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Polished black lace-up brogues touched scorched dust and Peregrin alighted onto the universe's deepest realm; the Underworld. The roar of its generators hummed in his long grey ears. The intense heat that they radiated swept over his grey skin. Pressure from the crush of the weight of eternity above him bore down on his shoulders as he walked forward, taking in familiar sights.

The city of Pandemonium lay like a scab upon the thin ground, its dark ancient architecture sprawled, broken only by the newer constructions of a Starbucks and McDonald's and the neon lightning that accompanied them.

At the centre of it all, at the crossing point of every meandering street, like a tower of glittering glass, sat the Hell Afterlife Services office block. Or some of it, anyway. He had left when it was a burnt shell. The massive H.A.S sign on its roof had exploded into a million razor-sharp pieces. Scorch marks had streaked over its edges like a disease. Whole floors had dropped, sending carpet tiles flying like shurikens. Wires, cables, entire fax machines had tumbled to a crumpled fate upon the pavement below.

A crowd had gathered in front of its revolving doors. Whoops and hollers rang out, lowly minions grovelled upon the dirt, horns and wings and tails swayed as claws waved in hideous glee. Guttural voices chanted in unison.

Peregrin approached, pushing through past lower ranks of demons and underlings to find the source of the clamour; Lucifer himself.

He knew now what the Dark Lord truly was; a dragon, mighty and powerful and ageless. A mythical being outside of the confines of time and space. A creature able to disguise itself at will. A monster who collected souls as its hoard and treasure.

Lucifer raised his beautiful human head for silence and it was granted immediately. His chiselled features flawless. His magnificent horns gleaming in the artificial light the Underworld basked in. His pinstripe suit was immaculate. His presence was a gift for them, a moment to be cherished in their bitter dead hearts for an age.

"I come to you on the cusp of a new millennium," he began, to much renewed excitement, "a time of technological wonders and fresh horrors awaits the mortal realm. Thanks to your hard work and diligence we have bound them to screens, made them servants of social media, brought them en masse to a fierce battle of popularity and attention. I am proud of each and every one of you for the misery you bring upon them, convincing them to spend precious life-time churning out jealousy and hate for their own kind. Encouraging gluttony. Offering obscene levels of debt in exchange for shiny new toys. Spreading misinformation. Bringing fresh fears into their pitiful little lives. In celebration of all you have achieved in these glorious years we will rebuild our spectacular office tower - the single most important part of our infernal operations here in Pandemonium. Our direct link to those of mortal flesh up above us. The corrupted souls we harvest with abandon..."

Spinning eyes floated into the aardvark demon's view and tentacles wiggled, "there you are!" Azratheth burbled, his chaotic form skittering to get closer.

Peregrin fidgeted. The Dragon who had interrupted his fall had promised to change reality. Promised to erase his recent problematic actions and restore him to a well-respected member of the Inner Circle. But could you really trust a dragon?

"What do you make of all that, then? Quite a reveal, if you ask me, though nobody ever does ask me anything thanks to my age and form," he added bitterly. "It's tough being an ancient horror, you know."

"All what?" he asked, putting on an air of indifference.

"You're pulling my tentacles!" he glooped with his misshapen hole for a mouth, "the Crowleys, the banishment to the basement, the whole Millennium Bug thing!"

Crowleys? Basement? Peregrin's evil heart beat faster. "Oh," he said, "that." Azratheth could always be trusted to talk too much. He waited for the weird assembly of limbs and eyes to continue.

"Never liked them. Not that you're supposed to. Wouldn't do for demons to go around liking each other. Still, it's crazy to think all this damage and destruction was an inside job."

"Crazy," Peregrin nodded.

"Alexis had a dragon working right under his nose on Floor Twenty-Two all these years! Accessing the system, doing as it bloody well pleased. Messing up the demon database for jolly japes, called me 'High Scrabble Score' on my entry."

His cruel blood ran cold for a moment, "a dragon?!"

"Right? Just swanning around under him while he was oblivious. One of his small administration team. Too smart, these dragons, it didn't even live in Hell - it had an apartment in the old disused Purgatory high-rise tower blocks! Plotting. Biding its time until - bam!"

"Bam?" he asked, weakly.

"It got hold of Huttgart's Millennium Bug disk and loaded it onto its computer. That's what caused the fire. The virus shut everything down, wiped every system, then rebooted it all bringing a massive power spike that overloaded the outdated wiring system. That's why old Luci's doing this 'we can rebuild it' schtick now. I think we're finally getting a sprinkler system, too. Mind, we can't find the dragon so all the blame is falling on Alexis. Aleister is responsible for his son's management promotion so he's gone down with him. Good riddance!"

Peregrin felt a moment of clarity. The 'dragon' in this story was clearly Anar. His son had done this. His son had been hiding in Pandemonium. His son had been rewriting the demon database. If the Dragon he had spoken to had changed the culprit of the office fire, what else had he changed? And why hadn't the Dragon changed Peregrin's memory? He alone knew the truth, but why? Was it to humble him, to remind him that powers far greater than any demon ran the universe? Perhaps. Or maybe it was to prove that his son was capable of brave and cunning actions, that Peregrin had been foolish to even try to reign him in - had failed, in fact, and he had to live with that personal failure forever.

After the Big Boss had given his rousing speech the inner circle demons began organising the lower minions into task forces, pumped and eager to show Lucifer how skilled they were in management, how they could draw up plans and execute them with ease. Whiteboards were pulled out on squeaky wheels, Sharpie pens were poised, notepads flipped and orders barked.

Peregrin watched with amusement as within minutes the inevitable squabbles began.

Every Director wanted to be in charge of the office buildings redesign. Every member of nobility wanted the biggest and best group of workers. Everyone wanted their ideas to be the ones that Lucifer would hear about.

Keyboards clacked as emails were marked as URGENT and CC'd to all in their contacts, announcing the writer as 'Interior design co-ordinator' or 'Office supplies chief' telling the recipient all the changes they were implementing with immediate effect.

Resurrecteds groaned and lumbered to and fro as they were called hither and thither between different bosses, ultimately getting nothing done.

Those with the powers granted to use magic that could reshape the skyscraper rolled their eyes as designs were scribbled by one person and defaced by another wannabe architect.

There were even squabbles over what music to play in the elevator and whether the elevator would be on the inside or the outside of the structure.

Peregrin turned away from it all. There was no longer any need for him to be here. If he delayed then he would soon be roped into doing some work and unlike the others he was not interested in showing off or proving his worth to the Dark Lord. He had been rudely interrupted from his nice Sunday dinner on a comfy sofa and was very much looking forward to ignoring all the work emails and updates on the chaos currently unfolding.

He stood in his driveway back in the mortal realm, facing his large four-bed detached house that was bought and paid for, with its lovely clipped hedge and bay kitchen window. There was no red Ferrari parked here complete with dents and scrapes, only his executive Mercedes, shiny from its full valet wax.

He opened the door and hung up his work cloak in the entrance vestibule, his Nokia set to silent mode and his form returning once more to one with no wings or horns or tail.

"Good day at work, dear?"

"Yes, thanks," and he kissed his lovely succubus wife on the cheek in the lounge doorway.

"Steak and mushrooms for dinner tonight, your favourite," she smiled.

"Lovely!" he enthused.

He looked at the sofa, at the coffee table with his copy of Country Life still at the page he had left it on. Then he noticed something new; upon the fireplace mantle was a framed portrait, a thin layer of dust on its top to show him it had been here a long time, regardless of what he thought he knew. He stepped closer.

'Infernal Employee of the Year 1999'

'Anarchy Warlock'

'Secret Special Shenanigans Sector'

He picked it up. His son looked his usual surly, disgruntled self. His sweep of dark hair almost touching his snout, the massive collar on his cloak reaching up his neck and spreading outwards like he was trying to hide inside, which he usually was to be fair. In his grey eyes, past the faint glow, Peregrin could see a tinge of blue. Not just a natural tint of colour, no, this had been put there by the magic that resided in his blood. The portrait would forever be a reminder of what truly made his son unique. Not that Peregrin would ever forget, but just in case he did, the Dragon had purposely put this here in this altered reality that they now lived in. He could never remove it, for his wife was guaranteed to cherish this memento. Each day, as he sat in his favourite spot, in his favourite room, he would gaze upon it and wonder where exactly his son was and what adventures awaited him. He would question his motives of keeping his once-favourite child hidden away, punished for an ability outside of his control. Would the Dragon be a better mentor than he had been? It wouldn't be difficult. The mystical creature seemed to be good on its word, which was saying a lot with the reputation they had for not being trustworthy.

He carefully placed it back. He had to let Anarchy go.

Sitting down, he paused at the magazine and instead picked up the receiver to the landline, dialling carefully. It was a number he didn't use often enough.

With a click on pick-up a polite voice answered. "Divine positivity, what can I affirm for you today?"

"Edward! How are you doing? How are things in Paradise? Listen, I know we don't talk much these days unless its work related, but I want to change all that. How about coming over for dinner this weekend? I could get your mother to cook you a nice nut loaf if you're still doing the veggie thing..."

There was silence. Peregrin panicked inside, had Edward remembered what had happened or was that different now, too?

"Yes, father, I'm still vegetarian after fifteen years. I'd love to come for dinner... if... if you really want me to."

Peregrin's heart soared in an unexpected way, "of course, son, you know your mother and I are very proud of you."

"You... you are?"

"Yes! And I'm..." he gulped, feeling a lump at his throat, "I'm sorry I don't say it often enough."

There was an exhale on the other end. "Are you ok?"

"Yes," he nodded to the air, "yes, I'm alright. Everything is going to be alright. Everything."