[AN:Hey everyone! We are finally back with Chapter 7, and this one ended up being a fun mixture of I.M.P. chaos, royal bureaucracy, emotional conversations, and a few things that have been sitting quietly in the background for a while now. I really enjoyed getting to show more of how Evelyn actually governs when she is dealing with people outside of Charlie and the hotel, especially when she has to balance being someone's friend with being Crown Princess. Thank you so much for continuing to read, comment, vote, and theorize because I genuinely love seeing what everyone notices. Now enjoy watching several people discover that the scariest thing in Hell might actually be government paperwork.]
Blitzø POV
I know the morning is going to be complete shit the second Stolas calls before I have even finished my first cup of coffee. Not a text, not one of his weird horny voicemails, but an actual call followed by three increasingly formal messages telling me to bring Moxxie, Millie, and Loona to the Royal Administration District before noon. Apparently, this meeting is both "extremely important" and "not optional," which are two phrases guaranteed to make every survival instinct I possess start screaming. The fact that he refuses to explain anything else makes it approximately a thousand times worse.
"Okay, everybody, emergency field trip!" I announce as I kick open the office door hard enough to make Moxxie drop an entire stack of client folders. Millie looks up from sharpening one of her knives with immediate interest, while Loona barely raises her eyes from her phone before giving me the expression she usually reserves for particularly offensive smells. Moxxie stares down at the paperwork scattered around his feet and asks, "Sir, could you perhaps define emergency before I suffer whatever medical event you are currently trying to cause?" I point dramatically toward him and answer, "No time for heart attacks, Mox, we're meeting actual royalty."
That gets everyone's attention faster than announcing free alcohol at an imp convention. Moxxie freezes halfway through picking up a folder, Millie's eyebrows shoot upward, and even Loona finally lowers her phone enough to look directly at me. "Royalty as in Prince Stolas, or royalty as in Morningstar royalty?" Moxxie asks with the careful tone of someone already preparing his last will and testament. "Morningstar royalty," I answer, which somehow manages to drain even more color from his face.
Millie gives a low whistle while Loona mutters, "Cool, so we're finally getting executed." I glare at her and reply, "Nobody is getting executed, because Stolas would have warned me if this was an execution." Moxxie slowly raises one brow and asks, "Would he, sir?" I open my mouth, reconsider everything I know about Stolas, then point accusingly at Moxxie and declare, "That is not fucking helping."
Twenty minutes later, all four of us are crammed into the van while Moxxie spends the entire drive listing every law we might have accidentally broken during our trips to Earth. Apparently, illegally crossing dimensions, using restricted Goetian magic, exposing ourselves to humans, operating a business across realm boundaries, and transporting mortal property into Hell can all carry separate penalties. That feels unnecessarily picky when our customers are literally paying us to murder people, but apparently bureaucracy draws the line at improper portal documentation. Millie keeps patting Moxxie's knee while Loona has put her headphones on specifically so she does not have to listen to him calculate how many charges could theoretically fit onto one indictment.
"Sir, this is serious," Moxxie insists for what has to be the ninth time as we enter the upper district. "If the Crown knows we have been using Prince Stolas's grimoire without authorization, they could suspend our Earth operations entirely." I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and answer, "Nobody is shutting down I.M.P., because if some royal bureaucrat thinks they can take my company, they can personally kiss my red little ass." Loona removes one headphone just long enough to say, "Please do not tell the Crown Princess of Hell to kiss your ass."
The Royal Administration District rises ahead of us in enough red stone, black iron, marble, gold trim, and armed security to make our office look like a condemned public restroom. Government buildings occupy several blocks surrounding courtyards, gardens, towers, fountains, and statues depicting Morningstars and other important-looking assholes who apparently earned the right to become thirty feet tall. Hellhounds in dark uniforms guard controlled entrances while imps wearing royal insignia direct traffic with the dead-eyed expressions of people who have discovered bureaucracy is eternal. I pull into the visitor section and immediately resent how much money this place obviously cost.
Stolas is waiting near the main entrance dressed formally enough that I briefly wonder whether somebody actually did die while we were driving over. He keeps glancing toward the enormous doors while wringing his hands together, which does absolutely nothing for my confidence. "Blitzø, thank goodness, you came," he says the moment I climb out of the van. I slam the door and answer, "You told me the fucking Crown summoned us, feathers, what was I supposed to do, fake my death?"
The look Stolas gives me suggests he knows perfectly well that I considered exactly that. "Before you begin panicking, Evelyn specifically told me she has no intention of closing I.M.P. provided everyone cooperates with the compliance process." Moxxie visibly sags behind me while I narrow my eyes because words like provided, compliance, and process usually hide something incredibly annoying. "And what exactly does Her Royal Administrative Nightmare expect us to cooperate with?"
Stolas becomes very interested in adjusting one of his cuffs. "Licensing, employee registration, secrecy agreements, a review of previous crossings, approved portal access, tracking sigils, and several other administrative requirements." I stare at him in complete silence while the muscle beneath my left eye begins twitching harder with every item on the list. "You dragged me out of bed because the government wants me to fill out fucking forms?"
"Quite a lot of forms, apparently," Stolas admits with an apologetic little smile. I make a noise normally produced by wounded livestock while Millie covers her mouth to hide a laugh and Moxxie somehow starts looking interested. "Actually, sir, a recognized inter-realm license could give the company considerable legal protection and establish legitimate jurisdiction for our contracts." I spin toward him and warn, "Moxxie, if you get excited about government paperwork before I have eaten lunch, I will leave you here."
"He'd probably like that," Loona mutters while staring up at the enormous administration building. She glances through the glass doors and adds, "This place has air-conditioning and security that doesn't sleep under the front desk." I clutch my chest and say, "Wow, Loony, betray your own father for central air, why don't you." She walks past me without slowing and replies, "Gladly."
Stolas leads us through security, where our weapons are immediately discovered because apparently royal scanners have absolutely no respect for personal boundaries. Millie cheerfully begins depositing knives onto the inspection table until the pile grows large enough that the hellhound officer checking us slowly looks up at her in disbelief. She gives him the sweetest smile imaginable and asks, "Do ya want the ones in my boots too?" The officer considers his life choices for several seconds before silently sliding another tray toward her.
Moxxie behaves like he is entering a sacred temple and voluntarily hands over his weapons before anyone even asks, which is embarrassing for both of us. Loona appears to have exactly one knife until security finds another in her boot, one behind her jacket, and a third strapped beneath her sleeve, prompting her to call the scanner a fucking snitch. When my turn arrives, I empty two pistols, four knives, a garrote, brass knuckles, several emergency explosives, and something small and metallic that I genuinely forgot was inside my coat. Stolas watches the collection grow before asking, "Blitzø, were you expecting a siege?"
"I like being prepared," I answer defensively while surrendering another pistol from my waistband. The security officer continues staring until I curse beneath my breath, remove a tiny derringer from my boot, and drop it onto the increasingly crowded tray. His expression does not change, so I sigh and retrieve the narrow knife hidden behind one of my horns. "There, happy now, Officer Fuck-My-Privacy?"
The elevator ride takes long enough for Moxxie to read the directory twice, memorize half the departments, and start asking Stolas questions about inter-realm regulations. Apparently there is an entire Crown office dedicated to portal administration, another responsible for mortal secrecy violations, and something called the Inter-Realm Tribunal that Moxxie finds fascinating while I find the name alone deeply threatening. Stolas explains that Princess Morningstar helped modernize much of the system over the centuries after repeated unauthorized crossings caused enough problems to justify permanent monitoring and licensing structures. I decide immediately that I dislike how organized she sounds.
"So Her Highness is the one who caught us?" Millie asks as the elevator continues climbing. Stolas nods and explains, "Evelyn's monitoring wards have been recording the grimoire's unregistered activity for months, although identifying I.M.P. took additional investigation." Every head in the elevator slowly turns toward him while I repeat, "Months?" Stolas visibly shrinks beneath the combined stare.
"I only learned the full extent of the investigation at the hotel reopening," Stolas says quickly, clearly remembering the conversation about as fondly as I remember tax season. "She had already been reviewing the crossings before confronting me, and she apparently drafted the provisional licensing process several weeks ago." Loona lowers one headphone and mutters, "So she investigated us, figured out who we were, wrote the solution, then waited for Stolas to confess." I stare at him and say, "Your friend is fucking terrifying."
Stolas gives me a tired look and answers, "Yes, Blitzø, I am quite aware." The elevator doors finally open onto a quiet corridor lined with deep-red carpeting, enormous windows, dark polished wood, and portraits of the Morningstar family from different periods of Hell's history. Staff move between offices carrying documents without screaming, shooting each other, or setting anything on fire, which feels deeply unnatural for a government workplace. At the far end stands a pair of imposing black doors bearing a golden apple wrapped elegantly in the coils of a serpent.
Two female imp attendants wait beside the doors in immaculate black-and-red uniforms and bow when Stolas approaches. "Prince Stolas, Her Highness is expecting you and the representatives of Immediate Murder Professionals." I lean toward Moxxie and whisper, "See, representatives, we're classy now." He closes his eyes as if silently praying for patience and whispers back, "Please, sir, for the love of everything unholy, behave for ten minutes."
The attendant opens the doors while her partner gestures for us to enter, and I immediately understand why people find Princess Morningstar intimidating even when she is nowhere in sight. Her office is enormous without becoming gaudy, filled with dark wood, ancient books, modern screens, maps of every Ring, and enough paperwork to kill a lesser demon through sheer administrative force. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook Pentagram City while a massive desk sits near the center beneath the Morningstar crest, surrounded by artifacts old enough that touching one probably violates at least six laws. Four thick folders labeled with our names are already waiting in perfect alignment across the desk.
I approach before common sense can stop me and stare at the folder sitting closest to my side. BLITZØ BUCKZO is printed across the front in crisp gold lettering, followed beneath by I.M.P.'s registration number and enough identification codes to make me feel personally violated. My skin crawls at seeing a name I almost never use written so casually by strangers. "Why the fuck does the Crown have my entire life in a folder?"
"Because Crown Administration maintains the records of businesses operating within my Ring, Mr. Buckzo," a woman answers calmly from behind us. Every member of I.M.P. turns at once, and even Loona straightens when she realizes exactly who has entered the room. Princess Morningstar stands in the doorway with a Hellpad tucked beneath one arm while two assistants follow several steps behind carrying additional files. She resembles Queen Lilith closely enough to justify every rumor I have ever heard about them looking nearly identical, but there is absolutely no confusing the woman currently studying us with quiet authority.
Her curved horns rise elegantly through blonde hair arranged into a severe braided style, while purple slit-pupil eyes move across Millie, Moxxie, Loona, and me with uncomfortable precision. The assistants pass her without instruction and begin arranging documents on the desk, clearly familiar enough with her routines not to require verbal orders for every little thing. Her gaze settles briefly on Stolas and softens by perhaps half a degree before returning to the rest of us. "Good, Stolas, you brought everyone."
"As requested, Evelyn," Stolas replies, and suddenly the difference between being her centuries-old friend and being four imps who just got summoned becomes painfully obvious. Princess Morningstar's eyes return to me while I realize I have straightened without consciously deciding to do so. Faint amusement touches her expression because of course she fucking notices. "Welcome to Crown Administration, I.M.P."
Moxxie POV
The first thing I notice about Her Highness is that she does not need to raise her voice to control the room. Blitzø is standing straighter than usual, Millie has stopped smiling at the absurd amount of weaponry we surrendered downstairs, and even Loona has put her phone completely away. Prince Stolas appears considerably less intimidated, but there is an unmistakable resignation in his posture that suggests he already knows precisely how this meeting will proceed. I suddenly understand why official Morningstar correspondence can make entire companies panic before anyone even reads the first page.
Princess Morningstar crosses toward the desk without hurry and takes her seat beneath the enormous royal crest. "Mr. Buckzo, if you are finished staring at your own name as though I personally assigned it to you, you may sit." Blitzø looks down at the folder again before slowly lowering himself into the nearest chair. The rest of us immediately follow his example.
Millie sits beside me, Loona chooses the chair nearest Blitzø, and Prince Stolas settles into the remaining seat with far more ease than any of us. Her Highness remains silent until her assistants finish arranging several document packets and withdraw toward the side of the room. "Before we proceed, I will make one fact perfectly clear." Every trace of humor leaves Blitzø's expression.
"I did not summon you here to dismantle your company, confiscate your livelihood, or imprison your employees," Princess Morningstar says, her tone calm enough to make every word land harder. "I summoned you because your company has been operating across the mortal barrier through restricted Goetian magic without registration, authorization, or meaningful oversight." Her purple eyes move slowly across all four of us before settling briefly on Stolas. "That situation ends today."
Blitzø begins lifting one hand before Her Highness even finishes speaking. "Your Highness, before we get into the whole illegal inter-dimensional murder thing, I would just like to point out that we are a very small business." Princess Morningstar turns her gaze toward him and replies, "Mr. Buckzo, your company's size has no bearing on whether Crown law applies to it." His hand lowers.
I look down before Millie can see how much effort I am putting into not smiling. Her Highness touches her Hellpad and activates the enormous screen behind the desk, filling it with dates, portal locations, magical signatures, duration records, and incident markers. Several entries correspond to assignments I remember vividly, while others revive images of burning houses, terrified humans, and Blitzø insisting everything was still technically going according to plan. My stomach tightens considerably.
"The Crown's barrier wards detected repeated unregistered crossings carrying the same Goetian magical signature," Princess Morningstar explains. "The pattern eventually became frequent enough that my administration opened a quiet investigation rather than assuming Prince Stolas was personally visiting Earth with unusual regularity." Stolas shifts uncomfortably while Blitzø leans forward and stares at the records. "That is a deeply fucking creepy amount of information."
Her Highness looks toward him without irritation. "It records where a portal opens, when it closes, how long it remains active, and which restricted magical signature created it, Mr. Buckzo." She folds her hands over the desk and adds, "It does not record your conversations, private movements, or whatever else you apparently imagine my government spends its time observing." Loona visibly relaxes by the smallest amount.
I clear my throat and wait until Her Highness acknowledges me before speaking. "Your Highness, may I ask whether I.M.P. is presently under criminal investigation?" Princess Morningstar studies me for a moment before giving a small nod. "No, Mr. Knolastname, because I kept this matter within administrative review while determining whether your operation could be brought into lawful compliance."
Relief rushes through me so quickly that I nearly slump in the chair. Millie's fingers quietly find mine beneath the desk and squeeze once. Blitzø exhales through his nose, although suspicion remains written across his face because he is constitutionally incapable of receiving good news without assuming it contains a hidden explosive. Her Highness notices that too.
"Your concern is reasonable, Mr. Buckzo, so I will save us time by explaining the offer before you begin searching for traps that are not there." Blitzø blinks, clearly offended by how easily she has read him. Princess Morningstar slides a document stamped with the Morningstar seal across the desk. "Your company is being offered provisional inter-realm authorization while the Crown completes a formal licensing review."
Blitzø stares at the document before looking back at her. "Your Highness, does provisional authorization mean we can keep taking jobs?" She answers, "Yes, provided those jobs are conducted within the conditions I am placing before you and no serious breach occurs during review." For the first time since entering the building, Blitzø looks genuinely relieved.
"The conditions are straightforward," Her Highness continues as additional pages appear on the screen behind her. "Every employee participating in mortal-world operations must be registered, each authorized portal must carry Crown tracking, secrecy agreements must be signed, and serious exposure incidents must be reported rather than concealed." Millie listens closely while I begin mentally sorting our existing employee records. "Your individual assassination contracts will remain your company's concern unless they violate separate Crown law."
Millie raises one hand slightly and waits for acknowledgment before speaking. "Your Highness, so once we're licensed, we still choose how we actually handle the jobs?" Princess Morningstar gives a single nod and answers, "Correct, because I regulate inter-realm security, not which knife an assassin chooses to carry." Millie smiles. "That sounds fair to me, Your Highness."
Loona flips through her packet and asks, "Your Highness, what exactly counts as a serious exposure incident?" Her Highness answers without hesitation, "Credible human evidence of the afterlife, an unauthorized mortal entering Hell, a demon becoming stranded on Earth, or any incident likely to expose our existence beyond ordinary mortal disbelief." Loona slowly turns her head toward Blitzø. "So basically the kind of shit you tell us will probably work itself out."
Blitzø immediately throws both hands into the air. "I do not say that nearly as often as you're implying." Millie turns toward him with one eyebrow raised while I remain diplomatically silent. Prince Stolas suddenly becomes fascinated by the pattern in the carpet. Blitzø looks around at all of us and mutters, "Fuck every single person in this room."
Princess Morningstar allows the silence to settle before continuing. "Previous unregistered crossings are covered by a temporary amnesty that I began drafting before I confronted Prince Stolas." Stolas gives a small nod, clearly already familiar with that part from their conversation at the reopening. "Those crossings will not be prosecuted individually provided your company discloses them accurately, cooperates with the review, and has not deliberately concealed a major exposure incident." The generosity of the offer becomes considerably clearer once she says it aloud.
I glance through the amnesty provisions and ask, "Your Highness, if we disclose an incident during the audit because we were uncertain whether it qualified, would that itself violate the agreement?" Her Highness looks toward me and answers, "No, Mr. Knolastname, voluntary disclosure is precisely what the amnesty is intended to encourage." I nod slowly while mentally revisiting at least six missions that should probably receive detailed incident notes. Blitzø notices my expression and groans.
"Moxxie, whatever you are remembering right now, stop remembering it." I turn toward him and answer, "Boss, I believe the entire point of an audit is that we remember it." Millie squeezes my hand again while fighting a smile. Her Highness watches us with perfect composure, although I could swear the corner of her mouth twitches.
Prince Stolas shifts forward slightly and asks, "Evelyn, concerning the grimoire, I assume it remains mine while I.M.P. receives registered access under the new authorization?" None of us miss the fact that he alone continues calling her by her first name. Princess Morningstar replies, "Correct, provided you complete your own compliance requirements and the grimoire passes inspection." Stolas visibly relaxes.
"The arrangement between Prince Stolas and I.M.P. will also become formally documented instead of continuing as an unofficial personal loan of restricted Goetian property," Her Highness adds. Something unreadable crosses Blitzø's face before he immediately looks down at his packet. Stolas looks away at almost exactly the same time. Millie and I exchange one quick glance and silently agree that whatever exists between those two is not our problem today.
Princess Morningstar turns another set of documents toward us. "Your initial registration packet is due within seven days, and the full historical review must be completed within thirty." Blitzø looks down at the paperwork as if it has personally insulted his ancestry. "Your Highness, seven days is not a lot of time for all this bureaucratic bullshit."
Her Highness looks directly at him. "Mr. Buckzo, the initial packet requires employee identification, signed secrecy terms, an artifact declaration, and acknowledgement of provisional conditions." Her tone remains perfectly even as she adds, "If four adults cannot complete those documents within seven days, your company has considerably larger operational problems than portal licensing." Millie makes a tiny choking sound beside me.
Blitzø turns toward us because he knows exactly what we are trying not to do. "Nobody laugh." I lower my eyes and answer, "Of course not, sir." Millie presses her lips together while Loona turns her head toward the window. Prince Stolas is visibly failing the assignment.
I begin reviewing the forms and realize most of the requested information already exists somewhere in our company records. "Boss, this really should be manageable if we organize employee information first and compare our contract calendar against the portal dates." Blitzø slowly turns toward me with genuine betrayal. "Moxxie, I need you to understand that you are making the paperwork emotionally worse."
"I'm trying to keep the company operational, sir." Millie smiles and says, "Mox is right, Blitzø, and I can help him go through the mission records." Loona mutters, "I'll give you my employee information, but I am not touching his desk." Blitzø responds, "Why is everyone acting like my desk is a biohazard?"
I think of the sandwich I found beneath three invoices last month, and I make the intelligent decision not to answer. Princess Morningstar looks between us before asking, "Who currently maintains your company records?" Millie immediately points toward me while Loona does the same without lifting her head. Blitzø stares at me for half a second, sighs, and points as well.
"I do not maintain everything, Your Highness, I simply maintain the documents we would like to locate again later." Her Highness studies me before sliding a smaller folder across the desk. "Then unless Mr. Buckzo objects, you will serve as I.M.P.'s primary administrative contact during the review." I straighten and answer, "Of course, Your Highness."
Blitzø points accusingly toward me. "Your Highness, respectfully, you are rewarding him for being like this." Princess Morningstar's gaze moves toward him with regal calm. "I am assigning responsibility to the employee who has demonstrated the strongest understanding of the requirements before him, Mr. Buckzo." Millie leans over and kisses my cheek.
I try very hard not to look pleased, and I fail spectacularly. Blitzø groans while Her Highness turns the provisional agreement toward him and places a pen beside it. "These signatures acknowledge receipt and acceptance of provisional conditions, not admission of criminal guilt, and I recommend reading the document before signing it." Blitzø picks up the packet, reads perhaps three lines, then immediately pushes it toward me.
"Mox, tell me if I'm selling my company, my organs, or my horses." I take the packet and answer, "Yes, sir." Princess Morningstar observes the exchange without comment while Stolas covers his beak with one hand. I carefully read the agreement and find nothing materially different from the terms Her Highness already explained aloud.
"It says exactly what Her Highness explained, boss," I say before returning the agreement. "We register, cooperate with the audit, report serious exposure incidents, and disclose previous crossings in exchange for provisional legal access and temporary amnesty." Blitzø stares at the signature line for another moment. Then he signs.
Millie signs her employee acknowledgment next, followed by me and finally Loona, who reads every privacy provision twice before putting her name anywhere near the page. Stolas signs a separate declaration confirming ownership of the grimoire and authorization for I.M.P. to use it under Crown regulation. Princess Morningstar waits until every document is returned before placing one claw against the provisional license. Golden light immediately spreads across the page.
The Morningstar seal forms beneath her hand, an apple wrapped in a serpent appearing in brilliant gold before settling permanently into the parchment. "By authority delegated to me by His Majesty and in my capacity as acting ruler of Pride, I grant Immediate Murder Professionals provisional authorization for regulated inter-realm commercial activity during the licensing review." Even Blitzø becomes completely still while the magic settles into the document. The significance of what just happened seems to reach everyone at once.
Her Highness lifts her eyes directly toward him. "Do not make me regret extending that privilege, Mr. Buckzo." Blitzø's usual grin returns, although noticeably less reckless than normal. "Wouldn't dream of it, Your Highness."
Nobody believes him, not Millie, not Loona, and certainly not me. Princess Morningstar closes the primary file and rises, prompting all of us to stand almost automatically. "Your confiscated weapons will be returned downstairs, my staff will provide Mr. Knolastname with the appropriate contact information, and I expect the initial documents within seven days." Her gaze settles on Blitzø again with enough weight that his grin weakens.
"If an incident occurs on Earth, Mr. Buckzo, contact my administration before attempting to conceal it and accidentally creating a larger problem." Blitzø places one hand dramatically against his chest and replies, "Your Highness, you wound me, I am an extremely responsible business owner." Millie, Loona, Stolas, and I all turn toward him simultaneously. His hand slowly lowers.
"Okay, fuck, apparently nobody respects me here." A tiny smile touches Princess Morningstar's mouth before disappearing beneath her usual composure. "You may go, although Stolas will remain because I have another matter to discuss with him." Stolas gives her a quiet nod and answers, "Of course, Evelyn."
Blitzø glances between them with immediate curiosity before Loona catches the back of his coat and begins pulling him toward the doors. Millie slips her hand into mine while I gather the licensing packets, contact folder, and provisional authorization with considerably more care than Blitzø would ever admit they deserve. We entered this building expecting punishment, suspension, or possibly the end of the company, and instead we are leaving with a legal route forward. Unfortunately, Blitzø has just noticed exactly how much paperwork I am carrying.
"Moxxie." I look toward him and immediately recognize the expression of a man preparing to delegate every unpleasant responsibility he possesses. "Yes, sir?" His grin widens as he points toward the stack in my arms, and I suddenly realize royal authorization may have saved the company only to condemn me personally.
Stolas POV
The doors close behind Blitzø and his employees, and for several seconds the office becomes almost unnervingly quiet after the chaos they brought with them. I remain beside my chair while Evelyn watches the doors as though making absolutely certain Blitzø has been carried far enough away not to burst back inside with another question. Only when the sound of arguing fades down the corridor does she look toward me again. "Sit, Stolas."
I lower myself back into the chair and immediately notice that her voice has changed. The Crown Princess who just placed an entire company under regulation is still there, but some of the sharp ceremonial distance has faded now that we are alone. Evelyn sets her Hellpad aside instead of opening another file and studies me closely. "How did your conversation with Octavia go?"
Of course she asks that first, not whether I intend to sign anything or whether Stella has already involved her brother. She asks about Via because she knows that was the part frightening me most when we spoke at the hotel. I release a slow breath and admit, "Better than I deserved, and considerably more painfully than I hoped." Evelyn says nothing, which somehow makes it easier to continue.
"I told her about the arranged marriage, how long Stella and I have been miserable, and how much of our relationship I hid because I convinced myself I was protecting her." My hands knot together in my lap as the memory of Via crying returns far too easily. "I also told her about the depression and the medication." Something in Evelyn's expression softens, though she does not interrupt me with reassurance I have not asked for.
"She was angry with me, and she had every right to be because I spent years deciding what she could handle instead of trusting her enough to ask." I look toward the windows rather than at Evelyn when I continue. "But she also told me she was afraid that if everything changed, she would wake up one morning and discover I had disappeared too." My throat tightens despite having already cried enough over those words last night.
"I promised her that whatever happens between Stella and me, I will never willingly abandon her." Evelyn finally leans back slightly, her fingers resting against the edge of the desk. "And did she believe you?" I think of Via taking my hand before finally wrapping her arms around me.
"I think she wants to, which is probably more than I have earned immediately." A faint smile touches Evelyn's face at that, and somehow the absence of judgment hurts less than kindness usually does. "She hugged me before I left her room." Evelyn's smile warms by the smallest degree.
"Then you did something right." The words are simple, but they settle something inside me that has been painfully unsettled since last night. Evelyn reaches for the glass of water beside her rather than the mountain of paperwork waiting nearby. "Being angry with you and loving you are not mutually exclusive, Stolas."
I laugh weakly because that sounds painfully obvious when another person says it aloud. "Apparently I required nearly eighteen years of fatherhood before understanding that." Evelyn takes a small drink and answers, "You required nearly eighteen years of surviving a marriage built on obligation before realizing survival and success are not the same thing." I stare at her for a moment because she has an unfortunate habit of placing entire emotional disasters into one sentence.
My gaze eventually drops to my hands again. "There was another fight with Stella before I spoke to Via." Evelyn's expression changes immediately, not dramatically, but enough that the room somehow feels colder. "Define fight."
I hesitate, and her eyes narrow. "Stolas." I sigh because there is absolutely no chance she will allow me to avoid the question now. "She screamed, I shouted back, and eventually she threw a vase at my head."
Evelyn goes completely still, which is considerably more frightening than if she had immediately started swearing. "Did it hit you?" she asks at last, every trace of casual warmth removed from her voice. I shake my head and answer, "No, it missed by several inches." Her expression hardens.
"That does not make it acceptable." Her response is immediate and sharp enough that I almost flinch despite knowing the anger is not directed toward me. Evelyn opens one drawer, removes a thin black folder, and places it on the desk without breaking eye contact. "Was anyone else present or close enough to hear what happened?"
I blink at the sudden shift into procedure before remembering who I am speaking with. "Several servants heard us, and one came toward the corridor afterward because the vase shattered." Evelyn opens the folder and begins writing something in precise strokes. "Good, then the incident can be independently documented without forcing Octavia into the proceedings as a witness unless absolutely necessary."
That last part makes me look up immediately. "I do not want Via dragged into court against her mother." Evelyn's pen stops, and she meets my gaze directly. "Neither do I, and I will avoid it unless her testimony becomes legally indispensable." The knot inside my chest loosens slightly.
She finishes the note before closing the folder again. "The servants who witnessed the aftermath can provide statements, the damaged property can be documented, and any prior incidents can be added if there are witnesses, records, medical treatment, or correspondence supporting them." I swallow because hearing years of my marriage reduced into potential evidence feels disturbingly clinical. "I never kept records because I was trying to pretend none of it mattered."
"Most people being abused do not begin by preparing a legal archive for their eventual escape." Evelyn's tone remains matter-of-fact rather than pitying, which I appreciate more than I can explain. "You are not required to prove every miserable day you ever experienced in order for me to take the pattern seriously." My eyes sting unexpectedly, and I look away before I embarrass myself again.
Silence settles between us while the city stretches beneath the enormous windows. I came here this morning expecting to shepherd Blitzø through administrative disaster, yet somehow that seems considerably easier than saying what I already know I came here to say. Evelyn apparently recognizes that because she waits instead of pushing. That patience finally gives me enough courage to speak.
"I want to proceed." The words leave quietly, almost absurdly small considering how many years of my life they are about to change. Evelyn remains motionless for a moment as though giving me one final opportunity to take them back. "You are authorizing the Crown to begin formal review of your marriage?"
My heart starts hammering. "Yes." Saying it again is easier, even though my hands have started trembling. "I want the marriage ended, Evelyn."
For the first time in years, the sentence feels less like betrayal and more like breathing. Evelyn does not celebrate, smile triumphantly, or immediately reach for a stack of prepared documents. Instead, she asks, "Are you making that decision because you want it, or because you believe Octavia expects it after your conversation?" I close my eyes for a moment because of course she would force me to answer the one question capable of stripping away every excuse.
"Because I want it." I open my eyes again and make myself continue. "I should have wanted it for myself long before now, but I spent so many years telling myself endurance was responsibility that I stopped recognizing the difference." Evelyn listens without moving.
"Via did not make this decision for me, and neither did you." Evelyn's shoulders relax almost imperceptibly before she finally reaches into the locked drawer beside her. "Good." She removes another folder with my name and Stella's already written across the front beneath the seal of the Crown.
I stare at the folder and cannot decide whether I want to laugh or be horrified. "You already prepared it." Evelyn raises one brow and replies, "Stolas, I prepared I.M.P.'s amnesty three weeks before you knew you needed one." A helpless laugh escapes me despite everything.
"Sometimes I forget how unsettling you are." She opens the folder and answers, "That is usually when my friends create additional paperwork." The familiarity of the response eases some of the pressure gathering behind my ribs. For a moment she is simply Evelyn again rather than the Crown authority capable of ending my marriage with her seal.
The documents inside are extensive, but Evelyn does not shove them toward me and demand an immediate signature. "This begins a royal marital review under Crown law, not an automatic judgment against Stella." She turns the first page so I can see it and continues, "Both parties will have the right to submit evidence and representation, but neither family will be permitted to manipulate assets, inheritance, or Octavia's legal standing while the review remains active."
I stare at the section bearing my daughter's name. "Her inheritance truly cannot be touched?" Evelyn's expression hardens with unmistakable certainty. "Not by Stella, not by Andrealphus, not by your father, and not by anyone else while the Crown order is in force."
My lungs finally seem to remember how breathing works. "Via remains your legitimate daughter, a recognized Goetian heir, and protected member of her bloodline regardless of what happens to your marriage." Evelyn taps another paragraph with one claw. "No dissolution, annulment, property dispute, or retaliatory petition will alter that without separate Crown review and extraordinary cause."
I read the words twice because I need to see them for myself. "That was always the part I feared most." Evelyn nods because she knows, and unlike so many people in my life she does not tell me the fear was foolish. "Then consider that fear removed from the board."
I sit there for several seconds before another concern rises behind it. "And Stella?" Evelyn closes the folder halfway and replies, "She will receive formal notice, representation rights, access to whatever property the marriage contract guarantees her, and the opportunity to contest my findings." Her expression becomes noticeably colder.
"She will not receive permission to threaten you, destroy evidence, intimidate witnesses, or use Octavia as leverage." I imagine Stella receiving a document bearing Evelyn's seal and feel equal measures of dread and guilty satisfaction. "She is going to lose her mind." Evelyn's mouth curves slightly.
"Her emotional response to being informed that laws apply to her is not a matter over which I intend to lose sleep." That pulls another laugh from me, though it fades when I imagine the screaming that will inevitably follow. "Andrealphus will involve himself immediately." Evelyn leans back and looks almost insultingly unconcerned.
"Andrealphus involves himself whenever he believes there is social capital available, so I already assumed he would." I cannot help smiling despite everything. "You really dislike him." Her eyes narrow with quiet amusement.
"I dislike many people, Stolas, but I remain perfectly capable of ruling fairly when they happen to be among them." I smile because that is precisely the sort of answer Evelyn would give while privately preparing twelve different contingencies. She slides the authorization page toward me but keeps her hand resting beside it. "Once you sign, my office will issue preservation orders on the relevant marital assets and notify both houses that the review has formally begun."
My fingers hover over the pen. "You may still withdraw your petition before final judgment if you change your mind, unless evidence uncovered during the review requires separate Crown action." I look down at the signature line and feel the weight of nearly eighteen years pressing against something as simple as a blank space. For years, everything important in my life seemed to begin with somebody else's signature.
My father agreed to the arrangement, Stella's family agreed, contracts were exchanged, expectations were established, and eventually I simply became the husband everyone had already decided I would be. Now there is a blank line waiting for mine, and for once the decision attached to it belongs entirely to me. I pick up the pen. My hand trembles badly enough that I have to steady it against the desk.
Evelyn says nothing and does not reach across to help, because she understands that even something that small would make the moment feel less mine. I place the tip against the page and sign my name. The ink glows faintly before settling into the parchment. Evelyn waits until I put the pen down before placing her palm over the royal seal at the bottom of the document.
Golden light blooms beneath her fingers and spreads through the page in branching lines. "Petition accepted." I stare at the seal as the light fades. That is it.
No trumpet sounds, no castle collapses, and Hell itself does not split open beneath my feet because I finally chose to leave my wife. I am simply sitting in Evelyn's office with my marriage officially under review and the strange sensation that the entire world has shifted while looking exactly the same. "How do you feel?" Evelyn asks softly. I consider lying before deciding I have done enough of that for one lifetime.
"Terrified." Evelyn waits instead of trying to fill the silence for me. "Relieved, guilty, angry, exhausted, and perhaps a little hopeful, which feels almost obscene after all this time." A small smile appears on her face.
"Then I would say you feel human, unfortunately." I stare at her. "I am an owl demon." She takes another sip of water and replies, "You know what I meant."
Despite myself, I laugh. The sound surprises me because it is not bitter or forced, just small and tired but genuine. Evelyn watches with the patient expression of someone who has known me far too long to be impressed by dramatic breakthroughs. Eventually I lean back into the chair and breathe.
"Thank you, Evelyn." She shakes her head before I can turn gratitude into another form of debt. "I opened a legal door, Stolas, you are the one who decided to walk through it." Somehow that makes the gratitude hurt in an entirely different way.
I rise when she does and gather the copy of the petition she places inside a smaller folder for me. "My office will contact you before Stella receives formal notice so you have time to arrange what you and Octavia need during the initial proceedings." I nod and immediately begin thinking about Via, her room, her belongings, and whether changing houses would make everything worse. Evelyn catches the concern before I voice it.
"You do not have to uproot her tomorrow." Her tone remains firm but gentler now. "The household can remain where it is while temporary boundaries are established, and if physical separation becomes necessary, we will arrange it deliberately rather than throwing either of you into chaos." I nod again, grateful that somebody involved in this process appears capable of thinking farther than the next argument.
I reach the doors before pausing with one hand near the handle. "Evelyn?" She looks up from the folder she has already reopened. "Yes?"
"When you offered this at the hotel, did you already know I would eventually say yes?" She studies me for a long moment before answering. "No, but I hoped eventually you would realize that being miserable is not the price of being a good father." My chest aches painfully at how simple she makes it sound.
I manage a small smile and open the door. "I suspect Blitzø has already complained about the paperwork at least four more times." Evelyn looks toward the corridor and replies, "Only four would demonstrate remarkable personal growth." I laugh again as I step outside. For once, the decision I carry with me is one I actually made for myself.
Evelyn POV
After Stolas finally leaves, I wait until the doors shut behind him before dismissing my assistants and placing my Hellpad facedown on the desk. The silence that follows should be relaxing, but instead I find myself unlocking the lowest drawer and pulling out a journal so old that even preservation magic has not stopped the leather from cracking around the edges. I have not opened it properly in decades, perhaps longer, because every time I do I am reminded how much of another life has quietly slipped out of reach. "Let us see what else ten thousand years has managed to shake loose from my head."
The handwriting belongs to a much younger version of me, written when another world's television shows, theories, character names, and unfinished storylines were still painfully clear. I skim notes about I.M.P. until my eyes stop on a description of Loona, and several seconds pass before I slowly close them in embarrassment. She is a hellhound, not an imp, and somehow centuries of fading memories had blurred that extremely obvious distinction enough that I had referred to the entire company collectively as imps during the reopening. "Nearly ten thousand years old, acting ruler of Pride, and defeated by basic species identification."
Why Stolas never corrected me is another question, though considering I had confronted him about his failing marriage and the illegal lending of a restricted grimoire in the same evening, he probably never noticed the mistake. That realization is less comforting than it should be because it proves something I have suspected for centuries but rarely enjoy confronting directly. My memories of that old story are no longer reliable enough to treat as foreknowledge, only fragments that must be checked against the world actually standing in front of me. Whatever advantage reincarnation once gave me has become a collection of damaged maps with entire roads missing.
I turn several more pages, following old descriptions written beside increasingly frequent question marks and later annotations where reality had already diverged from what I remembered. The section concerning I.M.P.'s mortal operations makes my expression flatten almost immediately, especially every reference to them wandering around Earth visibly demonic while apparently trusting human stupidity to protect them. Fortunately, that particular problem is already buried inside the agreements they signed this morning. Every employee entering the mortal world is now required to use an approved human disguise or equivalent concealment anywhere discovery is reasonably possible.
It is not even hidden especially well, merely placed among the confidentiality and security provisions that Blitzø skimmed before immediately passing everything to Moxxie. I give Moxxie perhaps half an hour before he notices it, points it out to his employer, and triggers an outraged call demanding to know why I have personally declared war upon Blitzø's artistic freedom. Considering their history, disguises are no longer optional regardless of how offended he becomes. Mortal ignorance is useful protection, but it is not a security policy.
Then my eyes find another name, and whatever amusement remained disappears.
D.H.O.R.K.S.
I remember suits, cameras, interrogation rooms, government resources, and human beings who had stopped laughing at the possibility of demons long enough to become dangerous. The details are hazy, but the central problem is not, because I.M.P. had given them proof that something beyond humanity existed and then somehow continued behaving as though nobody important would ever notice. If that organization exists here, years of unauthorized portal activity may have already given them considerably more material than I would like. For the first time since opening the journal, I feel the familiar weight of a threat that might already be moving while I am still trying to remember its face.
I pull my Hellpad closer and create a sealed intelligence inquiry restricted to my personal authorization. I will not send agents tearing through Earth because of memories from a television show I watched in another universe thousands of years ago, but Crown intelligence can quietly examine unusual mortal surveillance, disappearances, government activity, and incidents surrounding known portal sites. If something begins matching the fragments recorded in this journal, then D.H.O.R.K.S. becomes a confirmed security concern rather than an unpleasant memory. Until then, I watch, verify, and make absolutely certain I.M.P. does not give them anything else.
The next pages carry HAZBIN HOTEL across the top in handwriting so familiar that it somehow feels foreign. Charlie, Vaggie, Alastor, Heaven, exterminations, redemption, theories, predictions, and names crowd the paper beneath annotations added across centuries whenever some forgotten detail briefly resurfaced. Much of it has already become useless because my existence altered this family long before Charlie was born, and other pieces were theories even before reality had a chance to contradict them. I turn the page anyway.
My fingers stop.
ROO.
There are fewer notes beneath that name than almost any other important figure in the journal, yet seeing it makes every instinct I possess tighten at once. Root of All Evil appears beside it, followed by question marks, uncertain arrows, scraps of theories, and possibilities copied from discussions whose sources I can no longer remember. That lack of information should make the name less frightening, but after ruling Hell for millennia I have learned that unknown threats are often more dangerous than enemies considerate enough to announce themselves.
I read the page again, slower this time, looking for something that might have escaped me on previous searches. No confirmed origin, no reliable location, no clear motive, and not even certainty that Roo existed in the form people once imagined, yet the same idea appears again and again beneath the scattered speculation. Something ancient, something connected to evil itself, something that might predate nearly every political problem I have spent my existence learning how to control. Somewhere in the margins my younger handwriting becomes darker where I apparently pressed the pen hard enough to scar the paper beneath it.
I do not remember writing that page.
That realization chills me more effectively than any theory written on it. I remember the discussions generally, I remember the name, and I remember deciding long ago that anything described as the embodiment or root of humanity's evil deserved investigation whether fandom speculation had exaggerated it or not. I do not remember sitting down and recording these particular notes, which means even my own warnings have become artifacts left behind by a version of myself who remembered more than I do now.
For centuries I have searched quietly through Hell without telling my family what I was truly looking for. Archives, forgotten territories, ancient cults, pre-Morningstar ruins, extinct bloodlines, abandoned records, and rumors old enough that nobody remembers who began them have all produced fragments but nothing I could call proof. At first I took that absence as reassurance. Eventually I learned better.
Things that do not exist usually leave nothing behind.
Things that are hiding leave gaps.
I stare at the notes spread across the desk and feel the unease gathering beneath my ribs. There are too many vague references, too many stories that begin somewhere and then abruptly disappear, too many old descriptions of evil given a face only for the trail to vanish before becoming concrete. None of it is evidence, and I refuse to become the sort of ruler who turns fear into certainty simply because uncertainty is uncomfortable. But after nearly ten thousand years in Hell, I also know when absence itself has begun feeling deliberate.
Then I reach the section I have always hated most.
Eve? Possession? Vessel? Unconfirmed.
The words remain exactly where I left them centuries ago, and somehow they look worse every time I read them. Roo being some ancient independent entity would already be dangerous enough, but the possibility that she is connected to Eve, using Eve, possessing her, wearing her, or somehow existing through the mother of humanity turns an abstract threat into something horribly personal. Even as a theory, it reaches directly into the oldest wound my family has never completely healed.
Father and Mother gave Eve the apple.
Mother named me Evelyn partly because she never stopped carrying what followed.
If Eve has somehow survived all this time only to become the vessel of something monstrous, then the consequences would reach far beyond Charlie's hotel or Heaven's exterminations. Yet the opposite possibility is equally dangerous, because if Roo has nothing to do with Eve and I allow ancient speculation to convince me otherwise, I could turn a woman my parents once cared about into an enemy without cause. I need evidence before I tell them anything. I need certainty before that old wound is opened again.
My eyes drift back toward the word ROO, and for one irrational moment I imagine someone somewhere knowing that I have spent centuries looking. Perhaps there is nothing to find, perhaps the story from my first life never intended the character to become what people theorized, or perhaps my arrival changed whatever chain of events would once have brought her forward. There is another possibility I dislike considerably more. Maybe she knows exactly how to remain outside the light.
I close the journal, but my hand stays pressed against the cover.
D.H.O.R.K.S. is a problem I understand because organizations have agents, buildings, records, money, and mistakes that can be followed. Roo is different, because after millennia of searching I still cannot even prove that the thing haunting the margins of my oldest notes is real. Yet Charlie is now challenging the order between Heaven and Hell, redemption is no longer merely theoretical, and old systems that stood untouched for ages have begun moving again. If something has been waiting for the right moment to surface, I cannot ignore the possibility that we are approaching it.
I slide the journal back toward myself instead of returning it to the drawer. There will be new searches through the Crown archives, older records reopened, unexplained disappearances reviewed, and questions asked carefully enough that nobody realizes exactly what I am hunting. Father, Mother, and Charlie will know when I have something more substantial than fading memories and ancient theories, not before. Until then, Roo remains the secret I refuse to let become the surprise that destroys my family.
I sit alone beneath the Morningstar crest while the city continues moving beyond the windows as though nothing has changed. This morning my problems consisted of an illegal assassination company, Stolas's divorce, portal regulation, and enough paperwork to bury an Overlord alive, and somehow those concerns now feel refreshingly ordinary. I look once more at the journal beneath my hand and feel an old unease awaken with it. "Grandfather, if the literal root of all evil has been hiding in my Ring this entire time, I am going to be profoundly irritated."