They didn’t call this place the Underworld for nothing. On his interdimensional, intergalactic travels, Valentino had often seen the collected array of realities stretching out in its vast ring, each one a bubble, a pocket of possibility, all connected to the astral plane as though it was a thin, fragile wheel hub holding everything together. The astral plane was a strange area outside of space and time. The doorway of dragons.

If you stood upon the edge of oblivion, where the next dimension’s boundary touched upon this one, and moved your gaze down, below the realms of the living, you would see a reflection of it all. A mirror image.

There was no corridor leading to this place, no living thing could enter it. Dragons could, though they would not want to. This was the realm of the dead. There was nothing to collect here, no physical objects whatsoever; only the ghosts, the reflections, of them.

Souls of mortals who had passed manifested here as the last traces of the energy that their living forms once held, and they filtered down to this deep place, before being recorded and recycled, and delivered back up above into the mortal realm as new life. Energy could not be created or destroyed, after all, only transferred, and all life was simply a form of energy.

The glimmering speck of Hemlock that had drifted down from the universe, the world, that he had tragically died in, was around in the underworld somewhere. Valentino could wander for aeons and never find him. You never quite appreciated just how many things died every hour until you saw the shining dust descending into the mirror face like a twinkling blizzard.

It all funnelled down to be collected in Purgatory, the processing centre. Sentient minds would be sent off to their final resting place. Their energy duly returned to the world in which they came. It was all overseen by cosmic curators who were collectively known as demons. They were serious, busy creatures, neither alive nor completely dead, existing in a curious state of suspended animation, but they were important. They kept the flow of energy running constantly, and in turn this kept time turning too. You couldn’t have one without the other.

They had built a city for themselves, a metropolis by the name of Pandemonium, with a burning pit at the centre. The dragon did not quite understand the workings of it, or the reason for it, but there were other powerful creatures out here in the wilderness of eternity, and he did not wish to meet them to ask them.

Gods, the mortals named them. There was a possibility that Gods had created dragons. In the bleak times before life had existed in the universes, Valentino had carefully followed the other dragons around for something to do, and had come to the conclusion that dragons worked very much the same as mortals, only instead of dying and their energy being turned into something new, dragons died and were immediately replaced with themselves. For all Valentino knew, he could have died a hundred times. A hundred million times. The mortals had a similar system to this called reincarnation, though reincarnation resulted in a different form, and no recollection of the life they had left, only the energy – the soul – was the same.

The one constant throughout all of this living and dying was: paperwork.

Valentino approached the tall, glass-faced building, its neon light radiant in the darkened sky, and approached the main reception desk. The wrinkled, horned demon on the other side was appropriately grumpy, as demons always were. “welcome to Hell Afterlife Ssservicess, oh great majessstic ssscaled one, and what can a lowly minion sssuch asss I asssissst you with?”

“I wish to speak to an administrator. Mortal filing system.”

Vibrant green eyes regarded him slyly, weighing up the possibility of telling the winged visitor to sod off, and not getting incinerated by dragon fire in the process. Letting a dragon into the building probably wasn’t a wise idea. The demon coughed, glancing at Security, who promptly turned his back on the scene. The Dragon, it was clear, was the receptionist’s problem, now.

Demons were professionals at passing the buck. The Dragon could now be the Senior Administrator’s problem, instead.

“Floor twenty-two,” the demon bowed, respectfully. “the lift is on your right, sssssir!”

Valentino stepped inside and clicked the small, round buttons. It ascended, silently, arriving with a ‘ding!’.

The work floor stretched out; shiny chrome-legged tables in rows, fat black computer towers squatted on the laminated floor. The Underworld had moved with the times. It was important that he should be here, now, at this time, as this was when Hemlock had died; before he’d sent Warlock Court hurtling back to the 1500’s. It was imperative that the dinosaur should not be archived, as that was the point of no return.

In truth, messing with time like this gave Valentino one heck of a headache. Needs must, however. He was already a little loose with his mental grip on this reality, what harm could a little more meddling do?

A human scurried to him, scowling, his flop of black hair was slicked back and his backwards curving horns were polished, “nobody told me we had a visitor, not that anyone tells me anything around here, I’m Crowley, Alexis Crowley, great great grandson of Aleister Crowley, what can I do for you on my administration floor?”

A few voices piped up from behind monitors, ‘is that a bloody dragon?’, ‘can’t be, dragons don’t wear Levi’s, Stevan,’, ‘it’s winged and scaly, s’got horns too’, ‘Stevan, I’M winged ‘n scaly ‘n got ‘orns, you pillock, still not a dragon.’

“I wish to access the mortal database. I’m reinstating an entity. I thank you in advance for your co-operation.”

Crowley shuffled his pointy-shoed feet. Why did shenanigans like this have to happen on his shift?! “you need authorisation from upper management,” he said.

The Dragon steeled himself. He didn’t have much power; he’d taken all Anar could give him, and it wasn’t a lot. If he used his powers to persuade this human, they would be diminished even more so. It was a last resort.

“Of course! Silly me. I will pay the Board a visit, shall I? Tell them Crowley sent me?” He nodded to the clock, “they’ll be enjoying a nice working lunch about now, won’t they? I’ll just pop in…” he took a step towards the lift.

The young human admin manager’s neatly trimmed clawed hands waved desperately, “oh no, no, no need! No no no! It’s fine, all fine, your scaliness. Please, I’ll - I’ll get you access to the mortal database. Right away! WARLOCK!”

A pair of grey ears flattened, hiding behind a screen.

“Work shy bastard. Oi! Sort the dragon out, you knob! Smartish, yeah?” Crowley scurried away.

The buck had been successfully passed.

There was grumbling from the hiding grey minion.

The voices piped up again from a far-flung office corner, ‘I told you! A dragon! A bloody dragon!’, ‘heckin’ heck! Hope it doesn’t set fire to the place. You know there’s no sprinkler’s in Hell, right?’

The Dragon paused. His already foggy brain went into overdrive. Here, in front of him, clear as day, was his friend. A burning that began in his chest spread through his frail body. His scales tingled. He felt renewed. All he needed was a Warlock, and he would have power.

“I’m not paid enough for this,” the aardvark sulked. “Let me log on… who am I looking for? You know there’s an expiry date on souls, don’t you? They’d better be recently deceased or you’re shit outta luck.”

“I am aware.” Valentino had to use every ounce of his self-control to stand still and not reach out with his arms to hug him close.

How had he done this?

What events had he put into motion to result in his friend being here?

It was vital that he should remember.

“I’m looking for a reptid - dinosaur by the name of Hemlock,” he explained, “he died a few hours ago, at most.”

The keyboard clacked. “Could have fooled me. They all died millions of years ago. Well, all but two at any rate…”

Valentino probed, “what convinced you to work here as a demon, Anar?”

The aardvark huffed, “my dad. He’s on the board.”

“I see. This isn’t what you wanted? Perfectly understandable. You look like you have a fine warrior bloodline in you.”

The aardvark’s faintly glowing, yellow-tinged eyes swivelled. “yeah,” he murmured, “yeah I do.”

Dulled scales began to brighten in the presence of the grey demon’s natural magic.

The Dragon knew now what he had to do. The many threads of reality that lay before him were narrowed down, and he’d grasped the one that led to magic and power. He steadied his breathing. He clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking. He felt his tail twirl and stilled that, too.

In the few moments he had, before the file was found and the energy reinstated to resurrect Hemlock, he took in every detail of his dearest mammalian friend, from the long snout to the slender ears. The hair was longer, dyed jet black and brushed forward with a rebellious stray curl to the back, his frame was poorly angled from the mandatory skulking, but it was still General Warlock.

“Right. There’s the file. What am I doing with it?’

“Activate it, please.”

“Nice to hear some manners…” Anar said, clicking again at the screen. “Done. They’ll be waking up on the mortal realm, wherever they are, in a jiffy. Lucky bastards.”

“Thank you. So much. You are wonderful,” The Dragon breathed.

“Alright, don’t make it weird.”

He swallowed, gently taking the frame of his glasses in his talons, letting them slip just for a moment.

Anar blinked, rapidly, looking thoroughly confused. His vision was full of light. His head was empty.

Crowley crept up, snooping, “has he gone?”

“What?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Good riddance! No word of this to anyone, Warlock, yeah?”

“Of what?”

“Perfect! Have a break, you’ve earned it. Just for once…”

The Dragon pressed his flat open hand on the piece of parchment, smiling.

“Wonderful!” the senior demon grinned, toothily. “Welcome aboard, glad to have you on the team! I’ll just show you to your office.”

The building was smaller in this time, there was no bright neon light, no coffee machines, no computers. What there was, was a vacancy for a contract overseer. Every demon working here in the Underworld would have one. Valentino had free run of the building, and nobody would question the carefully filed paperwork for Anarchy Warlock, reincarnating him before the turn of the millennium, on the expiry of the 500-year blood curse. He would wait here, patiently, biding his time until his grey friend arrived.

He had a few projects to fill his free hours with. The most important was an explanation of the events leading up to the Warlock family’s curse. The Council of Sorcerer’s would be there, when his friend returned to the mortal plane, and they would have a very different story to tell about his ancestor/former self. It was important that the truth was written, even if the only language he could write in without using his powers for translation was draconish. The Dragon had made mistakes, had been a bad friend, but he wanted to do it right next time. And there would be a next time. He would have the book delivered to Warlock Court, along with a note to keep it safe for the future. It was also important that the reincarnated version of his friend had the correct name, too. He had an idea for how to deal with that. A list of names to scroll through would do it. Family’s loved tradition, didn’t they?

Lastly was Anar’s companions. Destroyer was waiting in the astral plane. Guen, too. It would be simple to drop them down into the world at the right time, but they alone would not be enough. Hemlock, now he had been a fine reptile. A dinosaur species known on Earth as a velociraptor, by all accounts. Bringing a dinosaur in via portal might prove a little trickier, but he had a while to sort the logistics.

Valentino heated some water for tea with his brand-new dragon-fire ability that he had given himself for vital use in the future, (using some of his precious leeched magic), then he steeped the aromatic leaves, sat down at his sturdy wooden chair, and let his inner self wander for a while. So many worlds, many timelines, many possibilities, realities both varied and numerous were out there, and he had lived them all at some point. The one he was in right now was his favourite, and he would gladly experience it again and again. It had its sorrows, its low points, but it also had hope and redemption; it made him feel emotions that brought him as close to living as any creature of magic could ever get.

He sipped and smiled, remembering the good times that hadn’t happened yet, when General Warlock was once again at his side and the universe was theirs for the taking. 500 years wasn’t really so long to wait for a chance of happiness, though he did have to spend it in the Underworld. It would all be worth it to finally open his door and see that familiar long, grey face standing there!

He pulled a piece of fresh parchment from his pile, dipped his quill, and paused in thought. This was also the only timeline he’d ever written a story in. It was a very important one, too, and he mustn’t miss any of the best bits, but the beginning already seemed so far away. There had been a starry night sky, and a small fire that glowed in wondrous blue hues from the new magic Anar was learning to wield.  The Dragon had accidentally transferred all his power to the aardvark General after resurrecting him on the battlefield. He’d been cruelly stabbed with a Tri-Corn Horn Sceptre, wielded by the rat warlord Nisgarant, after refusing to follow his evil orders…