Friday afternoon at OmniCorp was a tense, silent countdown for Chase. The spiritual draining sessions with Rixsa had been thoroughly effective. He felt weak, almost spiritually hollow, but in a safe way. The ancient warrior within him was subdued, the wild, flirtatious impulse that Lilith had described was muffled, a mere whisper beneath a wall of professional calm. The side effect was profound physical fatigue, a constant ache that demanded rest.
He was sitting at his desk, meticulously crafting an email about character alignment inconsistencies, when the air pressure in the cubicle shifted.
"Mr. Vance."
Chase looked up. Lilith stood there, not in her usual power stance, but leaning against the cubicle wall, her arms crossed beneath the jacket of her sleek charcoal pantsuit. Her smooth brown skin was luminous, and her red eyes, usually burning with intensity, were narrowed with something akin to confusion.
"Lilith. Did you need the final lore cross-reference?" Chase asked, his voice calm, perhaps a little too slow.
She ignored the question. She stepped closer, her nose twitching almost imperceptibly, like a wolf testing the wind. Her gaze swept over him, searching for the spiritual beacon that was usually blazing bright, but tonight was barely a flickering ember.
"You smell… muted," she stated, her voice dropping. "Almost flat. Where is the usual perfume, Chase? The magnificent, overwhelming scent of the Awakened?"
Chase maintained his detached professional demeanor, leaning back in his chair with a practiced casualness. He knew this was the critical moment.
"I apologize, Lilith," he said, letting a slight, plausible weariness color his tone. "Perhaps I overexerted myself with the initial reports. I'm new to this body, and I've found that my Essence buildup isn't entirely consistent yet. Some days it's an overflow; others, it's a bit of a drought. I'm still learning its rhythm."
He watched her carefully. Her jaw tightened, the predatory gleam in her eyes replaced by sharp frustration. She had been anticipating a feast—the moment his control shattered and he succumbed to the reckless impulse of his overflowing Essence. Instead, she found an empty plate.
"A drought," she repeated, the word tasting bitter on her tongue. "That is... inconvenient. I expected a full accounting of your potential tonight. My investment requires maintenance, Chase."
"I assure you, I'm working on maximizing the yield," Chase replied, choosing his words carefully. "I'm experimenting with supplements and diet to regulate the flow. I'll keep you informed of my progress."
Lilith pressed her thumb and forefinger against her temples, the gesture human enough to be irritating. She had calculated her actions all week based on the promise of his Friday vulnerability. To have it negated by an unknown factor—his 'inconsistent' Essence—was clearly a profound insult to her Alpha authority.
"Very well," she finally conceded, pushing off the wall. "Your report on the Essence depletion mechanisms was brilliant, nonetheless. But Chase, don't disappoint me again. I don't tolerate excuses from my most valuable resources. Go home. I want you fully charged by Monday."
With a final, frustrated glance, she stalked back to her office. Chase let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He had survived Friday.
As the sun dipped below the city skyline, casting long, orange shadows across the pavement, Chase walked out of OmniCorp. He needed to turn his attention from Essence drainage to administrative drainage.
His apartment had a demon with no legal identity. If Rixsa got bored and caused trouble—and she looked like trouble personified—the attention would fall on him. He needed to legitimize her presence, bringing her into the system he desperately tried to uphold.
His first stop was a small, discreet office downtown that specialized in "Inter-Species Relocation and Identification." He filled out a lengthy application, listing Rixsa as a "Controlled Lesser Demon" under his legal guardianship (a clause he quickly discovered was common for Monster employees of major corporations).
By the time he left, he was holding a temporary ID card and a Social Security number for a certain 'Rixsa Vance, age 203,' listing her occupation as 'Freelance Digital Artist.'
With that bureaucratic nightmare sorted, Chase felt a small sense of victory. He then made a detour.
He found the largest, most brightly lit gaming store he could. For Rixsa, being confined to the apartment was a necessary evil, but he knew her nature: chaos thrives on stimulus. He had to give her a constructive outlet.
He walked through the aisles, bypassing the console games and heading straight for the high-end PC components.
He selected a top-of-the-line gaming tower, its casing sleek and black with glowing internal fans. He added a massive, high-resolution monitor, a mechanical keyboard that looked loud and aggressive, and a precision mouse. Finally, remembering her ridiculous "smut artist" lie, he added a professional-grade drawing tablet.
He loaded the tech into a cab and directed the driver to a large supermarket. There, he bought a ridiculous assortment of chips, energy drinks, and candies—the fuel for an all-night digital chaos agent.
When Chase finally returned to the apartment, Rixsa was exactly where he'd left her: slumped on the couch, watching infomercials, the demonic energy around her barely registering now that her Essence absorption was complete.
"I told you to be discreet. And you're watching a commercial about magic mops," Chase sighed, dumping the bags of snacks onto the kitchen island.
Rixsa finally looked up, her expression shifting from boredom to pure avarice as she spotted the large, labeled boxes on the floor.
"What is all that?" she asked, her tail giving a curious twitch.
"Your continued silence and cooperation requires compensation," Chase explained, already setting down the first monitor box. "Since you need to be confined, you'll be confined with tools. This is a computer. You are now a legally registered freelance digital artist, Rixsa. You have a legal identity, so don't do anything that draws attention."
Rixsa slid off the couch, her bare feet padding silently across the rug. She approached the boxes, reverence slowly replacing her usual rudeness. She carefully touched the corner of the gaming PC box.
"A computer," she breathed, her red eyes wide. "A powerful one. I can... access the mortal digital chaos? Without lag?"
"You can," Chase confirmed. "And that is a drawing tablet. For your… smut art."
Rixsa looked at him, and for the first time since she arrived, the perpetual annoyance was gone. A genuine, if slightly unnerving, expression of demonic joy spread across her face.
"Chase. You're the best," she said, her voice almost sincere. She snatched a bag of chili chips from the counter and ripped it open. "My payment for saving your existence."
Chase merely nodded, pulling out a screwdriver to begin the assembly. The small demon was now legally bound, spiritually sated, and thoroughly distracted. He had swapped one ancient, unsolvable divine war for a new one defined by bureaucracy, corporate flirtation, and the low, comforting hum of a brand new gaming PC.
His simple life was still nowhere in sight, but at least, for tonight, the chaos was controlled.