Time: 7:06 PM, the Night Before the Blood Moon
If I had to describe the evening in one word, it would be: overdressed. In two: overdressed and doomed.
HellCorp Tower rose out of the city like someone had said "What if we made a skyscraper evil?" Black obsidian glass, flaming gargoyles perched on every ledge, and one side literally dripped molten gold. The air around it buzzed like a wasp nest full of stock brokers.
"I feel underqualified," I muttered, adjusting my tie. It was a cursed one Rafe loaned me—it kept tightening every time I told a lie, which made flirting and bluffing way more dangerous than usual.
Beside me, Emily stood in a sleek black dress with infernal glyphs subtly woven into the fabric. She looked like a fashion-forward sorceress, and I would've told her as much if my tie hadn't already tried to strangle me once for saying I looked "confident."
"I still don't like this," she murmured. "You walking in there as the new promoted executive—it's dangerous. One wrong move and your soul gets locked in a seven-year trial contract."
"Relax," I said, flashing a grin. "I read the fine print."
"You did?"
"No. But Rafe did, and I trust him with my life. Mostly."
Emily rolled her eyes and adjusted a small rune earpiece in her left ear. "We have thirty minutes. Rafe will create the distraction. You get to the main ritual altar. Overwrite my name with yours. Then we bolt before they notice it's a fake promotion."
"Got it," I said.
"You sure?"
"Nope."
But I kissed her on the cheek anyway. Just a brush. Soft. Stupid. Too fast.
Her eyes flicked up to mine.
We said nothing.
The limo pulled up. A butler with no face opened the door. I stepped out into a crowd of the richest, most power-hungry monsters in the underworld.
Showtime.
Inside the Gala of the Damned
The lobby of HellCorp glowed with subdued menace. The floors were polished human bone tile—real bone, because demons were big on authenticity. A string quartet played unsettling waltzes using violin bows made of woven banshee hair.
The guest list? Everyone from demon royalty to cursed CEOs to a vampire hedge fund manager who once tried to sell Emily a timeshare in purgatory.
And I—me, Jax Quinn, ex-soul smuggler and current fraud—was supposedly the evening's guest of honor.
"Name?" the greeter asked. It had too many eyes and no mouth. The question echoed in my head instead.
I cleared my throat. "Jax… Malveaux." (The alias we cooked up. Very executive. Very deadpan.)
The creature twitched. "Confirmed. Welcome, Vice President of Ritual Logistics, Demonic Ascension Division. Please enjoy the flesh bar."
I walked in, keeping my posture confident. Not too confident, though. That made you look like prey.
Rafe's voice buzzed in my ear. "You're doing great. Head toward the main ballroom. Avoid the escalators—one of them eats shoes."
"Copy that."
I made my way past exhibits of past rituals—everything from blood-wrapped performance reviews to a holographic slideshow on soul quota benchmarks.
I turned a corner—and nearly bumped into a very tall, very red-skinned man in an Armani suit.
"Ah, Mr. Malveaux," he said, grinning with far too many teeth. "We've been dying to meet you."
This was Varkathos—Chief Ritual Officer and the most powerful demon in the Western Hemisphere. According to Rafe's briefing, he once burned an entire city block because his espresso order was late.
"Varkathos," I said, extending a hand I hoped wasn't trembling. "Pleasure."
He shook it, his skin hot like a stovetop. "You've risen quickly. I admire ambition."
"Thanks. I've... always believed in vertical integration." (My tie didn't try to kill me. Guess that was technically true.)
He clapped me on the back, hard enough to dislodge a lung. "Come! Let me introduce you to our current executives. You'll fit right in."
The Table of Terrible Executives
HellCorp's top brass were gathered around a massive obsidian table in the ballroom. They all looked like they'd stepped out of a horror-themed Forbes cover shoot: horns, wings, voids for faces, one woman whose lower half was a constantly shifting stock chart.
I took my seat. A demonic server slid a glass of screaming champagne in front of me.
As the toasts began, I smiled politely and laughed at jokes I didn't understand but knew were meant to be funny—like one about liquidating an orphanage for tax sheltering.
Emily's voice buzzed faintly in my ear. "You okay?"
"No. I'm bonding with an immortal tax demon over his yacht collection. This might be worse than death."
She chuckled softly. "You're doing better than expected."
And just like that, I felt a tiny, impossible warmth spread through me.
Rafe's Distraction
Downstairs, in the shipping department, Rafe was rigging a flaming pentagram of cursed bubble wrap. His job was to set off the fire alarms, crash the systems, and buy me five minutes to reach the ledger altar.
But Rafe had problems of his own.
"You shouldn't be here," came a voice behind him.
He turned.
Standing in the shadows was a woman in a blood-red suit and high heels sharpened to fine points. She wore glasses made of soulglass and carried a clipboard radiating pure malice.
"Veronica," Rafe said coldly. "You're still alive?"
"I upgraded. I work in Contract Enforcement now. You, on the other hand, are trespassing."
"I'm not here for you."
"But you're always here because of her," Veronica sneered. "Still chasing after Emily's redemption arc? She doesn't love you, Rafe."
Rafe stepped back, fingers twitching over a vial of powdered phoenix ash. "This isn't about love. It's about stopping a system that devours everything."
She smiled. "Then you'll have no problem dying for it."
She lunged.
Back at the Gala
Just as the MC (a skeletal harpy named Margo) began the ceremonial announcements, the lights flickered.
A siren wailed. Sprinklers erupted—except instead of water, they poured down ectoplasmic slime.
Chaos broke out.
"System failure!" screamed someone in the crowd. A gelatinous banker tried to climb into a champagne bucket.
Now or never.
I bolted through the crowd, ducking flying silverware and falling light fixtures.
"Emily, I'm moving!"
"Good. The altar's past the Lounge of Sacrificial HR. Left, then up the spiral spine staircase."
"Got it."
I ran. Behind me, the fire alarm screamed in infernal code. Someone tossed a flaming cocktail. A demon executive got stuck in a floor tile that turned into a giant tongue.
Just another day at the office.
Awesome!
Jax reaching the altar and trying to alter the ledger
Rafe's magical combat against Veronica
Emily running interference while maintaining her cover
Rising stakes as the ritual starts ahead of schedule
I burst into the Ritual Chamber through two enormous doors shaped like a screaming lawyer's face. Inside was everything you'd expect from a place designed to permanently elevate a demonic soul broker: flames, blackened stone, floating chains, a giant floating HR handbook made of stitched-together contracts.
In the center hovered the Ledger of Ascension, a massive tome wrapped in barbed wire and glowing with ancient, infernal magic.
And, etched in glowing red ink, was Emily's name.
Not for long.
I ran to the pedestal and pulled the quill from its inkpot of liquefied ambition.
A voice behind me snarled, "You're not authorized for this ritual, mortal."
I turned slowly. Behind me stood an eight-foot-tall horned being made entirely of ash and fire. Its employee ID badge read: Karen, Ascension Supervisor.
"Uh... Hi. Just doing some... final edits before the ceremony. You know how onboarding is."
She narrowed her burning eyes. "We didn't schedule edits. The paperwork has already been soul-notarized."
"Exactly! That's the problem," I said, channeling my inner HR rep. "We've got a redundancy conflict in Section 666B. Apparently Emily's contract overlaps with an older draft that includes… me."
I hoped the technobabble was enough. I dipped the quill, heart pounding, and scrawled over Emily's name with mine: Jax Malveaux.
The ledger pulsed red. Then black. Then gave a little cough, as if confused.
Karen's face twisted. "What have you done?!"
"Redirected a promotion," I said.
Behind me, the chains rattled and a portal yawned open in the air—spilling blinding white flame and the cries of the damned.
The ritual had begun.
And I'd just put myself in the middle of it.
Rafe vs. Veronica: Round 1
Meanwhile, Rafe ducked a psychic blast that turned a forklift into a demonic spider and hurled his last pouch of phoenix ash at Veronica.
She deflected it with her clipboard, spinning it like a shield. "You always were a sloppy spellcaster."
"Sloppy?" he snapped. "I dated you for nine months. If anything, I'm a masochist."
She lunged with a strike that split the air. He ducked and rolled, coming up with his backup weapon: a sharpened contract violation.
One touch would nullify her existence. One touch.
She smirked. "Please. You think I didn't memorize all your tricks?"
He grinned. "I picked up a few new ones."
With a flash of light, he summoned the Audit Gavel—a hammer of pure bureaucratic punishment—and slammed it into the floor.
The entire basement shuddered.
Her eyes widened. "You brought that into HellCorp?"
"Yeah," he said. "And guess what? I didn't file for permission."
Veronica screamed as the gavel struck again. Shards of fire and policy violations burst around them.
Emily's Fire Drill
Upstairs, Emily casually sipped from a glass of cursed rosé as alarms wailed and demons scrambled to protect their portfolios.
She moved like she belonged there—which was the trick.
Varkathos was storming down the hallway toward the ritual chamber with several lieutenants.
Time to stall.
"Chief Varkathos!" she called, stepping in front of him with a practiced look of panic. "We have a problem in Compliance!"
He glared. "What kind of problem?"
She handed him a clipboard. "A complete procedural override. Someone filed an anonymous ethics complaint. About you."
He paused, visibly twitching.
"Impossible," he hissed. "I eliminated the last compliance officer two years ago."
Emily leaned closer. "Exactly. That's why it's suspicious. No witnesses. No denials. If this surfaces during the Ascension audit..."
He roared. "Where is this snitch?!"
"I believe they're hiding in Records."
The demon spun and stormed off in the opposite direction, taking his lieutenants with him.
Emily exhaled shakily.
Then she turned toward the ritual chamber and ran.
Promotion, Pain, and… Sparkles?
In the chamber, Karen was mutating. Her humanoid shape collapsed into a cyclone of screaming post-it notes and flames.
"You've corrupted the process!" she shrieked. "Only chosen souls may ascend!"
"I'm very chosen," I lied.
The flames surged toward me, and I held up the ledger like a shield.
The book absorbed the fire. Then spat it out as confetti.
The ritual magic warped. It no longer obeyed the old rules. I felt it—wild, chaotic energy surging through my veins.
Then the altar exploded.
I was thrown backward, crashing into a pillar shaped like a lawsuit. I groaned, blinking through the sparks. The ritual circle had gone haywire—colors pulsed that had no name, time cracked, gravity flipped sideways.
Karen screamed as her form imploded in a cloud of pink glitter and office-themed swearing.
Emily burst in just in time to see me standing in the eye of the magical storm, glowing slightly, hair floating, tie smoking.
"What—what did you do?" she gasped.
"I might've gotten promoted. Accidentally. To something... higher than executive."
"Like what?"
I looked down at my hand. It was translucent. My veins glowed red.
"Like interdimensional brand ambassador," I muttered.
She slapped me.
"Fair," I said.
Great! Here's Part 3 of Chapter 5 of your 50,000-word action romance horror comedy novel. This ~1,250-word segment covers:
Jax's unstable promotion and surreal side effects
A hostile takeover—literally—from a rival hell corporation
A chaotic, action-packed escape
Romantic tension boiling over in the heat of demon-fueled danger.
"You're glowing," Emily said, eyes wide.
"Yeah," I croaked. "I think the promotion bonded with my soul. It's... itchy."
The remnants of the ritual circle sparked with chaotic magic. The confetti burned holes in the floor. Time ran backward for one brief moment, during which I watched myself enter the room again and mouth, "Don't do it."
A little late.
My skin shimmered, runes forming on my neck and wrists. I tried to move, but gravity argued. My legs floated, while my arms pulled toward the ledger as if magnetized by eldritch ambition.
Emily stepped closer. "Okay. Listen to me. You have to stay grounded. Think normal thoughts. Anchoring thoughts."
"Like what?"
"Like ramen. Kissing. That stupid cat you tried to adopt that turned out to be a goblin in disguise."
"Mr. Fluffles!"
"Exactly."
The symbols on my skin faded slightly. My feet touched the ground again.
But the reprieve didn't last.
The walls shook.
Something had arrived.
Hostile Takeover: BloodLedger Inc.
An explosion tore through the far wall of the chamber, sending cursed stone flying and rupturing three supply closets full of emergency demonic suits.
From the smoke strode three towering figures: demons in slick, blood-red business suits with obsidian neckties and briefcases crackling with runes.
A fourth figure followed—human-looking, beautiful, and deadly. Blonde, cold-eyed, and smiling. Her name shimmered in the air behind her like a product launch: Sable Kreel, CEO of BloodLedger Inc.
"HellCorp's monopoly is over," she purred. "We're merging your promotion. Permanently."
Emily raised her hand, summoning a blade of pink hellfire. "This ritual isn't your sandbox."
"Oh, honey," Sable laughed. "Everything's mine."
Jax tried to summon a spell but only burped a small cloud of glitter.
"I'm not used to this much power," he muttered.
"Then let me help," Emily said—and grabbed his hand.
A surge of magic exploded between them, sending out a blast of light that knocked one of the suit-demons flat.
Sable narrowed her eyes.
"Oh. So that's your anchor."
Rafe's Arrival (and Veronica's Exit)
Elsewhere, Rafe limped down a hallway, bleeding from the arm and dragging a scorched spellbook. Behind him, Veronica lay unconscious in a pile of lawsuit debris and broken policy manuals.
He staggered into the ritual chamber just as Jax tried to uppercut a demon and instead floated six feet into the air, yelling, "I'm going to HR you so hard!"
Rafe surveyed the madness. "I leave for five minutes—five—and you unionize reality?!"
"Little help!" Jax shouted as a demon threw a flaming PowerPoint at him.
Rafe sighed, cracked his neck, and pulled a glowing contract violation seal from his coat. "Let's make this meeting actionable."
He hurled the seal. It hit one of the suit demons square in the chest. The creature screamed as it was pulled backward into a swirling vortex labeled "Redundancy Disposal."
Two more to go.
The Escape Clause
Sable's face curled with fury. "You fools think this is a battle. It's a merger. And no one escapes a merger."
She pulled a golden pen from her briefcase and slashed it through the air. A flaming dotted line appeared in front of Jax—binding magic.
Emily shoved him out of the way just in time, taking the hit.
She dropped to her knees, glowing red script crawling up her neck.
"Emily!" Jax caught her, cradling her head. "No, no, no—this isn't how this goes."
Her eyes fluttered. "Guess I'm... the intern now."
"Don't you dare die with jokes."
She coughed. "Then kiss me, idiot."
So I did.
In the middle of a collapsing ritual chamber, surrounded by demons, cursed contracts, and the smell of burning ambition—I kissed her.
Time froze.
Literally.
The runes around her reversed. The binding script cracked. The magic didn't just stop—it rewrote itself.
A new line appeared in the air above us:
"PROMOTION REDIRECTED. POSITION FILLED: CO-CHAIR, CHAOS INITIATIVE."
Jax and Emily both glowed—then the magic burst outward in a shockwave that knocked Sable and the remaining demons flying.
Exit Strategy
Rafe skidded up beside them. "Nice magic rewrite. Very illegal."
"We'll deal with lawsuits later," Jax said. "How do we get out?"
"The service elevator bypasses the wards. But it's guarded."
"By what?"
"A creature made entirely of unpaid invoices."
"Oh no," Jax muttered.
The three of them sprinted through the smoldering hallway, dodging flaming printers and collapsing ceiling tiles.
They reached the elevator just as the Guardian stepped forward—a 10-foot monster of paper, ink, and collection notices.
It hissed: "PLEASE PAY YOUR BALANCE."
"I hate this job," Emily muttered.
"Me too," Rafe agreed.
Together, they unleashed a triple spell: Jax hurled chaotic promotion energy, Rafe slammed the gavel of audit, and Emily rewrote its soul with a pen forged from freelancer rage.
The creature imploded into a pile of confetti and aggressive payment reminders.
They dove into the elevator. The doors slid shut.
And for the first time all night—everything was still.
The elevator doors dinged open into the cool night air of the HellCorp rooftop. For once, the sky above wasn't bleeding fire or raining tax forms.
Just stars. Distant, silent, uncaring stars.
Rafe limped out first, clutching his side. "Remind me never to trust anyone in a pantsuit again."
"I don't think pantsuits were the issue," Emily replied, helping Jax stumble over to a bench.
Jax looked wrecked—burnt suit, glowing veins still fading, hair standing on end like he'd kissed a lightning demon.
Emily sat beside him.
They didn't speak at first. Just breathed. Watched the city below—half infernal spires, half corporate skyscrapers. Some of them on fire. But it was quiet.
After a minute, Jax finally broke the silence. "So... co-chair of the Chaos Initiative, huh?"
Emily nudged him with her shoulder. "Dream job."
"You saved me."
"You saved me first."
"Fair trade?"
"I'll invoice you."
They laughed, tired and half-crazy. But the sound was real. Human. Grounding.
His smile faded slightly. "I thought I'd lost you."
"You almost did. But I'm too stubborn to leave during a promotion."
Jax turned toward her. "Emily—"
She leaned in.
This kiss was slower. Quieter. Less about chaos, more about choosing each other in the wreckage. It tasted like smoke, blood, and... maybe forever.
When they pulled back, Jax whispered, "I don't know what happens next."
"I do," she said. "We fight whatever's coming. Together."
He smiled. "You're scary when you're inspiring."
"I'm scary all the time," she reminded him.
The Message
Rafe cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sorry to interrupt the emotionally charged smooch-fest, but we've got mail."
He held up a scroll sealed in black wax, still smoking.
Emily took it and unrolled it.
Dear Survivors of the Improper Promotion Ritual,
You have illegally merged promotional energies, violated six planes of order, and caused minor soul ruptures in at least one parallel dimension.
Well done.
We've been watching.
Your chaos has potential.
Expect contact.
—The Initiative
The scroll burst into pink fire and vanished.
They stared at the empty air.
Emily blinked. "I thought the Chaos Initiative was a joke. A myth. Like HR sensitivity training."
Jax looked out over the city. "Not anymore."
Post-Credit Vibes (aka a Demon in a Suit)
Back in the ruins of the ritual chamber, rubble shifted.
Sable Kreel crawled out, burned but smiling. Her golden pen was cracked in half.
She looked at the floating remains of the ritual—swirling threads of energy still humming faintly in the air.
From the shadows stepped a figure in a clean, obsidian suit with no face and a dozen watches on each wrist.
"You lost the contract," the faceless figure said.
"I didn't lose," Sable replied. "I pivoted."
"You allowed them to escape."
She smirked. "You're looking at it wrong. They ascended. Illegally. That makes them vulnerable. Trackable."
The faceless figure tilted its head. "And what would you have us do?"
Sable's eyes gleamed.
"Recruit them."
End of Chapter 5