Veildark Records: The Melody of our sins

Everyone assumes that being an Overlord automatically makes your life more exciting. Perhaps that's true for some-those who revel in exerting power, taking candy from a baby, or using their title to pick up free prostitutes while laughing maniacally at three in the morning. But for Sir Clockhauser, the title of Overlord is nothing more than an obligation, a burden he carries without enthusiasm or pride.

For him, life revolves around a single purpose: work. He works to keep Hell's Gate City functioning. There's no time for relationships, no interest in sex, and certainly no inclination to save anyone from drowning. To Sir Clockhauser, life is about control through manipulation and the monotony of sitting at his desk, day in and day out, ensuring everything runs like a clock, precise, as time always is.

4. The Bloody Cat Gig Pt 1.

Night finally cloaked the polluted metropolis, casting a dim, hazy glow over Hell's Gate City. Inside Overlord Sir Clockhauser's office, everything proceeded as it always did-efficiently and without disruption.

The Overlord meticulously reviewed the day's financial reports, his sharp eyes scanning for any inconsistencies or signs of fraud.

"Seventy... and eight thousand," he muttered, holding a document in one hand while typing figures into his computer with the other, his focus unwavering.

Aside from the distant hum of the industries and the soft whir of the air conditioning, the only sounds in the room were the rhythmic scribbling of pencils and pens on paper, and the steady ticking of an old clock on the wall. Every now and then, the Overlord would stand to stretch his legs, his movements deliberate and measured, avoiding any muscle strain despite his watch head being unattached to his body.

When night falls and the factories of the Sea of Pride wind down-though never entirely-Hell's Gate City doesn't grow any quieter. The streets come alive with music, and the city's strange nightlife flourishes. Casinos and restaurants buzz with activity, boarded-up shops seem almost forgotten under the neon glow, and the shimmering lights reflecting off the canal waters offer an odd sense of comfort to its citizens. The canals teem with boats, the sidewalks and bridges crowded with demons eager to shake off the day's grind. For those who spend their days toiling in factories, the night offers a fleeting escape-a chance to lose themselves in drinks from the countless bars, whether floating on the canals or nestled along the streets. But if you are looking for more 'Adult' entertainment, feel free to visit brothels that roam the city, Who never stay in the same place for long, helping with the mystery marketing of their indugent services.

Hell's Gate City always has something to offer, but caution is key. Don't let yourself be fooled, or you might find demons emerging from the dark waters to snatch your belongings before disappearing back into the depths. And if you're drinking, watch your step-falling into the canals could mean getting run over by a passing boat before you even realize what's happened.

"And that's it," said the Overlord, reclining in his chair as he surveyed the towering stack of completed documents on his desk. "Seven hundred documents in one day. I think that's a new record."

The clock demon turned his head toward the antique clock hanging on the wall, its hands precisely aligned to mark seven o'clock in the evening.

"I'm professional," he remarked. Leaning forward, he pressed a small button beneath his desk.

"Dazzle, bring in the cart," he commanded.

A few seconds later, Dazzle, Sir Clockhauser's imp assistant, entered the office, pushing a platform cart.

"Any news?" the Overlord asked, turning off his computer.

"You've outdone yourself again, Boss," Dazzle replied, handing the Overlord a steaming cup of coffee. "The bank's revenue surpassed expectations, and Hell30 is projected to close today with an approximate growth of 0.05 points."

With practiced efficiency, the imp began loading the stack of papers onto the cart.

"Geez... This whole situation with the Collapse of pride is driving me insane," Sir Clockhauser muttered, taking a sip of his coffee-a peculiar sight, given that he had no mouth at least a not visible one.

"I understand, sir, but as you always say, it's inevitable," Dazzle replied, finishing stacking the papers onto the cart.

The Overlord glanced at the Lucifer bobblehead sitting on his desk. With a flick of his finger, he sent its head wobbling from side to side.

"It's hard to explain the obvious to someone who refuses to listen," he mused. "But in the end, it's just a matter of time."

With that, the Overlord stood up from his chair, his movements precise and deliberate.

"Do I have anything on my agenda tonight?" asked Sir Clockhauser, adjusting his tie and taking another sip of coffee.

Dazzle pulled a clipboard from the cart and scanned the list of the Overlord's commitments.

"You have a dinner meeting with Miss Fraise at the Bloody Cat Gig," the Imp reported.

"Anything else?"

"No, sir," Dazzle replied, shaking his head.

The Overlord sighed, setting his coffee cup down. He walked toward the door, his movements as precise as the ticking of a clock.

"Lock everything up when you're done, and call my driver. Have her waiting at the docks as usual," Sir Clockhauser instructed while opening the door.

"Yes, sir. Have a great night," Dazzle responded enthusiastically.

"You too, Dazzle. See you tomorrow," the Overlord replied with a small nod before stepping out.

He strode down the corridor, flanked by thrle portraits of notable figures from both Hell and Heaven, Not even the Overlord himself knows why these paintings are there but he never complained. The hallway was brightly lit, ensuring the paintings stood out sharply against the pristine white walls and the architectural elegance of the rest of the bank. In truth, the Pentagram Bank resembled an imposing French château, with its pale walls and refined construction radiating opulence and grandeur. This starkly contrasted with the gray, lifeless office of the Overlord, who was not only the CEO of the bank but also seemed almost disconnected from the splendor of the very building he oversaw.

Sir Clockhauser walked through the hallway, passing by Dazzle's desk before finally reaching the elevator. However, instead of taking it, he turned left and opted for the stairs, descending the many floors of the bank. He did this deliberately, knowing he spent most of his day seated and needing the activity to stretch his legs.

After several minutes of descending the stairs, the Overlord finally arrived on the ground floor of the bank, the place where infernal monotony met financial management. As soon as he stepped off the stairs, nearly every demon in the area turned their attention toward him. Transactions halted at the ATMs, clerks and reception staff paused, and even the customers couldn't help but glance in his direction. Sir Clockhauser sighed once more, his shoulders slumping as he slowly made his way toward the revolving doors. He may have been leaving the bank, but the Pentagram Bank never stopped; it operated 24/7.

Sir Clockhauser passed through the revolving doors, stepping into the stream of demons rushing in and out of the bank. Despite his imposing height and distinctive clock-like head, no one paid him any mind. Everyone was too focused on their own financial woes, rushing to solve their problems and leave as quickly as possible. After all, that was the purpose of a bank. Only when boredom crept in did anyone stop to notice their surroundings.

Descending the front staircase toward the garden in front of the bank, Gurnesh tending a bed of vibrant red flowers. As the Overlord was heading out to leave the Garden and go to the Docks, Gurnesh straightened up, leaning on his hoe drawing the Overlord's attention.

"Good evening, Mr. Clockhauser," Gurnesh greeted politely.

"Good evening, Gurnesh. Did you get treatment for those hives?" the Overlord replied, pulling a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his overcoat.

"Not yet. You know how it is-health insurance here sucks," Gurnesh replied, rolling his eyes.

"I completely understand," Sir Clockhauser said, lighting a cigarette and bringing it to where his mouth would presumably be on his clock-like face. The cigarette seemed to hover on the surface of the clock, a surreal sight. "If you need to take time off for treatment, don't hesitate to ask. I want the best for my employees."

Gurnesh nodded appreciatively.

"And how are things in the garden?" the Overlord continued, exhaling smoke that dissipated into the evening air. "Anyone try to poison the plants again?"

"No, sir. After you beheaded one of those rioters in the public square, the rest never dared come back. The garden's been immaculate ever since!" Gurnesh said with a hint of pride.

He then removed his blue gardening gloves, slinging them over his shoulder, and began scratching at the red spots on his hands.

"Ugh, I'll tell you, sir, that poison was top quality," Gurnesh added with a grimace, grunting while scratching.

"Well I guess so... Anyway I have to go, see you tomorrow Gurnesh."

"Until tomorrow sir, have a great night." Waving to Sir Clockhauser who waves back.

The Overlord strolled through the meticulously maintained garden, heading toward the bank's docks. In Hell's Gate City, where canals replaced traditional roads, docks served as the primary mode of transit, much like parking lots elsewhere.

As he passed the bank's imposing facade, his gaze drifted to the polluted metropolis. In the distance, the shadowy outlines of factories loomed, shrouded in the perpetual haze of industrial smog. Their silhouettes were softened by the nighttime gloom, but the glow of city lights shimmered across the canal waters and reflected off the polished surface of Sir Clockhauser's head.

Pausing momentarily by the canal's edge, he took in the view. Despite its flaws, this city-his city-was thriving. For Sir Clockhauser, watching its prosperity unfold was a salve for the monotony of his work. Endless forms, calculations, and the relentless grind of his office all felt worthwhile in these moments of quiet reflection.

Yet, Hell's Gate City was far from perfect. Crime, drugs, and the troubles that come with hell are found around every corner. But at night, these blemishes seemed muted, suffocated by the neon haze and submerged in the icy depths of the canals. By day, they were veiled by plumes of industrial smoke-a perpetual dance of chaos and concealment, creating something unique and beautiful in the monotony of infernal chaos and industrial noise.

Upon reaching the docks and passing another mob of demons some curious about his presence, others just ignoring him heading towards the bank, Sir Clockhauser sees a parked boat and goes to it.

The boat wasn't particularly large, nor did it need to be. Its sleek design resembled a speedboat, though its enclosed roof and elongated structure gave it the appearance of a compact limousine. The tinted windows provided privacy, while the entire vessel gleamed with a pristine white finish accented by brown detailing along the doors and window frames.

The hull, painted a pearlescent black, mirrored the rippling surface of the water, lending an air of sophistication to the vessel. Its rear engine, high-beam headlights, and additional touches made it unmistakably unique. On the front of the hull, bold lettering read HG700 Speedboat - Hell's Motore, with the Overlord's name etched neatly beneath it in striking white font-a symbol of understated power and prestige.

As he approached, the backseat doors of the boat swung open automatically. He stepped inside, and they closed behind him with a soft click, revealing the luxurious interior.

The cabin was pristine, illuminated by two discreet floor lamps on either side. The floor featured a meticulously maintained white carpet, beneath which a polished wooden surface gleamed faintly. The windows, darkened from the outside for privacy, allowed a clear view from within and could be lowered or raised with buttons, much like those in a car.

At the rear of the cabin, a bench with flawless white upholstery accented by red stripes provided a comfortable seat. The armrests featured cup holders and a built-in ashtray for convenience. Mounted in the corner was a sleek television, while the center of the cabin housed a small table stocked with jars of snacks and candies. Opposite the table sat another bench, designed more like a plush sofa for added comfort with a window a little above which could be opened by the driver by pressing a button on the control panel.

To complete the setup, a beer cooler stood neatly alongside a compartment filled with fine wines and crystal glasses-a touch of elegance befitting an Overlord who worked tirelessly and deserved moments of indulgence in such refined surroundings.

The Overlord settled into the backseat, taking a slow drag from his cigarette before placing it in the ashtray. Smoke curled out from the edges of his clock face, drifting into the cabin without ever passing through his lungs.

The driver's window slid open, and an excited female voice broke the silence.

"Good evening, Mr. Clock. Any commitments for tonight?"

The Overlord leaned back, reclining until he was nearly lying down on the cushioned seat.

"I have a dinner with Myrella-a business dinner, obviously," he said, picking up the TV remote. "Take me to the Bloody Cat Gig, please, Jane."

The driver let out a light laugh. "Dinner with Miss Fraise? Hah! Conversations between Overlords never end well. Think she'll try to get you into bed again, boss?"

"I hope not... but you know how succubosses are," Sir Clockhauser replied, casually reaching for the jar of sweets on the table.

"Got it! Bloody Cat Gig, here we go!"

The window slid shut, and with a low hum, the boat eased away from the bank docks, gliding into the dark waters of the city.

At night, the canals of Hell's Gate City are always teeming with boats, creating a chaotic scene that resembles a floating vision of hell. It's both impressive and expected-after all, the city lacks asphalt or dirt roads for cars, trucks, or motorcycles for obvious reasons. The only real land connection to the Pride Ring is at the city's entrance, but those roads are short and rarely busy. After all, who would willingly visit a polluted metropolis floating on water?

Hell's Gate City was constructed on a series of small islands near the Sea of Pride. Some of these islands are natural, while others are artificial, designed to optimize urban planning. The boat traffic jams have given rise to a unique practice among the city's criminals, who often leap from boat to boat in daring escapes from their pursuers.

Inside the boat, the Overlord turned on the television while snacking on some sweets. It was almost time for his favorite program, Saturday Night Sins, a hugely popular talk show in Hell. The only odd thing about it was that, despite its name, the show aired every Friday and Wednesday-never on Saturday-according to Inferno Television's schedule.

After a brief commercial break, the program resumed. Following its signature introduction, the camera focused on a centipede demon. His slightly reddish skin shimmered under the studio lights, and he wore a suit that covered only half of his massive body, which stood over seven and a half feet tall when fully extended. Curled comfortably behind a wooden desk engraved with the show's name, the demon's many legs also functioned as arms, shuffling through papers. Completing his eccentric appearance was a comically small top hat perched on his head.

"Welcome back to another edition of the

Saturday Night Sins! After the day we've all had, good evening to those heading home wondering if tomorrow might be the day an angel finally find you. Sit back and enjoy the rest of tonight's show on your Television, Radio wherever you are watching. That said, let's get started," the demon said, clearing his throat. "Good evening, Pride Ring. My name is Guilhamor, and tonight I have the distinct honor of interviewing a demon whose work has brought entertainment to all through his incredible books. If you've already guessed who it is, congratulations. If not, please welcome our guest."

The camera zoomed out from Guilhamor's face, revealing the vibrant set and a sofa where a gargoyle demon sat. His dark, stony skin contrasted with the rich velvet of his suit, and his lifeless red eyes glimmered faintly under the studio lights. The gargoyle laughed warmly, waving to the applauding audience as the show's theme song played.

"Hulian Fearwing!" Guilhamor announced, raising one of his many hands to quiet the audience. Lowering his voice, he continued, "It's a pleasure to have you here tonight on my show to talk about your career as an author."

"The pleasure is all mine Mr. Guilhamor, I'm a big fan of your program so it's an honor for me to be here."

"I can say the same about you," the centipede demon replied, flashing a wide smile. "And, I don't want to spoil any surprises, but... I heard you have a new project to announce tonight! I'm especially excited because, from what I've heard, it's the sequel to a book that, if I may brag a little, I happen to own an autographed hardcover version of."

"Hehehe, take it easy there, you're getting ahead of yourself," the gargoyle demon said, leaning forward.

The audience laughed, and the gargoyle paused, suddenly realizing his slip-up, which made him a bit uneasy.

"I apologize for that. It's just that I'm really excited and looking forward to it. But you're right," he continued, "Tell me, Hulian, what are some of the biggest challenges you face as a writer in Hell?"

"Well... That's a tough question to answer," Hulian replied, pausing for a moment. "But if I had to sum it up, I'd say it's finding the reader."

"Finding the reader? What do you mean by that?"

"Well, in Hell, it's hard to find your audience. Demons don't read as much as they used to, or they're only interested in, let's say, more... adult material. My stories are light, with action and romance. It's tough to get recognized here with that type of literature. There's a lot of prejudice against it."

"You've mentioned something similar in your autobiography, and I'd say that was one of the biggest hurdles early in your career."

"No, no," Hulian laughed. "My biggest problem wasn't that. It was actually finding a publisher. No one wanted to take a gamble on a gargoyle who wanted to write."

The audience chuckled, and the gargoyle continued, "But after I paid to publish my first book, everything started to change."

"You paid to publish your first book? Geez, why did you did that?"

"The answer is simple-lack of confidence in my work," Hulian said with a shrug. "I've said it before, no one wants to bet on a gargoyle author, so I had to pay for the first print run to convince the printer that they wouldn't lose out too much. I laughed a lot when Infernal Tales of Cisplatina hit number one on the bestseller list for four weeks in a row."

The interview continued as Sir Clockhauser watched intently, nibbling on the treats from the passenger cabin table-treats that simply vanished the moment they touched his clock face. While he was immersed in the program, the driver's window slid open.

"Hey, boss, we're here. Good luck out there."

The Overlord let out a deep sigh, switched off the television, and carefully placed the jar of sweets back on the table. Rising from his seat, he brushed off his coat and exited the boat as the doors opened, stepping onto a sea dock.

The sounds of the city, previously muffled by the insulated cabin and the TV, now filled the air. The cacophony of Hell's Gate City returned-only this time, instead of the industrial hum, it was music that dominated the night. Somedemons turned to glance at the Overlord curiously, but he paid them no mind, letting out another sigh as he made his way toward the cockpit of his boat.

The cockpit window slid open, revealing the driver. Her green hair, streaked with oil, fell messily around her face, while her jacket hung over a skull-printed shirt, paired with denim shorts. She stared directly at the imposing figure blocking the faint glow of the city's neon lights behind him.

"Hi, boss," she said with a grin, flashing sharp teeth, one of which was chipped. "Need anything else?"

The Overlord pulled a wallet from his coat pocket, extracted several banknotes, and handed them to her. "This might take a while. Here's three hundred souls-buy yourself something to eat while you wait."

The driver took the money, her grin widening. "Soon, I'll start to think you like me," she teased with a chuckle.

He sighed once more as the window closed. Turning away, he walked across the slightly unsteady platform. These floating docks, tethered to a massive boat, swayed gently underfoot, but the Overlord didn't care.

As he walked, some demons came and saw him at the docks, most of them wealthy and pompous demons, the classic type that Sir Clockhauser has to deal with every day.

"I won't waste my time for nothing, Myrella," muttered the Overlord as he made his way toward the entrance.

The vessel was massive, a grand steamboat with a design seemingly frozen in the 1940s. Moored in the center of the canal, its hull was painted black, while the upper structure gleamed in deep red. Towering spotlights pierced the polluted skies of Hell's Gate City, casting an almost ethereal glow on the boat, a stark contrast to its gritty surroundings.

The exterior radiated luxury, but unlike the Pentagram Bank's cold, functional elegance, this ship oozed indulgence. It was tailored for demons to escape their monotony through the typical vices of Hell, it was a temple to temptation, housing a casino, a restaurant, a bar but the main thing was a Jazz club famous throughout all hell.

The Overlord approached the entrance, where even the doors were adorned with glowing lights. He frowned slightly. The chaotic opulence and unrestrained energy of the place unsettled him. His sterile office, with its dull predictability, felt worlds apart from this floating carnival of indulgence.

Ignoring the long line of demons waiting to get in, he strode directly to the door. The security guards stationed there noticed him but didn't make any attempt to stop or question him, for them it was the best thing to do.

As he took a few steps inside, the pulsating rhythm of jazz swelled around him. Glancing upward, the Overlord's gaze fell upon a grand, illuminated sign hanging above the stairs leading to the upper deck.

Welcome to the Bloody Cat Gig Jazz Club.

"Here we go..."

Author's note: I'll stop here and divide this chapter into two, It's too big.