The council chamber stretched impossibly vast, its obsidian pillars rising into darkness overhead. Rivers of lava flowed over the arms of a massive throne that loomed empty at one end. It appeared to be carved from wicked souls, who writhed and screamed in silence as the molten stone ran over their bodies. As the glowing rivers flowed away from the throne through carved channels in the floor and spat the occasional flame, they cast everything in an unholy orange light, making shadows dance across the ancient stonework. Lady Malakai never got tired of imagining herself splayed on it, thousands of worshipers worshiping at her feet.

  Instead, she reclined in her seat with practiced elegance, one leg crossed over the other, her fingers drumming a slow rhythm on the armrest. Around the circular table sat two other senior daemons, each maintaining their own particular brand of terrifying composure.

  "He's late again," Lord Asgoranthe growled from across the table. The ancient war-demon's scarred face twisted with irritation.

  "As if our time matters one scintilla to him—punctuality has never been His Majesty's priority," Malakai murmured, studying her perfectly manicured nails. "Control is. Even a blunt instrument like you must understand this by now. It is my pleasure to wait until my lord is ready to use me however he sees fit."

  Asgoranthe shifted his massive frame, causing his chitinous armor plates to scrape against the stone of his seat. His carapace bore deep battle scars, a testimony to three thousand years of continuous warfare, and one of the four horns flanking his face was broken, proof that he still took the field at the head of his legions. Yellow eyes burned beneath his prominent brow, and when he spoke, his mandibles clacked against each other.

  "Control." He spat the word like a curse. "He keeps us waiting like supplicants. Every. Single. Time. It's disrespectful."

  "It's strategic, Lord Asgoranthe," Malakai sighed, continuing to examine her nails. "It keeps us off-balance. Never knowing when he'll arrive, what mood he'll be in, or whether he'll skip the meeting entirely. Control through chaos." She smiled, revealing perfect teeth with subtle fangs. "It's so sexy when he does it. It makes him worth serving."

  Lord Vezimer said nothing, as usual. The shadow given form barely registered as a presence—just a darker patch of gloom ostensibly seated across from her, watching everything with eyes that gleamed like distant stars.

  "Speaking of chaos," Malakai continued, leaning forward, "has anyone received updates on his new captain? The one who defied His Darkness in the summoning chamber? That was exciting."

  Azgoranthe's expression soured further. "You mean the anomaly? The mistake? The should-have-been-aborted-immediately champion?"

  "The pet project," Malakai corrected, letting amusement color her tone. "Come now, Azgoranthe. You're not still bitter about that, are you?"

  "Bitter?" The war-demon's fist slammed the table. Small cracks spider-webbed through the stone. "That human refused a direct order from the Demon King himself! Any other being would have been made to suffer for a thousand thousand years for such insolence. And an agent of the Great Enemy Himself violated the sanctity of the summoning chamber! What does our master do? Promote him! Mark him. Give him command authority." His voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. "Promoted!" He spat a globule of acid on the ground. "What a disgrace. That's one's trouble, you mark my words. He exposes weakness in our master."

  "He's unconventional, certainly. But weakness? I don't believe such a thing exists in our master," Malakai countered. She'd been thinking about Chuck quite a lot lately. The contradiction he represented—it was delicious. It fascinated her. It was something she'd never seen in her millennia in Hell. He was so new and different, she feared she'd become infatuated. Already, she wanted to take him for her own use. Already, she thought of how deliciously humiliating it would be to be forced to serve under him. "How is he doing, Lord Vezimer? I know you’ve been keeping tabs on him. You keep tabs on everything."

  Vezimer's voice drifted from the shadows, barely louder than breath. "He has taken up residence in the territory he was assigned, but has yet to subjugate it for reasons that are not clear. Half his allotted time has elapsed."

  "Unclear?" Azgoranthe seized on this. "Harumph. He's failing, then."

  "Unknown," Vezimer repeated. "Although there is an interesting incident that was reported. Vorghammul the Destroyer appears to have decided to claim the territory for himself, but was repulsed. No information on casualties, but you would know that better than I, Lord Asgoranthe, wouldn't you? He is one of yours, is he not?"

  Malakai's interest sharpened, but she showed nothing. Asgoranthe had already sent a lieutenant to take the territory? And it had not reported back? That seemed unlike one of Asgoranthe's war dogs under any circumstance. Interesting indeed.

  "It's impossible to keep the young ones under control these days. No discipline. Always deciding to conquer territory in my name without asking first. They cause nothing but trouble."

  "Chuck stopped Vorghammul the Destroyer?" She let his mortal name roll off her tongue, savoring the informality of using it with no title. It felt almost intimate, using a name rather than a title. It was delicious and decadent as it slid around her mouth. "One newly minted paladin against Vorghammul's warband?" The demon's name without his title was not nearly as delectable.

  "Lord Asgoranthe's minion seems to have forgotten to submit a report on the incident. Or he's dead. Permit me to query my minions for information." The eyes went dark.

  Asgoranthe leaned back, arms crossed. "If the human has killed Vorghammul the Destroyer, that proves my point. He's a threat that should be eliminated before he grows stronger."

  "If he killed him," Malakai countered, "that proves he's an asset worth cultivating."

  Malakai watched Asgoranthe's face darken to the color of old blood. War-demons never handled intellectual challenges well—they preferred problems they could crush with their bare hands and drink the blood of. She savored that she could make him so angry so easily. Anything more complicated than a frontal assault was something they had difficulty comprehending.

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  "Asset?" The word came out strangled. "Cultivate? You want to cultivate a paladin who serves the Demon King? He should be destroyed! He is an affront to the order of the universe."

  "Lord Vezimer, I can tell that you're back with us. Don't play in the shadows. What have you found?"

  "Things are actually getting quite interesting. He apparently defeated his assailant via bureaucratic obstruction."

  The laughter started deep in Malakai's chest and erupted before she could contain it. It spilled through the council chamber like music, bright and sharp and utterly delighted, and would bring madness to any mortal who dared listen to it. She pressed one hand to her stomach, the other covering her mouth in a futile attempt at composure.

  "Bureaucratic obstruction!" The words came out in a breathless rush between peals of amusement. "Oh, Lord Asgoranthe, this is magnificent. Your war-demon, stopped by paperwork!"

  Asgoranthe's face had progressed beyond blood-red to something approaching volcanic. His massive hands gripped the armrests of his chair hard enough that the stone groaned. "I am not amused."

  "It's hilarious." Malakai wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still giggling. "Vorghammul the Destroyer, brought low by forms and filing requirements. Did he fill them out in triplicate? Please tell me there was triplicate."

  "How?" Asgoranthe turned toward Vezimer's shadows, ignoring Malakai's continued laughter. "How is it possible for him to have already mastered our bureaucracy? He's been here less than a week!"

  The shadows shifted, and Vezimer's voice drifted out with that same maddening calm. "Pemberton."

  Malakai's laughter cut off, and her visage darkened. "Pemberton? The Pemberton?"

  "The same. Assigned to Chuck's squad as administrative officer."

  Now that was interesting. Pemberton had nearly exposed half the demon lords in Hell with his obsessive accounting before they'd buried him in some forgotten assignment. Malakai had personally lost three highly profitable soul-harvesting operations after he'd noticed irregularities in her quarterly reports. She still hadn't figured out how he'd managed to spot her overbilling of the succubi clothing allowances.

  "How did a newly summoned human acquire Hell's premier bureaucrat?" Malakai leaned forward, fascination replacing her momentary darkness. "Pemberton should be languishing in some records vault where he can't cause trouble."

  "It is in the contract," Vezimer said. "The devil who drafted Chuck and His Darkness' contract included personnel assignment clauses. Included were provisions for administrative support, specialists, and operational resources. Standard boilerplate. There are other clauses so clever that we've not yet been able to decipher them."

  "Who is this contract devil? I will have him executed immediately!"

  "His name is, oh boy, Nebuchadnezzar Aristophanes Aloisius Hieronymus Chrysanthemum. And if I remember correctly, you've already personally signed one execution order for him."

  "Him? He did this? Why is he not dead? That dyslexic… infuriating… " Asgoranthe failed to produce more words, but the collection of sounds that escaped his mouth left no doubt as to their meaning. "Gnn… gnnnn… Standard boilerplate!"

  "Oh yes, boilerplate. But written by him, so..." Vezimer's pause conveyed volumes. "Hell's personnel department interpreted the contract literally, of course, and provided demons for each position. With nobody there to vet the selections, however…"

  "He was assigned the worst possible," Malakai repeated slowly, understanding dawning. "The demons nobody else wanted. The ones shunned by those of us in positions of authority. Which is how he ended up with a bureaucratic legend. The bureaucratic legend."

  "Precisely. Nebuchadnezzar Aristophanes Aloisius Hieronymus Chrysanthemum even got himself out of Lord Asgoranthe's execution by writing himself onto the team by name. I need to reevaluate his performance reports, because that was a genius maneuver."

  Malakai's mind raced through the implications. Hell had given Chuck misfits, thinking they'd guarantee his failure. Instead, just one of them was all that was needed to stop a demon invasion. She couldn't decide if it was remarkable or merely lucky. One would have to have the luck of the Devil—

  "Oh, and there's a House Cat that's moved in with him."

  Asgoranthe slammed both fists on the table. "A House Cat? Are you telling me this human has a House Cat and you're not concerned? How can you not be concerned?"

  "Why would I be concerned about a cat?" Malakai asked, though she knew exactly why. "I like them. So graceful yet powerful when they want to be." As long as they're on my side, she left unsaid. They could be territorial nightmares who could see straight through any glamour that demons tried to use. Having one on Chuck's side was a considerable advantage. The image of her last cat flashed into her mind, and a sudden sadness at the loss caught her off guard. She had loved little Mister Fluffy Beans.

  "This proves my point," Asgoranthe growled. "He's accumulating power and resources. He needs to be eliminated before—"

  The temperature in the chamber dropped forty degrees in an instant as the Demon King manifested on his throne like a thunderclap of shadow and cold blue fire. One moment, the seat stood empty; the next, reality bent around his presence until the very air screamed. He regarded his council with eyes of burning ice as his throne writhed wherever he made contact.

  Malakai felt the familiar thrill of fear and desire coil in her breast. She sprang out of her chair and curtseyed low in deference, watching Asgoranthe prostrate himself completely. Only Vezimer remained still, as it was impossible to tell what his physical manifestation was doing anyway.

  "Ah, my council." The Demon King's voice shook the stones beneath their feet. "How delightful to find you bickering. Again. About the same tedious subjects. Again. Just three of you today?"

  Asgoranthe lifted his head just enough to speak. "Your Darkness, we were discussing the human—"

  "Chuck." The Demon King's laughter rolled through the chamber like thunder. "Say his name, Lord Asgoranthe. Chuck. Such a small, ridiculous name for this pebble in your shoe."

  Malakai risked a glance upward and caught the Demon King leaning forward on his throne, elbows on knees, chin resting on interlaced fingers. He looked almost... playful.

  "He stopped Vorghammul the Destroyer with paperwork, I hear," the Demon King continued, each word dripping with delight. "One of your war-demons, Lord Asgoranthe. Brought to his knees by forms and filing requirements. Tell me—did Vorghammul the Destroyer remember to submit his expense report before retreating?" His laughter shook the chamber. "Did he fill it out in triplicate?"

  Lady Malakai suppressed a giggle, pleased that she'd equaled her master's wit with her own.

  "Your Darkness, I—"

  "And he has a House Cat, I hear! That's fascinating, wouldn't you say, Lady Malakai?"

  She straightened slightly but kept her eyes averted. "Extremely fascinating, Your Darkness. He has reminded me that it has been a long time since I had one of my own."

  "You see? Lady Malakai understands. She's curious. She wants to see what happens next." The Demon King stood, and his shadow filled half the chamber. "While you, Lord Asgoranthe, want to eliminate the most entertaining thing to happen in Hell in millennia because it makes you uncomfortable."

  Asgoranthe pressed his forehead harder against the floor.

  "No." The word cracked like a whip. "You will not touch him. A paladin serving me, turning Hell's bureaucracy into a weapon against itself? I want to see just how long he can survive." The Demon King's grin split his shadowed face. "Perhaps he'll survive a second week."