‘Man, I’m getting old.’ This thought has been passing through my head quite frequently lately, though I doubt anyone would fault me. Or at least that is what I believe. It is hard to guess the thoughts of those demons and upper-class devils around me. Ah here I am thinking about pointless things.

An old and withered man sits on a dust covered bed, stretching lazily. The room he resides in is plain with only a desk, closet, and bed. The room has no visible light source yet is blanketed in a soft red glow. The floor was caked in a layer of dust, undisturbed by anything other than a trail of footprints traveling to and from the bed and door. The room itself made for a strange scene but came to look plain in comparison to the old devil.

The only hair on his head was a long beard that sat on his thin chest. He wore black robe with golden lining that hung loosely on his thin frame. His sunken and dull eyes hid behind sharp triangular glasses that complimented his constricted golden cat-like pupils. His hands that hung carelessly over the edges of the weathered wooden framed bed had sharped fingertips devoid of nails, stained with ink.

This devil was none other than Omor, Hell’s Secretary. He has been a secretary for longer than the position itself has existed, being the one responsible for its creation.

Omor had lived long before any other demon or devil could remember, long outliving the 30,000-year life expectancy. Rumors of his life predate even the first written recordings in the Infernal Script that Hell used as its primary written structure modeled after the Infernal language. Though these rumors are scarce, being mostly speculated as falsely placed oral traditions about a devil similar in appearance. There is even doubt of his race or birthplace in Hell as his skin is without a reddish hue, and his eyes’ pupils are not the traditional goat-like shape that would ordinarily be seen, and his iris was a purple hue that would ordinarily be seen

Hell had once originally been an unorganized place ruled by the fickle moods of the most powerful at the time, being titled Lords. They would feud between themselves over land and rights. This changed however after Heaven declared war. They struggled to put aside their differences and lay scattered as the soldiers of heaven, known as the angels, ran rampant. The angels had been organized and structured under the collective rage of the gods. This however changed when two mysterious strangers in Hell created order and forced the Lords to unite.

The King ruled, the Generals governed the greater tactics, while strategically selected and positioned officers commanded sectioned off troops. The only issue was who managed the communications network, who organized the documentation that was then created from the reports and field analysis, and who helped Hell’s treasurer with his record keeping. The two strangers after creating this newer structure mysteriously vanished before they could assist in this matter, leaving it up to the king. The first king Aldimix Destim was completely lost without the guidance of the strangers. However, he was in luck because shortly after came the strange Omor.

He arrived only two days after the disappearance of the strangers in the same black and gold rimmed robe he wears now. He said simply “I’ll be the one to manage the communications network. You can call me ‘The Secretary.’ If you’re wondering what it means it means nothing, I simply thought the name sounded interesting for the position. Send your worst and most useless people to me and I’ll be using them to immediately fix this problem.” 

Despite the way it may sound he is far from diligent and organized. He is slovenly and quick tempered to the point of absurdity.

Omor does not seek to further sin, he does not seek pleasure in any way. Instead for reasons unknown he fuels his existence with avalanches of paperwork from who-knows-where and pestering passing demons to shuttle his papers to unwitting recipients. This of course receives much ire from demons spanning all of Hell and has even provoked great disputes between Omor and his “colleagues”. Despite the unmeasurable amounts of hatred and distaste directed towards him none dare provoke him.

None are sure of his origins. This may be due to poor documentation prior to him taking the position of Hell’s Secretary but none dare to believe something that simple. There are rumors dating to ‘The Beginning’ of demons, devils, angels, and even allegedly one god mysteriously vanishing after provoking Omor, but nothing officially documented. Though at present he is inactive and has been since the first king. Currently Hell is under the rule of the 14^th king and he has yet to enter combat for nearly 350,000 years.

Despite the lack of combat at present that is not to say his life is peaceful.

I believe there is a scheduled visit with the King shortly, though I cannot recall the details. That is just par for the course though considering I accidently gave him the wrong weekly schedule. Omor thought, rubbing away the dust along the bed’s side. Suddenly his eyes focus, following a sharp intake of breath. “I’ve nearly forgotten to order the demons to distribute the days papers!” Omor screamed as he launched from his bed, causing a minor storm of dust. It’s too late for them to do it. I must do it myself.

The door flew open of its own accord as he launched himself into the long musty hallway.

Following the opening of the door there was a muffled scream followed by the sound of breaking glass.

Omor grunted in annoyance, closing the door to see what had made the ruckus. Splayed across the floor was a frustrated obese demon putting forth his best efforts to sit up without ripping his one-size too-small suit. Upon seeing the door close and the culprit reveal himself the fat demon grew even more furious, screeching “Omor you absolute bastard, help me up!”. Omor merely snorted in amusement and immediately ran the opposite direction towards his office.

… Roughly 2 ½ Hours Later …

“A paper tornado? What in the great Hell are you talking about?”, a largely built devil asked. A jittering imp looked up nervously at the devil, awaiting further instruction.

The devil’s name is Roderix Destim II, the present ruler of hell. Just as dawn was approaching the scorched realm, he had been violently awoken by an insignificant message delivery demon. On ordinary occasion this would be a serious offense that would net the imp severe punishment. That would be ignored under the present circumstances however due to the nature of the news. There was a tornado sweeping the castle halls. What’s more it was entirely comprised of paper and screaming servants.

Wonderful, now I must deal with him again! There’s a nearly ninety percent chance this is somehow related to Omor. After a moment of hesitation, he gives the imp his orders, “Inform every devil in his path of his appearance. Explain to them clearly that Omor is likely behind it. As for the servants I do not give a shit, they can be replaced in the case of their death.” With that he slammed his door on the messenger’s face.

… Roughly 30 Minutes Earlier …

In an incomprehensibly large room scattered with unorganized bookshelves and mountains of paperwork abound there worked many tired demons. From tall to squat, strong to weak, regardless of stature they could not disobey their superiors; the devils.

Demons were born with a weakened bloodline, having had been servants or slaves to the devils for millennia. The devils were of the original blood from the first devils, generally they possessed superior physical abilities to demons. Their Sin based abilities also tended to be stronger, resulting in devils being regarded as superiors, and demons their inferiors.

Despite this harsh hierarchy they were the lucky few placed in a relatively safe office to serve as the assistants to Omor instead of being on the front lines in the war against Heaven. Aside from the occasional mishap or misfiled paper there was nothing to fear. Omor was lax on punishments, preferring rather to record their error and tell them off.

“Hey Helper Thirty do you know where Master is,” a lanky assistant asked to another who was preoccupied with organizing a bookshelf. “Of course, I don’t. He could be in his room, pestering some random general, or if he’s going to eat breakfast early, or causing another mishap.” Omor had a long history of causing incidents that were either mundane or absurd, and none knew this better than the Assistants assigned under him.

After a few minutes of silence there was a loud explosion followed by a fierce gale whistling about the room, scattering papers. A few demons groaned as they watched their diligent efforts in an instant. Many angry eyes turned to the door that had been blown open. At the sight of the culprit they immediately gave a respectful bow.

I need to hand out the event planner immediately! I’m already late so I might as well do it in the fastest way possible to avoid confusion and unrest. Following this thought the wind grew fiercer, forming a whirling abyss with Omor at its center. Though it contained powerful suction force only a specific stack of papers nearest to a tall desk made of a strange dark red wood flew towards the vortex, with everything else being blown away.

Without an apology or reason to the now wrecked office Omor bolted down the long corridor without the slightest care for the carnage he caused.

After reaching a twisted and ugly door Omor attempted to push it open but found it to be locked. With annoyance clear on his face he plucked an event planner from the others spinning around him. It was addressed to Waldock, who owned this room. Omor then reached into the folds of his robe to find a satchel filled with tightly bound scrolls made of a strange waxy paper.

            “I am very sorry to do this Sir Waldock but I’m already very late!” Omor yelled. He removed the silky string that wrapped around the scrolls center and unfurled it with his free hand. Written on the scroll in purple ink was a strange circle surrounded by tightly packed runes. The moment the scroll was opened the symbol began to glow, producing a hot fluctuation of energy, igniting in a pale purple flame that turned to dust while emitting an ear-piercing screech.

Upon the sound reaching Waldock’s ears he immediately burst from a hidden chamber that had been covered by a luxurious carpet. “Please stop the screaming I’ll do anything you say!” With that pitiful cry Waldock opened the twisted door. The moment the door was opened a piece of paper firmly slapped his face. “I’m sorry I’ll see you at breakfast,” Omor yelled as he began his morning delivery.

…

After some time had passed and Omor no longer had any more papers to deliver he finally headed towards the lunch hall.

The hall was lined with intricately carved tables and chairs made from the same strange wood as Omor’s desk. Many groggy devils of all shapes and sizes talked quietly. The meal consisted of bread made from a black grain only grown in Hell, a slab of unidentifiable meat, and a complimentary lesser mortal soul in a specially made goblet. Souls themselves are in a form similar to liquid after being pulled from a mortal’s body and were incredibly rare. The fact that something so rare was served with each meal showed the astounding status every devil here possessed. This was not something that demons, the servants in the castle, were permitted to consume.

            Omor scrunched his nose in disgust. Souls. Every day I hear them screaming and complaining about deeds they were not able to fulfill as some foolish devil carelessly drinks them. Can they not understand what it’s like to have unfulfilled dreams, and incomplete paperwork? Imagine not being able to complete your daily runs because some asshole decides you taste good! Naturally this was not the standard ideal held by most beings of Hell. If given the chance they would greedily drink any soul placed in front of them to further gain power, even if it was incrementally.

Around him were many hostile gazes coming from devils with red paper-shaped imprints on their faces. Although he was not aware Omor was currently the topic of discussion throughout the entire castle. He was not a liked figure to begin with and was viewed as strange and incomprehensible. They believed that all of the paper wasn’t needed to tell them they need to do their jobs, and that things could be done currently without him. They also quite dislike his frequent pestering to file reports. Despite their displeasure they all knew that Roderix himself had done nothing to stop his rampages, nor any of the previous kings, indicating some type of favoritism that was seldom seen. There were also those who had studied thoroughly and knew vaguely of Omor’s past. Those few were confused and hesitant to talk to him due to his lifespan alone.

Omor sat down beside a moderately built demon in a drastically over-decorated set of armor without getting any food as he ordinarily did. The already grumpy devil immediately lost his appetite upon seeing Omor.

“Good morning Waldock I finally corrected that mistake. I hope there was not any issues with your paper. If there was, I’m more than willing to fix it now or later if you send it in via Delivery Imp!” Omor sat in silence waiting 3 minutes for a response that would never come. One of these days I’m going to kill this dick. Waldock downed the soul and left his plate without a care. Omor’s eyes narrowed into thin lines as an eerie smile spread across his face.

“Hey Oob here’s a plate for ya’!” a four-armed devil in an immaculate suit said as he plucked Waldock’s plate. The devil aimed for a severely obese demon that sat with a pile of crumbs and broken shards of plates beside him, looking comatose. Upon hearing the word ‘plate’ his blank expression suddenly became eager and excited, opening his maw wide.

“Hey Omor thanks for the organizer! I can never remember what I have to do throughout the day,” the devil said.

“Not a problem. It’s my job after all is said and done. Don’t forget to tell Lilith to send her husband’s reassignment form.” Omor tossed a platinum coin to the suited devil. After he received the coin his expression shifted into a grotesque smile as he stroked the coin. “You spoil me,” the devil said as he walked away towards the exit.

Omor smiled as he watched him leave. Slowly his smile faded to be replaced by a sad look. He had been working tirelessly for hundreds of thousands of years, but now his efforts had become stagnant. On the 8^th king he had seen a slow decline that became obvious by the 12^th, and the war efforts coming to a complete halt by the present 14^th king. He realized that without a direct shove and intervention the war would continue for many eons.

He worked in this way because his greatest friend had requested, he do so some 350,000 years earlier. His friend had vanished shortly afterwards to the great expanse beyond the “world” that was the string of realms. He was growing tired and knew that he could not continue as he was.

…

In Hell’s Crimson Castle in a cramped room within the highest spire sat the leader of the Delivery Imp Division. He was an imp with a youthful appearance and a usually cheery disposition who was governed by Pride. Often times he would spread his wings lazily and talk with a joyful arrogance. Presently however he was seen in a rare rage. He had received a summons at the same time he had received a notice stating that six front-line information exchange teams had been lost.

Their job was to transfer important reports and information from one station to another in succession to division leaders that would categorize the importance of an event for appropriately intended recipients such as generals, the king, or Omor.

"What do you mean someone has sent me a summons, does whatever moron that called me not realize we’ve just lost six font-line information exchange teams?!" He was furious as the nervous and confused delivery imp before him read a letter that stated that he must come immediately to the lead office to present a specified discussion about the information gained from the very recent deaths of six front-line information exchange teams vital to the war. This would be reasonable if the leader of said division hadn’t just learned from the very letter summoning him about the death of the teams.

In a blind rage the leader, Naniget, threw a ball of flame incinerating the imp and desk before him. "Absolute fools! Who in the great hell has summoned me at such a time," he asked to the now pile of ashes. After realizing promptly his mistake he groaned internally and rushed towards the office that had been specified.

...

Omor was busy sifting through a pile of detailed documents relating to each individual imp that died within the teams, waiting for the Delivery Imp division’s leader to ask for a cleanup report and replacement plan for the teams that died. This information had yet to be delivered to the castle and had been obtained directly through one of Omor’s close contacts. Originally, he would never have known such a person hadn’t the contact in question filed a scouting report incorrectly fourteen times consecutively. When dealing with such a troublesome individual Omor tended to directly apply powerful scrying to assure the paper was filed correctly and had learned by chance of the deaths. The reason this method was not used with great frequency is because it required an incredible amount of magical power and time. On average it would take longer than the traditional methods if he were to analyze each outpost throughout the day.

Upon hearing this he gathered the collective department and put into motion a huge search to locate each Imp’s name and value on the front line so he could better advise the division leader as to who should replace them. His alternate goal was to see if Naniget was fit for his position as the situation had gone from leisurely to tense. He also needed time for his messengers to reach the king, and thought it would be better to resolve the replacement issue beforehand.

While waiting he created replacement scrolls for the ones, he’d used during the mornings paper exchange. After nearly fifteen minutes the door to his office, which by this point is barely holding on its hinges as it hadn’t been repaired yet, blows off flying directly at a startled servant who had been dutifully waxing the floor.

The moment before the door slammed into the unsuspecting worker it flew upwards, obliterating itself from the momentum and raining down in tiny splintered remains.

"If you dare attack me or my assistants I will not sit idly." Omor said with a calm expression. When the nearby assistants who had been filing paperwork heard this flat voice they immediately bowed and created all forms of excuses to immediately leave the area. Omor didn’t mind and silently nodded, letting the room clear out.

The division leader had a dumbfounded look on his face, looking at destroyed door. Ordinarily this would not be a strange feat seeing as he himself had only just recently reduced an entire desk and live imp to ashes but it had been done in a strange way. That was to say, without fire. All attacks done by denizens of Hell when at range are done with some form of fire regardless of Sin, but that had not happened here. The door had simply quit following the law of gravity, propelling itself abnormally upward.

Naniget had heard rumor of strange magic from the mortal plane that used words of power to manipulate Mana without fire, but this was Hell. Omor hadn’t used any words of power and hadn’t manipulated Sin. Omor’s reaction would suggest that this type of power was a normal occurrence, but this greatly horrified Naniget.

H-how powerful is he? I’ve heard rumors but I have yet to meet him up until now. Why did I have to meet him in such a situation? Ah I’m truly unlucky. "I-I’m sorry I was not aware that it was The Secretary that had called. I thought it had been one of your head assistants." He immediately regretted his decision. Shit, how could I have been so stupid? Of course, a mere head assistant would never be able to discover information faster than me! Shit. Omor shifted from office to office with resident head managers to serve as fill-ins when he was at another office. At present he was at the center of Hell’s operations in the King’s personal estate.

Omor simply snorted saying, "If you kill anyone without due reason again, I must file a report for reassignment to the cleaning duty. If I must clean up after every fool simply because they were frustrated at obligations, I would have quit this job and promptly given Hell its just deserts long ago. The messaged conveyed clearly; ‘continue killing random messengers and I will replace you’. With a fierce nod the leader quaked internally at his mistake.

“I’m well aware that you’ve only just received the information and the discussion isn’t to delve further into your opinions on that, but rather to discuss the nature of it and who’ll replace them.” Omor said as he began to layout six stacks of papers. Each stack had the list of possible replacements for the ones who died. Strangely he also placed down the documentation on the general that governed the station that the teams had served in.

“What’s your opinion of this general?” Omor asked calmly. What, why would my opinion matter on this? “I-I don’t know too much about him, why do you ask?” Naniget had nowhere near enough authority on the matter, and was too far away from the outpost to know anything about its operations or commanders. Omor’s pupils constricted and a strange hostility hung around him. After a few minutes of unblinking eye contact he silently began shuffling his papers, saying simply “Please review the replacements list.”

Naniget nervously began to sort through piles, picking the best fit to replace the dead teams. As he flipped through the list of dead, he realized just how effective the eliminated squads had been. The teams that had been eliminated had been ordered by the resident general to go to an odd location to receive a report from a commander that hadn’t been spotted in days. After reaching the destination they had disappeared for 3 weeks before being assumed dead.

It’s awfully convenient that all six had been amazing performers. To add to the strangeness, they had also been sent to an area that wasn’t just beyond the monitored areas for a strategically worthless location in a desolate field. Naniget didn’t like it, not one bit. All of the evidence clearly suggested that the general had sent the squads to their death. It was a wonder that this information had come in so quickly and accurately. Wait isn’t this information significantly more detailed than the ones I receive? How exactly did he obtain this information? The document detailing the events included the instructions provided by the general to the exact word. This went beyond the simple reports and filed papers given to him through traditional means.

“Now that you’ve reviewed the information, you’re most likely more confused than when you entered. How I got my information isn’t relevant to you so I’ll be blunt. Do you believe that this general is responsible for the possible deaths of these six teams?” Omor said after placing his documents into organized folders. It’s very clear that something is amiss, yes. But can I truly speak my opinion? Isn’t this the type of trick question where a superior wants a lie instead! What should I do? His nerves stood on end and his wings tensed behind his back as he realized how vital the question could be to his life.

“I believe he is innocent. How could a worthless general such as himself ever hope to pull a trick like this intentionally? He’d be quaking in his boots long before he’d do something as he knows he’d suffer from those above him.” He replied, hanging his head in defeat. He believes a fool, but I’m much smarter than I look! You won’t trick me into bad mouthing a general! Ha, even the so-called great Secretary is so foolish as to pose something so obviously fake. He could never get a better more accurate sheet than me!

Arrogant. He’s very arrogant. It’s a wonder he got to his position in the first place. He’s too prideful to even believe a report from someone like myself. I’m no genius but I’m most certainly not daft. I’d label him as stupid but he’s most certainly not complacent and ignorant. It’s the nature of Sin unfortunately, and the main reason we’ve gotten to this point. Omor was not impressed by Naniget’s behavior. With a sigh he dismisses him, “Return to your duties and await further instruction on this matter.”

Naniget nodded and walked away with a bright expression. I’ve done well! I knew his question was a trick. I’m surely going to get promoted! He thought happily.

I am most definitely going to get that imp demoted. With that thought Omor took up his folders and sought went to meet the king seeing as his report and request for meeting would most definitely be arriving soon. Better late than never.

Illoquist

This is what chapters are going to look like from now on. Chapter will be done by either late Sunday or Monday. I run on Eastern Standard Time USA. I'm going to complete this book as soon as I can. There's likely to be a 2nd book that will be available for a cheap price on Payhip or some other publishing site. Possible a self-published Kindle book. That's unlikely as I'll more than likely keep this series completely free, with another series for a price. I don't know for now. Anyways enough of my rambling, have a wonderful day and I look forward to seeing you next time!