Deep and down into the tunnel V-Ruby-One went, squeezing its way into the Hole and heading into the place of the Dark Altar. Where already it heard the whispers increase, whispers it already heard day-to-day, begging for war, promising power, even though the language they spoke and the tenor was just out of understanding's reach. It knew what they were saying. It knew the voice of Chaos.

Too well. Shut UP. A mental claw slammed down on the broken, pitiful thing and the hellion flinched and snarled on the outside as it did so, as if it had physically harmed a piece of itself. They didn't need THAT right now. What they needed was that which the Creator desired - CHAOS!! HOUND!! A DESTROYER!! That was the creature that emerged into the place of the altar, its offering clutched in one hand.

Its teeth were already bared as it took in the space that was too-bright, even though it knew it was in pure shadow. Its eyes squinted against the un-light, but it pushed forward, kneeling before the Oilstone altar and was quiet for a moment.

Meditative, almost, except it glared into space and soft growls burst their way out of its throat here and there. It was quiet as it gathered its thoughts, its questions, its furies, and then reached forward and pressed a claw onto the Altar.

"You have given me PURPOSE," it began, its voice a ferocious snarl, "you have shown me where I failed, yet what PURPOSE can be found in this cage, this womb, with a Master that has rejected what he claims to serve! I am CHAOS. Yet he threatens to REMAKE ME?! To kill me should I put another toe out of line? That is not. CHAOS!! This cannot be what you decree! I SAW YOUR WARS!!"

In a sudden move, it slammed the owl upon the Altar, its offering, her blood running cyan in the inverted light, bones crunching as she was crushed, gem facing upwards, onto the stone table. Its vision was flickering and it struggled to stay present here - just a little bit longer. "Take this offering! I have killed in your name and I will AGAIN. I am YOUR Hound! And I will do as YOU WILL!!" It grit its teeth and dared to roar its final request - "WHAT IS IT YOU ASK OF ME?!"

The constant, chaotic whispers here were pressing in, a pressure that promised death, promised bloodshed, begged for it. But as the sounds grew louder--threatening to reach some dire crescendo--they abruptly went eerily silent.

Behind V-Ruby-One, someone cleared their throat.

It was a gentle sound, but one with quiet authority. And when V-Ruby-One turned, it would see...

...a clerk.

A small, balding human in a brown suit, his tie impeccably knotted. He was adjusting his glasses, where he sat in a worn leather chair at a desk--one of expensive wood, but well-used. This desk was set somewhat crookedly atop the jagged stone of The Hole. Atop the desk were a wire bin full of papers in two stacks, a paperweight, a cup-like wooden pen-holder filled with pens, and--beneath the man's folded hands--several papers. None of it was voidlit: a pool of regular, white light surrounded this scene.

"Pardon me, err-" and here the man leaned back, tilting his head upward to better see out of the bottoms of his bifocals; he looked over the paper before him. "...V-Ruby-One? It seems you are looking for work, but-" ...the man shifted the papers around him. "...I'm afraid I don't see a résumé on-hand. A--CV, if you prefer. Did you file one?" He looked up, studying V-Ruby-One with no trace of fear, his eyes large as he blinked behind the glass lenses. Then a hand waved to the desk, as if inviting the Valkhound to stand at the other side to speak. "We can fill one out now, if you like."

@V-Ruby-One

It expected a response, even if it was another manifestation of the Creator. It did not expect the Actual god of the valkhounds to step into the caves to answer its summons and accept a measly single life as offering. But it expected something. It was tense, teeth bared, snarl gurgling in the back of its throat as the moment stretched on and on, growing louder by the second and the beast in it seemed to inflate and devour the very air around it, gorging on the coming moment...

And then. Silence.

It stared at the altar, confused, and whipped around at the sound made to grab its attention.

It stared. And continued to stare. Was this real? Some hallucination it was having? Was its brain so fucking fried that it was just imagining random wooden desks and furless creatures in suits? No, no this was real because he was looking at it expectantly and saying words it didn't understand or had even heard before.

It stood from its kneel, up to its full 8 foot height. The beast was shocked into silence for a moment, as was the broken thing. To be honest, there wasn't much functioning in its brain right now except confusion. "What," it started, its voice slow and growling, "the hell. Are you?" It looked at its suit, the papers in front of it, the...everything. The fact that it wasnt voidlit?! What the actual fuck. "What's going on? How did you..." It was at a loss for words and gave up, throwing all for hands in the air in its bewilderment. "What the fuck is a resume?!"

The clerk sat back a little, his brows knitting in consternation. His palms first flattened on the desk, and then he took on a more thoughtful, focused expression, fingers drumming a little thudthudthud on the wood.

"...I see we must start from the beginning. Very well. You seek a role, yes? A new job?" The clerk glanced up as he spoke, but now focused on pushing aside a few papers, returning them to his bin. What he was left with seemed to be an empty job application form, complete with gaps, like a résumé yet to be filled out. Not that the Valkhound would necessarily recognize it. "To apply for a job it is best to have a résumé prepared. This is a form, which you fill out to inform your prospective employer--err, the Creator, in this case," and here the clerk glanced over at the Black Altar, "of your experience. Of what makes you fit for the job. But--tell me, what position did you wish to apply for? Or would you be satisfied with any assignment within this organization?"

@V-Ruby-One

As the shock began to wear away, something roared withing V-Ruby-One's mind, the beast furiously springing forward to scream in its ear. WHO IS HE TO SPEAK TO ME LIKE HE IS ANSWERING MY CALL?! HE IS NOT THE CREATOR!! It advanced forward another step and oh how it wanted to burn him alive where he was sitting and his desk and all those damn papers too!! But there was something about this that made it uneasy. The suddenness, the silence, the fact that it wasn't voidlit within the tunnel, the fact that he knew its name.

So it did not burn him alive, but instead measured some form of control. A claw raised and clenched and the resume went up in black and violet flames as its eyes flashed. "I am not here looking for some POSITION. I am here to ask of the CREATOR'S WILL!! FUCK your resume! Fuck your organization! You want my experience?" And here it ripped the owl's corpse off from the altar and slammed it down on the wooden desk in front of it. "THERE. That's my resume! Now tell me who are!!"

The Cursed Flame lashed out, igniting the paper, which... vanished.

It didn't burn. It simply disappeared, as if the engulfing flame had consumed it altogether. Or destroyed it, on a level wholly different from simply burning.

The clerk eyed it, thinning his lips in disapproval. He looked back at V-Ruby-One and started to answer, but then paused--and looked back at the owl, as if something had occurred to him. His mouth closed again, and he looked several times between the towering Valkhound and the miniscule owl, as if struggling to see something in it. At length he cleared his throat, gently pushing the feathered corpse aside, very much with the demeanor of someone too polite to comment something very rude. "...As impressive as that is... I am a clerk. I had come to assist with your attempts to procure a placement. Did you have a position in mind?" he asked again, and this time, when his head tilted to the side, it went... a little too far.

It looked wrong, even if one weren't well-versed in humans. It might have been creepy, or just... off. But it didn't look right.

@V-Ruby-One

And there he went, parroting his words again and again and answering nothing. "Clerk" didn't mean a single damn thing to the beast or the hellion or the broken thing, "position" sounded like some Chaos Forge bullshit, "placement" like a pile of nothing. V-Ruby-One was not the most intelligent creature out there, nor the most perceptive. But it didn't like anything about this. The paper vanishing into nothing, the general wrongness of all of it...

And the head turn was like the last straw it needed to break the floodgates. They didn't break yet, but it wasn't going to entertain this clerk illusion any further. The beast roared its approval, the broken thing cried, the usual. DESTROY IT! BURN THE DESK AND THE MAN, PULL HIS INNARDS OUT HIS FUCKING THROAT!! What if this is a test? What if this is an agent of the Creator? What if we get in trouble? We will be killed! No, it didn't care anymore, it wasn't going to be TOYED WITH!

Its magic pressed forward towards the clerk to pull apart his mind and dig around to answers. How the fuck did he get here, who was he? What was going on?

The magic sought, and tore, and roared in Chaos through the space. And it was a strange, or even horrifying, realization: that as solid as the objects seemed, as placid as the man appeared,

There was nothing there.

@V-Ruby-One

It was not a surprise, nor something that sparked anything but fury in V-Ruby-One that someone had made to play with it in this moment, when it had set itself before the altar, when it had killed in the name of its god, and found only deception. It made to sweep the desk with dark purple flames, light the man with cold, black flames, but the magic didn't come, and for a moment, it wondered if this "clerk" had anything to do with it.

Was he suppressing its magic?

HOW DARE THEY?! IN OUR TIME OF NEED WHEN WE BESEECHED THE CREATOR FOR HIS WILL, FOR HIS WORD!! AND WE FOUND NOTHING BUT TRICKS!!! LIAR, DECEIVER, TRICKSTER! FIND THEM AND DESTROY THEM!! And it was more then happy to comply, the broken thing sinking down into its depths, shadowed by the veil of rage that fell over its senses.

"WHO DARES TO TRICK ME! SHOW YOURSELF!" Oil trickled from its eyes as the rage overcame, overwhelmed. Claws flexed, tail lashed (hopefully knocking around some of those "papers"), and it readied itself to kill again.

The clerk stared up at V-Ruby-One, what looked like disapproval in his eyes. That changed to a more... intense expression.

Then the little, balding man began to laugh. It was the laugh of a small man in a brown suit, at first. The laugh of a man who wore bifocals and pushed paper all day. Contained. Discreet.

The laughter changed, then: it swelled, becoming something loud, something of deep lungs and swelling power. It became a cackle, one that echoed throughout the Hole. The place filled with this laughter: amused, pleased...

@V-Ruby-One