Malek gritted his teeth as the demon toddler bit down on his arm, tiny fangs sinking in like hot needles. The kid was screaming bloody murder, fire spewing from its mouth in erratic bursts. Malek ducked, barely dodging a fresh spray of flames that singed the doorframe.
"Hey, hey, calm down, you little fire hazard!" Malek hissed, yanking his arm free. The toddler flailed in his grip, tiny claws swiping at his face. "You wanna set the whole building on fire? Again?"
Down the dimly lit hallway, a door swung open. A demoness with wild eyes and a cigarette dangling from her lips leaned against the frame, arms crossed. Her hair was tangled, her wings drooping. She looked as though she hadn't slept in a century.
"Thank the void," she muttered, stubbing out her cigarette against the doorframe. "Give him here."
Malek shoved the kid forward. The demon toddler spat a glob of fire at him as a parting gift. Malek dodged, the flames narrowly missing his boot.
"Nice kid," he said dryly.
The demoness smirked, her eyes gleaming. "Wanna babysit next week?"
"Pass."
The door slammed in his face, and Malek let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his singed sleeve. This was it — rock bottom. Or so he thought.
Fifteen minutes later, he was at the back of a demon bar, kneeling beside a toilet that looked like it had vomited up the abyss. Black ichor oozed from the bowl, smelling like rotting meat and burnt rubber. Malek gagged, scrubbing the rim with a half-disintegrated brush.
"From hunter to janitor," he muttered, swirling the brush around the ichor. "Living the dream."
Above him, the bar was packed. Demons of all shapes and sizes crowded the tables, guzzling down murky drinks and tossing bones at each other. A burly, horned bartender wiped down the counter, watching Malek with a sneer.
"You missed a spot," the bartender called, tossing a dirty rag at Malek's head.
Malek caught it, biting back a curse.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, the screen flashing with a name that made his stomach drop. Jules.
Malek took a deep breath and swiped to answer.
"Malek," Jules said, voice as flat as old beer. "Rent's due. You're two months behind."
"I know," Malek said, leaning his head against the grimy wall. "I got a job lined up. Big one. Huge."
"Uh-huh," Jules said, not buying it for a second. "You said that last month. And the month before that."
"This time it's real," Malek said, his eyes drifting back to the toilet bowl, where the ichor bubbled ominously. "Trust me."
A loud belch echoed from the bar, followed by a crash and a roar. Malek winced.
"Trust you?" Jules said. "Malek, you work for demons. Nobody trusts demons. Not even other demons."
Malek opened his mouth to argue, but a toilet stall door swung open, and a six-eyed demon twice his size stumbled out, black sludge dripping from his mouth.
"Hey, janitor!" the demon slurred, pointing at the mess he'd left behind. "You missed a spot."
Malek hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket, grabbing his mop with a tight grip.
Yeah. This was definitely rock bottom.
———-Malek's basement office
Malek trudged down the creaky stairs to his basement office, the flickering lights overhead doing their best impression of a horror movie. He shoved the door open and stepped inside, nearly tripping over a stack of unopened bills and fast-food wrappers.
Jules was already there, sitting cross-legged on Malek's ratty couch, surrounded by a sea of eviction notices. He was tapping his foot impatiently, arms crossed and jaw clenched.
Malek tried to grin, but it came out crooked. "Hey, Jules. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Jules held up a stack of envelopes and shook them in Malek's face. "You owe me two months of rent, that's what."
Malek tossed his jacket over a chair — or at least tried to. It missed and landed on a pizza box that had definitely seen better days.
"Relax," Malek said, flopping down in his squeaky office chair. "I got something in the works."
Jules arched an eyebrow, glancing around the office. The walls were covered in peeling wallpaper and scribbled notes about potential 'big jobs' that never happened. The only thing that worked consistently was the coffee maker — and that was currently leaking sludge onto the counter.
"Oh, you've got something in the works?" Jules said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You mean besides scrubbing demon toilets and babysitting Satan's spawn?"
Malek leaned back in his chair, propping his boots up on the cluttered desk. A half-empty soda can tipped over and dribbled onto the floor.
"I'm serious, Jules," he said, folding his hands behind his head. "Something big. A real game changer."
Jules snorted, tossing the eviction notices into the air like they were confetti. "Right. You said that last week. And the week before that. And the week before that."
Malek shrugged. "It's a process."
"A process?" Jules snapped, getting to his feet. "You have power, Malek! Real power. You used to be somebody. Now you're down here, wasting your days wiping up demon puke and pretending you're gonna hit it big any second."
Malek waved a hand lazily. "It's called paying your dues."
"It's called being a coward," Jules shot back, his jaw tight. "You're better than this. Or at least, you used to be."
Malek's easy grin slipped for a second, but he forced it back into place. "Wow. Harsh."
Jules shook his head, eyes blazing. "You know what? I'm done. Done waiting for you to get your act together."
He stormed to the door, grabbing the knob so hard it rattled. "You wanna rot down here, playing janitor for demons? Fine. But don't expect me to keep covering for you when the landlord comes knocking."
Before Malek could respond, the door slammed shut, rattling the frame and sending a cascade of eviction notices fluttering to the ground like dead leaves.
Malek leaned back, staring at the ceiling as the silence pressed in.
"Great," he muttered to himself, reaching for the spilled soda can. "Just great."
The can was empty. Of course it was.
Malek rubbed his temples, eyes shut tight as he tried to block out the growing headache. The room was silent — too silent. Which meant only one thing.
"I really should change the locks," he muttered.
"Why? Then how would I make a grand entrance?"
Malek's eyes snapped open. Nyx was sprawled across his couch like a bored cat, one leg draped over the armrest and a pomegranate in her hand. Black nail polish gleamed as she dug her sharp nails into the fruit, peeling back the skin with lazy precision.
"Nice place you got here," she said, her lips curling into a grin as she popped a pomegranate seed into her mouth. "Smells like despair and month-old takeout. Very… on brand."
Malek scowled, pushing himself up from his chair. "Nyx. To what do I owe the disservice?"
Nyx chuckled, juice dribbling down her chin like blood. "Heard Jules gave you a little pep talk. Shame you didn't listen."
"Breaking in now?" Malek said, crossing his arms. "Or just stalking me for fun?"
Nyx shrugged, eyes gleaming. "Why not both?" She tossed a seed at him, and it bounced off his chest, leaving a wet, red stain. "Still playing errand boy for bottom-feeders and crybaby demons, huh? Man, how the mighty have fallen."
Malek forced a laugh, swiping the juice off his shirt. "You wanna critique my life choices or just ruin my furniture?"
"Why not both?" she said again, stretching luxuriously as if she owned the couch. "But actually, I'm here to make you an offer."
"Pass."
"You haven't heard it yet."
"Still pass."
Nyx rolled her eyes and swung her legs off the couch, sitting up. "Okay, fine. Spoilsport. Here's the deal." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, grin sharp as a blade. "There's a rogue angel causing trouble. Name's Uriel. He's been making a mess of things up top, and now he's down here, thinking he can do whatever he wants."
Malek snorted. "Uriel? As in, an actual angel? Why don't you just call one of your big, scary demon buddies to handle it?"
Nyx raised an eyebrow, tossing another seed into her mouth. "You think I haven't tried? The guy's too slippery. And way too pure. They can't touch him without bursting into holy flames."
"Sounds like a 'you' problem," Malek said, flopping back into his chair and kicking his boots up onto the desk. "Besides, I don't do angels. Too pure. Too powerful. Too… you know." He waggled his fingers dramatically. "Judgmental."
Nyx laughed, the sound dark and throaty. "Oh, come on. You really gonna let a fat paycheck slip by? Think of all the rent you could pay off."
Malek's jaw tightened, but he kept his face neutral. "Not interested."
Nyx clicked her tongue, pushing herself up from the couch and brushing imaginary dust off her leather pants. "Fine. Your loss. But don't say I didn't warn you."
"Warn me about what?" Malek said, eyes narrowing.
Nyx smiled, all teeth and malice. "About making a mistake." She winked, then sauntered toward the door, swaying her hips as she went.
Malek waited for the click of the door shutting behind her before slumping back in his chair, staring up at the stained ceiling.
"Angels," he muttered. "Yeah. Hard pass."
————- Later that day
Malek tries to distract himself by taking a low level job delivering enchanted laundry to a demon laundromat.
"Yeah, yeah," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You and me both, buddy."
Outside, a sock fell out of the sack and snapped at his ankle. Malek kicked it halfway across the street.
He pushed through the door, the bell above it jangling as he left.
"Nope," he muttered to himself, stomping toward the door. "Not my problem. Not in the big leagues. Just here to deliver laundry and not get murdered by socks."
Malek shook his head, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
Big league stuff. The kind of job that could pay off rent for a year. Maybe two.
Malek leaned against the counter, pretending to check his phone, but his heart was hammering. Uriel, taking down a big shot like Balthor? In front of Lilith?
The second demon whistled low. "Ouch. She's not gonna let that slide."
"Worse," the first demon said, leaning in closer. "Humiliated him. In front of everyone. Lilith was there, too."
The other demon snorted, folding his arms. "Balthor? That guy's supposed to be Lilith's right-hand man! And Uriel just… what, slapped him around like a baby imp?"
"Did you hear what Uriel did to Balthor?" one demon said, his eyes darting around. "Made him look like a total joke."
Malek shoved the sack onto the growing pile of twitching laundry bags, then turned to leave — but he stopped short. Two demons were huddled in the corner, whispering to each other and throwing nervous glances around the room. Malek's ears perked up.
"Yeah, yeah," Grax said, flipping a page. "Throw it in the back with the rest."
"Delivery from Mabel's Enchanted Laundry," Malek said, wiping sweat off his brow.
Malek dropped the sack on the counter with a loud thud. The demon behind the counter — a four-armed brute named Grax — grunted, not even looking up from his magazine.
Inside, the laundromat was a steamy, chaotic mess. Washing machines rumbled and clanked, belching out clouds of purple smoke and the occasional shriek. Demons lounged around, smoking, arguing, and flicking dice at each other's heads.
Malek trudged down the cracked sidewalk, dodging puddles of demon spit and the occasional eyeball rolling by. He stopped outside Lucifer's Laundromat, a grimy little hole-in-the-wall sandwiched between a cursed pawn shop and a bar that served drinks made of nightmares.
The socks hissed but stayed still.
"You bite me again, and I swear I'll set you on fire," he muttered.
Malek grunted as he heaved the sack of enchanted laundry over his shoulder. The bag squirmed and hissed, a pair of socks snapping at his ear like angry piranhas. He smacked them down, teeth gritted.
———— Malek returns to his office
Malek dragged himself down the basement stairs, feet heavy, eyes half-closed. All he wanted was to collapse on his lumpy couch and pretend the day hadn't happened. But when he reached his office door, he stopped dead.
A big, fat eviction notice was nailed right to the middle of it. Bright red letters screamed: PAY UP OR GET OUT.
"Well, that's subtle," Malek muttered, ripping the notice off. The tape tore with a loud, angry sound, like even the paper was annoyed with him.
He tried the doorknob. Locked.
"Seriously, Jules?" Malek groaned, pressing his forehead against the cool, chipped wood. "Come on, man. It's me."
Silence.
He slumped to the floor, back against the door, head tilted up to the ceiling. The single, flickering lightbulb above him buzzed like an angry hornet. Malek closed his eyes, exhaling slow.
"Okay," he said to himself, voice hollow. "So now what?"
Before he could answer himself, a soft scraping sound echoed from beneath the door. Malek opened one eye, just in time to see a small, white card slide under the door and land at his feet.
He blinked at it. Picked it up.
It was Nyx's card — black with gold lettering, fancy as hell. Only now, there was something scrawled across the back in messy, looping handwriting:
URIEL – LAST SEEN AT THE ABANDONED CATHEDRAL.
Malek stared at the words until they blurred together. Then he crumpled the card in his fist, jaw clenched.
"Nope," he muttered, shoving it into his pocket. "Not doing it. Not getting involved."
He pushed himself up, dusted off his pants, and took one last look at the locked door.
"Not doing it for Nyx," he said, voice bitter. "Not doing it for Jules."
He stomped up the stairs, shoving his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill.
"I'm doing it for the money," he told himself. "Just the money."
But even he didn't believe it.