Chapter Eight

"So, what's the assignment?" Aeron asked Jeremy as the conference room's large soundproof door shut behind them. Instead of answering his question, the head operator just took out a large vanilla folder and tossed it to him. As he inspected it, he let out an impressed whistle. Covering the folder was an uncountable number of blessings and security locks. "This must hold one hell of a treasure for you to go this far," he mumbled as he fumbled with one of the chains.

"The code is twenty-one forty," Jeremy said as he sat down behind the room's only operator desk. "Be careful, though. If you make a mistake, there's no fixing it." With that warning floating ominously through his head, Aeron nodded and slowly started to punch in the numbers. Once he finished entering the code, the security locks popped off the envelope—leaving only the simple identification blessing remaining. "Here, take this," Jeremy told him as he tossed him a small needle.

"Thanks." As he had done many times before, Aeron took the needle and punched a hole through one of his palms. He proceeded to smear a few droplets of blood across the envelope, causing the blessing to shimmer away in a cloud of golden petals. The envelope sprang open as if it were cursed, allowing its contents to spill over the table. There were numerous maps, charts, letters, contracts, and other critical documents. His attention, however, wasn't focused on any of that. Instead, what drew his gaze was a tiny disk snuggly sat in a small pocket bordering the folder. Engraved upon it was his templar crest, and with a slight wave of his hand, the disk came to life. It flew up into the air, growing larger and larger with each passing second. Eventually, the disk started to morph, shifting until it had taken on the shape of a man. And not just any man.

"You're late, Templar," the projection said as the image slowly came into focus. Aeron sighed as he got himself comfortable. Of course, the Minister had to choose Peter Maloy, of all people, to debrief him. The uptight bastard used to be a priest in the upper levels; he never let them forget it. Currently, the Angel was the Manager of Foreign Affairs as well as the overseer of high-profile damnations. It went without saying that he didn't like him much. In fact, besides the Minister, Maloy was probably the person he hated the most in the whole bureau. "I grow weary of reminding you of your position, Templar. That rank is a sacred symbol! A representation of God's divine power! Your carefree attitude is a stain on that station!" Aeron sighed as he slipped on some earplugs. He always had a pair on hand when he went in for a briefing. After a few minutes, Jeremy—who was also wearing earplugs—gave him a thumbs up.

"Yes, I know, and I'm sorry," Aeron mumbled while inspecting his nails. Thank God the councilman only received audio, or else Maloy would be having a field day. Once the man had calmed down, Aeron tried to get the briefing back on track. "So, what does the Minister have for me today? Another rehabilitation?" he asked as he inspected some of the maps. They were all quite old, so much so that the parchment was nearly falling apart. "Why did you give me maps of the Nine Circles?" It was a stupid question, but he asked it anyway.

"Because your next assignment, Templar, will require you to visit those burning pits," the councilman responded as he took a small letter out of one of his coat pockets. Said letter was probably instructions from the Minister.

"Hell? I haven't been there in over five hundred years," he thought as he looked over the letter with his briefing. It was embroidered in fine purple silk and had several pagan symbols sewn into the ledger. Whoever sent this wasn't one of God's flock, that's for sure.

"At this point, I assume that you've found the purple envelope?" Maloy asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go ahead and read it; the Minister and my fellow councilmembers have already skimmed through it." At the Angel's words, Aeron nodded and emptied the letter. As he read, Jeremy was busy looking over his shoulder and was recording every word of their conversation.

Aeron frowned when he saw the sending address. "It's from one of Satan's secretaries," he mumbled. Already he didn't like the direction this mission was heading in.

Minister Beurt Albere

Bureau of Judgmental Affairs

01 Haven Drive

First Layer, HA 346

Dear Minister Albere,

This is the Ninth Circle's Director of Foreign Affairs. As you already know, the current cycle is approaching its end. Over eight billion lost souls are in circulation, and we require a new contract to continue processing. As the summit is in four days, I request that you send your ambassador with haste. There, I will explain further details of the contract with your chosen dignitary.

I eagerly await your response.

Sincerely,

Dr. M.L. Leeson

"I thought the contract was good for another thousand years," Aeron said as he turned to the councilman. After giving the letter a second reading, the Templar sighed and let out a frustrated groan. "This is going to be a problem."

"Agreed, in my opinion, we've waited far too long to address this issue," Maloy mumbled as he flipped through a gigantic tome of previous treaties, which surprised Aeron. It wasn't often that he and the councilman saw eye to eye. "However, recently, we've had our hands full with sinners," the councilman finished as he closed the book, a cloud of dust spewing into the air from its pages. For Aeron and Jeremy—who were watching a hologram—it looked like the councilman had covered himself in ashes. As the Angel tried to shake the dust off his wings, Jeremy reached over Aeron's shoulder and grabbed one of the files.

"You know, I always find it funny that God has to make deals with the Angel he damned," the man whispered as he flipped through the report page after page. "In return for certain powers and immunities, Satan allows you, judges, to send the sinful souls you rehabilitate down to Hell. At least, that's the official statement," the looney researcher exclaimed as he shrugged and tossed the folder back onto the table. "I guess there are some things the big man upstairs can't predict. So much for omnipotence!"

Aeron rolled his eyes and tossed Jeremy a pen. "Shut it and write. You're making the councilman angry," he said as he turned his focus to the hologram. Once he was sure that the Bureau's clown wouldn't make any more offensive comments, Aeron took his hand off the mute button. The Angelic Councilman had broken out into a full-blown rant. His face had turned red, and his eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates. Thankfully, Maloy was tranquil as Angels go. Otherwise, Aeron might've never managed to calm the councilman down.

"If you weren't one of the Bureau's most brilliant, Mr. Knight, I would've had you demoted for such a sinful slight!" he screeched. Aeron grunted as he rolled his fingers across the marble table. For Peter Maloy, a demotion was equivalent to a slap on the wrist. He was never that merciful with him.

"The Minister must love you," Aeron spat out as he swiveled around in his chair and glared at the operator. Jeremy just grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

"I can't help the fact that I'm awesome," he said as he continued to record their conversation; his pen was moving so fast that it was almost a blur. "It's a curse, I know." Aeron felt as if he was about to explode. It was a miracle that Jeremy hadn't been damned for pride yet. In all honesty, he couldn't care less about the man's words, but the councilman did. He had to scramble to defuse the situation, or else Maloy would've plunged headfirst into another rant.

"Yes, yes, Jeremy is a sinful prick who deserves damnation. I'll be sure to punish him well later. For now, however, can we get back to the mission?" Aeron didn't even wait for a response as he reached for the following document.

As he scanned through the text, the councilman took out a pen and readjusted his robes. "That's a draft of the Minister's desired treaty. In it, we detail our terms, conditions, requests, and demands. Your job is to convince that devil to accept them." Aeron scratched his head as he read over the draft. For one page, it sure was thorough. The treaty covered everything, from the yearly soul quota to the regulation and upkeep of Purgatory.

When he was finished, Aeron handed the document to Jeremy. "I thought the Bureau already had some ambassadors for the Nine Circles. Why aren't you sending them?" The templar was a soldier, not a diplomat. This decision didn't make any sense. "Although…" he mumbled as he flipped through the final few pages of the briefing. Eventually, his fingers found a large stack of letters. They were all addressed to the Minister, each sent from one of the Bureau's envoys to the Nine Circles. "Resignation letters?" Aeron sighed as he opened a couple of them. Of course, they were. Why was he not surprised? Of course, mortals wouldn't want to go to Hell! Jeremy would say that the ambassadors lacked balls.

"As you can probably guess, this proposition was not that popular amongst the Bureau's more white-collar employees," the councilman said as he stamped a few documents. "Except for the normal levels' consuls, almost all our senior diplomatic employees have already completed their terms. And, for obvious reasons, we don't want to send some greenhorn to deal with such a tact matter. So, that only leaves you. For some reason, the Minister thinks that you can get results. I don't believe you have the temperament to handle sensitive matters like this. But, if he thinks you can do it, let's say that I hope you can prove me wrong." As the Angel said this, the councilman's hologram started to fade away. "Don't disappoint me, Templar." Suddenly, the hologram exploded in a dazzling storm of golden petals and leaves. The disk transformed back into its original shape before falling to the marble table.

"You need to tell your development team to tone it down on the particles," Aeron told Jeremy as he brushed the golden trash off his suit.

"Let my boys have their fun. After all, they built your gavel, and I know you love it as much as they do," he joked as he shook his head and handed Aeron a small, locked case. It was made of a beautiful silver mesh and was covered in blessings and other gadgets—some nearly transparent! "This contains the contract. I know it's cliché to say, but don't lose it." Aeron nodded as he took the case, and, after checking to make sure that everything was in order, he slung the box over his shoulder.

Four hundred and ninety-five years ago...

I got back from my first assignment in Hell today. I was off on what the Minister called an "expedition" mission. He told me it was of the utmost importance. However, I know better. The only reason for this operation was his and the councilmen's paranoia. Yet another reason why Angels shouldn't be at the Bureau's helm. We are simply abysmal at talking to Demons, after all! Then again, I shouldn't be too surprised. I mean, Cherubs and Demons are complete opposites. This is why we need mortals to run the Bureau. They might be weak, but no other race has better experience in dealing with the sinful. Sadly, that isn't how the world works.

The mission was more like an inspection than a typical errand. The Council, with absolutely no evidence to support their claims, believed that Hell wasn't accepting the determined soul quota. So, they sent me to chat with Charon—the ferryman of the River Styx. When I arrived at the docks, he offered the pleasure of showing me his boat. I found it a bit macabre with the bones decorating its hull, but the ferryman was quick to lighten the mood. He's a funny fellow, that Charon, and a fan of dark humor. He always keeps two skulls submerged beneath the river's surface; apparently, the bones belonged to some particularly evil mortals. They reportedly had a fear of drowning, so deciding their punishment was easy. Like an infernal engine, their gags and gulps for air aided in pushing his ferry forward.

This twisted method of propulsion has made it possible for Charon to traverse the Nine Circles at impressive speeds. Every day he adds a new skull to the pile, and with each addition, his ferry got a little quicker. However, I never got to see them in action. My assignment was to make sure that the Demons were upholding their end of the bargain. Which, to no surprise, they were. Satan would be an idiot not to. God gets a free spot to dump all the Universe's damned, while that devil receives a whole realm to govern. It's a win-win situation.

Of course, the monster is still technically damned himself, so he isn't allowed, nor his ambassadors, to even step foot outside of the eternal fire. My fellow Angels don't want to go near that place, and mortals, who aren't damned, are too scared. Leaving, as usual, us judges to clean up the mess.