Devil sat at a desk in a damp, dark room. The room was carved into rough stone, no consideration given to comfort, the walls uneven and the room itself just slightly too small.
The Devil, however, didn't mind this. The accommodations were enough for him to do his job, and that was all that mattered. The job he did was simple paperwork; he needed no more than a pen and a surface to write on, and the room provided him with that and more, so he truly felt that it was a bit extravagant.
The Devil himself was Humanoid – although he would never wish to be explicitly compared to a Human – with the normal red skin and blue, glowing veins that highlighted it. The clothes he wore were simple and formal: black, tightly-fitted pieces of cloth that covered his upper and lower body.
It was standard attire for those in his division.
And so he sat, quietly reading a budget proposal. The proposal came from an underling, and requested an additional 2.8% manpower be diverted from the front lines of the war effort, and added to the security division of the prison the Devil was running. It was utterly preposterous.
A 2.8% increase in manpower was completely outside the bounds of what was reasonable. The claims that the prison was "severely understaffed" and "at risk of an outbreak" were excuses.
If they needed a 2.8% increase in manpower, a few of them could just work twice as many hours and that should cover it. Besides, the request was a couple weeks old by now, so they should have figured out a solution to their problem already, anyway.
With a will of Mana, the Devil caused the paper to burst into flames. After he was done with that, the Devil picked up the next paper from the stack on his desk. This one was a request for 0.7% manpower to be diverted from the accounting division into the training division.
He mentally hummed.
A 0.7% shift was definitely much less than 2.8%, but it was still very significant, and would most likely need to go through at least thirteen levels of approval before it would be instated.
That said, the Devil was considered to be a bit reckless by the standards of his species, so he signed the proposal anyway. He would send it to his boss later that evening to get the next level of approval.
The Devil had just given it its first level, so it would need twelve more until it was put into place. Within a few years, he might actually see the request finish going through.
The Devil sat the paper down, and then went to grab another, this time from a different stack sitting on the other side of his desk.
There were many stacks sitting around the office, all neatly squared up reams of paper, some sitting on the desk itself, others on the floor, some in the drawers of the desk, and one was even underneath the Devil's chair. In total, there were easily multiple thousands of sheets of paper sitting in the Devil's office, awaiting his approval.
The paper he picked up seemed to be asking for a 3.9% lowered daily quota for the next week in Sector 142B9 of the manufacturing division; apparently two thirds of the people in the factory had died in a gas explosion. The Devil shook his head and burned the paper, not bothering to read any more. 3.9% lower?! Someone was filling these young Demons' heads with irrational ideas.
They'd get a half a percent if they were lucky and promised to make it up during the week after. What they were asking for was just impossible.
A knock rang out on the Devil's door.
He grabbed another paper as he called out, "You may enter."
He read the proposal as the guest walked in. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it was one of the Ember Mites that worked under him. Ember Mites were small – only standing slightly taller than the length of the Devil's hand – and were made of a large body with tiny arms and legs that came out of it. It had no head, its eyes and mouth simply protruding out of the top of its large, roundish body. It was the color of charcoal, with flecks of orange and red scattered across it.
The Demon squeaked and stuttered, obviously trying and failing to get words out, before it finally found the ability to speak. "A-An expression of most formal greeting, Xhag'duulinithar'obabaiidook'naisantipoduun'torobaroxhixhonxhaxintep."
The Devil whose name had just been spoken continued reading his paper. It wasn't like the document was anything important – it was just a report of a confirmation of a confirmation of a request for a confirmation of a request for an order of a resupply of food stocks for Barracks #E4B0972GG – but the Devil just didn't want to deal with whatever the Ember Mite had to say.
However, he also wanted to get the Mite out of his office, and the best way to do that was to hear it out. So, he grabbed his pen, started signing off on the paper, and spoke without looking up.
"An expression of greeting. What is your name, Ember Mite?"
"M-my name is Bronnmiino'tadiimo."
"Hm. I will call you Bron."
"Y-yes. A formal expression of gratitude, Xhag'duulinithar'obabaiidook'naisantipoduun'torobaroxhixhonxhaxintep."
The Devil was put into a good mood that the Ember Mite – Bron – not only knew his name and pronounced it correctly, but also bothered to say it more than once.
Names held great importance in Demon culture, and some of the younger Demons seemed to have forgotten how to be polite, only saying the names of their higher-ups once during the greeting, and avoiding it later because it was 'too much trouble' or 'ridiculous that they would be expected to not only memorize that, but also to say it more than once per interaction.'
Of course, the Devil himself had no need to remember or speak the Ember Mite's name – the Mite was below him, and should be thankful that the Devil even spoke the first syllable.
"What is it you come to me for, Bron?"
"U-um, it's Temporus, Overlord of Tomorrows, sir. It has breached containment."
The Devil frowned. Temporus was a very unique being with the power to control the flow of time. It had been immediately enslaved once its power was discovered, and now was forced to use its powers to aid the 7th Circle of the Underworld – the same circle that the Devil worked in.
However, its powers were also very limited in scope, so it never quite became an integral part of their army. That said, it was still an asset, one that the Devil would be remiss to let loose on his watch.
"Have you sent out a recapture team?"
"N-no, sir. Not yet. I was waiting to get your approval to do so."
The Devil frowned. "You do not need my approval to recapture an escaped asset, Bron. Put one together and have them search for it. Start with the area near the prison, but if need be, you can search the entire seventh circle. Now, get out of my office."
But the Mite did not leave. Instead, it bowed down, looking to the floor. "W-well, sir, about that…"
The Devil stopped writing and looked up at the Ember Mite, sensing bad news. "What is it, Mite?"
"T… Temporus, i-isn't, in… the Underworld." Its entire body was shaking. "I-it escaped to… t-the Overworld."
Snap.
The Devil's pen lay broken in half on his desk, the Devil's writing hand clenched tightly into a fist. A low growl escaped his throat. "What."
The Ember Mite started trembling even more. "W-w-w-we, we, we don't know h-how it g-g-got through… p-please, i-it wasn't my fault… Xh- Xh- Xha- Xhag'du- du-"
The Devil took a deep breath as the Ember Mite struggled to pronounce his name through all of its shaking and stuttering. He calmed himself, and interrupted the Mite's schpiel. "What is the emergency code?"
"W-what?"
The Devil sighed, shaking his head. These young Demons had no knowledge of proper protocol. "The emergency code. What is it?"
The Ember Mite paused. "U-um, sir, if you w-wouldn't mind reminding me of the different codes?"
The Devil sighed once again, rubbing his eyes. "Yes, I do mind, Mite. It is ridiculous that you do not know these