Alastor led Max toward the looming tower where the Overlords held their summit, the city's crimson haze reflecting off the glass like dried blood. Max walked at his side, hands in his coat pockets, watching the three chattering Egg Boiz toddle along behind them like lost children.
"So, why do you have the eggs again?" Max asked as they approached the steps.
"Oh, these things?" Alastor twirled his microphone staff, voice lilting with amusement. "I was asked to dispose of them without killing them. Such an interesting little challenge!" His grin stretched impossibly wide as one of the eggs tripped, then scrambled back up, still babbling.
"Hm. They don't seem like much. I don't think anyone'll even notice them," Max said. Shadows crept up his arms and shoulders as he drew closer to the entrance, his body subtly lengthening and darkening into his more intimidating form. The glow from the tower's sigils gleamed off his eyes, turning them into twin slits of violet light.
"Now then, let's go inside." Alastor stopped at the great doors, turning sharply on his heel. "Eggs, this is an Overlord meeting only. Do be dears and stay out here."
Two of the Egg Boiz halted, saluting sloppily. The third, distracted, waddled in too close as the doors opened and slipped through behind Alastor and Max without either of them noticing.
Inside, the conference hall rose like a cathedral to greed. A massive round table dominated the center, its surface carved with shifting sigils counting and recounting invisible debts. Every high-backed chair was occupied by a monster whose name carried weight in Hell: Carmilla Carmine at the head, Zestial seated just to her right, Rosie in her floral finery, and several other Overlords whose mere presence made the air feel heavier.
Max slowed, actually taken aback. "Damn. They're way different in person."
Alastor let out a warm chuckle. "Of course. Each Overlord controls vast stretches of land and untold millions of souls. None of them are ones you'd want to underestimate, my boy."
Conversation around the table stuttered as they noticed the unfamiliar figure at Alastor's side. Carmilla's eyes narrowed slightly, her fingers tightening on the armrest of her chair. "Who is this?" she asked, voice even but edged.
Alastor spread his arms theatrically. "May I introduce the newest Overlord of the Pride Ring—Max."
Max felt the weight of every gaze land on him. Suspicion sharpened the air.
"New Overlord?" Carmilla asked. "I've never heard of him."
"What proof do you want?" Max replied calmly, stepping forward. "Alastor is the one introducing me. Does his word mean nothing anymore?"
A murmur rippled around the table. Alastor's seven-year disappearance was still a sore note in Hell's unending song; having him vouch for someone new made the room visibly tense.
"How about this." Shadows peeled back from Max's left hand, revealing five black metal rings, one on each finger, each engraved with tiny infernal sigils. On the back of his hand, two glowing seals pulsed into view: the stylized emblem of Lust and the gluttonous crest of a honeycomb crown overlaying a chalice.
"I'm backed by Asmodeus and Bee," Max said, letting the sigils burn bright for all to see. "I'm also engaged to Charlie Morningstar—and to Bee. My power's a bit… uncontrollable, but I'm happy to demonstrate."
His eyes flared for a heartbeat. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet as black fractures spiderwebbed across the grand windows, and the floor under the table rumbled, tilting just enough for everyone to feel it. Several Overlords shifted in their seats; Zestial's gaze fixed on Max with new interest.
"That will be enough," Carmilla cut in sharply, lifting her hand. "You may sit—if I had a spare chair."
Max simply raised his palm. A chair of condensed shadow rose from the floor, forming into a tall, jagged throne beside Alastor's seat.
"I'm good. Thanks." He sat, the shadows coiling around the legs like obedient serpents.
The meeting began in earnest. Carmilla addressed the room, speaking of the new extermination schedule, the threat it posed to the souls they owned, and the need for a measured, unified response.
Max listened, analyzing each Overlord's posture and tone, silently cataloguing who seemed afraid, who seemed angry, and who looked like they were already calculating how to turn this into a profit.
Less than five minutes in, the doors slammed open. Velvette stormed in, all neon and spite, heels clacking on the polished floor.
"Sorry I'm late!" she sang, tossing a severed angel's head onto the table like a party favor.
The room went still.
As Carmilla's composure cracked and she and Velvette launched into a heated argument—Velvette reveling in the shock, Carmilla struggling to keep the meeting on track—Max quietly focused elsewhere.
His true body, spread through the very fabric of Hell like a buried nervous system, answered his call. An object formed in the air above his hand: a dark playing card, its back inked with chains and tiny sigils of binding.
He snapped his fingers and flicked the card. It sliced through the air with impossible precision, striking Velvette in mid-rant. Chains of midnight burst from the card, wrapping around her arms and torso, pinning her to herself in a crisscross of glowing restraints. She yelped as her phone slipped from her fingers and clattered across the table.
Every Overlord's eyes were now on Max.
"I know I'm new here," Max said, standing with unhurried calm. "But from what I've heard from Charlie, nothing is supposed to be able to harm the angels." He stepped forward and picked up the angel's head by its hair, turning it slightly, studying the wound. "Clearly, that's not the case anymore."
With a flick of his wrist, he hauled Velvette off-balance and tossed her bodily into her chair at the table. The chains adjusted, forcing her to sit. Her restraints loosened just enough for her to move her hands again as the magic stabilized.
"Fuck right," Velvette snarled, already fumbling back for her phone. "So fight this time! Don't pussy out!" She rolled her eyes and went right back to scrolling, as if being chained mid-meeting was only slightly more annoying than losing Wi-Fi.
Max exhaled slowly. "But we don't know what caused this angel's death," he said, looking around the room. "Maybe it was something Carmilla did. Maybe she knows how. Or maybe she's as shocked as everyone else here. None of us saw it happen. So how about we don't rush into a war on a guess?"
For a moment, it looked like his words might ease the tension. Then Velvette, sensing Carmilla's reaction and smelling blood in the water, twisted his caution into fuel for her own drama. She threw herself into a full-blown tantrum—insults, accusations, hints that Carmilla was hiding something—all loud enough to crack whatever fragile order remained.
Carmilla's jaw tightened. At last, with a curt gesture, she ended the meeting, calling it off before Velvette could pry any deeper. Overlords filed out, some muttering, some studiously silent, the angel's head removed, the fractures between factions now more obvious than the cracks in the glass.
Max lingered just outside as the hall emptied. Alastor, ever composed, had quietly instructed one of the Egg Boiz to tail Carmilla at a distance, its mindless chatter now serving as an unlikely spy.
When Alastor finally emerged, he tipped his hat to Max.
"I have a few things to attend to," he said with a radio-crackle in his voice. "Do enjoy the rest of your evening, my dear Overlord."
Max watched him go, the tower lights dimming behind them, Hell's sky simmering overhead.
"Finally," he muttered, stretching as the last of his shadow armor receded. "Now… what else is there to do?"
[Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. I had limited creativity during the crucial anchor point and I had to think the best way to modify it. Thanks for waiting. I should have far more creativity from this point on)