Date / Location Unspecified

Seredor sat at his desk drinking pomegranate wine from a glass decanter. The devil was laying back in his chair with his feet propped up on the desk. Seredor's two underlings, Nash and Lyvia, painstakingly waited in their chairs. It'd been only five minutes since their boss called them into his office—but all he did so far was say nothing and drink. Lyvia dug her sharp claws into the leather seat. Nash sat back as his boss and formed a rectangle with his thumbs and index fingers; his gloves started glowing and horrific images started flashing between his fingers. He was checking in on his latest victims.

Lyvia’s eyes would wander around the room. Seredor had remodeled the room since their last encounter. Trinkets she, Nash, and many of Seredor’s former agents acquired were spread out all over. Gold and silver ingots were placed in glass cases. Antique vases and small sculptures were placed on a very well-crafted bookshelf next to the boss’s desk. One-of-a-kind paintings covered one wall and oaken casks of pomegranate wine lined the other. Seredor’s, and to an extent Nash’s and Lyvia’s, interest in human culture were unique amongst devils.

“You two—” Seredor began.

Lyvia edged closer in her seat, while Nash remained lackadaisical.

“—are performing satisfactorily.”

A compliment? Nash sat up in surprise. Elated and giddy, Lyvia bounced up and down in her seat. It had been ages since they were last praised.

“I should’ve thinned out my ranks much sooner if I knew all I needed was two fine agents. We’re closer than ever before to our goal,” Seredor explained. He gently placed his decanter on the desk, before standing up and pacing around his subordinates. To Lyvia and Nash, Seredor was the epitome of style, even when wearing human attire—a white button-down shirt, black waistcoat, black slacks, and a silken purple cravat. Lyvia’s sleeveless, tight-fitting dresses and Nash’s dingy rags paled in comparison.

“Nash, progress report.”

“Well, the Brummer Salt Distribution Company in Holinhafen has been forcibly shut down, and that eyesore of a salt mine has been rendered inoperable, at least for some time. I know there are at least three more large-scale salt mining operations left in Northern Morrigan. I doubt we could ever stop these humans from playing in their dirt. I also snuck into the good graces of some of the former board of directors from Brummer, I'll keep a close eye on where they go. If it's to other salt mines, then I might be able to slip in and have an easier time shutting things down."

“Do any of them suspect any devil involvement?” Seredor asked.

“One or two did.”

“And what did you do to them?” A smile grew across Seredor’s face.

“I threw them in the pit of course,” Nash answered, matching his boss’s smile.

“Good, good. Keep those hands at play, Nash. Fear is a great motivator and punishment for humans—and so is pleasure—” Seredor sauntered over to Lyvia. The boss gently slid his fingers up her bare arm and shoulder. “Progress report.”

“Oh, well, business at the Padparadscha is booming. I’ve managed to—uhm—rub shoulders with many people from all over Ursulaburg. I’ve even managed to dip my fingers into royal affairs,” Lyvia held out her right hand to show off the various rings she’d received. “Courtiers are certainly an interesting bunch. The few I’ve cajoled into single conversations have offhandedly mentioned they’re worried about the uprising of the Antiroyalists. Which means—”

“—No one suspects us yet,” Seredor remarked. “Good work, Lyvia. Now, if you hear a single murmur of devil suspicion you…”

“...uh…blame it instead on the Antiroyalists?”

“Clever girl,” Seredor remarked. As he walked around her, Seredor’s tail glided up Lyvia’s neck and chin. She gasped as it flicked off. He asked, “Is there anything the Padparadsha could use?”

Lyvia stuttered for a moment before fully gathering her thoughts, “I’ve spent the past few years combing Altabaster for the most appealing men and women I could find, but then business began to plateau. I then started combing through other races and introduced them into the Padparadscha, business increased but then plateaued again. I need Azephra to create another race. The most recent addition, a pair of spiderkin, has served a niche audience, but again, I find myself needing something new.”

Seredor sighed, “Azephra is an artist. That’ll happen only when he feels like it—much to my and Margos’s annoyance. But if inspiration manages to strike him, I’ll see that he sends you a nice pair.”

Seredor sauntered up behind Nash and started rubbing his shoulders. “Now, just because that salt mine is out of the picture doesn’t mean I have nothing for you to do. You might have to curry favor with a different sort of people in the meantime, but I know you can do this.”

“What-uh what do you have in mind boss?”

Seredor pulled from his pocket a small, black fireball and dropped it into Nash’s hands. The young subordinate recoiled from the equally surprising cold and solid object. Nash had only seen one of Nellika’s tears once before, but only from very far away.

“I was entrusted with this flame, and now I’ll entrust it to you. I want you to infiltrate the Church of Careena in Ursulaburg. Take this tear, and plant it into the shrine pool. That should ensure no unwelcome guests come into the picture. Once the pool is sealed, take Lyvia and Farren—”

A blue mask on Seredor’s bookshelf suddenly flew into the air. A black, oily mass formed to fill the mask—a body with stubby arms and legs quickly followed. The oil quickly solidified; from the eye sockets, ethereal red flames started flowing out. It was a Shade, a devil’s soul that lacked a vessel like a body. In order for it to regain an identifiable form the shade needed to be anchored to something—in this case it was the mask. This entity gently fell to the floor and bowed.

“For the name of Farren was invoked, and so shall I appear. How may I assist you master Seredor?”

“Excellent timing as usual. Once the shrine pool at the Church of Careena is sealed, you three will go about setting the establishment ablaze. Be subtle, yet quick. If you can eliminate the hunters that call the church their home then all the better,” Seredor paused for a moment, “If any of you encounter a human man by the name of Hannibal, you are to capture him and bring him to me. I have some unfinished business with that man.”

Seredor rolled up his right sleeve and showed his subordinates his arm. From the elbow down, his arm had been replaced; one of his former agents was gracious enough to sacrifice their limb for their master. "Beware his blessing. It's a very large scythe with a golden blade. I am convinced Careena herself had to have given it to him. It is potent against devil-kind. I shouldn't have to stress this, but I will—under no circumstances, should you let it touch you."

Nash and Lyvia were a little taken aback, they were going to have to fight someone who could injure their illustrious boss. Farren appeared unphased and simply saluted.

“Fear not. I have high hopes,” Seredor said, “You three wouldn’t let me down, would you?”

“No sir,” Farren matter-of-factly replied.

Lyvia and Nash shook their heads. If it meant getting more high praise and eventual positions of power in the future, then they would bend over backward for Seredor. Before the well-dressed devil could wrap up his little meeting, one of the many lower devils burst into the office.

“Master Seredor! It’s Master Azephra, he’s returned and in bad condition.”