heard."


    "I didn''t know the consequences, Ronnie. You need to understand."


    "But the consequences remain," Ronnie shot back. "They''re literally etched into your eyes. Have you learned nothing from the blindness it brought? The pain? Or have you forgotten the blood dripping from your hands?"


    Kain faltered, his voice dropping. "I... No, I didn''t forget." He raised his head slightly, facing Ronnie. "But you know how it is. It''s like I hear hell talking to me even in my... Dreams."


    "What did you do, Kain? Did you play it again? Out of curiosity? Out of selfishness?"


    "I didn''t play it!" Kain snapped, his frustration slipping through. "Damn it, I don''t even remember how. It''s been years, Ronnie-years."


    Ronnie''s stern gaze didn''t waver. He sighed deeply, the weight of old memories pressing on his shoulders. "Do you at least remember why we agreed to never talk about this again?"


    "Yes, I remember. I don''t want a civil war either."


    Ronnie rubbed his temples, exhaling slowly. "Lucifer above, you''re giving me a headache. You''re really working hard to ruin all the joy in my life." His voice softened, but the edge remained. "Does anyone else know about this?"


    Kain shook his head silently, and Ronnie sighed again, heavier this time.


    "Well, there''s no use arguing about it. That melody has returned to haunt you for a reason, and it always brings misfortune. Let''s wait for it to reveal itself. Until then, we pretend this conversation never happened. Understood?"


    "Yes, sir," Kain replied with a faint, almost sarcastic laugh.


    Ronnie cracked a smile as well, then turned toward the exit. "I heard what the spider said-glad to hear the studio is back in order. I have a romantic dinner with my boyfriend tonight, so I''m off. See you tomorrow, rhythm demon."


    "You know I hate that nickname."


    "That''s exactly why I made it stick."


    "Just be careful not to pull that feline''s tail too much."


    "Go fuck yourself."


    With that, Ronnie left, the door swinging open behind him. Kain was alone once more, the muffled sounds of the city seeping through the walls, blending with the smooth jazz playing softly from the studio speakers. It brought him a strange sense of relief.


    Kain raised his hand, tapping his cane four times against the floor in a perfect rhythm. Moments later, Greasy flew back inside, landing lightly on his outstretched arm.


    "So, what did you two talk about?" Greasy asked, tilting his head inquisitively.


    "Boring manager stuff. Nothing special." Kain smirked, his grin carrying the unmistakable mischief of a demon. "So, who''s in the mood for a hot dog?"


    "Caw! Caw! Wait, you said-"


    "I know what I said, Greasy. I know what I said."


    He leaned closer to the bird, whose feathers puffed out as he rubbed his head affectionately against Kain''s cheek.


    "Ugh, you stink. You need a bath," Kain said with a mock grimace, gently nudging Greasy onto his head.


    Kain walked over to the switch and turned off the lights in the record company. He stepped outside, breathing in the polluted night air of Hell''s Gate City-a city that embraced its chaos and welcomed the restless.


    Kain locked the record company doors, slipping the keys into his pocket. His cane tapped against the pavement in a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm as he began to whistle softly.


    "Kain, I want extra ketchup," Greasy piped up from his perch.


    "Whatever," Kain muttered, his tone indifferent but amused.


    And so another day at Veildark Records came to an end. The studio was repaired, and Kain ventured into the night with a lingering unease he didn''t show. Because for those who dare to listen, hell remains the greatest orchestra ever composed.

 7. Blood, Death And Jazz.

    7. Blood, Death and Jazz.


    Hell''s Gate City buzzed with its usual nighttime chaos, the busy streets complicating the blind demon Kain Longheart''s journey through Hellquiem. Veildark Records was located further within the district, and at night, the distant hum of the Sea of Pride factories was almost inaudible. Yet, the vibrant sounds of the city''s nightlife persisted, painting a complex soundscape for Kain to navigate.


    "Caw! Now you''ll turn left, to the bridge." Greasy said, perched comfortably on Kain''s head,his crimson eyes scanning the chaotic streets around.


    "Thanks, GPS," Kain quipped, smirking as he turned left toward a bridge.


    As he continued walking, Kain passed demons of all shapes, sizes, and colors-some on foot, others zipping by on bicycles or roller skates, each contributing to the city''s lively, chaotic rhythm. For Kain, that was all that mattered: The smell of food wafting from the boats on the river made Greasy perk up with excitement. The aroma mixed with the smoke drifting from the alleys and drains, bets made on the streets, the transportation of illicit objects and even some demons offering ''services'' to Kain creating a distinct ambiance. The sound of flowing water and laughter surrounded him, who felt a certain comfort under the warm yellow glow of the city lights brushing against his skin. Yet, a part of him remained uneasy as demons passed by. Most ignored him, but a few stopped to stare, their gazes heavy and palpable-even to someone blind.


    This was nothing new for Kain Longheart. The legendary rhythm demon always drew attention. Being a musician who had stayed in the limelight for over 70 years was a rare feat, even in Hell. He had grown accustomed to the curious stares of fans and strangers alike, and while it didn''t faze him much, it still bothered him on occasion.


    Kain ignored the attention, continuing his walk while whistling one of his many compositions. Unbeknownst to him, a demon perched atop a nearby building observed him through a pair of binoculars.


    The demon was short, dressed in leather, with protruding wings and the slightly yellowed scaled skin typical of prolonged exposure to Hellitia.


    "It''s him!" the demon declared triumphantly, his voice brimming with pride. "Who would''ve thought a demon this famous lived right here in Hell''s Gate City? How did we not know this sooner? Those eyes... they''re going to fetch a fortune."


    He let out a sinister laugh, the sound carrying faintly into the chaotic night. The demon pulls a radio from his pocket, bringing it to his mouth. Pressing a button, he speaks:


    "Hey, guys, the rhythm demon''s heading the right way tonight. Get the ambush ready. The collector will like this."


    With that, he spreads his wings and takes off, vanishing into the shadows of the city.


    Kain continues his walk through the district, gradually leaving behind the noisiest part of the city. The music and urban sounds fade, replaced by the quiet presence of a few apartments, the wet sidewalks, and the constant sound of water running through the canals. Adding to this are the faint hum of industrial noise and the infernal cacophony of the city in the distance. His footsteps, steady and deliberate, break the stillness, ensuring the environment is never completely silent.


    "Caw! We''re almost there... Hmm, I can already taste the hot dog," Greasy said, sticking his tongue out.


    "Do you ever talk about anything other than hot dogs?"


    "Of course! I can talk about pizza, ice cream, pasta, hamburgers, canary seed... Hmm, canary seed."


    "Now you''re really sounding like a bird."


    "Caw!? And how else do you expect me to sound? Like a dromedary? I''m a crow."


    "You''re a demon, Greasy. The crow part


    is just the packaging."


    After a few more steps, Greasy spoke up.


    "Kain, I have a slight feeling that something''s wrong."


    "Must be boredom, Greasy. Relax," Kain replied casually.


    "No, Kain, that''s not it." Greasy shifted uneasily, looking around before adding, "I think we''re being watched."


    "I''m always being watched. It''s one of the consequences of having been on stage 70 years ago," Kain said with a dry chuckle.


    "If you say so," Greasy muttered, settling back into Kain''s hair. Meanwhile, Kain, now slightly more wary, tightened his grip on his cane and quickened his pace, his senses sharp.


    With that, Kain continues walking, following the direction his crow indicated. After a few more steps, he stops at the edge of the sidewalk, pausing as the sound of water reaches his ears and the scent of hot dogs fills the air.


    In front of him is a simple metal boat moored to the sidewalk, tied by a rope at the bow to a metal post. Kain smiles and carefully steps forward until his foot touches the wooden deck of the boat.


    "The boat was low, with benches set in front of a counter. The roof covered only the seating area and the counter, leaving the rest of the boat open. The benches were red, and the roof was a worn shade of brown. Behind the counter, a tall, rotund demon was busy cooking sausages on a stove.


    He wore a white shirt stained with sauce and an apron tied around his waist. His light green, scaly skin shimmered under the dim lights, and his gill-like features twitched with every movement. The demon grinned, revealing sharp teeth. He had black hair, glowing yellow eyes, and no shoes, his thick green tail-also covered in scales-expertly stirring the deep fryer as he simultaneously flipped the sausages.


    "Kain took a few steps and sat down on the bench in front of the counter.


    "Good evening, Tom," he said, folding his cane and slipping it into his suit.


    A Hellhound sat down next to Kain, his orange coat giving him the appearance of a coyote. White markings dotted his fur, and his striking blue eyes widened as he glanced at the figure beside him. He wore casual attire-a black jacket over a striped black shirt and heavily worn black jeans-with a camera hanging from a sling around his neck.


    Tom turns around, his smile widening even more.


    "Look, look who came tonight. I didn''t expect you to show up here, Mr. Longheart."


    "Neither do I, but my crow insisted, so here we are," Kain replied, leaning his shoulders on the counter.


    "The usual?"


    "Of course, but with plenty of ketchup."


    "Got it," Tom said, turning back to the frying pan, focusing on his cooking.


    The Hellhound closed his mouth and cleared his throat before turning to the blind demon. He leaned on the counter, resting his head on his hand with the tail swinging from side to side, and said with a slight smile, "The rhythm demon."


    "Who are you? A fan? If you''re looking for an autograph, I''ll let you know I can''t write very well," Kain replied, lightly tapping the wood with his index finger.


    Tom turned around, placed a glass on the counter, opened a bottle of beer, and filled it as he listened.


    "Maybe, but no. Although I really admire your work," the Hellhound said. He paused before continuing, "I heard that a famous demon shows up around here from time to time. My original goal was to find him, but I ended up liking the place, so I became a regular. I just didn''t expect to actually find you."


    "I''m not a ghost," Kain said, taking a sip of his beer. "My record label is nearby."


    "I don''t like disturbing others at work. Let me introduce myself-" The Hellhound suddenly noticed something moving in Kain''s hair and pointed.


    "There''s something in your hair."


    "That?" Kain asked. "It''s just my crow. Greasy, come on out."


    The Hellhound''s eyes widened as a bird''s head emerged from Kain''s hair.


    "Caw! Is the hot dog ready yet?. I''m hungry... again," Greasy said, flapping his wings and landing on the counter.


    "He speaks!? How does he speak?" the Hellhound asked, astonished.


    "It''s a long story. He''s my guide."


    "Caw! And I do it very well," Greasy said, puffing out his feathers in pride.


    Tom noticed the crow and grinned. "Oh, good evening, Greasy. How''s the most dangerous demon in town?"


    "I''m fine, thanks, Tom," Greasy replied.


    Tom chuckled lightly and returned to cooking.


    "So, as I was saying," the Hellhound continued, turning back to Kain, "Mr. Longheart. My name is Shadow Dusk. I''m a journalist and an amateur photographer in my spare time."


    "A journalist? Where do you work? 666 News? HellCorp Television?"


    "Neither," Dusk said, his gaze shifting forward as he rested his hands on the counter. "I''m an independent journalist."


    "Independent journalist? In Hell? With all this power struggle? Heh, that''s a new one. How come you''re not dead yet? Let me guess-you publish whatever version they pay you to."


    "I wouldn''t feel right doing that. I work with the truth," Dusk replied firmly. "It''s good not to be tied to the big media conglomerates in Hell. My tail isn''t bound to anyone. This is what I love to do, and I know how to do it well. Besides, I always find my way."


    "Okay... but you still haven''t told me what you want from me," Kain said.


    "I admit our meeting here was a coincidence," Dusk began, pulling a notepad and pen from his jacket. His face lit up with a wide grin. "But since fate brought us together, could you answer a few questions for me? I know Kain Longheart doesn''t usually give interviews, but in this charming atmosphere of Hell''s Gate City, could you make an exception?"


    Dusk leaned in closer, his face almost brushing Kain''s. Feeling his breath on his cheek, Kain slammed his hand on the counter, the sharp noise making the Hellhound flinch and retreat slightly.


    "Sorry," Dusk said, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Guess I got a little carried away."


    Tom, who had been quietly finishing up, turned to the counter and set down two trays. One held a hot dog with two sausages drowned in ketchup, a side of fries, and a cup of soda. The other had a more modest hot dog, a larger portion of fries, and a glass of beer. Tom placed the first tray in front of Kain and the second in front of Dusk. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Caw! Caw!" Greasy cawed with excitement, shuffling eagerly toward Kain''s tray. He gripped one of the sausages in his beak, pulling it out of the bun until it tumbled onto the tray, where he immediately started eating.


    "Hahaha!" Tom burst into laughter. "Let me give you a warning, coyote-you won''t get anything out of this grumpy musician."


    He leaned on the counter, grinning widely. "I''ve been trying to figure out for ages when this guy, will find someone for this lonely dick. But he always gives me the same excuse."


    Tom brought his hands dramatically close to his face, mocking in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice, "Ahh... B-But Tom, you need to understand that no one wants to be with a b-blind demon." He waved his hands theatrically, clearly enjoying his imitation of Kain.


    "Fuck you, it''s not my fault," Kain said, picking up the hot dog with one hand and the soda with the other.


    "Caw! It kind of is, Kain. Just last week, you spent almost an hour talking to a demoness after a gig-about Robert Johnson, of all things."


    "Hey! There''s nothing wrong with talking about the Blues Devil," Kain replied, taking a big bite of the hot dog.


    "I''ve never seen anyone roll their eyes so much," Greasy muttered before returning to his meal.


    Meanwhile, atop a nearby building, two demons conversed while one of them opened a briefcase. They both wore identical black clothing and face masks.


    "Y-You need to be precise with that shot," the first demon said, putting his hands to his face. "OR ELSE SHE WILL PICK OUR EYES OUT-"


    The second demon quickly clamped his hands over the first one''s mouth, knocking him off balance.


    "Shut the fuck up, he''s blind. He must have sensitive hearing or something. Are you trying to reveal our position?"


    "Sorry... I''m nervous. Whatever, go ahead."


    "She ain''t gonna rip our eyes out man, she ain''t got no interest in them."


    The first demon refocused on the briefcase, pulling out a heavy crossbow.


    "Now, that''s top-notch equipment."


    "Wouldn''t it be better to bring a sniper rifle?"


    "And get the attention of half the district? Yeah, sure, keep dreaming," the first demon said, taking a telescopic sight from the case and attaching it to the crossbow.


    The demons positioned themselves on the building''s sill, and the one with the crossbow aligned the sight with Kain''s chest.


    "Can I shoot now?" he asked.


    "Wait for confirmation from the rest of the team. This is supposed to be an ambush," the second demon replied, pulling a walkie-talkie from his pocket and pressing the button. "We''re in position, copy."


    After finishing his meal, Shadow Dusk turned back to Kain.


    "Come on, Mr. Longheart, just one, maybe two questions. Please," he said eagerly, looking ahead. "It''s not every day I get this kind of opportunity. Imagine putting this on my blog-an independent journalist in Hell interviewing Kain Longheart!" He finished with a wave of his hands, clearly excited.


    "Can I at least finish eating before you start grilling me?"


    "Yes, sir, I apologize."


    Once Greasy finished his sausage, he climbed onto the soda cup, his bird feet gripping its edges. He looked ahead and noticed something strange. On the Hellhound''s left hand, the ring finger was cut in half. The wound had long since healed, with fur already growing over it, indicating it was an old injury. Greasy, curious, asked before dipping his beak into the soda.


    "Caw! What happened to your finger?"


    "This?" The Hellhound glanced at his hands. "Oh, that was an accident in a wrestling ring in Cannibal City. A guy ended up eating part of my finger. But I don''t complain, because he gave me a brand new camera."


    "So you''re a fighter too?" Tom asked.


    "Everyone needs a hobby," Shadow Dusk replied.


    "You don''t look like the type."


    "I don''t use anabolic steroids or artificial muscle growth methods," Dusk said with a smirk. He paused, smiling widely at Kain before continuing. "Actually, Mr. Longheart, I''m investigating something very interesting. Did you know there''s illegal trafficking of anabolic steroids illegally manufactured in the sea of pride? It''s so big and secretive that it even involves Heaven. Pretty wild, right? I even know that the use of these hormones has different side effects on humans and demons because of their biology... though I''m not sure exactly what those side effects are." Dusk leaned in closer to Kain as he spoke.


    "Respect my personal space, okay?" Kain said firmly.


    He picked up his glass of soda and immediately noticed the change in weight and the sound of Greasy drinking. With his other hand, he gently grabbed the bird and brought him close to his face.


    "Greasy, don''t drink so much soda. You''ll be hyperactive at bedtime."


    "Caw?" Greasy tilted his head to the side. As he did, his sharp eyes caught a glint of white light moving toward Kain-possibly the reflection of a weapon.


    "KAIN, GET DOWN!" Greasy screamed. Startled, Kain fell out of his chair, instinctively trying to move quickly.


    "Greasy? What do you mean?" Kain asked, still on the ground.


    "There''s someone on top of the building aiming at you-" Greasy began, but his warning was cut short as a crossbow bolt slammed into the counter, narrowly missing Kain.


    Meanwhile, on the rooftop, the two demons looked down at the scene.


    "Damn, he moved too fast, I lost my aim."


    "Dude, man i think they knew you were gonna shoot," said one demon nervously.


    "What do you mean? Look where we are..." The second demon trailed off, noticing the Hellhound below staring directly at them. "Wait, fuck, I forgot the lens reflects light!"


    Immediately, the second demon''s walkie-talkie crackled to life. He quickly pulled it from his pocket.


    "The target is on alert. What have you done?" a voice demanded from the other end.


    "Uh... Physics," the demon muttered.


    "You guys forgot that the scope lens reflects light, right?"


    "Maybe."


    A brief, awkward silence followed before the voice broke it.


    "Impressi-"


    "Oh, shut up and attack already!" snapped the demon with the crossbow, readjusting his aim.


    Suddenly, six other demons, dressed in similar attire to those on the building, emerged from the water. They climbed aboard the boat, which rocked slightly under their weight before stabilizing.


    "Wow, what a dramatic entrance..." Tom said, grabbing Kain with one hand and tossing him behind the counter.


    Suddenly, a demon landed on the boat with a thud, his scaly, slightly yellowish wings flapping as he let out a piercing scream.


    "Look, look, look-Kain Longheart, in flesh and sin," he said with a wide grin.


    "Mercenaries... Let me guess, you were hired by the Eye Collector?" Kain called out from behind the counter, his voice steady.


    "Wow, you hit the nail on the head. But come on, there''s no need for a fight. You''re already blind-what difference does it make to lose those unique eyes of yours? She''ll pay top dollar for them," the demon sneered.


    "Hold on! You can''t just show up out of nowhere and demand to rip out the rhythm demon''s eyes," Dusk interjected, raising his hands in protest.


    "And who the hell are you?" the winged demon asked, narrowing his eyes.


    "I''m a journalist," Dusk replied confidently.


    "Oh, whatever," the demon said dismissively, waving a hand. "You''re getting beaten up too. Boys, capture him!"


    The masked demons draw their weapons-clubs and knives-and begin advancing toward the counter and Shadow Dusk. The Hellhound narrows his eyes and takes a deep breath, slipping a pair of brass knuckles out of his pocket and fitting them discreetly onto his left hand. As the first demon lunges forward, attempting to stab him with a downward strike, Dusk reacts swiftly. With a sudden left-handed jab, he lands a powerful blow, sending the assailant flying to the other side of the boat. Blood splatters from beneath the demon''s mask, evidence of the force behind the punch."Wouldn''t it be better if we used firearms? Look, Jeff just got punched," said the second demon, peering through binoculars at the fight below from the top of the building.


    "I''ve told you before and I''ll say it again-are you trying to alert the entire neighborhood? Besides, gun control in Hell''s Gate City is surprisingly efficient," the first demon replied, adjusting the crossbow''s scope. "And anyway, we outnumber them. Now excuse me, I need to aim at that pesky coyote."


    "Yeah, but don''t forget Kain Longheart is down there too," the second demon muttered.


    Meanwhile, the boat rocked violently. The fryer oil sloshed dangerously, and the shouting and pounding of feet disoriented Kain as he struggled to stand behind the counter. The movement of the boat made it even harder to find his balance.


    "Hahaha! This is so much fun! A good fight to break up the monotony of life, right?" Tom laughed as he stepped out from behind the counter to join the brawl.


    "Maybe," Kain murmured, steadying himself against the counter. He then called out, "Greasy, are you there?"


    Greasy landed on Kain''s shoulder, visibly worried. "Caw! Are you okay, Kain?"


    "I''m fine. You said there were snipers aiming at me, right?"


    "Yes."


    "Do you know where they are?"


    "Yes."


    "Can you throw them off balance?"


    "I can try."


    "Then go."


    With that, Greasy''s expression turned determined. He spread his wings and took off, flying toward the building with swift, purposeful movements. Meanwhile Kain got out from under the balcony and raised his head while grabbing his cane.


    "Look! He came out of cover-quick, load another bolt," said the demon with binoculars.


    "I already did," the demon with the crossbow replied, adjusting his aim. "Now you can''t escape me, rhythm dem-"


    He stopped mid-sentence, confusion spreading across his face as a black bird suddenly landed on the crossbow, blocking his line of sight.


    "Shoot," ordered the demon with binoculars.


    "I can''t-there''s a bird on my scope!" the crossbow-wielding demon growled, waving his free hand at the bird. "Shoo! Get off, you bag of feathers!"


    The crow tilted its head, a glint of mischief in his red eyes, and suddenly lunged forward, biting the demon''s finger.


    "Aaah! Let me go, you stupid bird!" the demon screamed, shaking his hand in pain as the bird bit harder.


    "Holy shit! I''ll help you," said the other demon, dropping his binoculars and lunging at the bird. But the crow was faster. It released its grip on the finger and flew straight to the second demon''s face, pecking ferociously.


    "AAHHH! Get it off me!" the second demon yelled, clawing at the air.


    "Hold still, you idiot! I''ll get it," the first demon said, abandoning the crossbow and lunging at the bird.


    What followed was a chaotic scene: the two demons flailed wildly, trying to catch the nimble bird, which darted in and out of the darkness, using its black feathers to blend with the night. Greasy pecked and clawed relentlessly, leaving both demons bruised and battered.


    Finally, the bird struck the second demon so hard that he fell to the ground. Seeing his chance, the first demon aimed a punch at the bird, but Greasy dodged at the last moment, and the blow landed squarely on his companion''s head.


    "Ouch! You idiot, we''re on the same team!" the demon on the ground groaned, blood dripping from his mask.


    "Sorry! I was aiming for the bird!" the standing demon stammered, helping his partner up.


    As they both stumbled to their feet, clutching their heads in pain, they froze. Greasy hovered outside the building, crossbow in his claws.


    "No! Nice bird, don''t do that!"


    "Caw!" Greasy taunted before releasing the crossbow.


    The demons scrambled to the edge of the building, watching helplessly as the weapon plummeted into the water below, disappearing into the depths.


    "That crossbow was very, very expensive..."


    The two demons exchanged a defeated look.


    "If anyone asks, we were attacked by a huge, terrifying demon," said the first demon.


    "Agreed," replied the second.


    On the boat, the fight raged on with unrelenting intensity. Shadow Dusk demonstrated his impressive combat skills, landing precise blows that would make any MMA champion envious. Meanwhile, Tom reveled in the chaos, his booming laughter echoing as he effortlessly subdued a mercenary in a headlock and wielded a hot frying pan to fend off others.


    "HAHAHAHA! This is so much fun! Only Kain could attract this kind of excitement!" Tom bellowed, swinging the pan with gusto.


    In the midst of the brawl, the scaled demon who had been leaning nonchalantly against the corner of the boat sighed in exasperation. Rolling his eyes, he snapped his fingers and said, "Stop playing around, it''s getting late."


    At his command, the mercenaries intensified their attacks. Shadow Dusk, despite his experience and precision, was caught off guard. A blade pierced his left arm, and though he showed no signs of pain, the injury caused him to lose his balance. Before he could recover, a hard blow to the face sent him crashing to the ground, where he was swiftly immobilized.


    Tom, noticing Shadow Dusk''s fall, momentarily let his guard down. This lapse proved costly as one of the mercenaries struck him on the head with a frying pan. The impact knocked him out instantly, his body slumping to the floor in an almost cartoonish manner, the boat trembling under his weight. In no time, both Tom and Shadow Dusk were restrained and tied up.


    "It seems your friends aren''t doing too well, Mr. Longheart," the scaled demon taunted, stepping forward with a smug grin. "But I promise to release them if you surrender peacefully. Relax, we don''t intend to kill you. We just need... an eyeball."


    He reached into his pocket and pulled out a metal cylindrical device. With the press of a button, sharp claws extended from its base, glinting ominously in the dim light. The demon let out a sinister laugh before regaining his composure and speaking with a chilling calmness.


    "This should have ended with the crossbow bolt earlier, but... unforeseen events happen," he said, snapping his fingers again.


    At his signal, the mercenaries pressed their knives to the throats of both Shadow Dusk and Tom, their blades poised to end the fight with a single move.


    "Okay, okay, I surrender," Kain said, raising one arm and holding his cane with the other.


    "Come here now, and no sudden movements," the scaled demon, who seemed to be the leader, ordered.


    "Okay, okay, okay," Kain replied, stepping out from behind the counter and heading toward the middle of the boat. However, halfway there, he slammed his cane hard on the floor with his left hand. Nothing happened, and the demons laughed. Shadow Dusk shot him a serious look, but as the laughter filled the air, suddenly, everyone on the boat - except for Tom, who was still passed out, Kain, and Greasy - screamed in pain. The mercenaries dropped their knives and clutched their ears, collapsing to the ground as the pain overwhelmed them.


    "Geez, that took longer than it should have," Kain muttered, brushing the dust off his shoulders and sighing deeply. He tapped his cane three times on the floor in perfect rhythm.


    "Caw! I''m here!" Greasy cawed, landing on Kain''s head.


    "Greasy, go to the journalist on the floor," Kain ordered.


    The crow immediately flew to the journalist, cawing as he landed.


    Kain followed the sound of Greasy''s caw and, amid the mercenaries'' screams, he touched the Hellhound''s face and whistled a restrained melody. The Hellhound stopped screaming, looking confused.


    "Uhh...?" he muttered.


    "Put a bandage on your arm, you''re bleeding," Greasy said, then turned to Kain, "Caw! And Kain, he was tied up."


    Kain then stood up and made his way to the other side of the counter, where Tom had been cooking. He grabbed a pan, went to the edge of the boat, stretched out his arm to scoop up some water, and, tapping his cane, located Tom lying on the floor. He splashed water in Tom''s face, causing him to wake up in a panic.


    "AAAAAA! I''m amazi-" Tom stopped mid-scream, looking around and seeing the mercenaries writhing in pain on the floor. "Damn, Kain, I didn''t know about that trick of yours."


    "Tie them up," Kain instructed. "And look for something to release Mr. Dusk from the ropes."


    Tom smiled, getting to work, looking for rope to bind the mercenaries and a knife to free Dusk.


    "Wow, what was that? I feel like my ears are being blown out from the inside," Shadow Dusk remarked, rubbing his ears.


    "It''s a psychological effect," Kain replied. "It goes away in half an hour, or I can cancel the effect."


    "That''s cool. Hey, I took a stab for you. Are you going to give me an interview?"


    Kain took a deep breath. "Tomorrow. See if you show up at my record company. Maybe I''ll answer two questions."


    "Seriously, Mr. Longheart!? This is going to be amazing!" Dusk shouted, struggling against his restraints.


    "Tom gathered all the mercenaries, tying them up as they continued to scream and kick in pain. With a knife, he cut the rope that held the journalist.


    "So, what do we do with those guys?" Tom asked.


    "Throw them in the water. They''ll probably float," Kain replied.


    "Okay," Tom said, grabbing the mercenaries and tossing them into the water, where they floated away.


    At the top of the building, the two remaining mercenaries watched the scene unfold.


    "We should probably go after them."


    "Yeah, let''s go. That was... embarrassing," the other demon muttered.


    Back on the boat, Shadow Dusk was cleaning his clothes and checking his camera.


    "Wait, but don''t you want to know why they were after you?" Dusk asked.


    "I already know," Kain said. "Haven''t you heard? They''re hired by the Eye Collector. A difficult woman. Anyway, I need to make a call."


    Kain then took his phone out of his pocket. When he turned it on, a robotic female voice began to speak in response to his actions on the device.


    "Home menu, phone, contacts, Ronald, Make a call, calling," the voice announced.


    Meanwhile, in another part of Hellquiem, Ronnie was standing inside an atelier. The space was large, filled with various types of clothes in different sizes and colors. The lighting was a calm yellow, highlighting the pieces on display. Nearby, different types of fabric were piled near the cash register, and a large mirror stood beside it. Ronnie stood in the middle of the room, arms open, looking bored, while a cat demon adjusted the clothes he wore - a tailored suit made of fine materials in light colors.


    "Is this over? I just want a romantic dinner. I''m not going to walk in a fashion show Claude," Ronnie complained.


    "Mon amour, I just want to show your beauty to hell, that''s why I can''t allow my cupcake to walk around in boring, cheap clothes and radioactive tissues sans classe," said Claude, the cat demon, who wore a flashy outfit and a hat only someone like him would dare to wear.


    "It may be, but you''ve been doing this for an hour and a half."


    "Perfection takes time, mon amour. These are imported fabrics, so care must be taken when adjusting them," Claude replied, adjusting Ronnie''s sleeves.


    "Sometimes I think you care more about these fabrics than me."


    "Blasph¨¨me!" Claude exclaimed, raising a hand, his tail wagging. "I am willing to spend the most expensive fabrics on you, I want you to feel well-dressed and happy," he said, grabbing Ronnie''s tie and pulling him closer. "Because I love you." He then locked lips with Ronnie, kissing him passionately, making the Veildark Records manager hold him tighter.


    Claude stepped away and tightened Ronnie''s tie.


    "Perfect. You look beautiful, Ron mon amour."


    Ronnie glanced at the mirror. The light-colored suit contrasted with the bright red of the collar, showcasing both professionalism and the seriousness of a tailor-made outfit.


    "Congratulations, it''s wonderful."


    "The best for mon amour, Claude Bijoux is the best stylist in hell. Now come on, the world needs to see you."


    "I''m sure you ar-" Ronnie''s phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. "Give me a second, someone''s calling me," he said, smiling.


    "Just don''t get your clothes dirty."


    "Okay, okay." He stepped back a little, bringing the phone to his ear.


    "Kain! What do you need? Yes, mercenaries? Collector? Yes, of course, I met her in person, we reached an agreement and made the payment. Did she send people to kill you again?" he asked, his tone light. "Did you kill someone? No? Well, that makes it easier. Yes, of course, I''ll call her and sort it out. You don''t need to worry. Okay, good night. Bye."


    Back on the boat, Kain turned off the phone and put it back in his pocket. He then pulled out his wallet, placed some notes on the counter, and stood up.


    "That should be enough," Kain said, walking toward the boat exit with Greasy perched on his shoulder.


    "Goodbye, Kain. This night was very lively," Tom called out.


    "See you tomorrow, Mr. Longheart. It will be a pleasure to interview you," Dusk added.


    Kain simply waved back and stepped off the boat.


    "You drank too much soda, Greasy. If you get hyper and end up not letting me sleep, I''ll kick you out of the house."


    "Relax, Kain, you''ll sleep well, I promise. Caw!"


    "Okay then, if you promise."


    With that, Kain headed to the nearest riverboat port, unaware


    of the melody that lurked in the shadows, drawing closer, just waiting for the right moment to return and torment the musician who had already dared to listen.

 8. The Tarot that counts

    The recorder, a strange device having been built by a failed musician back in the 80s who discovered the existence of the infernal melody and wanted to use it for his own gain.


    It''s not much different from how all stories end at least the ones that don''t have a happy ending, But how did this strange device end up in hell? And how can the reflection of the madness of a note end everything? Well, I don''t know, do you know?


    8. The tarot that counts is a Heavy Metal band.


    After the conflict a few hours ago, Kain arrived at his home-a modest residence in the Solis district that was considered ''luxurious'' by the city''s standards. Located in a more upscale part of the district, the area exuded an unusual quietness, broken only by the occasional drunken demon stumbling down the street and the distant sound of water. It was late at night, and the residential district was practically asleep, its inhabitants either resting for another monotonous day of work at the Sea of Pride or indulging in the last of their wine reserves at bars in other districts.


    The property was well-maintained with a pile of letters piled near the door, its fa?ade reflecting the hellish opulence of the red-lit sky above.


    The surrounding neighborhood resembled a typical suburb-or at least as typical as a suburb in Hell could be, under its perpetually crimson sky. But still divided by the city''s canals, which to Kain seemed to flow into an uncertain future.


    The blind demon stood before his residence, a small stone path leading to the entrance, flanked by a neatly trimmed lawn.


    "Are we here?" Kain asked.


    "We arrived, Kain. Just go straight," Greasy replied, flapping his wings.


    "OK," Kain said.


    Kain began walking forward, guiding himself along the stone path. After a few steps, he arrived at the fa?ade of his residence. The walls were painted a dark blue, and the brown wooden door bore intricate designs of infernal roses, crafted in stained, blurred glass. Hanging from a canopy above the door, a lamp emitted reddish flames, casting a warm glow over the entrance. However, the sight that immediately caught Kain''s attention was the mountain of posters, letters, and packages piled near the door, blocking his way.


    "Dammit, who''s the bastard that leaked my address? I''ll probably have to move again. Soon enough, degenerates will start showing up, trying to sell my junk on the infernet," Kain muttered, moving his cane to shove some of the pile aside.


    "Caw! But Kain, fans are like that. Besides, you should read these letters. They''re written by demons who genuinely admire your work," Greasy said, flapping his wings as he perched on Kain''s shoulder.


    "That''s the problem, Greasy. I''m blind. I couldn''t read these letters even if I wanted to, and I''m not about to fall into another glue trap," Kain retorted, continuing to push the pile aside with frustration.


    "I can read them for you, Kain. That''s what I''m here for," Greasy offered, hopping down to inspect the pile more closely. He picked up a green envelope with a partially melted seal. "This one looks promising."


    Greasy tore open the envelope with his beak but quickly noticed that the contents were stuck. Using his claws, he managed to drag out the letter. However, the paper seemed glued shut. After a brief struggle, he finally pried it open, only to reveal a single line: ''My love to Kain Longheart.''


    "Wow, that was way harder to open than it should''ve been. It''s almost like whoever wrote this smeared glue all over it," Greasy remarked, tilting his head in curiosity.


    "Greasy, that''s not glue," Kain replied dryly as he fished his house key from his pocket and inserted it into the door lock.


    "What do you mean it''s not glue...?" Greasy stared at the letter, the realization dawning on him. His eyes widened in horror. "Caw! Caw! Caw! That''s disgusting!" he squawked, frantically rubbing his beak against the floor to clean it.


    "Uh-huh. Glue trap," Kain muttered, turning the key and pushing the door open. "Look, at some point I''ll ask you to read this, okay? But not today, someday maybe."


    Kain and his crow entered the residence, the blind demon locking the door behind them. He placed the key on the small mezzanine by the door, along with his glasses and cane.


    "And... that¡¯s it. Another day done. It wasn¡¯t as busy as I thought it¡¯d be," Kain remarked, walking through the living room.


    The room was spacious, its beige walls giving it a warm tone. Despite its size, the space was far from tidy. Sheets of music were scattered across the red carpet in front of a black sofa. On a nearby shelf, a tube television sat surrounded by framed photos and decorative trinkets, including a life-sized Greasy plushie Kain had made for the crow¡¯s last birthday. Hanging from the ceiling, a modest chandelier cast a soft white light over the room as Greasy flipped the switch with his beak.


    "This happened because you were late today, caw!" Greasy retorted, flying over to perch on the couch.


    "True," Kain admitted with a faint smile.


    "Are you playing tonight? I like when you sing."


    "Everyone likes it; that''s why I''m a famous musician. Though, technically, you don¡¯t need to sing to be a famous musician. However, no, I will not be playing tonight."


    "Caw..." Greasy muttered, turning his beak down in disappointment.


    "Look, Greasy, I''m tired. Especially after that fight. Tomorrow, I''ll play whatever song you want, okay?"


    "Caw!"


    "Great," Kain said, heading toward his bedroom as Greasy flew right behind him.


    "You know, I still notice that you''re not very excited about your career," the crow remarked.


    "Seriously? How did you figure that out, crow?" Kain replied, feeling his way along the wall toward the room.


    "You no longer perform concerts or presentations frequently, you haven¡¯t visited your fan club in ages, and you haven¡¯t appeared on television in months. And it¡¯s not just a recent thing¡ªit¡¯s been going on for a while."


    "I... I know, Greasy. It¡¯s just that, after so long, anything gets boring. Fame is no different. There came a point in my career where I stopped composing for art and started doing it for financial agendas¡ªjust giving fans what they wanted. Vox forced me into it. You know those recent albums of mine sound like they were made by other people," Kain said, stopping as he entered the room. He undid his tie and placed the top of his suit on a hat stand by the door. As Greasy landed on the bed "That¡¯s why I started my record label. I don¡¯t want other artists to follow the path of easy money and forget about art, I know we are in hell but that is no reason not to have culture. The truth, Greasy, is..."


    He trailed off, as if carefully choosing his words.


    "Caw?" Greasy cawed, tilting his head in confusion.


    "Nothing, nothing. I''ll tell you later. For now I just want to sleep."


    "You won''t even take a shower?" Greasy asked.


    "Tomorrow I''ll wash you," Kain replied.


    He then took small steps until he reached the bed. Although the room wasn''t large, its compact size helped Kain navigate it with ease. The walls were painted the same beige as the rest of the house, decorated with stickers of guitar brands and other musical instruments. Several framed pictures adorned the walls, including one of the entire Veildark Records team taken a few days after the label''s opening.


    The floor was covered by a red rug with black squares, and the bed was draped with a blanket featuring an image of Kain¡ªa gift from a fan a few months ago. However, what stood out most in the room, aside from the window on the left wall (closed and covered by pink curtains), was a compact piano by MTFD (*Musicians of the Damned*). It had been custom-made for Kain, signed by the Rhythm Demon himself. The piano was sleek black, with golden keys that shimmered faintly in the dim light slipping through the curtains.


    Kain let out a deep sigh and collapsed onto the bed, falling asleep almost instantly, his snores breaking the silence. Greasy sighed as well and perched himself near Kain''s neck, resting his head on the pillow.


    They both drifted into sleep.


    "Good evening, Pentagram City! It''s a pleasure to be here once again," Kain Longheart declared, his tone equal parts charm and mockery. He stood confidently on the small, dimly lit stage, addressing a crowd of demons scattered across the pub, most nursing drinks and barely paying attention. "My name is Kain Longheart¡ªno relation to Cain and Abel, since I¡¯ve never read the Bible."


    The comment drew scattered laughter, with a few demons actually looking up from their drinks. Behind Kain, a small band of imps prepared their instruments: saxophones, a piano, a guitar, and a trombone. They were dressed in mismatched outfits, giving the impression of last-minute hires rather than seasoned professionals.


    "After all, I am a demon," Kain continued, smirking. This time, the laughter was louder, though tinged with sarcasm. Most of the crowd still didn¡¯t seem to care who was on stage, their focus divided between conversations, drinks, and occasional fights.


    "But tonight," Kain said, gesturing dramatically, "I have for you an original composition¡ªsomething I¡¯ve worked tirelessly on for¡­ about 10 minutes counting down lunch time ."


    The room erupted in another wave of laughter. Kain¡¯s cheap, ill-fitting suit¡ªa clear attempt to look more polished than he was¡ªadded to the comedic charm. It was the kind of suit you¡¯d find at a street vendor, paired with an attitude that made it seem intentional.


    Still, despite the lack of attention from most of the audience, there was a spark in Kain¡¯s stance¡ªa subtle defiance, as though he was playing for himself as much as for anyone willing to listen.


    "Alright then, without further ado, let¡¯s get started," Kain said, his voice calm but laced with confidence. He closed his eyes briefly, cleared his throat, and the Imps behind him began to play the pre-chorus melody¡ªa smooth, jazzy rhythm that filled the room with an effortless cool. They kept the tempo relaxed, just as jazz should be, and Kain tapped his foot lightly to the beat.


    "First of all, let me hear those strings of hate that keep up in my dreams, but what can I do? If it''s with the hell I have to keep up too," Kain sang, his voice far from perfect, but full of character. It wasn¡¯t the best anyone had ever heard, but it carried an intensity that seemed to resonate with the audience. He didn¡¯t miss a single note, even as the crowd continued to murmur and laugh, some with genuine appreciation for his unique presence. "I''m not crazy, insane or any other kind of guy, I just had another type of weird life, because that girl didn''t know what she did, she showed the sinful sides of me,"


    "The sinful sides of me," the Imps harmonized behind him, their voices blending seamlessly like a chorus.


    And so, the performance continued. Kain sang on stage, and as the words left his lips, more and more demons turned their attention toward him. He felt a surge of excitement at the gazes fixed on him, the spark of interest in their eyes unmistakable. Bit by bit, they gave themselves over to the rhythm, the demon captivating them with his half-closed eyes, exuding a seductive and malicious aura. It was as if nothing else mattered¡ªa true demonic charm or perhaps the natural allure of a gentleman in his element.  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    After a few more minutes, Kain concluded his performance. The room erupted into applause, and he bowed slowly, almost knocking his worn tie askew in the process.


    "Thank you, thank you. It¡¯s a pleasure to be here," he said warmly, a slight smirk playing on his lips.


    Kain began to exit the stage, stepping down from the front. But as his foot touched the ground, the world around him went silent¡ªthe music, the applause, everything faded. Instead, the same chaotic melody that had haunted him for decades returned, swirling and consuming him. His vision was drawn uncontrollably to the blackened floor as the melody pulled him into its abyss, devouring him in sinful notes. Kain screamed in terror.


    "Caw! Caw! Caw! Caw!"


    The haunting melody was abruptly replaced by the frantic caws of a crow. Kain jolted upright in bed, screaming and sweating cold.


    "Caw! Caw! Caw!" Greasy flapped his wings, cawing like an alarm.


    Kain placed his left hand on his face, trying to steady his breathing. With his right hand, he reached out and pressed down lightly on Greasy''s head, silencing the crow like a button.


    "Good morning, Kain," Greasy said, tilting his head. "You woke up screaming out of nowhere. Did you sleep well?"


    "Go fuck yourself Greasy! What a fright!" Kain snapped, still shaken. But he quickly calmed down and sank back into the bed. "Sorry, Greasy. I didn''t mean that."


    "I''ve heard worse from you, Kain," Greasy replied, ruffling his feathers. "Are you ready to start another day?"


    Kain let out a small, tired smile. "Sure." He yawned and slowly stood up, looking like he hadn¡¯t slept a wink.


    Taking a deep breath, he muttered, ¡°Where are my glasses?¡±


    Greasy flew down to the floor, picked up Kain¡¯s glasses by one of the arms with his beak, and returned, carefully placing them on Kain¡¯s face.


    ¡°You dropped them while you were sleeping,¡± Greasy said.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Kain replied, walking towards the door.


    He entered the bathroom and began his routine. He shaved his beard, took a long shower, and emerged wearing a towel around his waist, his slightly pale, whitish torso exposed.


    ¡°Greasy,¡± Kain called out.


    The crow flew into the bathroom, hovering near Kain. ¡°Yes?¡±


    Following the sound of Greasy''s voice, Kain grabbed him by the neck and carried him into the bathroom, turning on the sink as the crow squawked and flapped frantically.


    ¡°Caw! Caw! Let me go!¡± Greasy protested, struggling to escape.


    ¡°I said I was going to give you a bath. Are you really surprised by this?¡± Kain replied, holding the crow firmly to keep him from fleeing.


    He placed Greasy under the running water, ignoring the splashes that soaked both of them.


    ¡°STOP IT, GREASY! I¡¯M NOT GOING TO HURT YOU!¡± Kain shouted, reaching for a bottle of neutral soap with his left hand while keeping a firm grip on the bird with his right.


    ¡°Caw! This is abuse! I¡¯m going to call the bird union!¡±


    ¡°There is no bird union, Greasy, and even if there was, you wouldn¡¯t b¡ª¡± Kain paused, stifling a laugh. ¡°Be a member of it.¡±


    He grabbed the bottle, its label reading *Neutral Liquid Soap: Purple Lavender*. With one hand, he squeezed a generous amount of soap onto Greasy¡¯s wet feathers, spreading it across the crow¡¯s back, wings, and neck as the bird continued to squawk in indignation.


    Kain dropped the soap bottle, freeing his other hand to wash Greasy more thoroughly. Using both hands, he began massaging the crow¡¯s feathers, working the soap into a lather. Slowly, Greasy stopped struggling, his wings relaxing as he closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the sensation.


    "Hmm... I''m not going to lie, this actually feels good," Greasy admitted, his voice softer now.


    Kain smirked slightly. "See? I¡¯m not doing you any harm, Greasy. I just want the best for you."


    Greasy let out a contented caw, his earlier protests replaced with quiet enjoyment as Kain continued washing him.


    After finishing washing the bird, Kain grabbed a clean towel and gently wrapped Greasy in it, bundling him up like a baby.


    "Perfect. Soon enough, you¡¯ll be attracting another crow to date," Kain teased, cradling the bundled bird in his arms.


    "This is ridiculous... I¡¯m a powerful demon, and you treat me like a baby!" Greasy protested, his muffled voice coming from within the towel.


    "You could just fly away and avoid this," Kain replied with a small smirk. "But you¡¯re right¡ªI guess I¡¯m a little overprotective of you."


    Kain started walking toward his room, still holding the towel-wrapped Greasy. When he reached the door, he set the crow gently on the floor before stepping inside. Moments later, the door reopened, and Kain emerged wearing the same suit from the day before¡ªthe same one he¡¯d worn during his first-ever performance.


    Greasy, now free of the towel, stared up at Kain and rolled his eyes dramatically.


    "Do you always wear that same crappy suit? Don¡¯t you have any variety, Kain? Caw!"


    "For starters, it¡¯s not the same suit," Kain countered with a knowing smile. "Haven¡¯t you heard of the Ship of Theseus theorem? And second, this suit fits me perfectly. It¡¯s presentable anywhere." He adjusted the jacket. "Besides, why would I care about fashion? I¡¯m blind."


    "Sometimes it feels like you''re stuck in the past," said Greasy, flying over to perch on Kain''s left shoulder.


    "If I were really in the past, I''d be seeing. Anyway, breakfast."


    Kain headed toward the kitchen, which was part of the living room. On the left side, a half-wall with a rectangular marble counter separated the two spaces. Once there, he approached the coffee machine and poured himself an espresso, already brewed and ready.


    "This machine is the best thing I¡¯ve ever bought," he remarked, savoring the first sip.


    "You¡¯ve bought a mansion with cash, and this coffee machine is the best thing you¡¯ve ever bought?" Greasy asked incredulously.


    "Of course. Waking up every day to ready-made coffee? That¡¯s priceless."


    "You are strange, Kain."


    "I guess I¡¯m just getting used to the simpler things. As for the mansion? I never even set foot in it. It was just an investment in real estate titles. Anyway, turn on the TV. I¡¯m going to make breakfast."


    "Caw!"


    With that, Greasy flew over to the remote control lying on the couch. Using his beak, he turned on the TV.


    The screen displayed a makeup commercial, but since Greasy didn¡¯t wear makeup, he changed the channel.


    "New score in the Infinite Greed Lottery, with 600 thousand souls accumulated for the priz¡ª"


    "Is the Archangel of Love gay or not? Find out in today¡¯s episode of Hellconspiracy LTDA."


    Finally, he stopped at HellCorp Television, where the news was reporting on a peculiar incident. On the screen, a tall, two-headed demon delivered the news. Both heads wore fine black suits, with dark faces and massive horns.


    "Breaking news: yesterday at the Sea Of Pride, a cargo barge failed to respond to radio communication from gate operators," the first head reported.


    "According to information received by our editorial team, a team was sent to the barge¡¯s location and discovered the crew members dead. The existence of survivors remains unconfirmed, as does the cause of the accident, which is still under investigation," the second head added.


    "The vessel was in a precarious state and carrying spare parts for vehiclesb that were to be sent to a Hell''s Motore assembly plant in Pentagram City, and it was confirmed that a good portion of the parts would go toward repairing a fleet of Twisted Lucky Enterprise delivery trucks whose CEO Andrey Fortuna has not yet commented on whether he has any relation to the event. As previously mentioned, the causes of this accident  remain unknown. However, an audio recording from the vessel has been recovered after the failed radio communication attempt."


    The screen shifted to display an audio visualizer that moved erratically, yet no sound came through the TV. However, Kain could hear it¡ªclearly and horrifyingly. He froze in fear, the cup slipping from his hand and shattering into pieces on the floor.


    Greasy, alarmed by the sound, flew over to Kain, noticing how the visualizers in the musician''s eyes pulsed erratically, almost in sync with the madness of the unheard sound.


    "Kain!"


    But Kain didn¡¯t respond. He was consumed by what he heard: distorted screams and fragments of a melody that defied coherence, an infernal cacophony carrying every sin ever committed within its notes. It was the essence of pure evil, refusing to leave his mind in peace.


    The image on the TV changed again, and Kain placed a trembling hand on his head. Greasy fluttered anxiously, his voice filled with panic.


    "Kain, are you okay?"


    Kain¡¯s lips twitched into a faint, unsettling smile as he muttered, "So this is how you made yourself known. How long until you get to me? Ronnie will be happy to hear this."


    "Caw?" Greasy tilted his head in confusion and fear.


    Kain takes a deep breath.


    "Relax Greasy, it was just a mild panic attack, I''ll clean up this mess."


    Meanwhile, at Pentagram Bank, Dazzle¡ªthe self-proclaimed best secretary in Hell¡ªwas busy scrutinizing promotional posters for the bank. One featured a massive image of Sir Clockhauser pointing forward, accompanied by a slogan about a an investment consultancy. The other displayed the bank¡¯s logo with the tagline "The Financial Devil" underneath.


    "Hmm... I think both work," Dazzle mused, holding the posters up. His eyes lingered on the Clockhauser poster. "But I think it needs more color to highlight our leader!"


    The intercom on his desk suddenly buzzed, interrupting his thoughts.


    Dazzle sighed, set the posters down, and pressed the intercom button. "Dazzle, Secretary of Pentagram Bank speaking. Order? For Sir Clockhauser? Sure, send someone to drop it here."


    A few minutes later, Arch stepped out of the elevator, carrying a box with his signature wide smile beneath his blue hair.


    "Good morning, Mr. Rider," Dazzle greeted casually. "Have you eliminated the creditor who¡¯s been five years late paying their loan?"


    Arch placed the box on the desk and responded with a series of hand gestures, his usual sign language.


    "Excellent! These modern-day demons just don¡¯t grasp the concept of bank interest."


    Dazzle glanced at the box. It was red, adorned with a bow, and had a note attached that read, "For Sir Clockhauser."


    "I¡¯ll take this to the boss. You can go chat with your wife, or whatever."


    Arch smiled politely and returned to the elevator. Box in hand, Dazzle walked to the door of Sir Clockhauser¡¯s office, knocking three times.


    "Come in, Dazzle," Clockhauser¡¯s voice called from inside.


    Dazzle opened the door, stepping into the Overlord¡¯s office. As always, Clockhauser was hard at work, even during the early hours.


    "I have a package for you, boss," Dazzle announced, holding out the box.


    Clockhauser raised his clock face slowly, the reflective surface catching the room¡¯s light.


    "Okay. What¡¯s inside the box?"


    "Uh... I don¡¯t know. The note just says to give it to you."


    Clockhauser¡¯s ticking intensified slightly. "Dazzle, do you know how many enemies I have?"


    "A lot?"


    "A lot," Clockhauser confirmed. "And you just brought an unchecked box into my office? What if it¡¯s a bomb? Or poison gas?"


    "I¡­ hadn¡¯t thought of that," Dazzle admitted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.


    Clockhauser sighed heavily and motioned for Dazzle to step closer. Reluctantly, Dazzle obeyed.


    Taking the box, Clockhauser paused before opening it. He grabbed Dazzle¡¯s wrist tightly. "If this is a bomb, and I die because of your incompetence, we both die."


    Dazzle gulped audibly, his eyes wide as Clockhauser slowly opened the box.


    Inside, however, there was no bomb, no poison gas. Instead, there lay a pristine white mask with spinning wheels typical of a slot machine.


    "N¡ª" Clockhauser began, but he was abruptly interrupted as the mask floated into the air. From within, a green smoke started to billow out¡ªnot a lethal vapor, but something distinctly magical. The smoke swirled and began to form the shape of a body.


    With a soft thud, a pair of feet landed on Clockhauser''s desk. Standing there was a tall demon dressed in ostentatious attire: a richly embroidered coat, loose yellow pants symbolizing wealth with accents of blue, ornate and expensive shoes, numerous rings adorning his fingers, and a wide-brimmed hat with a gold band. His entire ensemble was a loud declaration of extravagance, the unmistakable style of...


    "A gypsy," Clockhauser muttered, letting out a long, exasperated sigh as he rubbed his face. "I¡¯d rather it had been a bomb."


    Dazzle stared at the figure in confusion as the mysterious gypsy adjusted a mechanical cane in his hands, its design a complex amalgamation of gears and mechanisms.


    The gypsy turned his head slowly toward the Overlord. The mask that had obscured his face shot upward, revealing sharp teeth and mismatched eyes¡ªone glowing bright green, the other more ordinary, save for its vivid green pupil.


    "Apparently, the wheel of fortune has turned, delivering yet another inopportune event for us both. Good morning, Clockhauser," the gypsy greeted, his voice smooth and teasing.


    Clockhauser crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Did you come here just to give me your Tarot reading, Andrey?"


    Andrey smirked, placing one hand on his chest while the other rested on his cane. "Perhaps, if you''re interested. But no, this is about the incident yesterday. It directly affects my company."


    Clockhauser¡¯s tone remained cold as he gestured toward his desk. "Yes, I¡¯m aware. But before we discuss business, get off my desk."


    "What if I don''t want to leave? What will you do?" Andrey asked with a mischievous smile, his tone laced with mockery.


    "I will break every bone in your body," Clockhauser replied coldly, his voice steady and filled with menace.


    Andrey placed a hand casually on his face, feigning disinterest. "I didn''t hear much conviction in that threat," he said, his grin widening even further.


    A loud ticking sound echoed from Clockhauser''s face, the hands on the clock moving sharply to 2:15 AM. In a sudden burst of fury, Clockhauser sprang to his feet, his voice booming. "GET OFF MY TABLE, YOU GYPSY SON OF A BIT¡ª"


    Before he could finish his sentence, Clockhauser staggered, clutching his chest as he collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain.


    "AAAAH!" he screamed, his agony reverberating through the room.


    For Clockhauser it was as if the internal mechanisms of the clock that was his head were stressed to the maximum, causing excessive pain as if the hands were being forcefully pulled out. Following the sound of gears locking.


    Dazzle rushed to his side, panicked, while Andrey stepped off the table, still laughing, his cane tapping lightly against the floor.


    "A demon as powerful as you, yet brought down by your own emotions. That archangel really did a number on you," Andrey mocked, his tone dripping with amusement. "I thought with all your expertise in clockwork, you''d have found a way to fix yourself by now."


    "Boss, are you okay?" Dazzle asked, visibly distressed as he tried to help the Overlord.


    Clockhauser took a deep breath, recovering from the pain, and slowly stood up, brushing off Dazzle¡¯s concern without a word.


    Turning his attention to Andrey, he said, "From the report I read about the incident, much of the spare parts were going to repair their fleet of delivery trucks in another city,"


    "Correct as always, my lord," Andrey replied with a bow, his tone oozing deference.


    "And that''s why you''re here?"


    "Precisely," Andrey confirmed, his smirk returning.


    "So¡­ who are you?" Dazzle asked, his tail wagging from side to side with curiosity.


    "Oh, little Imp, I didn''t notice you there," Andrey said, turning his attention to him. "You must be Sir Clockhauser''s assistant. My name is Andrey Fortuna, owner of the casino supplies company *Twisted Lucky Enterprise*, or TLE for short."


    "My name is Dazzle, and I''m the Secretary of the Pentagram Bank," Dazzle replied, raising a finger with a touch of pride in his voice.


    "Yes, yes, of course," Andrey said dismissively as he stepped closer to Dazzle. He sniffed the air subtly, catching the mineral scent from the Imp''s skin. "Your skin is so yellow. Let me guess¡ªyou used to work as a miner?"


    "I worked for 20 years in the Hellitia refineries," Dazzle answered, crossing his arms. "I was a transporter, had a lot of contact with the material, and didn¡¯t have money for Hellimia."


    "You seem pretty lucky to have landed such a high-level job," Andrey remarked with a grin. "Hehehe, makes me curious. Dazzle, would you like to test your luck?"


    "What do you mean, ''test my luck''?" Dazzle asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Before Andrey could reply, Clockhauser intervened, placing a firm hand on Dazzle''s shoulder. "I know exactly where this is going. Don¡¯t mess with my employees."


    "Pfft, you¡¯re so boring," Andrey retorted, rolling his eyes.


    Clockhauser made a motion with his other hand, and Andrey begrudgingly sat in the chair across from the desk while Clockhauser settled back into his velvety chair.


    "I know the standard procedure, and transportation is not the issue," Andrey began, his voice sharp and measured. "The issue is safety assurance. We trust you to keep the Sea of Pride logistics operational. What guarantees do you offer that this type of event won¡¯t happen again? And don¡¯t think I haven¡¯t read the regulations¡ªI¡¯m going to lose three days due to cargo relocation. Demons are not patient, Clockhauser. My customers are waiting for their merchandise, and if I suffer losses because of an event in a place where you¡¯re supposed to maintain security, I can¡ªand will¡ªdemand financial compensation. It¡¯s my right as a businessman associated with Pentagram Bank.


    And let¡¯s not forget the HORRIBLE press this gives me! My name is now tied to this disaster! How did this even happen? A ship appears out of nowhere with all the crew dead¡ªthat¡¯s not exactly reassuring!"


    Clockhauser listened calmly, his face was just a clock without a mouth, eyes, or in other words, without expression. "I understand your concerns. Regarding the accident, we are still investigating. But, if it helps, not all crew members were killed."


    He turned to his computer, fingers deftly navigating through several windows until he pulled up a video feed from the bank¡¯s security cameras. Once he located the footage, he turned the monitor toward Andrey, showing a demon sleeping in what appeared to be a holding cell.


    "What do you mean? I saw the news¡ªno survivors."


    "No confirmed survivors," Clockhauser corrected. "But one demon survived, and he¡¯s in our custody."


    Andrey squinted at the screen, his curiosity piqued. "Can I talk to him? Wait... Do you have a cell in a bank?"


    Clockhauser leaned back in his chair, a faint air of amusement in his tone. "This building is more than a bank; it¡¯s practically the city hall. You shouldn¡¯t be so surprised. Besides, I¡¯m also seeking answers to this mystery. As for your association with the incident, I wouldn¡¯t worry too much. This is Hell¡ªno business is built without bloodshed, and nobody here is innocent."


    Andrey frowned, but eventually shook his head, his expression growing serious.


    "Anything else to add?" Clockhauser pressed.


    "No," Andrey replied, bowing slightly before standing.


    "Excellent. Thank you for your time, Mr. Fortuna. I¡¯ll allow you to speak with the survivor, but for now, I need to take precautionary measures to prevent future incidents."


    Andrey gave a curt nod, adjusting his hat before leaving the office.


    Dazzle, who had been quietly observing, turned to Clockhauser. "So¡­ what are you going to do?"


    Clockhauser¡¯s clock face ticked slightly as he turned back to his computer. "For now, the usual¡ªwork," he replied, his gaze l


    ingering on the monitor where the demon survivor remained asleep. He turned his head to the side. "Interesting. This might just make my week a bit more¡­ fun."