Glenn sat across from Lucifer’s desk, hands clasped so tightly you couldn't even pry the m open.
Lucifer leaned back in his black leather chair, the city of Lower Management sprawling in green-tinted light beyond the glass wall behind him. The skyline flickered with movement from pyramids, pagodas, cathedrals, all humming like parts of a vast bureaucratic organism.
“Relax,” Lucifer said at last, signing a scroll with a quill that bled silver. “You look like you’re waiting for judgment from me. You will find none here.”
Glenn swallowed. “I didn’t pass anything. I. I killed one of your employees.”
Lucifer didn’t look up. “A demon, Glenn. Not someone. Someone adjacent, perhaps, but still Mammon got what he deserved. Half the office celebrated. I’d have done it myself, but, you know, optics.”
He looked up then, eyes gleaming with something halfway between pride and hunger.
“Do you know what I saw down there? Initiative. Integrity. Defiance. You made a choice without waiting for permission. That’s leadership material.”
Glenn’s jaw tightened. “You make it sound like you're proud.”
Lucifer smiled, all polished charm. “I am. Spiritually, at least. It’s tiring, ruling over idiots. You’d be amazed how few of my subordinates can think for themselves. Endless meetings. Performance reviews. Paperwork. So much paperwork. You, however…” He pointed with his pen. “You have potential to rise. To reach Upper Management. To finally make a difference.”
Glenn’s voice cracked. “You mean become like them?”
Lucifer’s grin widened. “No, no. Better than them. But to do that, Glenn, you’ll need to prioritize. Be committed. Make the company your purpose. If you want to climb, you can’t drag sentiment up the ladder. Family, friends, loved ones. Those are distractions. They are important, I get it but not for people like us. The ones who reach the top are the ones who understand the only way out is up.”
It was framed like wisdom, but it stung like poison.
Was this good advice? It kind of makes sense to Glenn. Glenn thinks about what Astumori said. If Glenn focused on his goal only, none of his friends would be dead. If he didn’t fall in love, then….
Lucifer straightened his tie and gestured toward the door. “Now go. Get ready for round two. The real work begins.”
Glenn rose without another word. The door shut behind him with the soft click of inevitability.
The waiting room of the PITT hummed with energy. The walls vibrated faintly with the cheers of the audience outside. They were hungry for another round of blood and spectacle. The other contestants were already there, sharpening weapons, adjusting armor, or pretending not to notice him.
Karna spotted him first and strode over with a grin. “Glenn! Just the man of the hour.”
He clapped Glenn on the shoulder with divine force. “How did you do it? How did you kill a demon? No mortal or immortal has ever done that.”
Glenn hesitated. “It wasn’t me. It was… something from my sisters. Their power over Death.”
The room froze.
Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Karna’s grin widened into something manic. “Your sisters of Death? You mean you carry their essence?”
Glenn nodded reluctantly. “Mora. Nyra. Lytha. I absorbed them. No. It's more like I am them now.”
Karna whistled low. “Incredible. I knew there was something about you. You’re walking death itself.”
Atsumori scoffed from his corner. “Then maybe stay over there. I knew it. Everyone you touch dies, right? Let’s not test that theory again.”
Deathnibbles and Andromache exchanged a subtle glance but said nothing.
Oba Ifekudu pretended to polish his spear, then sidled closer. “Truly magnificent, Glenn. To carry the power of gods in mortal skin. Very impressive.” His voice dripped with calculated flattery.
Then Gilgamesh burst from the other side of the room, rage barely contained behind his smirk. “So this is what we’re doing now? Worshiping the runt who stumbled into divinity?”
No one spoke. Gilgamesh’s presence filled the space like thunderclouds.
“What a waste,” he sneered, circling Glenn like a predator. “If I carried the power of Death, I’d rule this place by now. But no, it’s wasted on a bureaucrat’s errand boy. Do you even understand what you hold?”
Karna stepped between them. “Enough, Gilgamesh. He earned his power.”
“Oh, please.” Gilgamesh’s laughter was sharp and ugly. “He’s a child with a loaded weapon. He didn’t earn it. He inherited it. There’s nothing godlike about this runt.”
Glenn met his gaze. “You sound jealous.”
“I am jealous?” Gilgamesh barked, throwing his arms wide. “Jealous of what I could do with that power, aye. What I should have been. You think being godlike is a joke? It’s about command! About bending the world to your will!”
Andromache rolled her eyes. “And look where that got you.”
Before Gilgamesh could respond, the room darkened. A monitor flickered to life across the wall. Static crackled, then Lilith’s smiling face appeared, bathed in stage light.
“Welcome back, my darling creatures of the underworld!” she purred. “Wasn’t round one simply divine? I don’t think we’ve had that much excitement since the Great Reorganization of the Infernal Division.”
The crowd outside cheered.
Lilith raised a hand for quiet. “Now, due to a few… changes, we’re operating under new rules! From this point on, eliminations are permanent. Lose, and you’re out forever. Win, and you move up the rankings. Think of it as a audit of the tournament! Only the best survive.”
Karna muttered under his breath. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“For our next trial,” Lilith continued, “each contestant will face a demon of our choosing. One selected personally by the gods of death. Sponsors have no say. Performance will be judged by the divine panel of the Gods themselves.”
She grinned. “First up, our returning favorite! The king of Uruk! The hero who just won’t die until maybe today! GILGAMESH!”
The crowd outside roared. Gilgamesh’s ego swelled visibly. He threw Glenn one last glare. “Watch carefully, reaper. I’ll show you how a god behaves.”
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He strode out into the light, his armor gleaming gold under the infernal glow.
The PITT had reshaped itself again now a cracked plateau of obsidian and ash, circled by molten rivers. Above, the crowd shimmered in thousands of spectral tiers, glowing like halos of judgment.
Lilith’s voice echoed through the dome. “Facing our golden boy will be a familiar face! Once a contestant himself, now a demon of eternal labor. Please welcome…the hardest worker in the underworld… SISYPHUS!”
A deep rumble shook the arena. From beneath the blackened stone, a colossal boulder rose glowing from underworldly fire.
Behind it, pushing with slow inevitability, came a figure.
Sisyphus, muscles carved like statues, skin glowing red from heat, eyes white with exhaustion that had transcended fatigue and become determination. He wore chains that were fused to his wrists, the ends dragging behind him like they were heavier than the boulder.
The gods murmured among themselves.
Hel leaned toward Ereshkigal. “You look nervous for your champion.”
Ereshkigal’s knuckles whitened around her goblet. “He’s not my champion. He’s my problem.”
Lucifer smirked from the edge of the box. “They all are.”
Lilith’s voice thundered again: “Contestants ready? BEGIN!”
Gilgamesh moved first lightning-fast, golden knuckles sparkled with divine radiance. The crowd howled approval.
He carved through the air, sending arcs of energy that shattered the ground around Sisyphus.
But the demon never broke stride.
Sisyphus slammed the boulder into the ground. The arena sloped pushing Gilgamesh up to the top. Sisyphus pushed the boulder forward, step after grinding step, up a slope that hadn’t existed seconds before. Gilgamesh had no where to run but directly at Sisyphus.
Every time Gilgamesh struck him down, Sisyphus got up, slammed the boulder down, the slope reformed, and Sisyphus began again pushing the same stone, never stopping.
“What is this? You mock me with futility?” Gilgamesh shouted. “I am progress itself! Stay down.”
Sisyphus turned his head slightly, smiling through sweat. “Progress? You mean the illusion that keeps you chained?”
The boulder crashed down, splitting the earth between them. Giglamesh started to slide into Sisyphus as the slope was too great. Gilgamesh lunged, punching Sisyphus again and again. Blood flew like the sweat of his back. The crowd gasped as each hit drew quakes, yet Sisyphus simply resumed his task, relentless.
“Why do you persist?” Gilgamesh roared. “You can’t win by squishing me with a boulder!”
Sisyphus’s laughter was quiet. “Win? There is no winning. There is only doing. That’s what they never tell you in Management, isn’t it? You can climb all you want, but the hill just gets higher.”
He shoved the boulder upslope again, each motion shaking the earth causing everyone in the audience to lose balance.
Gilgamesh noticed now what he didn’t before. The boulder was increasing in size. It was now about half the size of the arena. If he doesn’t stop the whole arena will be consumed. Gilgamesh charged with divine fury. He struck the boulder, cracking it, sending shards flying into the audience. The more violent it got, the more they cheered. He raised his fists for the killing blow on Sisyphus only for the boulder to reform whole before his eyes.
Gilgamesh let out a sigh of exhaustion. “No…”
“You can’t destroy the task,” Sisyphus said simply. “You are only exhausting yourself on it.”
From the stands, the gods murmured.
“Ambition,” Yama said. “He suffers from endless ambition.”
Osiris nodded. “The worst kind of suffering: the hunger that feeds itself.”
Lucifer smiled. “Ah, the myth of management.”
Gilgamesh screamed, his divine armor splintering with the force of his own blows. “I earned this! I built cities! I buried gods! I deserve to be one!”
Giglamesh now at the top of the slope focused all of his might. All he could hear is his own exhausted breathe panting silencing out the roar of the crowd. He raised a fist and looked into the crowd. Thats when he saw him. His best friend, Enkidu.
Enkidu was the one person not cheering. He had a look of, don’t do it.
Giglamesh stared into his eyes and then leaped from the top sloped directly into the boulder fist first with all his might. He smashed and smashed his fist. Shards went everywhere, injuring some audience members. He chipped away with his fists at the boulder until he cracked through completely spotting Sisyphus.
He raised his fist to Sisyphus to strike but by the time Gilgamesh fist hit Sisyphus, it was weak and barely made Sisyphus spit blood.
Sisyphus ignored him and started to gather chunks making a boulder again.
Gilgamesh for the first time showed an expression of sadness on his face that was real.
“Why? Why can’t I be a god?”
Sisyphus stopped, straightened, and for the first time dropped the boulder.
He faced Gilgamesh directly, eyes glowing with calm. “You think the grind is a ladder. It isn’t. It’s a circle. And you’ve been walking it so long you think your motion has meaning.”
Gilgamesh stumbled. “What? What are you saying, demon?”
“That there is no meaning. Your ambition without purpose is just another punishment you brought on yourself,” Sisyphus said softly. “You think your suffering proves you deserve to be divine, but suffering doesn’t make you special. It just makes you aware.”
Gilgamesh’s knees buckled. His bloodied knuckles hit the ground. The crowd quieted.
For a heartbeat, understanding flickered behind his eyes.
“I never stood a chance,” he whispered. “Did I?”
Sisyphus smiled a sad, human smile. “None of us do. That’s what makes it beautiful.”
Then, gently, he rolled the boulder forward. It crushed Gilgamesh’s body into light. “Rest now brother. You achieved far more than most.”
Silence.
Ereshkigal rose halfway from her throne, eyes wide. “No… Wait…”
Too late. Gilgamesh’s form dissolved into glowing dust. From it bloomed a single white flower, soft and small. The soul of a hero who had finally stopped running.
Sisyphus knelt beside it. The gods leaned in.
Lucifer gave the smallest nod.
Sisyphus raised his boulder, now as big as the arena over his head and crushed the flower into oblivion.
The audience gasped. The shock rippled like a wave.
Lilith clutched her mic, voice trembling with theatrical awe. “I can’t believe it, folks! After millennia of trying, our golden boy Gilgamesh is gone for good! That’s the end of an era!”
Half the crowd cheered. The other half fell into reverent silence.
Back in the Waiting Room
No one spoke for a long time.
Glenn sat staring at the wall, hands still trembling. “He lost,” he whispered. “Gilgamesh actually lost.”
Andromache crossed her arms. “Good riddance. Maybe he can finally stop talking about himself.”
Atsumori nodded from his corner. “Pride is the first to fall.”
Karna exhaled slowly, looking at Glenn. “What did you think?”
Glenn shook his head. “It just looked like a fight.”
Karna smiled faintly. “Nothing here is just a fight. The gods of death are teaching us our flaws through blood, through pain. Sisyphus wasn’t fighting Gilgamesh. He was managing him. Coaching him.”
Glenn frowned. “Coaching?”
“Every blow was a lesson,” Karna said. “Every fall a feedback session. That’s how they do it here. You face your archetype of suffering. The same way mortals face theirs.”
Glenn thought about Lucifer’s words. About endless ambition. About prioritizing work over soul.
“Then maybe,” he murmured, “Gilgamesh did teach me how to act godly. By showing me what not to become.”
Oba Ifekudu chuckled low. “Wisdom from death. How poetic.”
Oku, pretending to stretch, leaned close to Glenn. “So tell me then, friend. What’s your flaw?”
Before Glenn could answer, Karna cut in sharply. “Don’t. These trials are tailored to our weaknesses. The less they know, the better.”
Atsumori, eyes still closed, muttered, “Quiet. They’re announcing the next round.”
The monitor flickered again. Lilith’s smile gleamed through the static.
“Contestants,” she said sweetly, “round two begins now.”
The gods of death leaned forward in their seats.
And somewhere deep in his chest, Glenn felt the first cold tremor of what his own trial might demand.
