'Hard work always pays off.'
That's what my father told me when I graduated college with a degree in accounting. That's what my professors said when they handed me my CPA certification. That's what my boss repeated every time he piled another impossible deadline onto my desk while simultaneously denying my vacation request.
It was a lie.
A beautiful, persuasive lie that kept corporate slaves like me chained to our desks, desperately believing that if we just worked a little harder, stayed a little later, sacrificed a little more of our humanity, then eventually—eventually—it would all mean something.
I believed it too. Right up until the moment my heart decided it had had enough.
The thing about dying at your desk is that it's both sudden and predictable. Sudden because one moment you're reviewing tax forms for a client who probably committed fraud as a hobby, and the next moment your chest feels like someone's driving a railroad spike through it. Predictable because you'd been running on four hours of sleep, energy drinks, and spite for the past three months, and deep down, some part of you knew this was coming.
I remember my last thought before everything went dark: 'I never finished the Peterson account.'
Not 'I love you' to anyone. Not regrets about unfulfilled dreams. Just concern about a fucking tax return.
That's when I knew I'd completely wasted my life.
The afterlife, as it turned out, was not what any religion had prepared me for.
I woke up in what could only be described as a budget apocalypse—all fire and brimstone aesthetic, but with the distinct feeling that the interior decorator had been working with limited funding. The flames were more orange than properly demonic red. The skulls decorating the walls looked mass-produced. Even the ominous fog seemed thin, like someone had diluted it to make it last longer.
Standing before me was a demon.
At least, I assumed he was a demon. He had the horns, the tail, the red skin, the whole package. But there was something distinctly... middle-management about him. Maybe it was the way his shoulders slumped slightly, or the tired look in his yellow eyes, or the fact that his horns had a chip in them like he'd bumped into a low doorframe one too many times.
He looked, in a word, done.
I could relate.
"Welcome, human," he intoned, his voice clearly reading from a script he'd memorized years ago and had grown to hate. "You have been summoned to another world to become the Hero of—"
"Pass."
The demon stopped mid-sentence. His mouth hung open slightly, as if his brain was struggling to process input it had never received before.
"...What?"
"I said pass. Not interested. Is there a form I need to sign? Some kind of opt-out paperwork?"
He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.
"You... don't want to be the Hero?"
"Correct."
"But—but you're supposed to—the summoning—this has never—" He seemed to be genuinely malfunctioning. "Everyone wants to be the Hero!"
"Do they?" I looked around at the bargain-bin hell dimension. "Because from where I'm standing, 'Hero' sounds like another unpaid overtime situation, except instead of tax forms, I'm fighting monsters. Hard pass."
Listen, I'd read enough web novels during my bathroom breaks to know exactly how this story went. Overworked person dies, gets summoned to another world, becomes the Hero, gains incredible powers, fights the Demon Lord, and either dies tragically or wins after watching all their newfound friends die tragically.
Either way: tragedy, trauma, and a lot of unpaid emotional labor.
I'd spent twenty-eight years of my life doing unpaid labor. I wasn't about to start my afterlife the same way.
The demon—let's call him Gary, because despite the horns and the red skin, he had strong Gary energy—stared at me like I'd just divided by zero.
"But the prophecy—"
"Didn't ask."
"The fate of the world—"
"Not my world. Technically not even my problem."
"You'll be granted incredible powers—"
"Will I be paid?"
"...What?"
"Paid. Compensated. Given a salary with benefits and a reasonable work-life balance." I crossed my arms. "Because if I'm going to fight a Demon Lord, I want dental."
Gary's eye twitched. "Heroes don't get paid. It's an honor to—"
"So it's an unpaid internship with extra steps and a high mortality rate." I shook my head. "Yeah, I'm good. Been there, done that, literally died from the stress. What else you got?"
For a long moment, Gary just stared at me. I could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out what to do with a Hero candidate who had the audacity to ask questions like 'why' and 'what's in it for me.'
Finally, he sighed. It was the deep, weary sigh of someone who'd been dealing with bureaucratic nonsense for far too long.
"You know what? Fine. FINE." He pulled out a crystal that looked suspiciously like a smartphone and started typing. "If you won't be the Hero, then you can explain to Lord Garethzul the Undying why his carefully planned summoning ritual was wasted on someone with 'basic pattern recognition.'"
"Lord Garethzul the Undying?" I raised an eyebrow. "So your name actually is Gary?"
"It's Garethzul."
"Gary."
"GARETHZUL."
"Sure, Gary."
His eye twitched again. I was starting to enjoy this.
"Come with me," he growled, turning on his heel and marching toward a massive doorway that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago. "If you won't be the Hero, then you'll serve the Demon Lord directly."
"Serve how, exactly?"
"We're understaffed," he said, not looking back. "The last accountant embezzled three million souls and fled to the neutral territories."
I stopped walking.
"I'm sorry, did you say accountant?"
"Yes."
"The Demon Lord... has an accountant?"
Gary—Garethzul—whatever, turned to look at me like I was an idiot. "Do you think armies, castles, and interdimensional portals fund themselves? Do you have any idea how much it costs to maintain a proper evil empire? Someone has to manage the budget."
"Huh."
"Huh, indeed." He started walking again. "You were a tax accountant in your previous life, correct?"
"...How did you know that?"
"The summoning circle pulls information from your soul. We know everything about you, Tanix Evader. Twenty-eight years old. Died of a heart attack while reviewing tax forms. No family to speak of. No friends. No life outside of work." He glanced back at me. "You're perfect for this position, actually. You're already dead inside."
Ouch.
Also, fair.
"So instead of fighting the Demon Lord, I'd be... working for the Demon Lord?"
"Correct."
"And I'd be paid?"
"Ten thousand souls per month, plus benefits."
I considered this. On one hand, working for the literal forces of darkness probably looked bad on a moral level. On the other hand, I'd worked for a corporation that knowingly helped clients commit tax fraud, so my moral compass was already pretty compromised.
Plus, accounting was actually something I was good at. Fighting monsters? Not so much. I'd once lost a fight with a vending machine.
"What kind of benefits?"
"Healthcare, pension plan, unlimited access to the castle library, resurrection insurance—"
"Resurrection insurance?"
"It's a dangerous workplace. Sometimes people die. The insurance covers the cost of bringing you back."
That was... actually more comprehensive than my previous employer's benefits package.
"Alright," I said. "I'm listening."
Gary's expression shifted from annoyed to surprised to something that might have been relief.
"Really?"
"Really. I'm an accountant. You need an accountant. This seems like a logical arrangement." I paused. "Although I have to ask—why did the last accountant embezzle three million souls? That seems like a lot."
"It is a lot. Which is why we need someone competent to fix the mess he left behind and catch anyone else who might be stealing." Gary started walking again, faster this time. "Someone with integrity."
"You're betting a lot on a guy you just met."
"I'm betting on a guy who turned down the chance to be the Hero because he asked about the pay structure. That's the kind of practical thinking we need around here." He stopped in front of another doorway. "Besides, if you betray us, the Demon Lord will kill you in ways that make heart attacks look pleasant."
"Noted."
We stepped through the doorway, and suddenly we were somewhere else entirely.
The budget apocalypse aesthetic was gone, replaced by actual, genuine, terrifyingly impressive architecture. We stood in a massive hallway with vaulted ceilings so high I couldn't see the top. The walls were made of polished obsidian that reflected torchlight—purple torchlight, because apparently normal fire was too mainstream. Tapestries depicting battles hung between ornate sconces, and the floor was inlaid with intricate patterns that probably meant something ominous.
Occasional screams echoed from somewhere far below, which was concerning but also oddly atmospheric.
"Welcome to Castle Nightshade," Gary said, his voice carrying a note of pride. "Home of Demon Lord Lilithara the Eternal, Terror of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Heroes, et cetera, et cetera."
"Catchy title."
"She has more, but they take about ten minutes to recite fully. We usually stick with 'My Lord' for efficiency."
We walked through the castle, and I couldn't help but be impressed despite myself. This place was massive. Demons of various shapes and sizes hurried past us—some in armor, some in robes, some in what looked like business casual. It was like a corporate office building, except everyone had horns and the HR violations were probably literal rather than metaphorical.
"How many people work here?" I asked.
"Approximately fifteen thousand, across all departments. Military, intelligence, administration, maintenance, supply corps, R&D—"
"R&D?"
"Someone has to develop new torture methods. It's a competitive field."
Right. Evil empire. I kept forgetting.
We passed through several more hallways before Gary stopped in front of a truly massive door. It was carved with intricate scenes of battle—heroes falling, cities burning, that sort of thing. Cheerful stuff.
"Alright," Gary said, turning to face me. "We're about to meet the Demon Lord. Let me be very clear about the protocol: You address her as 'My Lord' or 'Your Darkness.' You do not make eye contact unless given explicit permission. You do not speak unless spoken to. You do not—"
"Is she really that scary?"
"She once ripped a Hero's spine out through his mouth for being disrespectful."
"...Noted."
"Are you ready?"
Was I ready to meet the actual Demon Lord? The big bad of this entire world? The ultimate evil that Heroes were summoned specifically to fight?
Not really, no.
"Sure," I said.
Gary gave me a look that suggested he knew I was lying, but he placed his hand on the door anyway. The carvings began to glow with red light, and the massive door swung open without a sound.
We stepped inside.
The throne room was... well, 'room' felt like an inadequate word. It was a cathedral of darkness. The ceiling was lost in shadow. Pillars of black stone rose like the ribs of some impossibly large beast. The walls were covered in more tapestries, more carvings, more casual displays of evil empire wealth.
And at the far end, sitting on a throne that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of volcanic rock, was the Demon Lord herself.
Demon Lord Lilithara the Eternal was beautiful in the way that natural disasters are beautiful—awe-inspiring, terrifying, and absolutely capable of killing you without a second thought.
She looked young, maybe twenty at most, with silver hair that fell past her shoulders and seemed to move on its own despite the lack of wind. Her eyes were crimson—not red, but actual crimson, like fresh blood, and they glowed slightly in the dim light. She wore black armor that probably cost more than I'd earned in my entire previous life, all sharp angles and intricate designs that suggested both elegance and lethality.
She was tall too. Even sitting down, I could tell she'd tower over me.
"So," she said, and her voice echoed slightly in the massive room despite her not raising it, "you're the human who refused to be the Hero."
It wasn't a question.
"That's me," I replied.
Behind me, Gary made a sound somewhere between a cough and a dying animal. Right, protocol. Was I supposed to bow? Kneel? I genuinely didn't know.
The Demon Lord's eyes fixed on me, and I felt like I was being evaluated at a level that went beyond the physical. It was the same feeling I got when senior partners reviewed my work—that sense of being measured, weighed, and potentially found wanting.
"You're either very brave or very stupid," she said finally.
"Option three: very tired."
Gary made that sound again, louder this time.
But the Demon Lord's expression shifted slightly. Not quite a smile, but something close to it. Amusement, maybe?
"Garethzul tells me you were an accountant in your previous life."
"Tax accountant, yes."
"And you're familiar with portfolio management, resource allocation, and fiscal auditing?"
I nodded. "I also did quarterly reports, managed accounts payable, and once caught a CEO trying to write off his yacht as a 'company vehicle.' So yes, I'm familiar with creative accounting and how to spot it."
For the first time, something definite flickered in those crimson eyes. Interest.
"You're hired."
I blinked. "Just like that?"
"Do you know how hard it is to find qualified financial managers in a literal hell dimension?" She waved her hand dismissively, and I noticed her nails were painted black and filed to points. "Most demons can barely count past ten without using their fingers. The few who are good with numbers tend to use that talent for embezzlement rather than actual fiscal management."
"Speaking of which—"
"Yes, the last accountant stole three million souls and fled to the neutral territories. Before that, the accountant we hired tried to implement a cryptocurrency scheme that nearly crashed our entire economy. Before that, the accountant lasted three days before having a mental breakdown." She leaned forward slightly. "You're human, which means you're naturally suspicious of everyone, you have experience dealing with creative accounting, and you already rejected the chance at glory and heroism in favor of boring practicality. These are all desirable traits."
When she put it that way, I almost sounded competent.
"What's the salary?"
"Ten thousand souls per month."
"What's the conversion rate to actual currency?"
"One soul equals approximately one thousand gold coins. Ten thousand souls would make you independently wealthy by human standards."
I did the math. That was... actually insanely good pay.
"And the benefits?"
"Healthcare—which includes resurrection insurance, because this is a dangerous workplace. Pension plan that kicks in after five years of service. Unlimited access to the castle library, which contains knowledge from seventeen different worlds. Four weeks of vacation per year, which I actually enforce because burned-out employees make mistakes." She counted off on her fingers. "Subsidized meals in the castle cafeteria. A private office with a window view. And if you successfully complete your first major project, a bonus of one hundred thousand souls."
That was... better than any job offer I'd received in my entire previous life.
"What's the catch?"
The not-quite-smile returned. "Smart. I like that."
She stood, and I realized my earlier assessment was correct—she was absurdly tall, easily six and a half feet. She stepped down from her throne, her armor making soft clicking sounds as she moved.
"The catch," she said, walking closer, "is that the Hero is currently training at the Royal Academy. He's talented, determined, and surrounded by equally talented companions who are all very motivated to kill me. In approximately six months, he'll be strong enough to attempt an assault on this castle."
"And when that happens?"
"This castle becomes a battlefield. People will die. The castle itself might be damaged. It will be, to put it mildly, chaotic."
"And you want your books in order before that happens?"
"No." She stopped a few feet away from me, close enough that I could see the faint patterns in her armor—tiny runes that glowed occasionally. "I want you to find out who's been cooking the books. Someone has been skimming off the top for years. Someone has been quietly bleeding my resources, undermining my military readiness, and—I suspect—funneling money to the Hero's kingdom."
"You think it's internal?"
"I know it's internal. I've suspected for three years now, but every accountant I hired either couldn't find the problem, was part of the problem, or died before they could finish investigating." Her eyes fixed on mine. "You find them, I deal with them, and we both live long enough to enjoy our respective pensions."
I considered this.
On one hand: dangerous, potentially lethal, definitely getting involved in things that were above my pay grade.
On the other hand: an actual mystery to solve, the resources to solve it, and a boss who apparently understood concepts like 'work-life balance' and 'adequate compensation.'
"Do I get an office?"
"Third floor, northwest corner. Window view of the torture gardens."
"The torture gardens?"
"They're quite beautiful, actually. We commissioned a landscaper from the neutral territories. Very aesthetic screaming."
"...Right." I paused. "One more question."
"Yes?"
"Why me? Specifically? You could have summoned anyone to be your accountant. Why summon the Hero and then recruit him for accounting?"
The Demon Lord smiled fully this time, showing teeth that were slightly too sharp.
"Because I didn't summon you to be the Hero, Tanix Evader. Garethzul did. I summoned you specifically to be my accountant." She turned and walked back toward her throne. "Your resume is impressive. Seven years of experience, specialized in forensic accounting, a success rate of ninety-three percent in catching fraud. You once brought down an entire money laundering operation by noticing a three-cent discrepancy in quarterly reports."
"How do you know all that?"
"I told you—I'm the one who summoned you. I specifically requested someone competent, detail-oriented, and with no emotional attachment to this world who wouldn't be swayed by bribes or threats." She sat back down on her throne. "The Hero summoning was Garethzul's side project. Pure coincidence that you ended up in his circle instead of mine."
I looked back at Gary—Garethzul—who had the grace to look embarrassed.
"So this whole thing—"
"Was a waste of time, yes. But it worked out." The Demon Lord waved her hand, and suddenly a contract appeared in the air in front of me, glowing with purple light. "Standard employment contract. Read it over. If you agree to the terms, sign at the bottom. If not, I'll have Garethzul return you to the afterlife and try again with someone else."
I grabbed the floating contract. It was surprisingly straightforward—none of the legal nonsense I was used to seeing. Salary, benefits, responsibilities, grounds for termination, and a clause about resurrection rights that was disturbingly detailed.
One line stood out: "Employee agrees to maintain professional confidentiality regarding all financial matters, under penalty of soul binding."
"What's soul binding?"
"Magical contract enforcement. If you break confidentiality, your soul gets bound to the castle until you die naturally. Which, given that you'd be immortal at that point, means forever."
"That's horrifying."
"That's comprehensive HR policy." She tilted her head. "Is it a problem?"
I thought about my last job, where they'd made me sign an NDA that lasted fifteen years and covered basically everything including what brand of coffee we used.
"No, actually. This is weirdly reasonable."
"Good."
I read through the rest of the contract. It was genuinely fair—clearer about expectations and benefits than any contract I'd signed before. There was even a clause about dispute resolution that involved a neutral third party rather than forced arbitration.
This evil empire had better employment practices than most of corporate America.
I signed.
The contract glowed brighter for a moment, then vanished.
"Welcome to Castle Nightshade, Accountant," the Demon Lord said. "Try not to die before you finish the quarterly report. It's due in two weeks."
Of course it was.