Chapter 5: A Deal with Hell

Charis was still high on his escape, reveling in the sensation of breathing, moving, existing outside of Hell. But before he could process anything further, a voice cut through his thoughts.

"I don't want to ruin your fun, but I believe you have something that belongs to me."

Charis, lying on the bed of his new body, turned his head toward the source of the voice. Sitting casually in a worn-out armchair near the bed was an old man. He had dark eyes, dark hair, and wore a tuxedo. His presence felt heavy, commanding, and eerily familiar.

Charis narrowed his eyes. "Oh, you're the owner of that voice."

"Right, that's me," the old man confirmed, standing up with an air of absolute authority. "Now, give me my scythe."

Charis instinctively reached for it, the weight of the artifact still foreign in his new hands. But just before he handed it over, he hesitated. His survival instincts flared.

"How do I know you're not going to kill me once I give it to you?" he asked cautiously.

The old man smirked. "Oh? And here I thought you were a stupid demon. Well, you might still be." He took a step closer, eyes gleaming. "You just saw me take down an Archangel with ease. Do you really think a Hell contract could hold me?"

Charis tensed. Before he could react, the old man snapped his fingers. Instantly, Charis felt a gut-wrenching sensation—like something primordial being stripped from him. The protective presence of Hell's Authority that had lingered around him was gone.

"Look, I'm in a good mood now that I got my scythe back," the old man continued, retrieving it from Charis with ease. "So, let me give you some advice. You're a demon, so you probably think that makes you superior to most beings. And you're right—to an extent. But trust me, there are beings out there who could erase the entire demon race with a mere snap of their fingers."

Charis barely had time to process the words before the old man snapped his fingers again. Ten white orbs emerged from thin air, floating toward him. The energy they radiated was… different.

"Take this as additional payment," the old man said, tossing the orbs toward Charis. Then, he threw a small black orb as well. The moment it touched Charis, it vanished, absorbed into him before he could even react.

"Now, goodbye. I'll see you again someday," the old man said before disappearing as if he had never been there.

Charis remained frozen. His body still felt the weight of the encounter, his mind running in circles. His fingers curled slightly, recalling the strange energy that had just merged with him. The room was eerily silent, save for the distant hum of the city outside the window. His first real moment of peace since escaping Hell.

But it didn't last long.

A sudden ring shattered the quiet. His gaze flicked to the nightstand where a phone buzzed violently. He hesitated, staring at the screen. The number read: 666.

Shit.

A long breath escaped him before he finally picked up. "Hello?"

"Good evening, Mr. Charis," a smooth, professional voice greeted him. "This is Annabella, a Hell agent. We're contacting you regarding your recent escape from Hell. We'd like to ask if you'd be interested in Hell's protection, or if you already have everything figured out?"

Charis blinked. "Huh? Shouldn't you guys be hunting me down? What's going on?"

Annabella chuckled lightly. "Oh, I apologize. I see this is your first time escaping. Allow me to explain. While escaping Hell is technically forbidden, that's just a law put in place to satisfy a certain entity. In reality, we actually encourage demons to escape. Of course, we have to put up resistance, but once you're out, there's nothing we can do to bring you back. Instead, we offer a choice: accept Hell's protection or go rogue."

Charis frowned. "Why would Hell offer protection to every demon that escapes?"

"Oh, that's simple," Annabella said smoothly. "Because it's not free. Using our protection costs one human soul every ten years. Additionally, if a human asks for something beyond your capability in exchange for their soul, Hell can fulfill the request on your behalf—though, of course, we take a tax."

"As I thought. Nothing is free," Charis muttered. "What's the tax?"

"For a low-level demon like you? 90%. Which means for every ten souls you earn using Hell's authority, you keep only one."

Charis nearly choked. "That's insane! That's practically slavery!"

"Don't worry," Annabella reassured him. "As you climb the ranks, the tax decreases. Here's the breakdown:

Mid-level demons: 80% tax (keep 2 out of 10 souls) High-level demons: 70% tax (keep 3 out of 10 souls) Knights of Hell: 60% tax (keep 4 out of 10 souls) Princes of Hell: 50% tax (keep 5 out of 10 souls) Demon Lords: 30% tax (keep 7 out of 10 souls)"

Charis processed the information with wide eyes. He had never even heard of Princes of Hell or Demon Lords. In all his time in Hell, he had only been aware of mid and high-ranked demons. Only today did he learn about the Knights of Hell.

A new question burned in his mind. "How does a demon climb the ranks?"

"Simple," Annabella said. "You consume souls. Each rank requires a set number of souls before advancement. Here's the requirement:

Low to Mid Demon: 1,000 souls Mid to High Demon: 10,000 souls High Demon to Knight of Hell: 1,000,000 souls Knight of Hell to Prince of Hell: 100,000,000 souls Prince of Hell to Demon Lord: 10,000,000,000 souls"

Charis nearly dropped the phone. "That's insane! It would take me centuries—no, millennia—to collect that many souls!"

Annabella chuckled. "Yes, but every demon who reaches those heights started at the bottom, just like you."

Charis exhaled sharply. "Alright, then I have another question. If we pay a tax on souls earned using Hell's authority, why do we still have to pay for protection? Is Hell really that greedy?"

"First of all," Annabella said smoothly, "the tax only applies when using Hell's power. If you make deals without using our authority, you keep every soul you collect. Secondly, Hell's protection serves another purpose."

"Which is?" Charis asked, feeling a sense of unease creeping in.

"It hides you from Heaven's radar," Annabella explained. "Every demon that escapes appears on their tracking system. In fact, I'd wager an angel will arrive at your location very soon. And you know what they say: even the weakest angel can defeat a high-ranking demon."

Charis' blood ran cold. He turned his head toward the window, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed.

"So, Mr. Charis," Annabella's voice took on a businesslike tone. "Would you like to accept Hell's protection? Or do you think you can handle what's coming on your own?"