The Demon King's Customer Service

Chapter 6: Internal Audit

"Are you planning on staying for dinner? Because I’m pretty sure the cafeteria only serves 'Despair Pot Pie' on Tuesdays, and trust me, it’s mostly just crust and crushed dreams."

Niran didn’t look up from his monitor as he spoke. He could feel Malyssa’s presence behind him, a cold, sharp pressure that felt like having a sword pointed at the back of his neck.

"I am conducting a formal shadow-audit, Tavio," Malyssa replied, her voice crisp and entirely too close to his left ear. "That means I go where you go. I watch what you do. I breathe the same sulfur-choked air you breathe. Consider me your shadow, but with a law degree and significantly more spite."

"Great. My own personal rain cloud in a suit," Niran muttered, clicking through a spreadsheet of soul-migration patterns. "Barnaby! Can we get a second chair in here? Preferably one that’s uncomfortable enough to encourage a quick exit?"

"On it, Boss!" Barnaby’s voice squeaked from behind a stack of folders. The little demon scurried over, dragging a stool made of what looked like petrified driftwood and rusted nails. "Here you go, Miss Vespera! It’s the ‘Low-Priority Penance’ model. Guaranteed to cause a localized cramp within five minutes!"

Malyssa ignored the stool, remaining standing with her arms crossed. "I’ll stand. It’s harder to hide a bribe when the auditor is looking down at you. Now, explain this spike in the 'Unresolved Grievance' column. Why is there a three percent discrepancy between your intake and your resolutions from last night?"

Niran sighed, spinning his chair around. "It’s not a bribe, Malyssa. It’s called a 'Buffer.' We just had a crusade at the front door. Things got a little messy. I’m still reconciling the paperwork from General Kael’s vouchers."

"The vouchers were a temporary fix," she snapped, leaning over his desk to tap a glowing red cell on the screen. "But look at the raw data. This isn't from the crusade. This is from the general queue. You have souls entering the system, being assigned to Customer Service for 'Initial Consultation,' and then... they just vanish."

Niran frowned, his corporate-honed instincts kicking in. "Vanish? Nothing vanishes in Hell. The paperwork is the only thing that actually lasts forever. Let me see that."

He pulled the screen closer, his fingers dancing across the obsidian keyboard. "That’s weird. Barnaby, check the log for Batch 409-Gamma. We should have six thousand retail managers in for 'Irony Assessment' today."

"Uh, looking now, Boss!" Barnaby scrambled to a massive ledger near the wall. "Batch 409-Gamma... arrivals confirmed at 0800 hours. Transferred to the 'Wait-and-See' Lounge at 0815. But... oh. Oh dear."

"Don't 'oh dear' me, Barnaby. Give me a metric," Niran said, his voice dropping into a serious register.

"They aren't in the lounge, sir. And they aren't in the Pits. The ledger says they were 'Re-routed for Special Processing' by a Department ID that... well, it doesn't have a name. It’s just a string of zeros."

Niran looked at Malyssa. The mock-annoyance was gone, replaced by a sharp, professional focus. "Special Processing? I didn't authorize that. Did your office?"

"If the Reincarnation Bureau authorized a mass-reroute, I would have signed the execution order," Malyssa said, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the screen. "This looks like soul-skimming, Niran. Someone is taking people out of the queue before they can even be processed for punishment."

"Wait, you’re telling me someone is stealing the damned?" Niran asked, a short, dry laugh escaping him. "Who would want more of them? My job is literally trying to figure out how to handle the ones we already have."

"Think about it like a businessman, for once," Malyssa hissed, stepping around the desk to look at the code. "Souls are the only currency that matters. Labor, mana, essence—it all comes from them. If you skim a few thousand souls a day from the Customer Service queue, where no one is looking yet, you could build a private army or a silent factory in a few decades."

"And because they're in my 'Initial Consultation' phase, the system thinks I'm just being slow with the paperwork," Niran realized, a cold pit forming in his stomach. "They’re using my backlog as cover. That’s low. Even for Hell, that’s a middle-management move."

"It’s more than low. It’s a breach of the Sovereign’s Monopoly," Malyssa said, her voice trembling with a mix of legal outrage and genuine fear. "If Lucifer finds out souls are being diverted, he won't just fire the person responsible. He’ll unmake the entire sector."

"Which includes me," Niran pointed out. "And since you’re shadowing me, it probably includes you too. Guilty by association, right?"

"I would argue that I am the one who discovered the discrepancy," she countered, though her grip on her briefcase tightened. "But yes. Our survival is currently linked. Which is a disgusting thought."

"Glad we’re on the same page. Barnaby, trace that ID. Where did the reroute signal originate?"

The little demon’s claws clattered against the stone floor as he ran toward a flickering crystal array. "It’s... it’s coming from the sub-basement, Boss. Way past the Tax Office. Down in the archives."

"The archives are five miles deep, Barnaby. Be specific," Niran said, grabbing his coat.

"It’s not the standard archives, sir," Barnaby whispered, his yellow eyes wide. "The signal is bouncing off the 'Forgotten' wing. Section Zero."

Malyssa went pale. "Section Zero? That’s been sealed since the Third Rebellion. There’s nothing down there but dust and things that were too broken to be recycled."

"And apparently, a very efficient soul-skimming operation," Niran said, checking his phone for a signal. "Come on, Counsel. If we’re going to get audited, I’d rather have the thief’s head on a platter to show the Boss."

"You realize we’re walking into a dead zone, right?" Malyssa asked as they stepped out of the office and into the elevator, which was essentially a cage made of screaming iron. "No comms. No guards. Just us and whatever is hiding in the dark."

"I used to work the night shift at a call center in a building that was officially condemned by the fire marshal," Niran replied, hitting the button for the lowest possible floor. "I’ve seen scarier things than a dusty basement."

"You are infuriatingly confident for a man with no magical abilities," Malyssa muttered, though she didn't step out of the elevator.

"I have the ultimate magic, Malyssa. I have 'Project Management Skills,'" Niran said as the elevator began a stomach-churning descent. "Besides, you’ve got the glowing eyes and the legal jargon. I’m sure you can bore anything to death if it tries to eat us."

"I'll have you know my litigation spells are quite painful," she snapped.

The elevator landed with a bone-jarring thud. The doors creaked open to reveal a hallway that was less an office and more a cave. The walls were lined with shelves that stretched into the darkness, filled with stone tablets and crumbling scrolls that smelled like wet earth and ancient secrets.

"It’s quiet," Malyssa whispered, her hand beginning to glow with a faint, violet light. "Too quiet. Even for a tomb."

"Look at the floor," Niran said, pointing his phone’s flashlight down.

There were tracks in the thick dust. Not feet, but the smooth, wide ruts of heavy carts, and the faint, shimmering trail of soul-residue—the stuff that looked like spilled glitter but felt like a cold shiver.

"They’re moving them through here," Niran said, following the trail. "Thousands of them. How did nobody notice the traffic?"

"The Forgotten Archives are outside the standard sensory grid," Malyssa explained, her voice low. "It’s a blind spot. Whoever is doing this knows the infrastructure of this place better than the architects."

They walked for what felt like hours, the air getting colder and heavier with every step. The shelves grew more chaotic, some overflowing with records written in languages that seemed to squirm under the light.

"You're actually pretty good at this," Niran said, breaking the silence. "Most people would have started screaming by the third mile of ancient ghosts."

"I am a Senior Counsel, Niran. I have spent centuries looking into the abyss of human contracts. This is just a walk in the park compared to a divorce settlement between two immortals."

"Fair point. Hey, is it just me, or is the air starting to hum?"

Malyssa stopped. "It’s a resonance. We’re close to a high-density mana source."

They rounded a corner and the hallway ended abruptly in a massive, circular chamber. In the center, a group of hooded figures—smaller than demons, but more solid than ghosts—were loading glowing orbs of soul-essence into a strange, clockwork machine that looked like a cross between an engine and a meat grinder.

"What are they doing to them?" Niran whispered, ducking behind a pillar of scrolls.

"They're 'De-labeling' them," Malyssa breathed, her eyes wide with horror. "They're stripping the souls of their identities. No name, no history, no sins. Just pure, raw energy. They’re turning people into batteries."

"That’s... that’s a total violation of the User Agreement," Niran said, his jaw tightening. "They’re erasing the data before it can be processed. That’s a catastrophic loss of information."

"Is that all you care about? The data?" Malyssa asked, looking at him with a strange expression.

"If there’s no data, there’s no justice, Malyssa. These people are supposed to be suffering for specific reasons. You can't just turn them into a AA battery because it’s more convenient. It’s unprofessional."

Suddenly, the machine let out a loud, grinding shriek, and the hooded figures froze. One of them turned toward the pillar where Niran and Malyssa were hiding. It didn't have a face, just a void beneath a cowl.

"I think we’ve been spotted," Niran said, straightening his tie.

"Really? What gave it away? The faceless monster staring at us?" Malyssa hissed, her hands erupting in violet flames.

"Stay back," Niran said, stepping out into the open. "I’ve got this."

"What are you doing? You don't have a weapon!"

"I have a voice," Niran said, raising his hand. "Hey! You in the hoods! My name is Niran Tavio, Head of Infernal Customer Service! I’m here to discuss a major breach in the corporate supply chain, and I’d like to see your supervisor immediately!"

The figures didn't speak. They moved with a terrifying, synchronized grace, gliding across the floor toward him.

"Niran, get down!" Malyssa shouted, throwing a bolt of purple energy that shattered the lead figure into a cloud of black smoke.

But more were coming. Dozens of them poured out from the shadows of the shelves.

"Run!" Malyssa grabbed Niran’s arm, pulling him toward the far side of the chamber. "The archives continue behind the machine! There’s a service tunnel!"

They sprinted past the grinding engine, the heat from the soul-stripping process singeing Niran’s hair. The hooded figures were fast, their hollow hisses echoing off the stone walls.

"In here!" Niran pointed to a small, heavy door set into the back of the chamber.

They dove through the opening just as a wave of cold shadows slammed into the stone. Niran fumbled for the latch, slamming the door shut and sliding a heavy iron bar across it.

"That... that was close," Niran panted, leaning against the door. "Remind me to add 'Security Detail' to my budget request."

"You almost got us killed!" Malyssa yelled, her hair disheveled, her composure finally breaking. "You can't 'customer service' your way out of a cult of soul-eaters!"

"It worked for a second! It bought us time to run!"

"You're an idiot!"

"And you're still shadowing me! So who’s the bigger idiot?"

Malyssa opened her mouth to retort, but the words died in her throat. She wasn't looking at Niran anymore. She was looking at what was behind him.

Niran turned around, his flashlight beam cutting through the darkness of the new room.

It wasn't a tunnel. It was a vault. A single, perfectly circular room made of white marble that looked completely out of place in the grimy, black depths of Hell. In the center of the room was a single door, standing unsupported in the middle of the floor.

The door was made of a wood that seemed to breathe, and it was sealed with a wax stamp the size of a dinner plate.

The sigil on the wax wasn't the standard corporate logo of the Inner Circle. It was an ancient, jagged sun draped in thorns—a mark that pulsed with a slow, rhythmic red light.

"Niran," Malyssa whispered, her voice trembling. "Don't move."

"Why? What is it?"

"That’s the personal seal of the Morning Star," she said, her eyes fixed on the door. "But not the CEO version. That’s his original mark. From the Fall. That door hasn't been touched in an eternity."

Niran stepped closer, the air around the door feeling thick, like he was walking through invisible honey. "If the soul-skimmers are operating right outside this room... do you think they’re trying to get in?"

"Or," Malyssa said, her voice barely audible, "do you think whatever is inside is the one who’s been calling them?"

Niran reached out, his hand hovering just inches from the ancient red wax. The sigil flared, and for a brief second, the screams of the million souls above were silenced by a single, booming heartbeat that shook the very foundation of the Pit.

"Well," Niran said, his voice cracking just a little. "I guess we’re going to have to open a ticket for this, aren't we?"