The corridor spat them out into what looked suspiciously like a call center. If call centers were staffed by demons with clipboards, endless filing cabinets, and motivational posters that read, Every Torment Is a Growth Opportunity and  Teamwork Makes the Dream Work (And the Screams Louder).

Rows upon rows of cubicles stretched forever. Each cubicle contained one demon in a headset, staring into glowing orbs while muttering scripted phrases like, “Thank you for holding, your suffering is very important to us. Press nine for eternal torment, press zero to speak to an Operator of Doom.”

“Is this  Hell’s customer service department?” Jo asked.

Jeff adjusted his tie. “Technically, it’s Underworld Ritual Routing and Soul Intake Support, but yes. We just call it URRSIS.”

Clorvex leaned on Jo’s mop like a lounge chair. “Honestly? Not as bad as the werewolf DMV.”

Mira wrinkled her nose. “Why does it smell like stale toner and despair?”

A smooth baritone voice answered, “Because you’ve reached me.”

Out from a cubicle strode the Operator of Doom. They were immaculately dressed in a charcoal suit with a tie made of writhing shadows and their hair slicked back with something unholy. They looked like an insurance salesman who moonlighted as a funeral director. Their headset glowed crimson.

“You are off-script,” the Operator said, eyes glowing faintly. “Your ritual was misrouted, your ink requisition unauthorized, and your intern…” They glared at Jeff. “Woefully undertrained.”

Hugging his clipboard, Jeff squeaked, “I completed onboarding!”

“Onboarding is eternal,” the Operator snapped.

Jo took a step forward, mug trembling with faint orange light. “We’re just trying to fix the connection before Cedar Grove becomes a summoning hotspot for every demon with bad Wi-Fi.”

The Operator smirked. “Fix it? Oh no, dear barista. You’ve already escalated.” With a snap of their fingers, the cubicles rippled and folded upward into a spiraling tower of paper and flame. The filing cabinets screamed as they reshaped into a staircase. “At the top,” the Operator purred, “sits the Master Switch. The one who decides which world gets which chaos. You want to save your town? Climb. But every level requires documentation.”

“I hate paperwork,” Matteo groaned.

The Queen of the Hollow Moon clapped gleefully. “Finally! A dramatic ascent. I’ve been waiting all season for this.”

The Operator’s smile widened as they handed Jo a glowing pen. “Remember, sign in blood, initial every page, and don’t skip the fine print.”

Whispering with ten thousand voices, the tower loomed above them.

Clorvex twirled Jo’s mop like a baton. “All right. Who’s ready for bureaucratic hell core?”

Sipping her coffee, Jo muttered, “I swear, if I get papercuts from the abyss, I’m quitting.”