Back on the main avenue, the public watched as police officers escorted captured criminals into their respective transports.

  Given the nature of the case, those involved in demonic activity were sent directly to prison, where they would be held without guarantee of due process.

  Nearby, a medical team supervised by EAC agents inspected the surviving victims. Their bodies and clothes were stained in red. Many trembled in place, unable to stop shaking.

  Soren watched in silence, a borrowed towel draped over his unharmed but also unclothed body.

  “Congratulations on completing your first job,” Matsuda said, placing the bag of pastries on the ground and handing him his jacket.

  “Thanks… I guess.”

  “Unfortunately, we don’t have any spare clothes. You’ll have to wait a bit longer.”

  "It doesn't matter. Right now I'm thinking about what happened. I didn't really expect the demon to die off so easily."

  The effects of this contract are way better than It thought it would be.

  Earlier, Soren had taken time to inquire about the benefits of the slave contract with the dragon devil.

  “Your grimoire mentions something that sounds a lot like possession,” he noted, flipping through the English translation—one he’d forced the dragon to make.

  “I suppose you’re referring to the dragon transformation,” the devil replied. “They function similarly. The main difference lies in what I gain. Back when I was revered as a god, the limitations of the dimensional barries didn't allow me to manifest—much less possess anyone. Still, I had more than enough existential power to share in exchange for proper offerings. Ancient kings and rulers would contract me to rule with the might of a dragon… spreading my influence in return.”

  “So, possession is like a cheap knock-off,” Soren concluded flatly.

  “In my current state, the dragon transformation would require me to relinquish a massive amount of existential power… with very little in return. Possession is safer. And the result is nearly the same.”

  “I see… So even if the price is high, it’s still possible, right?”

  The small dragon immediately realized his mistake.

  “I… I wouldn’t know… I mean…” he fumbled.

  Soren recalled the encounter with Tiamat’s possession—how it had granted superhuman strength and other terrifying abilities. It had nearly overwhelmed both him and Argos.

  “So,” he asked, expression blank, “is it possible for you to grant me that transformation… for free? You are my slave, after all.”

  “Ahh…”

  Oh no…

  In the end, Soren managed to extract a contract that granted him access to a dragon-like transformation, nearly identical to full possession. But it wasn’t without drawbacks.

  First, the transformation was excruciating. The emergence of scales beneath his skin, the reshaping of his limbs—it was far more agonizing than even being healed by the Demon of Inconsequence.

  Second, the transformation relied entirely on Tiamat’s existential energy, which limited its use. It couldn’t be sustained longer than three minutes and required a lengthy cooldown afterward—during which the devil would remain weakened.

  Lastly, the transformation utterly destroyed his clothing. And when reverting back, it left him completely exposed.

  Still, the benefits were undeniable—enhanced strength, endurance, fire-breathing, and control over a dragon’s tail.

  In the end, the succubus demon had died instantly, crushed by the iron door Soren hurled while breaching the floor. Despite being a third-grade demon, she lacked any serious defensive capabilities—relying solely on charm and mind control.

  And no one—not even Soren—had expected the door to break loose and fly with such force.

  Nonetheless, had anyone else like the hostages stood in its path, things would’ve ended quite differently.

  So, he simply stood there, watching the hazmat team enter to clean the mess.

  “Now that I’m done, what am I supposed to do?” he asked the Third Division hunter nearby.

  “As always, you’ll need to submit your mission report once you’re back at the Commission's headquarters.”

  “Weren’t you in charge of this whole thing? Shouldn’t 'You' write the report?”

  “All agents, regardless of rank or role, submit individual reports.”

  “Shit. Who the hell came up with that stupid rule?”

  “Director Adam Hunt, of course.”

  In the end, Soren was relatively satisfied. For once, he wasn’t bedridden or hospitalized like in all his past ventures—and this time, he got to move at the back at the peak of his physical form.

  Still, the investigators and other government reports confirmed that half of the abducted victims had died during the ritual. Because of that, much of the press remained skeptical. They questioned whether more could have been saved if the Commission and police had allocated more resources to the operation.

  Though Soren was at the center of it all, most of the media attention shifted toward the Mafia and the Commission’s upper echelon—particularly Director Adam Hunt, whose responses to the incident were vague and arbitrary.

  “Don’t pay attention to the media. You handled the mission better than expected,” Subdirectress Nasaki said as she approached Soren, who was seated in his cubicle on Floor 46, reading news reports on the incident while eating some of the leftover chocolate cake.

  “You think? Aren’t you the one catching most of the blame?” he said while munching, without any hint of care.

  “People criticize what they don’t understand,” she replied. “You can’t arrest a demon, much less imprison one. Even if you kill them, they don’t die in any permanent sense. Enforcing ‘justice’ on demons is not possible.”

  “I guess…”

  “That said, our work is questionable, maybe even meaningless from a moral standpoint. But we do what no one else is willing to do. Our enemies play dirty, and they usually get away with it. For us, saving lives is secondary—an ideal we can rarely afford. Our real job is to stop demonic activity, by any means necessary; which you did very well”

  “Yeah… I get what you’re saying,” Soren muttered, sitting up straighter and clearing his throat. “So, what are you doing here anyway?”

  Nasaki turned and theatrically scanned the nearly empty floor.

  “To see you, of course. Director Hunt wants to ask you a small favor.”

  “A favor? Isn’t he everyone’s boss? Why not just order me?”

  “It’s not something you're strictly required to do. But it might be beneficial. Are you Interested?”

  “Not if you keep being vague about it. I’m not exactly a fan of anything that involves Adam Hunt.”

  “Tomorrow, in Brussels, the Director will be delivering a speech before the European Parliament. He wants you to attend. More specifically… he wants the dog devil.”

  Argos?

  “Besides whatever plans he has for him, you won’t have to do much. Just be there. As for your contract, I'm sure he will accept his role with eagerness”

  Well, its not like he can say no anyways.

  “Will I have anything else to do after the conference?”

  “No. You can stay in the city if you want, or return the same day. The Commission will cover travel expenses, naturally.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Exhausted, the idea of a free day off sounded tempting.

  “Alright. Sign me up.”

  “Good. A car will be waiting at your apartment tomorrow morning to take you to the airport. Don’t forget your IDs and passport.”

  “Yeah… wait. How do you guys know where I live?”

  As the sun dipped behind the mountains, Subdirectress Nasaki turned and left the Fifth Division floor without a word.

  Right… ex-KGB.

  *

  The following day, just after getting ready, Soren found a dark car parked in front of his building complex. The black van, driven by two agents from the Fourth Division, was there to escort him and Argos to the airport.

  Unlike normal passengers or employees, the van entered through a private bay, where a guarded private jet awaited.

  It didn’t take long for the rest of the delegation to arrive.

  As always, Adam Hunt wore his signature olive trench coat, dark slacks, and polished boots—an old-school image that seemed untouched by time.

  Subdirectress Nasaki, in contrast, wore a sleek green dress that hugged her figure, elegant and sharp.

  “We’re really boarding 'this' thing?” Soren asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Did you expect us to fly commercial?” Nasaki returned the look, unfazed.

  Soren turned to the Director for a second opinion.

  “I would’ve expected economy class,” Hunt replied dryly, lighting a cigarette. “But they won’t let me smoke mid-flight.”

  Of course… thought both the woman and the boy simultaneously.

  Argos stood at Soren’s side, clearly on edge in the presence of the organization's highest-ranking officials.

  “As long as you follow our contract, you have nothing to worry about,” Soren said, ascending the steps into the pristine white jet.

  Argos let out a quiet sigh and followed. Soon, the aircraft lifted off, bound for Brussels, Belgium.

  During the flight, Soren and Argos sat together, facing the Director and Nasaki across the aisle. Adam Hunt smoked while reviewing documents, unfazed by altitude or protocol. Nasaki, meanwhile, handled a barrage of phone calls while typing furiously on her laptop.

  Soren simply sank deeper into the plush leather seat, waiting for the journey to be over.

  The flight was brief. They landed promptly in the Belgian capital, where the European Parliament would soon begin its session.

  Just before the meeting started, they encountered a familiar figure. The disheveled man, leaning on a white cane, approached them with a drawn grin on his face.

  “Good to see you all here,” the politician said with a hint of irony, his gaze landing on Soren. “And you too.”

  Mr. Cunningham… right. He did say he was a member of Parliament.

  Without much delay, Cunningham excused himself to speak privately with Director Hunt, leaving Soren with Nasaki.

  “Well,” she said, “we might as well head inside.”

  Surprisingly, Soren had been cleared to enter the main room alongside Subdirectress Nasaki. They had no assigned seats, but were allowed to stand on the sidelines and observe as the representatives began to filter in.

  So this is where all the important people meet to decide the fate of the world, Soren thought, still in disbelief that he’d found himself in such a place. Less than a month ago, he had been living among the lowest rungs of society. Now, he was surrounded by some of the most influential people on the planet.

  Once the session began, it dragged through procedures, votes, and bureaucratic rituals the boy found agonizingly boring.

  It wasn’t until the end that Director Hunt was finally called to speak.

  His appearance before the Parliament was part of a formal 'Accountability check' imposed by the EU on the Anti-Demon Commission.

  Despite the pressure, Adam Hunt remained composed—unshaken as ever. He approached the atrium alongside Mr. Cunningham and was promptly granted the floor by the president.

  “Good morning, everyone,” he greeted calmly. “If you’ll allow it, I’d like to skip the usual preamble and address this chamber directly. I’m sure many of you would love to hear about our yearly advancements, but I’m also aware a few are eager to interrupt me already.”

  A ripple of discreet laughter spread across the room.

  “Mr. President, if you don’t mind, I’d like to yield the floor to Mistress Lindberg, representative of Sweden,” he added, turning toward the left side of the room.

  Following some murmurs and shifting of seats, the President gave the word to a blonde-haired woman seated near the edge of the assembly.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hunt, for your... generosity,” she began, clearly poised for confrontation. “Now that I have the floor, I want to state my strong opposition to the current methods employed by the EAC for dealing with demons in European territories.”

  She raised a thick booklet. “My team, along with several NGOs, conducted a 300-page investigation outlining numerous human rights violations, as well as legal infractions that this Parliament has already addressed in the past.”

  Soren turned to Nasaki, who remained completely unbothered.

  “What we intend to do is present this investigation to the appropriate departments and move forward with a motion to dismiss Director Hunt from the EAC,” Lindberg continued. “If we are to defend our democracy, we cannot allow the Anti-Demon Commission to operate through exceptions and unlawful conduct. If Mr. Hunt is allowed to act beyond the law—no offense—we are enabling the birth of a totalitarian faction, possibly even a fascist one. And that is fundamentally incompatible with the mission of the European Union.”

  A portion of the Parliament applauded. Though sizable, it wasn’t the majority.

  By that point, all eyes turned toward Adam Hunt for a response.

  “Thank you for your feedback, Representative Lindberg,” he said, biting his lip slightly as he leaned forward on the podium. “There’s one thing I’d like you all to consider while reviewing that document over the coming week.”

  He took a breath.

  “Demons are not political, social, or economic problems. They’re not just ‘issues’ to be managed. Demons are violent, deceptive, despicable. They exist to harm humanity, period. From my experience, anyone who aligns themselves with demonic activity has already forfeited their humanity. And so, yes—they are subject to inhuman treatment.”

  The chamber erupted thanks to his scandalous statements.

  Representative Lindberg stood up in fury. “Does that include you?” she snapped—only to be silenced by the President’s gavel.

  For a brief moment, Director Hunt turned to Subdirectress Nasaki, who in turn glanced at Soren.

  “It’s time.”

  Soren nodded and quietly exited the chamber.

  Outside, a tall wooden crate sat on a cart, waiting in silence. Soren approached it and began wheeling it back toward the assembly hall.

  Inside the chamber, voices shouted over one another.

  “The session is out of order!” the President bellowed. As order began to return, all eyes turned to the strange boy and the woman beside him, now standing near the atrium.

  “Director Hunt, what is the meaning of this?” the President asked—before being quietly intercepted by Mr. Cunningham.

  Soren leaned down to the box and whispered, “Common. Do your thing.”

  Suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the chamber.

  A jagged arm burst through the crate’s wooden frame, causing a wave of panic across the room.

  “Dear representatives, please remain calm,” Adam Hunt said, as if it were a scheduled demonstration.

  The crate exploded into splinters, revealing a monstrous creature—an abominable skeletal beast with dangling flesh. An entity of pure horror had entered the heart of European politics.

  Terror surged through the assembly.

  “What you’re seeing here is a demon,” Hunt announced. “Flesh and blood. Quite literally.” He gestured toward the atrium. “I'm afraid this 'being' is here to deliver a message you all need to hear.”

  Soren raised his hand, and a translucent chain materialized—snapping around Argos’s neck. He guided the demon forward, past the President, who nearly fainted at the sight.

  Though the session was thrown into chaos, Director Hunt had managed to seize everyone's attention.

  Cameras clicked. Journalists captured the scene. The few who were watching the broadcast live waited breathlessly for what came next.

  Argos stepped forward, cleared his throat, and opened his jagged, bloodstained jaws.

  For a moment, Soren felt the demon’s unfiltered bloodlust and hatred crash through the room like a psychic wave.

  “If I didn’t have these chains on,” Argos growled, voice low and primal, “I would’ve eaten and killed every last one of you.”

  The image of a demon addressing nearly the entirety of the First World sent shockwaves across the globe. Fear spread not just through the chamber, but across every media outlet covering the event.

  Right after manifesting himself, Argos was violently thrown from the atrium onto the floor. Adam Hunt followed, stepping down hard on the demon’s face and pinning him to the ground with mechanical precision.

  Soren and Nasaki quickly moved in, theatrically ‘containing’ the creature, allowing the Slavic leader to speak.

  “The cases and crimes involving demonic activity have risen drastically compared to last year,” Hunt declared. “So has the number of deaths caused by demons. Today, dying due to demonic interference rivals the number of deaths from diabetes or smoking. They’re no longer anomalies like plane crashes. That era is long gone.”

  Subdirectress Nasaki stepped forward to reinforce his point.

  “What Director Hunt said is not the result of mishandling or administrative negligence, but rather a sharp upward trend in both the power and incidence of demons. If this pattern continues unchecked, demonic activity will be beyond our control by the year 2040.”

  “That’s about ten years before the world ends from climate change,” the Director added—completely deadpan.

  Despite the absurdity of the moment, several European representatives began nodding in agreement.

  “Deep down,” Nasaki continued, “we understand the concerns raised by people like Representative Lindberg. However, hindering our operations now would only jeopardize Europe—and the world—further. When the next large-scale catastrophe strikes, who will you call? Your national armies? NATO? The United Nations?”

  Despite being part of a carefully orchestrated media stunt, the words carried a tangible weight. The representatives exchanged silent glances. Many turned their gazes downward. They understood how few options they had.

  “There’s one last thing I’d like to say before submitting our annual report,” Hunt said, raising a thick, leather-bound booklet—larger than the one Lindberg had brandished earlier.

  “I’d like to remind everyone—Lindberg included—that if it weren’t for this Commission, the 72 Legions of Hell would already be parading through your seats in this very Parliament.”

  He stepped back calmly. “That’s all from me. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”

  Even under fire, Director Hunt remained steps ahead. Always prepared. Always in control.

  He’s impossible to shake, Soren thought, keeping his reflection to himself.

  Despite the controversy, a majority of the Parliament backed Hunt’s intervention. Within days, multiple countries began discussing budget increases for the organization—largely ignoring what the opposition had to say.

  “I never thought the Director could be so theatrical,” Soren mused later that day, walking through the cobbled streets of a sleepy Belgian suburb with Nasaki by his side, both enjoying the iconic waffles sold from a street vendor.

  “You wouldn’t know,” Nasaki replied with amusement. “Today was just a reminder for the newer politicians. Almost everyone else is already the Director's corner.”

  “Let me guess—does he have them by the collar, or at gunpoint?”

  “In the world of adults, it’s called ‘loyalties’ and ‘favors,’” she replied slyly. “You’re the only one putting chains around other beings.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” he muttered, a bit self-aware.

  “In any case, we’re grateful to you and your partner for the excellent performance.”

  Back then, Argos hadn’t hesitated to accept the role. Despite having to growl a threat at the world only to be publicly subdued, he had carefully calculated the benefits. Through Adam Hunt’s global fearmongering campaign, the demon had gained a significant boost in existential power.

  And perhaps less telling than anything else, Soren noticed how much more open, even friendly, the lesser head of the organization had become toward him.