It was a warm afternoon in the middle of summer. Da Wang had gone home for the night (though not without much complaining on his part, and many threats on the part of his employer), and the Noodle Shop Repair Demon was settling in for a cosy and relaxing evening.

He was sitting in a rocking chair on the veranda, a freshly brewed cup of tea on the side table beside him, eating a bowl of spicy noodles from a nearby restaurant as he watched the fireflies at play.

The sun was just going down when he saw the man coming towards him. He was a tall figure, wearing a dark blue overcoat, a matching dark blue fedora, and carrying a dark blue briefcase at his side.

The lighting was bad - the Noodle Shop Repair Demon had not yet lit a candle - but he needed no light to know who was approaching him.

“Well well well, if it isn't Skullslurper,” he observed, his friendliness obviously feigned.

Skullslurper said nothing as he walked closer, his burning red eyes fixed on the Noodle Shop Repair Demon. His mouth - a maw full of protruding fangs - worked silently, moving in strange contortions, his message lost to all save himself. His flesh was the colour of slate and blueberries, and was deeply unpleasant to look upon.

As he reached the veranda he put the briefcase down, one clawed hand reaching up to his head to take his hat off, thereby revealing a pair of short and stubby horns. It was only after he’d tipped his hat to the Noodle Shop Repair Demon that he finally deigned to speak.

“Azcabellon the Candlelight,” he said, greeting the Master of Noodles by name, “I see you're enjoying yourself."

“Indeed,” Azcabellon replied, “I was having a very peaceful evening.”

(With an extra emphasis on the ‘was.’)

You see, they were not mere casual acquaintances. The two demons had known - and loathed - each other for millennia. Across those turbulent ages they clashed frequently, each attempting to subdue or subvert the other, their fights continuing as they rose through the ranks from mere scrubs to archdemons. Sometimes they fought personally, sometimes through subordinates, sometimes through policy - but never did they fight together.

Azcabellon the Candlelight, Noodle Shop Repair Demon, looked at his compatriot coldly.

“Would you like to come inside? I have some spicy noodles left.”

Skullslurper snorted, but accepted the offer, following Azcabellon back into the cottage. The intruding demon examined the small and cosy cottage in disgust.

Upon entering, one was presented with the kitchen to one side, the sitting room to the other, and a winding stairway going upstairs.

The kitchen was small, neat, and well-kept, with wallpaper depicting flowers and playing fairies, and fretwork over the stovetop. The sitting room had two snug chesterfields and a loveseat arranged around a fireplace, with packed bookshelves in the corners.

Skullslurper couldn’t see the upstairs from where he was, but based on all the gorgeous little pictures lining the stairwell and the pleasing scent of vanilla pervading the building he was sure it was awfully nice.

He looked in revulsion at Azcabellon, who was pouring more cat food into a bowl labelled ‘Mr. Fluffy Whiskers.’

“This is where you’re staying? This… petite little cottage? Why’s it so snug? And what’s with all the doilies?”

“It’s comfy,” Azcabellon said, as he prepared a bowl of noodles for Skullslurper. “Now, what have I done to deserve the honour of your visiting me today?”

Skullslurper sat down, digging into his noodles. Azcabellon waited quietly, hands resting on the table. At last the new demon spoke.

“It’s about your soul count…”

Azcabellon sighed. Here he went again.

Years ago, when they were but wee baby demons, the two had gone their separate ways in life. Azcabellon had chosen to go into Research and Development as a temptation expert, eventually working on the surface as a scientist studying humans; Skullslurper had gone into accounting, and stayed Down Below. Soul counts were his bread, his butter, and his milk; he knew nothing other than the middling mechanics of evil, and had - so far as Azcabellon was concerned - no appreciation for its higher forms.

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“I believe you and I discussed this the last time we spoke, seven hundred years ago.”

“Yes, shortly before you started planning your… what was it again? ‘Noodle Shop Repair Sect’? Yet though you’ve since launched it to great acclaim, and plenty of disciples have since entered the sect, we seem to be remarkably short on their souls in the Down Below.”

Azcabellon hemmed and hawed, thinking of some suitably evil sect members who would sooner or later go to the Down Below. It was admittedly rather hard - most of them were lovely people, if a little intense.

He would not have brought them on otherwise.

“Well, I mean, there’s always Xu Pi. He looks promis-”

“Ascended to immortality fifty years ago. Or didn’t you know?”

Azcabellon zipped up his lips. He’d been wondering why Xu was so behind on his reports.

It made sense, though. Sure, Xu Pi had had problems, but he’d also known he’d had problems, and had been routinely (some might say obsessively) repentant about them. So he wouldn’t do. But how about…

“I mean, Lu Lei has always had a nasty-”

“Died in battle in the north some twenty years back. Successfully swam the River of Loss and made it into Paradise. Her brother - who, I note, was never a member of your sect - has been falsely filing her paperwork since then to steal her benefits. Did you not look into this?”

Azcabellon hadn’t, and cursed internally. He’d been so delighted that one member of the sect at least had been claiming her vacation pay. Now he’d have to report that no one was taking their vacations, and the Ministry of Labour would investigate him again.

“Brother Hui is a rather eccentric man, and has been known to behave irrationally.”

“Hui Fu? The one who’s so holy he walks around glowing, a halo about his head? The one who’s worshipped as the Holy Fool in four provinces, and is considered to be a paragon of justice, his every bizarre act interpreted - correctly, may I note - as hinting at deeper and more sacred realities?”

Azcabellon glowered. He’d been hoping Skullslurper wouldn’t know about why Brother Hui was so weird - he needed to score one point here. Unfortunately, as Skullslurper knew, they’d reached the limits of evil sect members.

Skullslurper flipped through some notes. “In fact, of the several thousand people to join your sect since its foundation, I can’t find one who we’ve claimed for the Down Below. Ascents into immortality, crossing into Paradise, being taken to fairyland… if anything, the members of your sect seem uncommonly lucky. Look, I know you have an exemption from quotas because you work in Research and Development, but I think you should face it: your attempt to gain souls through running a sect is a dud.”

Skullslurper was delighted to see Azcabellon’s jaw drop, and sneered at his longtime foe. At last, he thought to himself, he’d got him.

And then the Noodle Shop Repair Demon spoke.

“Wait, hold up, you think I’m running the sect because I want the souls of my disciples?”

And he started to laugh, bending over in sheer mirth as tears streamed down his face, hissing softly as they went out in the fire of his eyes.

“No- no- sorry, it’s just too ridiculous. No, I’m running the sect for myself. Do you have any idea how stressful and depressing it all was - after a long day of causing chaos and darkness, all you want is to go to your favourite noodle shop for a bit of rest and relaxation, but you arrive only to discover that some blistering oaf of a protagonist has smashed up the entire thing and it would be weeks before it reopened? To see your peace destroyed, night after night, your happiness annihilated because others couldn’t control their anger? So I started the Noodle Shop Repair Sect to stop cultivators from destroying noodle shops, so that I could relax whenever I wanted to.”

Skullslurper stared at him, stupefied. “Wait… that’s why you started the Noodle Shop Repair Sect? Because you wanted to eat delicious noodles in peace?”

Azcabellon loudly slurped at his tea, his candles glowing innocently like puppy dogs’ eyes. “Yup.”

“B-but that’s utterly ridiculous. It’s completely ludicrous. Just what would the King Below say?”

***

Satan sat down at his favourite table in his favourite noodle shop, and audibly sighed as he felt the tension drain out of his body. He motioned to the waitress who, recognising her favourite regular, went to get him his favourite meal.

He leaned back in the seat, idly admiring the carvings in the ceiling as he let the sound of happy guests wash over him.

Honestly, he thought to himself, if he’d known it would mean he could always go to his favourite restaurant and find it un-smashed by cultivators, he would have forced Azcabellon to start the Noodle Shop Repair Sect millennia ago.

***

“And if the sect has no evil purposes-” Skullslurper started, but Azcabellon cut him off.

“Whoa now, when did I ever say that? First of all, this sect exists exclusively to serve me, and I happen to think selfishness is pretty evil. But second of all, this sect does have an evil purpose beyond my needs. Its purpose is to advance and promote the New Evil.”