Chapter 2: An Audit in Brimstone

Chapter 2: An Audit in Brimstone

The oppressive weight of Lilith’s attention was a physical thing, a psychic pressure that threatened to crack the very air in Johnny Miles’s squalid apartment. Kaelen didn't wait for her to manifest. With a thought, he folded reality around himself, stepping not through a door but through a tear in the world. The smell of boiled cabbage and old regrets was instantly replaced by the familiar scent of ancient paper, dust, and caged despair.

He was home. Or the closest thing to it he had.

His office was a pocket dimension, an architectural impossibility that looked like the unholy child of the Library of Alexandria and a Victorian asylum. Shelves stretched up into a swirling, nebulous darkness, crammed with scrolls, leather-bound ledgers, and strange, soul-bound artifacts that hummed with quiet misery. A cursed phonograph played a silent tune only ghosts could hear. A snow globe contained a perfect, miniature city perpetually consumed by fire. This was his sanctuary and his prison, the workshop where he forged loopholes into weapons and studied the cosmic law that had condemned him.

He strode to a massive oak desk, its surface carved with sigils of containment, and tossed the remnants of his resolve alongside a stack of pending cases. He needed to document the Johnny Miles file, to frame his act of mercy in the cold, unassailable language of corporate procedure. He was typing a report on a spectral, glowing keyboard when the air chilled, and the low hum of the artifacts fell silent.

She didn't arrive with fire and smoke. That was for lesser demons. Lilith simply was.

One moment, the space before his desk was empty. The next, she stood there, a vision of predatory perfection in a business suit of impossible black. Her fiery red hair was cut with razor precision, and her eyes burned like embers in the dim light. She held a thin, obsidian data slate, her posture radiating an unnerving stillness that was more menacing than any overt threat.

“Thorne,” she said, her voice smooth as polished glass and just as cold. “You’ve failed to meet your quota.”

“The asset is deferred, not lost,” Kaelen replied without looking up from his work. He could feel her gaze on him, analytical and utterly devoid of warmth. “I filed an injunction citing Clause 7, Paragraph C. A clear case of un-remedied benefit transference to a non-signatory third party. It’s a messy file. I saved the company a potential century of celestial litigation.”

He spun his chair to face her, leaning back with a carefully practiced air of nonchalance. It was a lie, and they both knew it. He hadn't saved the company anything. He had saved a man.

Lilith took a slow step forward, her heels making no sound on the dusty floorboards. “How diligent of you. Protecting Infernal Holdings from unforeseen liabilities.” Her tone was laced with a sarcasm so fine it could cut diamond. She tapped her slate. “I’ve read your preliminary filing. It’s… creative. You argue that the client’s material breach should have been flagged by the drafting agent, and the failure to do so renders the collection terms temporarily unenforceable.”

“It’s sound legal theory,” Kaelen countered, gesturing to the towering shelves. “Precedent set in the case of Faustus v. Mephistopheles, sub-ruling 34. Ambiguity in the penalty phase defaults to procedural review, not immediate collection. It’s page nine hundred and four in the Grand Grimoire, if you’d like to check my work.”

This was their battlefield. Not one of fire and claws, but of clauses and precedents. It was the only place he could match her. His unique curse, his damnation, was also his greatest strength: he understood the system better than anyone. He knew its cracks.

Lilith’s lips curved into a smile that held no humor. “I don’t need to. I know you’ve read every word. That’s what makes you so valuable, Kaelen. And so… inefficient.” She circled his desk, trailing a perfectly manicured finger across the spines of soul-ledgers. “The problem isn’t your closure rate. That remains exemplary. The problem is your methodology.”

Here it was. The real reason for the audit. The obstacle wasn't the single file; it was the pattern he had been so careful to hide.

“My methods are effective,” he stated, his jaw tightening.

“Oh, they are,” she purred. “But the metrics are off. The Acquisitions department runs on more than just souls, Thorne. We run on despair. On terror. On the crushing weight of a bargain coming due. It’s a resource. It fuels entire sectors of the lower planes.”

She stopped directly behind him, her presence a cold weight on his shoulders. “Your accounts… they go too quietly. The Miles file is a perfect example. Our projections indicated a 98.7% probability of extreme emotional distress. Anguish, terror, pleading. All valuable yields. Yet you file for a deferment. Your other closures show a similar pattern. Resignation. Acceptance. I’ve even seen reports flagged for… relief.”

She leaned down, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper beside his ear. “It’s almost as if you’re comforting them, Kaelen. Providing a service beyond simple collection. It’s an anomaly in the data, and Management dislikes anomalies. It smells of compassion. A dangerous defect.”

Kaelen felt the ethereal chains around his wrists tighten, a cold, spectral bite against his skin. He fought to keep his expression neutral. He had been a fool to think she wouldn't see it. He wasn't just saving them; he was giving them a peace Hell would never allow.

He stood up, turning to face her, creating space between them. “I am an agent of this company. I am bound by the same contract as every other soul here. My loyalty is to the letter of the law.”

“We shall see,” Lilith said, her smile widening. The data slate in her hand glowed. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a file shimmering through the air to land on his desk. It wasn't a dusty scroll, but a sleek, black portfolio that seemed to absorb the light around it.

“Management has a new priority target,” she announced, her voice shifting back to pure business. “Marcus Thorne. No relation, I trust. CEO of OmniCorp. He built a tech empire on a single pact, and the term is nearing its end.”

Kaelen picked up the portfolio. It was cold, unnaturally so, and the name felt like a bad omen.

“This isn’t a one-hit wonder in a slum, Kaelen,” Lilith continued, her burning eyes locking onto his. “This is a keystone asset. The contract is woven into the very infrastructure of this city. It’s a high-yield, high-profile acquisition. Malakor himself has expressed a personal interest in seeing this portfolio closed cleanly.”

The name of Hell’s CEO hung in the air, sucking all the warmth from the room. An assignment of this magnitude wasn't a reward. It was a test. A leash.

“You will handle this acquisition personally,” Lilith commanded. “And you will do it by the book. No creative interpretations. No procedural injunctions. I want maximum yield. I want despair. I want to see the numbers on my report align perfectly with the projections.”

She turned and began to dissolve into the shadows, her form wavering like a heat haze.

“Consider this your performance review, Thorne,” her voice echoed as she vanished. “Impress me. Or the next audit will be for your own account.”