Money, for some, is everything. For others, it's what defines them. Material arrogance has become the new law, and powerful entities will always find a way to exploit it-whether inside the Bloody Cat Gig or anywhere else. This truth permeates all beings: demons, angels, humans, or otherwise. But what truly defines right and wrong? Morality?
A deity decides whether you'll endure pleasure or pain for eternity, trapping us in a purgatory of feelings and reason. Arbitrary decisions no one dares to question-because payment doesn't always come in the form of money. Many believe themselves superior simply because it was 'God's will.' So, the pursuit of ego continues.
Plato argued that philosophers were superior because they were the only ones who understood the nature of the world. Angels see themselves as superior for guiding humanity and be pure, while humans claim their supremacy lies in material wealth and by the ability to have morals. Does consciousness breed arrogance? If so, perhaps the best response is to write an alternative album about it.
5. The Bloody Cat Gig Pt 2.
After climbing the stairs and arriving at The upper deck, the Overlord approached the reception desk, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, faintly tinged with the ever-present pollution and smoke of Hell's Gate City. That subtle, almost imperceptible scent served as a reminder of where they were-a metropolis that never let you forget its infernal nature.
"Excuse me," the Overlord said, placing his gloved hands on the counter.
Behind it, an Imp sat shuffling through papers. Upon noticing the towering figure looming above, the Imp froze, his eyes widening in terror as he craned his neck to take in the full view of the Overlord.
"S-Sir... C-CLOCKHAUS-E-ER!" the Imp stuttered, trembling so hard the papers in his hands fluttered to the floor. The glowing sign above illuminated every sharp detail of the Overlord's presence, making him even more nervous.
"Uhh... Yes? I have an appointment with Myrella. Didn't she inform you?" the Overlord asked, his tone calm but tinged with confusion at the Imp's reaction.
"M-Miss Fraise mentioned you'd be coming, b-but she didn't say it would be tonight-especially during my shift!" The Imp's tail twitched nervously, and beads of sweat formed on his brow.
"I've never seen you here before. Are you new?"
"I-I work in the kitchen," the Imp stammered, trying to steady his voice. "I'm just filling in for the receptionist while she's on break."
"I see," the Overlord replied with a small nod. "Well, it doesn't matter. There's a long line outside, and I don't want to get in the way anymore. Let Myrella know I'm here."
"Y-Yes, sir. I'll let her know." The Imp replied, picking up the phone.
Satisfied, the Overlord turned to leave. However, just before he stepped away, he paused and twisted his clock-like head back toward the Imp without moving his body.
"One more thing," he said in a low, menacing voice.
"Y-Yes?" the Imp asked, trembling even more.
"Boo!"
The Imp let out a shriek and toppled off his chair, landing in a heap on the floor. The Overlord chuckled softly, his laugh echoing faintly.
"Why so much fear? What are they saying about me in the streets?" he mused, shaking his head lightly. "Actually... it's probably better I don't know." With that, he strode away, his footsteps loud as he walked into the club, the red neon lights illuminating his shoulders.
As he stepped into the upper deck, the Overlord felt a wave of disgust wash over him. The place embodied everything he despised, a direct reflection of its owner. The walls were painted in a faded pink that had dulled into a weak, lifeless gray over time. The narrow corridor leading in was equally worn, its age apparent in every crack and scuff.
But as he exited the corridor, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Sir Clockhauser found himself in a large, bustling restaurant. Directly ahead, a grand stage dominated the space, where a jazz band played a soothing melody similar to the one played on Veildark Records.
The room itself was expansive, with tables scattered across the floor, nearly all of them occupied. The polished floor gleamed under the light of ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, their soft glow casting a sophisticated ambiance over the crowd. Red velvet curtains adorned the windows and draped behind the stage, framing the performers. Spotlights positioned in front of the band illuminated the singer, drawing attention to their soulful performance without overshadowing the rest of the musicians.
Sir Clockhauser's gaze shifted to the band. The demon singing at the center of the stage was strikingly handsome, his light-colored suit accentuating his appearance. He was performing a song titled A bottle of cheap Blues, a old composition made by a blind demon whose name Sir Clockhauser couldn't quite recall.
Sir Clockhauser approached the hostess, a Hellhound with soft white fur dressed in an elegant suit adorned with a rose in the left pocket. Her glasses rested neatly on her nose as she stood behind the host stand, the restaurant's reservation book open before her.
"Good evening, Mr. Clockhauser," she greeted warmly, bowing slightly in respect. Her tail swayed gently from side to side. "Are you here tonight for dinner with Miss Myrella, or is there another service you're seeking on this vessel?"
"Well, you nailed it on the first try. I'm here looking for Myrel-"
"Looking for me?" interrupted a voice, cutting off Sir Clockhauser mid-sentence.
The Overlord turned to see her-a Succubus with vibrant pink skin and a distressed, twitching tail. She was dressed in a tailored white coat with pink accents, The buttons were shaped like hearts cut in half. The coat clung snugly to her figure, accentuating every curve. She paired it with pink boots and white knee-high socks, while her face bore scars that added an air of intrigue to her striking beauty. Her appearance was almost paradoxical-at once relic-like in its agelessness and yet exuding an almost youthful vitality.
"Myrella, I should have guessed you'd appear like this," said the clockmaker demon, slipping his hands into his pockets.
"The receptionist told me you'd arrived, so I came straight over," she replied, her tone smooth.
"Impressi-" Sir Clockhauser began, but was abruptly cut off as Myrella threw her arms around him in a sudden embrace.
"It's so good to see you!" she exclaimed, holding him tightly. "It's nearly impossible to drag you out of that office." She leaned in even closer, adding with a teasing smile, "I've been waiting for this dinner for two weeks."
"S-Stop it, you walking hormone bomb," he stammered, squirming as he attempted, unsuccessfully, to push Myrella away.
"Come on, I'm not doing anything wrong, plus you smell so good... The smell of a hard worker," she chuckles lightly, "Make me so horny..." She adds biting her lips.
Clockhauser firmly grasped Myrella's head, peeling her off him as if she were a stubborn sticker. Holding her at arm's length, he brought the Succubus closer to his face.
"I'm here for business, Myrella. Business," he said pointedly. "And besides, you and I both know that will never happen."
"It doesn't hurt to try," Myrella replied, flashing a seductive smile.
"Ugh, you're impossible," he grumbled.
"You bring it out in me," she teased.
The Overlord sighed in exasperation, finally letting her go. Myrella turned her back to him, adjusting her coat with an air of triumph.
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"Fine, fine. If you want to talk business we will talk business," she said. Then, glancing at the Hellhound hostess, she continued, "Cirvane, is our table ready as I requested?"
"Yes, ma'am," Cirvane replied calmly, her tail wagging slightly. "Table 4 in the VIP section, near the window, just as ordered."
"Perfect! Follow me, accountant," Myrella said with a playful smirk, gesturing for Sir Clockhauser to join her.
The two start walking around the restaurant. bringing the eyes of several demons to the scene. After all, it's not every day that you see two Overlords in the same place.
"Is it normal for you to attract so much attention?" Clockhauser asked, following Myrella past the tables, his towering 8-foot frame looming like a wall behind her comparatively smaller 6.5-foot figure.
"Of course it is. Look at me," Myrella replied with a confident grin. "Most of the male demons here practically devour me with their eyes. And sometimes," she added with a sly tone, "I have to pay attention to them. After all, I'm still a Succubus-I need it to survive." She then laughs lightly, "But none of them compare to you. They see girls as nothing more than objects, they fall for the most basic tricks," Myrella said with a smirk. "But you... Well, you are special."
"I don't have time for this kind of thing," Clockhauser replied with a sigh. "You need to understand my reasons. This isn't the first time we've had this conversation, and knowing you, I doubt it'll be the last."
Myrella groaned, rolling her eyes. "Gosh, sometimes you're so boring. Don't you ever take time for yourself? Go out, drink something strong, anything? With you, it's always work, work, and more work. So fucking boring."
"I... Make watches in my spare time," Clockhauser replied matter-of-factly.
Myrella stared at him with wide eyes, her expression turning serious.
"That's exactly why you're in the B.B.H. category."
"What would B.B.H. be?" Clockhauser asked, genuinely confused.
"Boring, Bland, and Hot," she replied, placing a hand on her chin in mock contemplation. "That's where I classify men who are hot but boring as hell. Actually... you're the only one in that category."
Sir Clockhauser sighed deeply, and they continued walking toward a more secluded part of the restaurant, heading toward a metal door with a digital card lock.
"You still have your club membership card?"
Clockhauser didn't respond.
"It makes sense." Myrella muttered, pulling a red keycard from her pocket and swiping it through the scanner, causing the door to open.
Myrella passed through the door with ease, but Clockhauser had to crouch slightly to fit through. As they Ascend the very well-kept staircase painted nearly the same shade as her skin, he couldn't help but comment.
"I still wonder why you made the staircase almost your color."
"The boat is mine; that's your answer," she replied, glancing down with a hint of embarrassment before adding softly, "Besides, I think it's cute..."
"Whatever..." Clockhauser muttered, brushing off her comment as they walked side by side.
Upon reaching the upper floor, he found himself in a section overlooking the restaurant below. From the edges, he could see the the demons dining at the tables and the band playing on stage. This level was far more exclusive, reserved for the already mentioned elite demons Clockhauser often dealt with. The atmosphere was quieter, with warm, subdued lighting, and a large bar stood prominently to the left of the VIP lounge.
"This way," Myrella said, taking Clockhauser's hand without hesitation and leading him through the upscale area to a private table near a window.
The table was set with a pristine white cloth embroidered with the club's name in bold red. A lit candle flickered softly at its center, surrounded by neatly arranged napkins and other standard restaurant settings.
Myrella settled herself near the window, while Clockhauser, due to his imposing size, struggled to fit comfortably into the chair opposite her. Myrella chuckled softly at the sight, her amusement contrasting with Clockhauser's clear discomfort.
She snapped her fingers, and moments later, a waiter appeared, carrying a tray with a bottle of wine and a single glass. The waiter silently placed the bottle on the table, opened it, poured a generous amount into the glass, and then departed without a word.
Myrella picked up the glass, sipped the wine casually, and set it back on the table with a playful smirk.
"I won't bother offering you a drink," she teased. "You're so boring, you probably don't even drink."
"I don't have the time or inclination to get drunk," Clockhauser replied dryly. "The only wine I touch is non-alcoholic."
"Ugh, boring..." She rolled her eyes, then smirked and added, "But I know your ultra-fancy boat has wine and beer stocked up."
"Not for me," he clarified, his tone steady. "It's for my guests. Negotiations are easier when the other party is drunk... Although sometimes it makes it more difficult."
"It makes sense, I guess... Anyway, how are things at your bank?" Myrella asked, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers.
"Do you really want to talk about this?" Clockhauser leaned forward slightly, Her face being reflected on the surface of Clockhauser Face.
"To be honest, no."
"That's what I thought," he replied, sitting back in his chair. "Let's just say the economy keeps turning, and time keeps ticking."
"I'll pretend I understand," she said with a sly grin. "Look, I know you're all about pragmatism, but life isn't just about paperwork and accounting forms. Governing is much more than that, and that's why I'm here."
"You're right," Clockhauser admitted with a nod. "And that's why I value your services, Myrella. But you know very well I didn't come here for idle chatter."
With a smirk, Myrella snapped her fingers. The waiter returned promptly, and she leaned over to whisper something in his ear before he departed swiftly.
"You know, ever since that archangel broke your clock hands, you've become colder," Myrella said, her tone softening.
Suddenly, an unnervingly loud clock tick echoed through the Boat. The hands on Clockhauser's face shifted slightly, now showing 2 AM.
"A-Alright, I won't talk about it..." Myrella muttered, quickly averting her gaze.
After a few seconds, Clockhauser abruptly rose from his chair, taking his hand to the face and letting out a pained scream. The sudden outburst caught the attention of everyone in the lounge.
"Clo-Clockhauser!" Myrella cried out, rushing toward the Accounting Overlord as he steadied himself and got back on his feet.
Clockhauser took a deep breath, before finally meeting Myrella's concerned gaze.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice filled with worry.
"Let's just get this over with, okay?" he replied curtly, brushing off the moment.
"Okay..." she muttered, still uneasy.
The two then returned to their seats, the tension between them now heavier than before.
"So, let's get down to business," Clockhauser said, pulling a cigarette from inside his overcoat and lighting it with a flick of his fingers.
Meanwhile, in the Solis district-one of the five sprawling areas of Hell's Gate City-the Imp named Dazzle was unwinding in his apartment after a long day at work. He had finally shed the tight suit he always insisted on wearing, convinced it made him look more professional than he felt. He was only in his underwear.
In fact, this was a common result of how Hell's Gate City operated. The price of land was exorbitantly high, as the city was essentially a sprawling conglomeration of islands with the only real connection to land being in the Hellquiem district and the Sea of Pride. Proper houses were a rarity, with most of the population living in apartments or compact residences. The Solis district, however, was a notable exception. Predominantly residential, it boasted more houses than other districts, though buildings and apartments still dominated the landscape.
The apartment was spacious by Hell's Gate City standards, featuring a kitchen, living room, bathroom, and bedroom. The walls were well-maintained, recently refreshed with a new coat of paint. The Imp sat comfortably on his couch, eating vanilla ice cream straight from the tub with a spoon. His eyes were glued to the television, tuned to a soap opera titled Demons by the Sea.
"'No, you don't understand, I have to do this for the future of the company," said a demon standing dramatically at the entrance of a mansion.
"'But, love, you'd be sacrificing everything your family has built,' replied a demoness, clutching his hands desperately.
"'You need to understand, Leonora. I'm doing this for our future," He said, gently caressing her face.
The Imp sniffled, wiping away a stray tear with his free hand. "He's sacrificing everything for her!" he exclaimed, voice quivering with emotion. Shoving another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, he mumbled through the cold treat, 'This is beautiful.'"
Suddenly, Dazzle's phone started vibrating on the back of the couch.
"Uhh... Who's calling me at this time?" he muttered, reaching over to grab the device. Without bothering to check the caller ID, he placed it to his ear.
"Good evening, this is Dazzle, the best secretary from Pentagram Bank speaking," he answered in a cheerful tone.
On the other end, a rushed and slightly panicked voice-likely a night operator from the Sea of Pride gates-spoke rapidly. Dazze replied "Yes... Boat!? Didn't respond!? Death!?", leaving Dazzle's expression shifting to one of worry.
Back at the Bloody Cat Gig, Sir Clockhauser casually smoked a cigarette, the faint trail of smoke curling upward as he continued his conversation with Myrella.
On the table, a variety of dishes were neatly arranged: a plate of pork, rice, spaghetti, and a salad with mashed potatoes sat in front of each of them. A second bottle of wine sat unopened next to one that was nearly empty. Clockhauser ate with meticulous calmness, bringing a forkful of mashed potatoes close to his face where it vanished, accompanied by the faint sounds of chewing. Myrella, meanwhile, seemed unbothered, more focused on her food and the alcohol, eating with reckless abandon as her cheeks flushed from the effects of the wine.
"That's why I believe your participation will be essential for the preparations for this year's Extermination," Clockhauser said smoothly, setting his fork down with practiced precision, aligning it perfectly with the edge of his plate.
"Using my club as a shelter? I don't think that's a good idea. I already deal with enough chaos as it is," Myrella replied, her tone slurring slightly but still retaining a measure of sharpness.
"I understand your concerns," Clockhauser acknowledged, adjusting his posture slightly. "But you know how it is-When the big day approaches, the value of home insurance skyrockets. Besides, it's a practical solution. Honestly, I've never understood why the angels bother coming here. Hell's Gate City has never had a problem with overpopulation."
"They don't care, it's all about killing us or rubbing false morality in our faces." Myrella responds slightly irritated.
"I understand-", He starts to say but his phone starts to vibrate cutting him mid-sentence. Glancing at the screen, he saw it was Dazzle calling. With a sigh, he turned to Myrella.
"Sorry to interrupt our conversation, but I need to use the restroom," he said, already standing.
Myrella pointed lazily behind him. "Oh sure, it's over there-those two doors at the back."
"Thanks," Clockhauser replied curtly before making his way toward the indicated doors.
As he approached the men's bathroom, an unpleasant odor wafted through the air, but he ignored it. Opening the door, he squeezed inside, his tall frame making the small, dingy bathroom feel even more cramped. The walls were painted a deep red, matching the ominous aesthetic of Hell, and the dim lighting gave the space a gloomy, oppressive atmosphere.
Clockhauser closed the lid of the toilet, sat down carefully, and put the phone to his ear.
"Dazzle, I'm in the middle of something and you know what it is. This better be important," he said, rubbing his temple.
"I-I know, boss! But something strange happened tonight in the Sea of Pride," Dazzle stammered nervously.
Clockhauser's brow furrowed. "Explain."
"In sector 4, a delivery boat was supposed to arrive at the gates around eight, but it never showed up," Dazzle began.
"And?" Clockhauser prompted impatiently.
"The night gate supervisors tried to contact the boat by radio, but there was no response," Dazzle said, his voice growing more anxious. "A team was sent to track it down using its signal, and when they arrived..."
"What did they find?" Clockhauser leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a lower tone.
"All the crew members were dead-except for one. He was on the lower deck fixing something. They brought him back and detained him."
Clockhauser's eyes narrowed. "Unusual, but not unheard of. Is that all?"
"No, sir! There's more!" Dazzle gulped audibly before continuing. "Although the radio communication didn't work, the team managed to capture some audio from the boat's transmission. It's... strange."
"Strange how?"
"I-I think it's better if you hear it yourself, sir."
"Then play it already," Clockhauser ordered.
"Y-Yes, sir!" There was a pause before Dazzle played the recording.
Clockhauser tilted his head but heard only silence. "I'm not hearing anything, Dazzle."
"Boss, check your phone screen," Dazzle replied, his voice shaking.
Clockhauser glanced at the screen and noticed Dazzle had sent him the recording as a file. He tapped play, but still, there was nothing.
"I still hear nothing," he said, growing irritated.
"Sir, look closely at the audio visualizer."
Frowning, Clockhauser leaned in, noticing that the visualizer was moving erratically as though something was being played-something loud.
"This is peculiar to say the least," Clockhauser muttered, his voice heavy with suspicion.
"Exactly, sir. The audio exists, but for some reason, we can't hear it," Dazzle explained nervously.
"And the survivor? He's being held?"
"Yes, sir!"
Clockhauser straightened. "Cancel my afternoon appointments tomorrow. I want to speak with him personally."
"Understood, sir. Have a good night," Dazzle replied.
Clockhauser ended the call, staring at the phone in silence for a moment. He took a deep breath, his mind racing, For him, this incident was nothing more than one of the bizarre things that hell produces even in industries, at least that's what he thought. After all, answers take time to come.