Chapter Twenty-Four

The conference hall was a vast piece of demonic architecture. Pillars of red marble dotted the walls, and wrapped around them were giant statues of various serpents. The snakes spiraled up around the posts until they reached the ceiling—their gaping maws holding sparkling gemstones. In the center of this grand hall lay the conference table. The hundreds of chairs that surrounded it were crafted from limestone, and the table itself was little more than a massive slab of granite. In the center of the conference table was a separate, smaller table. Around this coveted spot, a handful of thrones—studded with solid rubies—were placed for the realms' leading ambassadors and representatives. "Ms. Lombardi, your seat is number twenty-five in aisle three," an usher told Zia as she walked through the door.

"That's in the back," she whined. Even though her rank was low, she was still one of Heaven's ambassadors. No hosting realm would dare put one of them so far away from the debate. "Are you sure this isn't a mistake?" she asked the Demon.

"I'm sorry, but it was a request from your realm's top diplomat. My hands are tied." Zia sighed. This was probably the upper echelon's fault.

"This turn of events isn't exactly shocking. You did have your guards threaten them back on the ferry," Aeron chimed in as he leaned against the doorframe. "If I'm not mistaken, there's a word for this. What was it again? Ah, that's it!" he cheered as he clapped his hands together, "I got it! This is called karma!"

"Shove it, Cherub. Now's not the time." Zia ground her teeth together as she silently sauntered over to her seat. What could she do now? This area was meant for onlookers, not participating ambassadors. She couldn't get the hall's attention with this crappy positioning!

"Is this going to screw with your plans?" Aeron asked her. Zia sighed and shook her head. Thanks to her transmitter, she could still do most of her mandatory work without interruption. However, any hope she had of using this as a chance to advocate her sector had been thoroughly dashed. "Again, you really should've expected this when you provoked them like that." Zia bit her lip. That was the last thing she wanted to hear.

"Last I checked, my guards didn't shoot anybody at that meeting. This is all thanks to your itchy trigger finger, Templar," the ambassador hissed. In response, Aeron simply yawned and scratched his temple.

"Sorry, but I was just doing my job," he whispered as he twirled his gavel around. "Don't forget what I am. If I see someone committing a damnable offense, I'm required to take action." Zia rolled her eyes. That response sounded like he read it right off a script.

"Does the Bureau teach its judges to dodge responsibility, or is that just another one of your quirks?"

"Nah, that's all me," Aeron joked as he turned to the usher. Immediately, the Demon started to flip through the register to find the Angel's assigned seat.

"Mr. Weber, your seat is number seventeen in the second row," the usher said, which caused Aeron to raise an eyebrow.

"Really? I expected to be placed further back." He wasn't an ambassador. The only reason he was there was to get Satan to renew the contract. "Well, whatever," he thought with a shrug as he walked over to his seat, leaving Zia and her bodyguards behind. The second row was filled with primarily second-rate Drakean diplomats. His neighbors were a pair of identical scribes who wore blessed monocles and lengthy silk uniforms. Without their name tags, he would've sworn they were twins.

"Your attention, please!" a voice called out from a small speaker implanted in all their chairs. "The annual peace summit will begin momentarily. Please make your way to your seats and turn your transmitters to neutral." The second the announcement was complete, a large number of guards spewed into the conference hall.

"VIPs sure are cautious types," Aeron wondered as he watched Satan and four other ambassadors waltz towards their thrones. Heaven's head diplomat was there, as were the crucial representatives of the Giants and Drakes. Dr. Leeson, of course, was the one who occupied the final seat. "He sure looks happy," Aeron mumbled as he watched Dr. Leeson and the chief officers get settled in. The devil looked like a kid in a candy store.

"Being up there must be quite the confidence booster," Aeron heard Zia say from his transmitter.

"That doesn't surprise me," he added, "that man's a Demon, and Demons are prideful." Hell—if he were in his position—he'd probably feel the same. "By the way, how's the view from where you're at, Ms. Lombardi? Judging by your tone, it must be excellent."

"Hardy har," Zia groaned. Aeron could almost feel the woman's sarcasm dripping out of his earpiece. "Since I'm not up there, you'll have to be my eyes and ears. You know that, right?" Aeron grunted and nodded his head.

"That's what partners are for." Zia wasn't sure if the Angel was being serious or if he was making fun. "Do you want an update right now? Or would you prefer I wait?"

"Now, if you'd be so kind." Aeron rolled his eyes and sighed as he watched Satan walk up to the center of the conference hall towards a large obsidian pulpit. Under her right arm lay a stack of files and envelopes, and in her left was a small transmitter.

"She's carrying a personal transmitter. It's probably linked to Dr. Leeson or another Demon in the audience," Aeron said as he turned to the VIP table. Unsurprisingly, Dr. Leeson was carrying a similar device.

"That's not that unusual. This is an important summit. Leaders like Satan usually have an advisor on the line when they speak at events like this," Zia started. "Did you manage to get a glimpse of the documents she was carrying?" she continued. Aeron shook his head.

"No, but I seriously doubt that they're anything that important." If he had to hazard a guess, the stack of papers was probably a brief outline of her demands and policies. "So, Satan keeps notes," he mumbled as a grin spread across his lips. "How unexpectedly normal."

"Ahem," the fallen Angel cleared her throat as she carefully tapped her microphone. "Testing, testing, can everyone hear me?" she said. Her smooth voice reverberated off the walls and flowed like silk. It was hard to believe that such a soft tone belonged to the Antichrist.

"Jeremy would laugh for days if he ever found out about this," Aeron thought. When he called the operator to give his report, he refrained from revealing what he had learned about Satan. He still wasn't sure why he did this, but it was probably so he wouldn't spoil the surprise.

"Thank you all for coming. Allow me to welcome you to my realm and this extraordinary summit. Now that all the pleasantries and greetings are over, let's begin," the fallen Angel announced as she flipped through a small file of documents. "The first task on our agenda would be the Giants' counter-tariffs on new airships. Purgatory's top diplomat put this complaint forward and claims that their four percent increase this year was too high. He said that airships are a valuable commodity to all realms and that unjustly restricting their production to just a single race goes against standard regulations."

"That tariff was put in place to protect our resources," one of the Giants Aeron had met, Griswold Mapp, said into his almost comically large microphone. "The high-quality steel and mechanics that go into building airships are mostly mined and produced on Jupiter. The production of these vehicles is also the source of thirty-five percent of my peoples' total income. With those numbers, we should more than qualify for an exemption from the tariff embargo." Aeron sighed as he rolled his fingers against his desk.

"Are you bored?" Zia asked him. In response, the Angel just shrugged and leaned back into his chair. "You know, this is what a summit is. What? Were you expecting a gladiator match?" Her sense of humor was spot-on.

"You're starting to sound like a certain annoying operator," Aeron groaned as he listened to the debate. He felt the tension in the air rise with every word. While their argument and vocabulary were relatively tame, he knew that the ambassadors were at each other's throats. "Were the other summits as lovely as this one?" he asked Zia. "Half of these people look like they're about to start screaming."

"Gatherings like this are free-for-alls, and the deciding votes almost always come down to the realm with the most diplomats." When he heard that, Aeron scoffed. How was that fair? They were holding this summit in Hell, for God's sake! There were more Demons here than there were stars in the sky! "That said, there are a few exceptions to that rule," Zia continued.

"Can you please stop beating around the bush?" He wasn't sure what was worse—listening to the ambassadors' drone about airship law or Zia's lecture on the diplomatic procedure.

"Hey, let a girl have her fun! It's probably the only enjoyable thing I'll get out of this summit!" she chuckled. "Anyways, about that exception. Since all the realms are technically the Almighty's creation, Heaven's ambassadors get a special advantage in these debates."

"An advantage?" Aeron raised an eyebrow. "What kind?"

"It's simple. One ambassador from Heaven is equal to ten diplomats from the other realms. In other words, our votes are ten times more valuable." For a second, Aeron thought he was losing his hearing.

"That's one hell of an advantage!" the Cherub yelped as a grin spread across his lips. "Although… I can't say that surprises me." Now it all made sense. Compared to the other realms, Heaven's number of participating diplomats was relatively puny. He couldn't find more than thirty representatives who donned the Almighty's crest.

"There's probably some rule limiting how many representatives we can send," he thought as a small red light on his desk suddenly flickered on. Next to it was a tiny screen that displayed his name, identification number, and two little yes or no buttons.

"Do you want me to give you a recap of the current topic?" Zia asked him, her voice laced with sarcasm. Aeron chuckled into his transmitter and shook his head.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I was paying attention to the debate." Even though listening to these people was abhorrently dull, his responsibility was to sit there and take in every word. After a moment of thought, when it came time for him to vote, he clicked the 'yes' button and yawned. Once the rest of the ambassadors had cast their votes, a gigantic projector displaying the results sparked to life in the center of the conference hall.

"The ayes have it!" Satan exclaimed as a noticeable groan reverberated through the room. The gigantic monitor also showed which realms voted on which measures. Unsurprisingly, most of Heaven's ambassadors chose the winning option.

"We must surely be popular when we're in here," Aeron mumbled as he shrugged off the glares he was getting from the other diplomats. Zia was also beset by a wave of unfriendly gazes, though they didn't bother her. "I'm honestly shocked, though. You'd think that Hell's representatives would naturally want to vote against us," he thought. However—according to the data from the results—they seemed to be their greatest ally.

"Don't forget, an ex-Angel runs God's dumpster. So, quite a few of their demands align with our interests," Zia mumbled as their screens flickered to life once again.

"Great…" Aeron sighed. "This one's going to take a while." The following motion was centered around Purgatory's economic status and the realm's tight border. "The Drakes are going run the opposition into the ground." As Satan gave the diplomats a summary of the motion, Aeron lit one of his cigarettes. The smoke he exhaled wafted up to the ceiling before leaving the building through a gigantic, tinted window. Within seconds, the color in his vision faded away.

"If you keep inhaling those, you'll get addicted," Zia warned as the Cherub closed his eyes to focus. Aeron scoffed. Addiction wasn't something that affected his kind.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," he spoke as he quickly snubbed out the lit cigar. He already got what he wanted from the fruit. Now that his hearing was enhanced, he could detect more of the whispers thrown across the conference hall. "The Giants, unsurprisingly, are going to support the Drakes. Griswold is already talking with some of their representatives," he told Zia as his brow furrowed in frustration. Even with his strengthened senses, he still couldn't make out some of the diplomats' quieter mumbles. "Is there a demonic drug that can give me the ability to read minds?" he joked as the debate raged on.

"If there were, every soul here would be on it," Zia responded while Griswold and the other Giants reached for their microphones. As Aeron had overheard, they had decided to ally themselves with the Drakes. "Do you want to say anything?" she asked him as the other realms' ambassadors started to speak. Aeron shook his head. This wasn't a matter he was educated in. His opinion would add nothing to the debate. "Well—look at you—being a responsible diplomat! I sure hope that you can keep that up!" God knows that most of the representatives here didn't.

"Does anyone else want to claim the floor?" Satan addressed the body as she slowly lowered her microphone from her lips. "Okay then," she said as she placed her signature on the new resolution. "Then the nays have it! Purgatory's borders will remain closed!" Yet again, her announcement was met with a veritable wave of groans and curses.

"As long as Purgatory remains populated by Demon half-breeds, Heaven will never risk opening their land's borders," Aeron thought with a sigh. The power their votes held was simply astounding. Even though he voted 'yes' on the bill, several more from Heaven went against him. With their overwhelming advantage, the result was a practical landslide.

"Heads up," Zia whispered as Aeron turned his attention to the giant monitor, "I think this might be your cue." She was right. After a small discussion on trade, the next topic up for debate was Heaven's renewal contract.

"Great… now I can finally be rid of this thing," the Cherub thought as he hoisted up the document's suitcase. The blessings that covered it were faintly glowing like fireflies. For a second, he thought that the damn thing was going to explode. "You better be worth all this trouble," he mumbled to himself as he unlocked the case.

"The next issue on the list is the reaffirmation of Heaven's annual agreement for the processing of damned souls," Aeron heard Dr. Leeson say from the center of the conference hall. "Advocating for the Almighty is Templar Aeron Weber," the Demon said as he turned to face him. "Mr. Weber, you have the floor."

"Finally," he thought. Any longer, and he was sure that Dr. Leeson would eat his mic. "Well then…" he started as he cleared his throat and took out the contract. "As I'm sure you're all aware, the issue here is Hell's traffic quota. In just a few centuries, Satan's realm has taken in over eight billion souls. Well over the agreed-upon limit."

"You sound like a fish drowning on dry land," he heard Zia whisper from his transmitter. What could he say? He wasn't known for his public speaking skills.

"As a matter of simple protocol, I have been sent here with a new contract," he continued—ignoring the ambassador's words as he held up the parchment. As he did this, a small hovering platform flew up to him. After placing the contract on the device, it sputtered away towards the central table. The second it came within reach, Satan grabbed it and started reading. If her excessive frowning was anything to go by, the Antichrist wasn't a fan of the draft.

"This new quota is still far too small," she said while holding the contract up to the projector. "Yahweh and his judges have been damning more souls recently. If you choose to continue this farce, we'll end up right back where we started."

"Oh great," the Angel groaned. He felt like a mouse in a trap.

"Let me guess," Zia started, "you've got nothing." Well, that statement wasn't entirely false. He was a judge, not a negotiator. He wasn't used to situations like this. "You know, nobody's perfect. If you need help, ask." When the Angel didn't respond, Zia sighed and straightened her hair. "Okay, now just swallow your pride and stay quiet." This was going to be a long one.

Fifty-three years ago...

After an unbelievably long slog through a godforsaken desert, I'm happy to say that I've finally arrived in China. The mortals here are different, and the goods they sell are pretty impressive. The silk flows like water, and the food is strange. Though—to be honest—that's to be expected. I've overseen thousands of cultures jumping through the same hoops, but this place is strange. I think it's the land. The gigantic rice fields are unlike anything I've ever witnessed, and the insects here are in a league of their own. There's this giant hornet, for example, that I've noticed buzzing around that I adore. It's like a regular wasp, but many, many times bigger.

Sadly, even if the culture is friendly, that won't affect my judgment of them. They utilize something called the imperial cult, where their ruler is seen as a god. For obvious reasons, this cannot stand. It'll have to go down as a negative for this world's development. At this point, if I find anything else worth mentioning, I'll have no choice but to rehabilitate them.