If there's something Lucien Salverson had overlooked, it would be the fact that revenge - or "returning a favor" as he calls it - is no cheap feat. Even more so when one has to put on a completely new identity.

It's been 4 years since he sealed that contract with Mammon, the Lord of Avarice. (Lucien still refuses to acknowledge him as his father.)

After his mother's funeral, Lucien quickly set his plans in motion, like one would when their days are numbered. When the last servant had left and all remaining debts were paid, he sold the 10-acre estate he once called home for much of his life, along with one of his mother's remaining luxury cars. He left the most desirable (and arguably the most expensive) car for himself - the Ferrari 250GT California. Not only does it command tremendous respect from onlookers, Lucien believes it perfectly blends in with where he's about to go.

There weren't really a lot to leave behind after that. He didn't even have much to lose if he were to disown any living relative. Perhaps they also feel the same way when he suddenly disappeared from their lives without a trace...

The new name also came with a new appearance. Lucien was born with raven-black hair - so unlike Leticia who was a natural redhead. And when he met Mammon, he doubted himself all the more. Biology sure is wild, especially when you're supposed to have a demon lord for a father.

Perhaps halflings are made to look gloomy and ominous. He used to grow out his hair past his shoulders too, but the overall villainous look had to go. He chopped it off until he finally achieved a clean look that would match his new persona. He even went as far as dyeing his hair ash brown and bleaching his eyebrows, which was a complete nightmare for the first month.

Lucien used to not care about getting fit, either. He used to wolf down whatever he wanted to eat without having to worry about gaining weight, and that's all thanks to his incredibly fast metabolism. But it's exactly because of that, that he was more on the skinny side. That, too, had to go.

He regularly hit the gym, got himself a fitness trainer, and started paying more attention to his diet. By the end of the first year, he got exactly what he wanted to achieve. A body that was once all skin and bones is now hard, well-defined muscle. And to further achieve the Clark Kent look, he switched from contact lenses to prescription glasses.

The rest were much easier to achieve. For the most part, he had to thank his cancelled company debut. Otherwise, he would have been just a Google away to getting his cover blown. He paid extortionate amounts to find and hire a rather furtive "forge mistress" from the Philippines, who got him fake documents - from college diploma to passport.

Now, Lucien Salverson is officially the complete opposite of Azrael Montgomery. A self-made man - literally.

Watch out, ladies and gentlemen! The real Clark Kent is here and he's hiding a deep, dark secret!

 

---

 

From the cold and gloomy North Dakota, Lucien moved to what was once (and perhaps will always be) his least favorite place on Earth - sunny Florida. Why can't a big-name tech company just settle in Silicon Valley or New York City? Why does it have to be in Miami? It baffled him to no end.

With his pale skin, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Thankfully, his current position in the company required him to wear a suit for most of the week. He should at least leave a trace of North Dakota in him. Right?

There was more than enough money left for him to buy a decent flat in downtown Miami, where he has a scenic view of the coastline. He used to not like the 'in-your-face' radiance of this view but he eventually learned to appreciate it, especially when stress and depression are starting to creep in.

And now, as he is about to enter his fourth year as Lucien Salverson, he found himself sitting by the windowsill, a cup of hot coffee in hand, quietly watching passersby as they go about their early-morning activities. It took some time, but he managed to immerse himself in this entirely new environment and culture.

Oftentimes, however, he feels he doesn't deserve this seemingly devil-may-care life - simply because the devil does care.

When Lucien left Fargo, he only brought a couple of suitcases with him, which barely even filled the trunk of his car. On the passenger's seat was a brass cremation urn where he had placed his mother's ashes. He decided to bring her with him, after all. It's quite pretentious, but he just needed to feel a sense of security - that he is not alone in this journey. A small, inanimate object containing what was once his mother is a good enough company.

But as it turned out, he had to carry with him extra baggage - an excess one at that.

 

---

 

As he took a sip of his coffee, he fixed his gaze on a large dog, sitting vigilantly on the pavement opposite the apartment complex where he lives. It was a German Shepherd but with ebony black coat - an unusual color for such a breed.

Just a few meters away from the beast was a lone man shouting something barely audible from where Lucien was. He was waving around a big cardboard sign that read: Fight in the war against AIDS! Your change can make a CHANGE.

He had been on the same spot for three days now, attracting plenty of attention from the locals. According to the neighbors, the "volunteer" claims to be a member of the International AIDS Society.

Lucien could only respond with a raised eyebrow. He didn't buy any of it.

A lot of people have accused him of being a cynic, a skeptic, and a non-believer. It would have been easy to dissent from those accusations but the thing is, they're right.

He took another long sip from his cup, scanning his eyes from the fundraiser and back to the large dog, who now has its eyes fixed on the small crowd gathering around the other. Lucien subtly raised a hand, signalling the dog to be patient and wait.

Unlike the days before, the man attracted quite a crowd today. One woman gave him a box of donuts and a cup of coffee to go with her donation, and another donor even handed out a check. Lucien thought how nice it would be to still have a reason to restore one's faith in humanity.

The only problem is that kindness is often being taken advantage of.

After half an hour, the crowd around the fundraiser had dwindled. Lucien already emptied his cup by the time the last fundraising donor had left and the man was once again alone in the street.

He turned his attention back to the black German Shepherd, who seems to be eagerly awaiting his command. When he leaned his elbows on the window ledge and rested his chin on one hand, the dog's ears perked up.

"Such a rascal you are..." Lucien murmured, before smiling and nodding his head.

That moment, the dog rose up on its feet and vigilantly made his way towards the man, who was still waving around his big cardboard sign and shouting, "Your change can make a change!". The dog must have snarled then, because the man flinched and took a step back, clearly agitated by the dog's sudden show of hostility.

The dog bared its sharp teeth, the fur on its back and neck raised. It clearly means business. The man tried to shoo it away with his cardboard sign, but the dog barely even flinched. And then, when it was just about a few feet away from the man, it let out a loud growl before lunging towards him. It grabbed at his legs and feet and finally caught his right foot.

The man let out a loud shriek before falling to the ground, the dog's teeth clamping into his shoe. He shook the dog free but it continued to jump at him, refusing to let go.

"Don't get too excited, you moron. Make sure not to hurt him too much," Lucien hissed.

The man managed to free himself from the dog's tight grip, his right shoe stuck in its mouth. That was when he got the chance to get back up to his feet and run as fast as he could, leaving behind his now-mangled cardboard sign and the box containing the day's donations. Limping, the man cried for help while shouting profanities to the dog that seemed so eager to tear him apart. It chased him all the way to the next block until finally, they were out of Lucien's sight.

Lucien couldn't help but laugh uncontrollably. It's been years since he last laughed until his stomach hurt.

"Man, I'll get sued for this," he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "You can come back now, Pye. That'll teach him."

Barely a minute later, Lucien heard a soft thud coming from the living room. He turned around to see that the large dog was now sitting by the front door, panting, eyes fixed on him.

"That was hilarious. I almost thought you're going to bite his leg off," Lucien said whimsically, amused at what he just witnessed.

Just when he said this, the dog licked its paw and slowly opened its mouth.

"Well, I almost couldn't help myself," the creature spoke in a mellow tone that completely contrasts its vicious appearance.

This dog happens to be Lucien's excess baggage. And this excess baggage is no ordinary dog.

As the giant beast bowed down its head and front legs, the sound of bones cracking and crunching reverberated throughout the room. The beast would growl and groan in pain from time to time, as its legs bent in and broke in unnatural ways. Its sharp fangs drew back, replaced by a set of less threatening human-like teeth, the paws replaced by hands and legs, its tail and fur melting away like butter.

Just like his new life in Miami, Lucien was already accustomed to this grotesque sight. In fact, he headed to the kitchen and helped himself with a second cup of coffee during much of the beast's transformation.

By the time he got back to the living room, the dog was gone, leaving a stark naked man crouched down in a pool of blood, and melted skin and fur, right on his precious Flokati rug.

The mysterious man slowly sat up, stretching his shoulders and cracking his neck until there was a loud pop. For a few moments, he sat unmoving, waiting for the lingering pain to disappear.

If Lucien were to describe this beast-man, it would be that he's a living work of art -according to human standards. His physique is the type that strikes the envy of men and admiration of women:  Honey-brown skin, and taut and muscular body. The strong, almost perfectly symmetrical face would stop someone in their tracks. His lips were pale and thin, with slender and rounded nose. The prominent jaw gracefully curved around, and the strength of his neck lined the twining cords of pure muscle shaping the rest of his body.

But no other feature makes this beast-man so otherworldly than his eyes. They are grey but not the kind of shade that's easy to describe. It's almost as if they are both grey and blue at the same time, with blue creeping in around the edges.

This man is too good to be true – just like anyone else Lucien had met that's not from this world.

 

---

 

Shortly after his mother's funeral, the black dog appeared before Lucien in the middle of the night. His initial reaction was that of fear – heart racing, but legs refusing to do the same thing. With the beast's large and threatening frame, Lucien could only stand still. But the dread quickly dissipated when the beast began to speak human language. Somehow, he was quick to get used to all these peculiarities – giant talking dogs included.

"Greetings, Master," said the dog curtly, bowing his head to Lucien. "I go by the name of Pyewacket. I was sent here by Lord Mammon, and I am to become your familiar."

Lucien expected as much. The hills have eyes but for him, it came in the form of a hellhound.

He quickly shrugged off the fear and shock from his system, as he carefully approached the formidable creature.

"You're just a spy masked as a pet," Lucien said coolly. "And if you want to stay with me, you shouldn't talk like some Victorian butler. Nobody talks that way anymore."

Lucien's familiar, Pyewacket, was conjured by the Lord of Avarice and was tasked to be his "aide" – a poor excuse for someone who was sent to be the archdemon's eyes and ears in the mortal realm.

For the first several months, Pyewacket was every bit the "excess baggage". He would suddenly show up in places Lucien would hang out in, often attracting people's attention – sometimes striking fear and awe – which he did not like.

But eventually, he learned that he could be a pretty low-maintenance pet. For one, he no longer requires obedience training. When you tell Pyewacket to be discreet, he'd be as restrained and low-profile as you'd expect him to be. And when you ask him to cover up for your mistakes, he would willingly take the blame and beating for you. No one dog or cat can do that to their master, and Lucien soon took advantage of that.

The familiar didn't even take up a lot of bed space. At first, Lucien forbade him from entering his flat because for one, he hated anything with a fur and a tail. Pyewacket would often stay outside and keep guard like a faithful dog would. But this didn't sit well with the neighbors. After several complaints  and a trip to the city dog pound, Lucien was forced to let him in. However, he was also quick to get acclimated to this setup, like an owner taking care of a pet dog for the first time.

Best of all, he didn't even need to spend extra money to feed him. Pyewacket can go on for over a week with just a single drop of Lucien's blood. Who wouldn't want to keep a loyal, obedient, low-maintenance pet from Hell who can keep you company and be your servant – all at the same time?

Besides, now that Lucien got promoted and needed to do more work, he needed Pyewacket all the more - but for a different reason. After all, he's high-ranking enough to have his own secretary now...

 

---

 

Lucien grabbed a robe hanging from the rack by the door and tossed it to Pyewacket, who immediately covered his nakedness with it.

Lucien finally noticed the mess on the rug, and let out a loud groan.

"That takes ages to clean, Pye. When will you learn to clean up after yourself? The bathroom's just a few steps away, for god's sake," he said, vexed.

"I'm sorry. I will send it to the dry cleaner later today."

Lucien clicked his tongue. "That thing looks like you've wiped off a melted human on it. If you don't want to rouse suspicion, then I highly suggest you clean it up yourself."

Pyewacket carefully picked up the stained rug and headed to the laundry room quietly.

"Where did that idiot go off to, anyway?" Lucien asked as he headed back to the windowsill and stuck his head outside.

"Took the bus. The old lady from 62B was right across the street and almost saw me. It would have been big trouble. I think I should lay low for now."

"Well, as long as that prick's not coming back here anymore, then it's worth an old lady's nagging."

By the time Pyewacket had emerged from the laundry room, he was already wearing a fresh set of clothes.

"Are you sure it was the same man from across the company building?"

"Without a doubt, Sir," his familiar responded. "Two weeks ago, he claimed to be a volunteer for a local feeding program. I looked into it as per your instructions, and found out that there is no such program. Not in Florida nor in any other states."

"What do you know about the man?"

Pyewacket sat down on the couch.

"Ansel Johnson, 42 years old from The Bronx, New York. Former gang member who went by the name, 'Babyface Ansel'. Multiple counts of assault, possession of illegal drugs and paraphernalia, theft, and fraud. Moved to Florida two years ago and began a new string of petty crimes shortly after completing his parole."

The familiar said this, as if reading a document in his mind.

Lucien heaved a deep sigh. "Once a fraud, always a fraud."

He rubbed his eyes as if trying to get rid of some invisible dirt. "These eyes never lie. But sometimes, it can be really inconvenient. You end up doubting everyone, even those with good intentions."

Mammon wasn't lying when he said Lucien would gradually gain preternatural powers from his being a Cambion. One of the first he discovered was the ability to see a person's aura - a field of energy unique to mortal beings. At first, he thought his vision was deteriorating but soon he realized he only ever sees the strange light on a person's face, like a transparent mask. 

Sometimes they're glaringly radiant, other times they're so dark he could barely make out a person's face.

It took some getting used to, especially when he had to figure out what the different colors and brightness meant. But with a bit of help from his familiar, he learned that a bright aura often meant a person has a pleasant personality. On the other hand, a dark aura signifies deep and strong emotions brought about by unreleased resentment and other impurities in the soul.

In the case of the ostensibly hardworking Ansel Johnson, he has an aura as dark as a storm cloud. As long as people like him exist in this world, Lucien couldn't help but become a cynic, a skeptic, and a non-believer.

"People are too brazen these days," Lucien said in disgust, "they probably think they can always get away with their lies. I guess that's what happens when the lies continue to be fed, right? It just keeps going and going, until it grows and you hope to god nobody cuts it down for you."

Lucien turned to his familiar with a bewildering look. "Hey, tell me, Pye. If you desperately needed help yourself, would you rather put other people's needs first before yours?"

"If it's for you, Master, then I will be honored to sacrifice my – "

"Be honest for once, will you?" Lucien cut him off mid-sentence. "What if I'm not in the picture? What will you do then?"

Pyewacket dropped his gaze to the floor, a hint of a smile touching the corners of his lips. "If I am drowning together with another person, and there is only one life jacket, then you know what my answer would be, Master."

Lucien chuckled as he took one last sip of his coffee and put the cup down on the table.

"Perhaps that is the reason saints are worshiped and revered in this world. They are such rare gems. If all humans are as irreproachable, then Hell would run empty of them."

"Right," Lucien replied sardonically as he walked past Pyewacket and into the living room. "Well how about that, you seem to have done something good today."

"I will take that as an insult, Sir," Pyewacket replied with a chuckle. "Lord Mammon will not be happy."

Lucien replied with a grunt. "Of course. I almost forgot you're his minion," he mumbled. "Well, get yourself dressed now. We're leaving in ten."

"I will see you downstairs, Master," Pyewacket said curtly.

Before Lucien went to get changed, he headed to the study room and stood in front of a glass display cabinet where he had placed his mother's urn.

Leticia Montgomery's soul had already gone to a terrible place, where she could already be experiencing an unspeakable suffering. But while it seems pretentious and nonsensical, Lucien needed an outlet to share his repressed emotions with.

"Today's my first day as a management director, Mom. Would you believe it? I'm now one step closer to getting into the C-Suite. Just a little more push..."

He touched the urn and stood silently for a full minute. For Pyewacket, who is already accustomed to his master's routines and behaviors, this is one of those rare moments when he's saying a silent prayer – whoever it's addressed to. The best thing Pyewacket could do is to leave him alone in his solace.

 

---

 

That day, Lucien wore his best suit and had the car washed and polished. Pyewacket stood by the driver's seat, looking as dapper as ever in a pinstripe suit, his hair slicked back to make him look even more intimidating. A number of passersby and neighbors stole a glance at them, failing to hide the look of awe on their faces.

"I'll take the wheel today, Master," the familiar said as he walked around the passenger's side to open the door for Lucien, who said a quick thanks before hopping in.

"You should probably take the bus or train from time to time," Lucien mumbled, trying to avoid the curious gaze of onlookers. "We shouldn't be seen together like this."

Pyewacket nodded silently as he started the engine, the million-dollar car revving and jerking away from the now-busy streets of downtown Miami.

"Do you remember everything I've told you, Pye?" Lucien shouted, wind howling through his ears. He tried not to sound too agitated as he put on a pair of sunglasses and tried to keep his tie in place for the umpteenth time.

"I'm Philip Menendez, 26 years old, from Arkansas. We met through a social function and my former employer who retired last year, recommended me to you."

"Eyes on the road, please!" Lucien yelled as he held on to the door handle as tightly as he could.

Pyewacket muttered an apology as he shifted his gaze back to the road.

"Don't wait for me. I might work overtime today so just go on home without me," Lucien instructed, his hand still tightly gripping the door handle.

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"We can't afford to be seen together after work. At least try to be discreet if you want to keep following me around."

"Like I always do, Master."

"And stop calling me 'Master'."

"Agreed."

"And stop talking so formally."

"... Okay."

What's normally a 20-minute drive only takes 15 minutes or less whenever Pyewacket is behind the wheel. Sometimes, Lucien regrets teaching him how to drive because he seemed to have awoken the speed racer in him. 

By the time they arrived at their destination, Lucien had to fix his suit and hair again. He seriously needs to consider installing a convertible top for his car, if he still wants Pyewacket to drive for him.

This time, the parking lot assigned to him was on the third floor of the building – a pretty convenient spot just a couple meters away from the nearest elevator.

Before Pyewacket stepped out of the car to open the door for him, Lucien grabbed him by the arm.

"When was your last meal?" he asked, as he looked around cautiously before sticking out his right index finger to his familiar.

"Nine days ago."

"Why didn't you say so? You need to remind me about these things from now on."

Pyewacket nodded silently as he took his master's finger into his mouth. Lucien winced as a sharp prick of pain told him the familiar had sunk his fangs deep into his skin.

Pyewacket could feel Lucien's hand trembling slightly, so he held it steadily with his own. Sometimes, his master would indulge his cravings. This is one of those rare moments. He savored every drop of it, the warm blood tasting sweet on his tongue.

Lucien would always turn away whenever the familiar feeds on him. This time, however, he couldn't help but fix his gaze on Pyewacket, the way his lips and tongue wrapped around his finger with such need.

To have someone's life wrapped around your finger... It feels good in all the wrong ways.

He shrugged off the evil thought as he gently withdrew his finger, careful not to be grazed further by Pyewacket's fangs.

"Like I said, tell me whenever you're feeling hungry," he said as he pulled at his sleeve, took the key out of the ignition lock, and stepped out of the car.

With his index finger, Pyewacket wiped the blood off the corner of his lip and licked it clean, making sure he hasn't wasted a single drop of it. He took one last look of himself in the rear-view mirror, fixed his hair, and hurriedly grabbed Lucien's leather briefcase from the trunk of the car.

 

---

 

If there's anything that isn't fabricated, it would be that Lucien has the necessary academic background to leverage his influence and position in the corporate world. In fact, getting the job he's aiming for was easy, thanks to his academic record.

As Azrael Montgomery, he studied in one of the most prestigious business schools in the country, where he earned a degree in corporate finance. With that, he got to tick a few boxes in his list without much effort.

He started off as a department supervisor but barely 6 months later, he was promoted to Assistant Vice President of Finance, after the previous VP was assigned to the company's Asian branch. A year later, after having won over a major deal for one of the biggest gaming software and equipment companies in the world, he was promoted to Senior Vice President. Being in the said position was just as transient as the ones before it, because he was quick to climb up to becoming the Chief Project Manager for the main branch when the former manager, who was about to retire the following year, passed away unexpectedly due to a heart attack.

Of course, just like his mother, he knew better than to assume it's all sheer luck and pure hard work. Not even the most hardworking human beings in the world can propel themselves on top of the corporate ladder this fast – in barely 5 years.

They call it 'devil's luck' and it couldn't be more true for Lucien Salverson.

Pyewacket once mentioned that most of the Cambions he'd encountered in the past, have in some way, the natural ability to charm and beguile humans according to their will. Lucien may have unknowingly used this innate ability along the way. He spent an entire day contemplating this. The hiring manager, the panel from his job interview, his former boss, the director from the gaming company... He may have heedlessly used his power on them.

But what about his boss' early retirement? The untimely death of one health-conscious old man? Certainly, something – or someone – else could have done them.

But he didn't dare push for confrontation. In fact, if only he had an option, he didn't want to see them ever again...

But now, as the doors opened for him, Lucien could not help but smile. He stood there, absorbing the sights and sounds before him. People in suits milling about, minding their own business, completely unaware that someone like him had infiltrated their little paradise, like the Trojan Horse.

He looked up and stared at the giant LED screen splayed on top of the third floor's main hallway. For many years, it kept flashing the same words, in bold golden letters: Carmichael Tech. Empowering People.

Lucien shoved the car key deep into his pocket and made his way towards the elevator. But just as he did, he froze in his tracks, remembering his briefcase that he'd forgotten in his car.

"Mr. Menendez, I've –"

He heard a woman squealing. As he turned around, there were papers and folders flying all over the place.

"I'm – I'm sorry! It's my fault, I wasn't looking," said the woman, her face flushed red as she crawled around the floor frantically picking up the papers.

"Let me help you with that," Pyewacket said apathetically as he knelt on the floor to help.

"God, what is it now?" Lucien muttered to himself as he walked up to Pyewacket, trying to hide his impatience. "Mr. Menendez, we're a bit behind schedule and need to get moving."

"Please go on without me, Sir," Pyewacket replied, barely looking up at him. "I'll catch up to you in a minute."

Lucien was frustrated with his familiar's seemingly nonchalant attitude. He clicked his tongue then turned his eyes to the lady, cheeks flushed beet-red now as she kept stealing glances at Pyewacket.

By now, Pyewacket is probably already used to this kind of reaction – the sudden pause in a person's expression when they look at his face, followed by a lingering gaze and a weak smile. Of course, the blush is always a dead giveaway. It didn't help that his familiar is so modest with it – or just plainly dense to even notice it.

Day one and you're already such a lady-killer, Lucien thought to himself as he rolled his eyes and fixed the rim of his glasses, annoyed.

He grabbed his briefcase from Pyewacket's grasp. "Stop messing around and hurry up," he said as he stepped into the empty elevator and pushed the number to his floor – 18.

Pyewacket heard the elevator ding and when he looked up, he saw that the doors were already closing with Lucien inside it. His master clearly looked upset and he knew he's in for some serious scolding.

 

---

 

Just a week ago, Lucien was on the 17th floor – one of the busiest areas in the company. But now, he's taken over the next floor, a place where people are much less engaged in fieldwork and more on paperwork. It's where overtime and burnout are pretty commonplace.

For four years, he'd been staring at the same elevator fixture with its bright, orange-colored numbers and symbols. Looking at it now, he's indeed come a long way in such a short time. From Floor 5, he's now made it Floor 18 like a master-class RPG player that's closing in on the Boss Level.

The boss happens to be on the 20th floor.

He wondered when he'd make it to the final level. Two years from now? Next year? A month later? Only Mammon's patience can tell.

But what makes Carmichael Tech particularly unique is that, unlike most other companies, only a handful of its workforce have actually seen and met the bigwigs. In fact, many of them only know the CEO by her name, and the occasional candid shots from paparazzi who are eager to get a scoop for a business magazine.

Audra Breslin, a fierce-looking woman in her late 30s. She has lavish, sunset-gold hair that cascades gracefully over her shoulders, walnut-shaped green eyes, dainty nose, and a prominent cheekbone. Lucien had never seen her smile in any of her pictures, yet she looks so warm and gentle.

Is she really capable of doing such unspeakable things to his mother? Humans can be so deceptive indeed.

Once again, Lucien was transfixed by the button for the 20th floor. But unlike the other buttons on the fixture, this one has no number etched on it. Instead, it has an odd-looking keyhole. Apparently, only authorized personnel have access to the 20th floor.

He bit his lip. Just one more floor and he will have that key in his hand. Just a little more push, so he can move forward with his plans.

The ding of the elevator brought him back to his senses. The elevator doors flung open, telling him that he's arrived at his destination.

As he slowly stepped out of the elevator, he looked around to see if anyone had noticed his arrival. The hallway was oddly quiet but not a muted silence, because he could hear muffled talking further down on the direction where his new office is. Cautiously, he made his way to the end of the hall.

"It's nepotism!" cried a husky voice that belonged to a man. "He clearly has connections from up there."

Lucien stopped in his tracks as he tried to make sense of the conversation.

"You're just jealous, like everyone else. How can you even call it that? It's pure hard work. And he seems like a sweet guy. Really good-looking, too," said another voice, a woman's.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Des. I didn't know we're hiring based on people's looks," the man said bitterly. "Look at the bigger picture, will you? A director in less than 5 years? It's unprecedented!"

This time, Lucien was sure they're talking about him.

"You better stop running your mouth now, Quentin. The boss will be coming here any minute."

"Seriously, he even owns a vintage Ferrari. A vintage Ferrari, Des! Do you even know how much those shit cost? Definitely worth more than what we'd earn in our lifetime! Hey, even Ms. Breslin doesn't come around flaunting a luxury car. I heard she drives a Chrysler."

Lucien flinched when he heard the sound of a hand slamming against a keyboard.

"I mean, who the heck does he think he is?" The man continued his tirade.

"Your new boss, is what he is," the woman replied, her voice sounding tired. "You better hope to god he's not here listening to your loud-mouthing."

"Hmph!" the man interjected, followed by the sound of a swivel chair being pulled away.

One of Lucien's many problems is that he never learned to see things from another person's perspective. He used to not care much about what other people think of him, as long as he gets to do whatever he wants. But in the process, it became his blind spot.

This time, the truth was slapped right on his face, and he honestly did not know how to react to it. He wanted to walk away, find another route to his office – but he figured that's the coward's way out.

He grasped his briefcase as tightly as he could, his knuckle turning white. He decided to let his anger get the better of him.

Be nice. But don't be too nice. Gain their trust, but don't get too attached. Unless you want history to repeat itself. That's always been his mantra.

Just as he was about to storm into the conversation and lash out at his backstabber, a voice called out to him from behind.

"Mas – Mr. Salverson!" Pyewacket called out.

There were sounds of scampering and papers rustling from the cubicles where the voices had come from.

"Oh great, you're here. 'You done flirting?" Lucien said mockingly as he tried to regain his composure. He shoved the briefcase into Pyewacket's chest.

"You told me not to act too familiar with you when we're out in public. I just did what you said, Mas – Mr. Salverson."

Up ahead, Lucien could see an open office almost a block long, with blue cubicles lining the left wall, and three rows toward the back. Each cubicle had a name on it – unfamiliar ones that he would eventually know. He could see a few heads popping up from behind the workspaces.

"So, did she give you her number?" Lucien asked in a deadpan voice, his eyes scanning the faces of his new subordinates who flitted out of their respective cubicles to greet him.

Pyewacket had a quizzical look on his face, but it was quickly replaced by a meaningful smile.

"Master, it was just an accident. It wasn't necessary to –"

Lucien stopped in his tracks and raised a hand to Pyewacket. The familiar quickly closed his mouth shut as he looked at the line of men and women gathering in front of them.

"Welcome to Section 18, Chief Salverson!" said the bubbly lady with curly brown hair and a dreamy look on her face. She walked up to Lucien to shake his hands. "The name's Greta Thorne, Staffing Team Leader. Very pleased to meet you, Sir."

Lucien smiled warmly, shaking the lady's hand a couple of times before letting it go. "Good morning, Ms. Thorne. I'm Lucien Salverson, your new management director. This here is my secretary – "

"– Philip Menendez. Nice to meet you all," Pyewacket cut in as he walked to Lucien's side and beamed at the staff.

Lucien's eyes wandered, subtly scrutinizing each of the employees' face.

Come on, Quentin. What happened to all that machismo? Talk! Lucien said to himself, eager to find his backstabber.

Another staff, a young lady with mousy-brown hair, stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, fingers fidgeting in trepidation. "Uhm, my name's Desiree Camper. Liaison Officer for Section 18. I'm in-charge of handling communication and coordination efforts. I will relay all messages and instructions to Mr. Menendez... V – Very pleased to meet you, Chief!"

Lucien immediately recognized her voice. She's the lady who's been telling his backstabber to shut up. She's on his side, for sure.

"Just call me Lucien, Ms. Camper," he said cheerily as he took her hand and shook it.

His eyes then shifted to the man beside Ms. Camper, eyes downcast, beads of sweat dripping from his temples.

"Room too hot for you, Mister...?"

"... Wahlburg."

Lucien turned his ear to him. "I'm sorry? I didn't catch your name."

"Wahlburg. Quentin Wahlburg. Customer Care Representative. N – Nice to meet you, Mr. Salverson."

Lucien forced a smile, clenching his jaw, trying his best to keep it together.

"Mr. Wahlburg, a pleasure to meet you," he said through gritted teeth.

He reached for Quentin Wahlburg's hand. After a moment's hesitation, Quentin shook them with caution.

"This department seems to have a lot of time in their hands for idle chatter," Lucien said as he shook Quentin's hand and gave it a tight grip. He could feel the man tense up as he spoke. He then withdrew his hand from the man's grasp, and made his way towards his office.

"Why don't we all get together one of these days, so we can get to know each other better, hmm?" he said with a wolfish smile.

Greta Thorne clapped her hands in excitement. "Great idea, Chief! I will have it scheduled at the end of the month."

Desiree Camper covered her mouth with a paper folder as she shot a knowing look at Quentin Wahlburg, whose face turned as white as a sheet.

"He definitely heard you," she whispered to him as the rest went back to their respective cubicles.

"Like hell he did," Quentin Wahlburg shot back as he dragged himself back to his cubicle, looking sullen.

"Ms. Camper?" Pyewacket called out.

Desiree walked up to Pyewacket, feeling a bit awkward.

"Did something happen while I wasn't around? Mr. Salverson seemed a bit..." Pyewacket shook his head before continuing. "No, never mind."

Desiree pulled out a sheet of paper from the folder she had been holding, and handed it to Pyewacket.

"Uhm, it's a memo from the executives. Please hand it to the chief today."

"Thank you, I will," said Pyewacket as he ran his eyes over the memo before making his way to Lucien's office.

 

---

 

Lucien dropped his briefcase on his desk and slumped down on his swivel chair in frustration.

"Of course I won't fire you. Never." He said to himself as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the bottom drawer. "Instead, I'll make sure your life here would be a living hell. Then you'll wish you never should've crossed me at all."

He placed a cigarette between his lips as he rummaged in his suit pocket for something.

The door slid open, letting Pyewacket inside.

"You're smoking," his familiar said in a solemn tone, as he looked at his master with mild surprise. "You only do that when you're stressed out."

"Barely five minutes in and someone's already getting on my fucking nerves," he muttered as he produced a lighter and lit the cigarette, a curl of smoke slowly rising from it.

"What's on your mind?"

Lucien took out an ashtray from the drawer and tapped the cigarette's ash into it. "You want one?"

Pyewacket shook his head no.

"Then don't mind me," Lucien replied. He stared at the paper in Pyewacket's hand. "What's that you're holding?"

Pyewacket laid the paper neatly on Lucien's desk. "It's an executive memo. I suppose everyone else already knows about it."

Lucien put the cigarette out on the edge of the ashtray, then took the paper. As he read it in silence, a malicious smile slowly lit up his eager face.

"A quinquennial corporate event? I thought they were just joking about it. So it's true..." he said as he turned his swivel chair to face the window beside his desk, then tilting it back. He looked out for a long moment, pensive.

"What does it mean... 'quinquennial'?" Pyewacket asked with utmost curiosity.

Lucien turned his attention back to his familiar. "The fabled once-in-five-years event I've been hearing about. 'Turns out this company loves to mingle with their employees, besides the regular annual parties."

"What makes this event any different?"

Lucien slid the paper back to Pyewacket, running his finger on several words written on it.

"It says, 'celebrate, enjoy, and connect with colleagues, employees, and bosses'. Bosses, Pye. The C-Suite folks will be at this party."

Lucien could barely hide his excitement.

"Ah... I see what you mean now," the familiar said as he took the paper and carefully read its content.

Pyewacket already understands that when Lucien says 'C-Suite', he meant the corporate bigwigs, whose identities are mostly shrouded in mystery. The CEO, the COO, the board members, their secretaries... Many of the employees call them 'The Illuminati of Carmichael Tech'.

Lucien couldn't quite grasp the idea but as he recalled his first meeting with Mammon, the archdemon did mention he's about to face an "ancient soul". But that was it, no specifics. For many years, Lucien has been haunted by the thought that they could be some sort of witch, a wizard, or worse, a blood-sucking life-draining vampire.

Could someone like Audra Breslin be a witch and a vampire? Do such creatures even exist? He didn't dare ask Pyewacket. At least not yet.

"What's your next plan?" the familiar asked, snapping him back to his senses. "It says here that this year's theme is... jungle party."

"I know. Tacky. Someone's probably desperate to unleash their wild side on this one."

Pyewacket scrunched his face. "Is this like the ones I see on TV where people dress up in animal costumes and onesies?"

"Pretty much."

"You will wear a onesie?"

Lucien scowled. "You just don't get it, do you?"

He took one last, long puff on his cigarette before plucking it from his mouth and grinding the rest into the ashtray.

"This is my only chance. It's about time I come face-to-face with whoever's behind Mom's hex. Once I do, it'll be much easier to get on their good side."

"Well, then. We have two more weeks to prepare, Master," Pyewacket said with a smile, as he made his way to the door. "I will be at my desk. Please call me if you need anything."

Lucien barely noticed him leave. He pulled out another cigarette and put it between his lips. It dangled unlit from the corner of his mouth, until the filter was soaked with saliva.

He gazed out the window overlooking the city. Down below, streets were filled with throngs of people milling in all directions, like ants.

It's a million-dollar view from a million-dollar business tower. And he certainly would take delight in seeing it all crumble.

"I will never let this opportunity slip away..." Lucien whispered to himself, hands curled to fists inside his pockets.

All these years, he learned when and how to fight his battles. And after so much scheming and preparation, he is confident this is a battle he would win over.

For now, he could only imagine what would transpire in the weeks to come. Things have never been so exhilarating...