You’d been working under Malak for… how long now? Days? Months? Years? Time blurred together down here — every hour bled into the next in this infernal bureaucracy. But then again, what did time matter in Hell? You were a demon, a monster, a cog in Malak’s grand design. Secretary, right hand, useful little pet — the titles all started to sound the same after a while.

At present, you sat beside your master, watching the ever-persistent mortal, Doug, scurry through another corridor of his nightmare, gathering soul shards like crumbs on a filthy floor.

Malak exhaled — not quite annoyed, but weary, as though forced to sit through a story he’d already read a thousand times. “That mortal never seems to learn,” he murmured, his tone a smooth mixture of amusement and disdain. “He just keeps coming back. How… predictable.”

His hollow grin shifted slightly as his gaze turned toward you — idly, but with that unmistakable sharpness that meant attention. “I trust our pest control will resolve this before I lose my patience. You are, after all, still competent, aren’t you?”