It took what seemed like an age, but eventually wailing sirens and flashing lights made their way along Hell’s main road as the security mages appeared on the scene of destruction. Car doors opened, sturdy boots hit tarmac; spark-shooters, wands and mortal-plane firearms were brandished as the crowd collectively took a step back. You didn't mess with security- they had the power to use magic without restraint down here in Hell and could leave you as a pile of dust and another demon's paperwork, in a hot blast of blue, magical energy. You needed the upper hand where evil fiends were concerned; they were inherently mischievous, always plotting and power-hungry to a fault, someone had to keep some semblance of order in this place or nothing would ever get done.

They assessed the bizarre situation, walking back and forth in front of the burning building while pointing and gesturing among themselves, as the gathered onlookers thinned out and dwindled. Nobody wanted any questions from security. After all, each and every one of them looked a likely suspect; being wilful troublemakers was expected of them.

The directors weren't so fortunate. Sneaking off would definitely be a demonic thing to do, and they would have gladly done just that, but having the finger pointed at you for arson of the singular most important building in the Underworld would lose you your leather executive seat on the upper floor, and there were a LOT of ambitious demons looking to fill those seats with their ugly backsides.

Crowley didn't waste a heartbeat. No sooner had the chief mage whipped out his staff and walkie-talkie, Aleister was there in his face, eager to tell of his suspicions regarding a certain aardvarkian administrator and the many rules he had been breaking, leaving strange goings on in his wake.

First had been the mysterious powering down of the legendary flame-generator; overnight, the burning furnace had gone cold and the sole source of all of Hell's heat was shut off. The denizens had awoken from their unholy slumber to find everything covered in a white layer and snow was gently falling. There had been panic. There had been much searching for the generator's lost user manual. The power switch had been manically turned off and on again, multiple times, in the hope that would fix everything. They had even deliberated consulting Lucifer himself as a last resort. Crowley himself had even been hit by multiple long-distance snowballs. It had been a shit show. And one long-eared grey mammal was surely responsible. The power had come on later that morning, the deep rumbling a welcome sound as the powdery snow began to melt away and the screaming of the damned souls began anew.

Anarchy Warlock had been summoned to explain himself and had weaselled his way out of everything as he always did, coming up with some story or other involving a knocked power plug and subsequent interruption to Hell's connection to the National Grid's electricity.

Then the Warlock boy had gotten himself in hot water by meddling in the affairs of mortals. He'd seduced a demonology student and assisted in her studies, even though he wasn't qualified for such work, nor authorised to do so. He'd been missing from his desk on multiple occasions during these off-site visits and management soon put a stop to it. He was watched more closely afterwards.

But still Anarchy’s nonsense continued - Aleister's great-grandson Alexis had been bullied by the rotten grey aardvark demon since Holy College, and only yesterday poor Alexis had had an office chair thrown at him before the aardvark had swanned out of the building completely, abandoning his station - along with that stupid boy Crispin - and they'd had the nerve to tell an upper senior that Alexis had let them do it!! His hard-working descendant was being written up over his leadership role failings when actually he was a victim.

The Warlock brat had it all coming to him. This was a perfect opportunity to have the aardvark punished properly, to possibly bring his uppity father down with him; that man had spent far too much time in the mortal realm enjoying himself instead of attending his regular scheduled meetings. If Aleister had to endure those while underlings frothed over endless flip-charts then Peregrin jolly well could, too.

Aleister and Peregrin had never seen eye-to-eye after that awful Hallowe'en many years ago, when Aleister had cornered Anarchy and his pals in a hallway of the Infernal  Holy College. Alexis had been caught up in an official rivalry with Anarchy and was not coming out of it on top. The aardvark was humiliating his great grandson at every turn. Aleister was going to put things right with Hellfire and horror. He was going to make the animal pay.

Or so he thought.

Anar had banished Aleister back to Hell after pelting him with magical powers of a magnitude far greater than the Director could have prepared for.

He had confronted Peregrin over this insult; he had demanded an apology from his uppity son, after all the Crowley's were royalty! It wasn't right that they should be disrespected in such a manner. It wasn't possible for Anar to be wielding such magical power, neither. Anar must be cheating in some manner and Aleister would expose him and have him thrown out of the College if the boy would not grovel before him.

Peregrin had stood there, unflinching, emotionless and had simply turned his back on him and walked away.

To be ignored was a whole other level of cheek. You didn't sit in the Inner Circle to have people blank you.

So, Aleister had made good on his threat and he had walked into the Infernal Holy College's Headmaster's office ready to expose Anarchy Warlock for his flagrant misuse of magic.

Headmaster Leviathan had thanked him for bringing student Warlock’s misconduct to his attention; had expressed shock at the aardvark's apparent magnification of magical power; expressed concern for Aleister's wellbeing after being so brutally assaulted within his own educational institution's walls.

Then Leviathan did absolutely nothing about any of it.

It was clear that Aleister was going to have to take matters into his own hands right here and right now. After speaking to the security mage at length, he called his great-grandson on his mobile and summoned him to speak his piece, too. Together, they had enough clout to have Anarchy Warlock thrown into the basement for the rest of his contract duration. If they could dig up enough dirt, that bastard Peregrin would be joining him down there. They would finally have their revenge against the Warlocks.