Veildark Records: The Melody of our sins

You already understand that the consequence of sin is music. But what about the more tangible consequences? The ever-increasing population of Hell has led to heightened production in the Sea of Pride, an effort to stave off inflation caused by growing consumption. More factories mean more labor, and more labor means more jobs, which increases the population's income. However, this also leads to increased pollution, which breeds discontent-a snowball effect that worsens day by day.

Despite the vastness of the Sea of Pride, there will come a time when the factories can no longer meet demand, inevitably resulting in inflation and further discontent. Coupled with a precipitous drop in Hell's stock market, this discontent can lead to unrest. Once a society adopts a common currency for trade, such economic instability becomes a looming threat. It's not complicated; it's basic economics.

But what happens if the princess, or whoever holds power, manages to solve the overpopulation issue in Hell? Demand will decline, yet prices will remain dangerously low because production hasn't slowed down alongside the end of uncontrolled population growth. This scenario would create an inflationary bubble, leading to factory closures and, Guess what? If you said fried chicken with barbecue sauce then you are wrong, it obviously leads to discontent and revolt.

It seems that no matter how you approach this situation, the conclusion is always the same. Economists have termed this inevitable downfall the 'Collapse of Pride.' On the bright side, the increase in population within Hell's Gate City will never be a problem; after all, to maintain the aristocracy of Hell and the arrogant smiles of its rulers, the Sea of Pride will always require a labor force.

2. The last tick of the clock is always the most lethal.

While the meeting at Veildark Records unfolded, elsewhere in Hell's Gate City, an imp dressed in a tiny, fancy suit struggled under the weight of a stack of papers that was nearly as tall as he was. His oversized glasses magnified his eyes, giving him a comically exaggerated appearance, while his skin was an unusual shade of yellow, something strange when remembering that imps usually have reddish skin, the result of years and years of exposure to Hellitia.

Beside him walked a cyclops demon clad in a sharp blue suit, chuckling lightly at the imp's discomfort. They navigated the narrow streets of the Pentagram District-a name that, despite its familiarity, had nothing to do with Pentagram City, but rather referred to a local bank. This district was the closest to the Sea of Pride, It was where the gates of the infernal industries were located, where several boats and ferries and even ships passed daily that carried goods produced in the Sea of Pride to the rest of the city and then for the rest of the ring and hell.

To their right, buildings and businesses lined the bustling streets, benefiting from the proximity to the Sea of Pride; land here was more affordable than in other parts of the city. To the left, beyond a low parapet, lay a large canal known as Avenue 3, one of the city's first waterways.

"Fuck... these papers are really heavy," the little imp grumbled as he trudged along.

The cyclops continued to laugh, running his hands through his blue hair. He dashed ahead of the imp, then turned around and extended a hand in support.

The imp scowled, irritation flaring in his voice. "I don't need your help..." He raised one hand, pointing defiantly upward, his eyes closing as he added, 'I can easily carry these papers to Sir Clockhauser.'"

The cyclops made several animated gestures with his hands, prompting an exasperated response from the imp.

"I'm not selfish!" the imp snapped, then took a deep breath to calm himself. "I'm just trying to show that I'm an excellent employee for the Accounting Overlord."

The cyclops continued with his gestures, clearly teasing, and the imp sighed, replying once more.

"Do I know what's in these papers? No, I haven't had time to check," he admitted, rolling his eyes. "Look, it doesn't matter, okay? Let's just keep moving. We have to get to the bank soon."

The cyclops folded his arms, and the two continued walking through the district. Demons bustled around them, each preoccupied with their own tasks-some cleaning layers of soot off rooftops, others stepping in and out of boats docked along the canals. The streets were grimy, coated with a thick layer of industrial residue that seemed to cling to every surface, a byproduct of the City's relentless pride in its factories. Sounds echoed off the water, creating an eerie, constant hum, though footsteps were few. Hell's Gate was quiet during the day, as much of its population spent daylight hours laboring in the factories of the Sea of Pride.

After more walking, the two turned onto a bustling street and found themselves before the city's grandest landmark. Surrounded by canals and commercial buildings taking advantage of its prestige, the area was crowded with demons coming and going, unusually lively even by the city's daytime standards. The building itself was massive, its golden facade gleaming as though even the city's pollution dared not mar its polished steps. At the entrance, an immaculate garden greeted visitors, offering a rare sense of luxury and security amid Hell's Gate's grime. But most striking of all was the sign beside the entrance, proudly declaring, 'Welcome to the Pentagram Bank HQ'.

"We're here! Hurry up, Arch, the boss is waiting for us!"

The cyclops nodded, his broad figure moving in sync with the smaller imp as they crossed a bridge toward the bank. The imp struggled to keep a firm grip on the stack of papers, attempting to hold the top down to prevent them from flying away, but his short stature made it nearly impossible. As a gust of wind blew, the papers fluttered dangerously.

The cyclops extended his hand in assistance once again, but the imp shot him a glare, quickly pulling the papers tighter to his chest.

"I already told you, I don't need your help!" he snapped, his face flushed with determination.

The cyclops rolled his eye, sighing as he kept walking. He glanced over his shoulder, the rhythmic sound of their footsteps blending with the distant noise of the bustling district. As his eyes wandered across the scene, he took in the chaotic beauty of Hell's Gate.

Boats-endless boats-cut through the murky water, carrying cargo and passengers with ease. Tall, buildings loomed over the streets, their sturdy forms standing resilient against the constant hum of labor. The water below was a dark gray, tinged with streaks of red, resembling a sea of blood straight out of a fantasy tale. But it wasn't blood-it was the thick, polluted remnants of industry and pride, swirling in the currents.

In the distance, beyond the boats and towering structures, the enormous gates of the Sea of Pride stood tall. The metal structure was massive, a port where ferries came and went, their cargo scrutinized before continuing their journey through the city's maze and beyond into the depths of Hell. It was a stark reminder of the unyielding grind of production, the constant motion of a city that never rested, just like the demons who lived and worked within it.

"The industrial gates of Hell," the imp muttered, his eyes fixed on the horizon alongside the cyclops. "Humans think death is the end, that it's some eternal rest. What a fucking lie. Hell doesn't care how you ended up here. It'll just use you for eternity, a consequence of your own damn mistakes."

The cyclops sighed as they both continued walking across the bridge. Eventually, they reached the other side, coming face to face with the well-kept gardens. A demon tending to some flowers noticed them and walked over.

"Well, well, look who's back. The yellow imp and the mute cyclops," the gardener demon said with a saccharine tone. He wore a black outfit beneath his gardening overalls, a big, cheerful smile on his face as he worked. His short orange hair was matted with dirt, and he looked like he never took a break from his cheerful labor.

The imp rolls his eyes. "Oh, shut up, Gurnesh. You knew exactly where we were."

"Not really," Gurnesh replied with a shrug. "I'm just the gardener." He glanced at the towering stack of papers the imp was carrying, raising an eyebrow. "That's a whole load of paperwork you've got there. So, what's all that about?"

"We're not sure yet, but we'll find out soon enough. Now, we really have to go; Sir Clockhauser is waiting for us," the imp replied. With that, he and the cyclops made their way through the garden, heading toward the bank entrance.

After descending the stairs, weaving through the crowd of demons moving in and out, the duo finally reached the entrance of Pentagram Bank HQ. The revolving doors spun continuously, never pausing for even a second under the constant flow of demons.

"Let's go, Arch we have no time to waste"

They entered the bank, greeted by an immaculate interior. Not a speck of dirt marred the floor. White walls reminiscent of classic French architecture stood in contrast to the stained glass windows, which narrated Hell's history in vibrant mosaics visible only from within. Plush red carpets and extravagant chandeliers contributed to an air of opulence, though beneath all the luxury, it was still unmistakably a bank-complete with the relentless weight of infernal bureaucracy.

The pair moved through the heart of the bank, surrounded by the hum of conversations with tellers and the steady flow of financial transactions. Within these walls, the usual infernal euphoria and chaotic energy of Hell gave way to a collective monotony. Here, even in the afterlife, demons faced the mundane drudgery of financial obligations, each dealing with the persistent tedium of paperwork and transactions.

After a few more steps, the pair arrive at a kind of elevator a little further away from the common area for customers.

After a few more steps, the pair reached an elevator set apart from the customer area.

This elevator is for employees only. Please step back or provide the password,' a large, muscular demon announced, his suit straining over his frame.

"Stop wasting my time," the imp snapped, carefully balancing his stack of papers.

"Password accepted. Good afternoon, Mr. Dazzle. You may proceed," the demon replied, stepping aside to let the imp and the cyclops pass.

Dazzle glanced sideways and noticed the cyclops looking over at the customer area, exchanging gestures from a distance with a demoness working in customer service.

"Arch, focus. You can talk to your wife later... or, well, exchange gestures with her," Dazzle muttered, grabbing the cyclops's hand and pulling him into the elevator.

Once inside the elevator, Arch pressed the button for the top floor. The doors closed, and they stood in silence during the ascent. Arch tried offering his help with the stack of papers once more, but the imp promptly refused again.

After some slightly uncomfortable time with those typical elevator songs playing, the doors finally open and they find themselves on the top floor of the Pentagram Bank.

The two exit the elevator and enter a spacious, well-lit hallway. At the end of it stands a large wooden desk, cluttered with papers, office supplies, and a computer. A small metal plaque on the desk reads, 'Dazzle, Secretary of Pentagram Bank.'

"My desk," Dazzle says, wiping a tear from his eye with mock sentiment.

They walk past the desk and continue deeper down the corridor, passing several large portraits of notable figures from both Heaven and Hell. Finally, they reach a rather unassuming door with intricate black carvings along the wood and a golden plaque reading, 'CEO's Office'.

The cyclops approaches the door and knocks gently. A few seconds later, a voice calls from the other side.

"Come in."

The cyclops opens the door, and the two step into the office.

The room was impeccably organized, almost to an obsessive degree. Even the lights were positioned with exact precision, ensuring none of them cast shadows on one another. The walls were painted in dull gray tones, deliberately understated to avoid drawing attention or causing distraction. In the left corner of the room stood a shelf stacked with books, files, and documents of various sizes and colors. Above, silver chandeliers illuminated the space with soft, even light.

At the center of the room sat a comfortable leather chair, and in front of it, a desk crafted from Lustwoor wood-a rare tree native to the Lust Ring. The desk was adorned with office supplies and a very old tube computer. But what caught the eye most was a small Lucifer bobblehead on the desk, measuring only 16 cm tall. The inscription on its base read: 'To the best watchmaker in Hell.'

, there was also an almost full ashtray and in addition, of course, to a gold metal plaque that says 'Sir Clockhauser CEO of Pentagram Bank'

On the other side of the desk was a tall armchair with deep red upholstery, custom-made to fit the Overlord's stature. To the left of the room was a massive crystal window, reinforced to withstand even a rocket launcher shot. Through the window, an impeccable view of Hell's Gate City and the Sea of Pride unfolded, with factories stretching endlessly toward the horizon. Sitting in the armchair was a demon, an imposing figure standing at an incredible 8 feet tall. He wore an overcoat over casual clothes, a red tie, long pants, and expensive shoes. However, what stood out most wasn't his height, but his head - a massive clock face, with no eyes, nose, or mouth, just the ticking hands slowly turning clockwise, marking each second with a distinct, rhythmic tick.

"I understand your concerns, Mr. LotusFrost; the Collapse of Pride has struck fear into the hearts of many," the Overlord said, raising his hand to beckon the imp closer. "But demons are... difficult. Their interest wanes quickly when the subject turns to economic matters that are, let's say, more... complicated."

A demon seated across from Sir Clockhauser frowned, crossing his arms. Though much smaller than the Overlord, he radiated an intimidating, icy aura, his appearance as if he had been carved from a massive block of ice. His suit complemented his frozen look, while his hair appeared to ripple like glacial waves. His cold presence was distinctly unsettling in Hell's usual heat.

"That's precisely why I'm here, Sir Clockhauser. I want to ensure my company's security and survival when the inevitable strikes," Vecian Lotusfrost replied, his breath misting the air with a chilling presence.

The imp then stepped forward, placing the papers on the Overlord's desk. Sir Clockhauser nodded in thanks, and the imp moved back to stand by the door, with the Cyclops beside him. To their left, two armed guards-likely Vecian's-stood watch.

"Dazzle," the Overlord said, turning his gaze to the little imp.

"Y-Yes, Sir?"

"Why did you carry all that by yourself? There's a reason I sent the two of you."

"I wanted to show my dedication, Sir Clockhau-"

"Enough. I didn't hire you to be a lone wolf, Dazzle. If you want to impress me, learn to work as a team. That applies to both of you."

Vecian cleared his throat, redirecting the Overlord's attention.

"Oh, yes, of course..." Sir Clockhauser responded, glancing at the stack of papers. He picked up one sheet, studying it.

"What exactly is in those papers?" Vecian asked, curious.

"These," Sir Clockhauser replied, "are all the financial reports from your dairy food sales company in the last 50 years. Each document represents a year, totaling 50 papers of records-one for each year."

Vecian's eyes narrowed, his voice tinged with anger. "H-How do you have access to this? This is private information about my company-"

Sir Clockhauser interrupted him calmly, his voice steady. "Relax, Vecian. This is data provided to your investors. I'm not talking about industrial espionage."

Vecian remained silent, though his anger was still palpable.

"Good," Sir Clockhauser continued. "Now, as we can see from these financial reports, your company's income-especially in the Pride Ring, where we are now-has dropped by nearly 23% over the past year. This is a concerning trend, particularly if you expect Pentagram Bank to invest funds into a business that's in decline."

Vecian's tone remained tense as he spoke, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"Look, all I'm asking for is financing-three hundred thousand souls for my company. It's not an exorbitant amount, but I need it. After all, you've been handling my company's treasury services for what? Two hundred years?"

"And you are correct, Mr. Lotusfrost," Sir Clockhauser replied, his tone cool but firm. "Since the beginning of our partnership, my team has done everything to keep your finances in order. However, there is one variable in this equation that doesn't add up. You."

"What?" Vecian replied, a sense of unease creeping into his voice.

"When we examine these financial reports more closely, we uncover something critical. The drop in profitability didn't result from a decrease in sales-it came from an increase in expenses. More specifically, employee-related spending."

"This... How do I explain this?" Vecian stammered, clearly caught off guard. "Hmm, I had some issues with my employees-nothing personal, of course-but I asked them to exclude these details from the financial reports."

"I don't care what happens in your company," Sir Clockhauser said, leaning in just inches from Vecian's face. "My problem isn't that your profitability has dropped-we all face ups and downs, and your products are good. What bothers me is that YOU LIED in the reports, all for the sake of selfish pride. You're no different from the other demons who step into this room. I can't risk the funds if I'm financing a company led by someone who lies."

"I ask for forgiveness..." Vecian said, looking down.

Sir Clockhauser sighed, his gaze cold as it fell on the floor.

"You'll get your money. Even with your lies, your company still holds great value to this bank. But I expect good relations with InferDessert LTDA moving forward. I hope this doesn't happen again."

"Yes, sir," Vecian said, his voice trembling slightly.

"Good. You may leave."

Vecian stood up, muttering to himself, "Man, that was intense, Fu-"

Before he could finish, Sir Clockhauser's pocket watch shot out at high speed coming out directly from the wrist of his left hand, wrapping around Vecian's neck in the blink of an eye. With a sharp pull, Vecian was slammed face-first into the Overlord desk, blood dripping from his nose as he fell back in pain. The security guards immediately aimed their guns at Sir Clockhauser, while Arch summoned a bow, aiming an arrow at them. Dazzle, trembling, ducked behind the Overlord.

"Ouch! Why do you do this!?" Vecian gasped, struggling to remove the watch and chain from his neck.

"I must remind you," Sir Clockhauser said coldly, his voice low but commanding, "you are not in the rings, you are not in Pentagram City, and you are not in your home. You are in my bank and my office. You follow my rules. No swearing, no deviant behavior of any kind. This is a place of business and nothing more. Do you understand?"

"Alright, alright, geez... Let's go," Vecian muttered, finally standing up. He and his guards left the room, one of them handing him a cloth to stop the bleeding.

The Overlord turned to Dazzle, giving his head a gentle pat.

"You two, get back to work."

Dazzle nodded, and he and Arch left the office. Once the door closed behind them, Sir Clockhauser sat back down at his desk, powering on the computer. As always, he was ready to do what the Accounting Overlord does best-be an accountant.