Dr. Desmond walked down a hallway with his entourage of stern followers. He was a well-respected man in the government's headquarters. He had worked many hard years and earned himself a place to sit in the high chair. It was the perfect identity for a shapeshifter to plunder.

Dr. Desmond and his entourage stopped in front of a futuristic door. The door had detected Demond's identity and autonomously started opening as a garage door would. Dr. Desmond and his entourage finally walked into the office. The person sitting in an office chair amid his secretariat was Mr. Karlsia.

Mr. Karlsia too had served the government for all of his years. He had grown incredibly old over the plethora of years. He was a bureaucrat of the 4th Division Bureau since he's known himself. He had become a minister—a rank a trifle higher than that of Dr. Desmond's. He was as old as the hills, working the last bits of his tenure: to provide a stable, prospective financial ground for his autistic son.

Mr. Karlsia looked over his laptop—that sat on his desk—to get a visual of the new presences amidst his office. His eyes drooped upon seeing Dr. Desmond who had been recently demoted to lower bureaucratic rank. The reason being was dissatisfaction with regards to his work, which was noticed by the Governor herself.

Mr. Karlsia had been eschewing the contact with others, particularly in person with people like especially Dr. Desmond—who had been shirking his responsibility as a bureaucrat. Mr. Karlsia could not afford to consort with partiers and misfits. He had his time with delinquency in the past, now it is time to provide for his family—a thing he had only recently committed to.

"Good day, Dr. Desmond," said Mr. Karlsia, forming a triangle with his hands atop his desk.

Dr. Desmond smiled. "Oh please, Kalsiar, do me a favor and drop the formals." his voice was chic and incredibly mellifluous despite how heavy it was.

"Right-right," uttered Mr. Kalsiar with a tremble in his husky voice. "Say, what brings you all the way here to England? You were on suspension by the Governor, were you not?"

"Yes, yes. But I chose to be here, to have a simple chat with you, Kalsiar. We are friends, are we not?"

Mr. Kalsiar raised a brow. "Says the same man who considered me too inferior and old to associate with," he said humorously, even going as far as to smile as he peered back down at his laptop screen. It wasn't what he had in mind. His real concern was connected to the oddity of Dr. Desmond bringing an entire entourage to have a "simple" chat with him.

"It's," Dr. Desmond sits in the chair opposite Karlsiar, "Ironic, innit?" he crossed his legs.

Mr. Karlsiar looked him over. Why did Dr. Desmond's demeanor seem so amiss today? He couldn't help but notice the slight smirk on his face. It looked faintly like a "business face", but it was far too hysterical and arrogant to be such.

Mr. Karlsiar wrinkled, as he sat straight and tossed his undivided attention to Dr. Desmond. "Okay, what—really—brings you here, Desmond? I think I do deserve ... the truth."

Dr. Desmond's eyes darkened. "Now you're talking business. Cut me the chase and give wind of where the Great Rendell is, would you."

Mr. Kalsiar's heart sank. His anxiety festered within. Although he had been seething, he chose to laugh things out. "Ha, ha! Great joke, Desmond," he coughed. "I forgot how funny of a middle-aged man you are. But," he glared, "As old I am, I quite prefer not to make my old heart stop because of hysterical laughter."

Dr. Desmond joined in on the laughter. His laughs were antagonistic because of how sonorous his voice was. He laughed for a whole minute and then stopped. "It's funny how you think I'm joking. Take a look at the HQ's cameras, please, Mr. Karlsiar," he smirked.

Mr. Kalsiar did just that. He looked down at his laptop and looked at the cameras. An entire room —on the same floor they loitered—was filled with dead bureaucrats. Whereas the floors below were just as normal would normally be. Mr. Kalsiar's heart throbbed aggressively. He looked at Desmond who had started laughing again.

"Those bureaucrats are dead!?"

"At least they no longer have to worry about paperwork," Dr. Desmond started to laugh again.

Mr. Karlsia's brows knotted. "Dr. Desmond!" he snapped. "This is not the time for levity! Is the building not being ravaged? The ravager is on our floor—"

"He's not just on our floor," Dr. Desmond interjected, "he's right here, in this room."

Mr. Karlsia paused. Then his mouth parted as recognition dawned on his face. "You ... you ... did this?"

Dr. Desmond smirked. This acted as a "yes" to Mr. Kalsiar. Mr. Karlsiar quickly hurtled his hand toward a big, red button on his desk. Then suddenly, his hand froze midway. He clenched his teeth as he tried moving his hand with all his might. But, of course, his efforts were vain. He looked back up at Dr. Desmond, whose eyes were pitch black.

"You're not Dr. Desmond," he said. "Y-you can't be. Who are you? How did you get past the security, and the identity detectors?" He shook his head. "That's impossible ... the identity detectors can see through disguises and stolen physiques—they see through all magic. " he mused on.

"I thought you would catch on faster. Disappointment. You can stop trying to figure out how I got past the security now. Because I've literally become Desmond," said Dr. Desmond, standing. "Now would you be so kind as to ... usher me to the Great Rendell?"

A black mist covered Mr. Karlsiar's body. He grew panic-stricken. "What's happening to me? How do you know of that name, impostor? Who ... are you?"

Dr. Desmond heaved. Suddenly he placed his hand upon his face and began to tug on his skin. He ripped his own skin from his face, pulling off Dr. Desmond's head like a mask, and revealing a new figure.

The figure possessed long, jet black hair and an ethereal physique despite the conspicuous arrogance on his countenance. He was of the demon race and was entirely entitled to the throne over his dear brother Nyx, who had recently failed his objective. His name was Hel.

His horns grew. "Show me," he demanded, "the Great Rendell."