Daily Short: Matt 12

3rd Year 7th Month of the Dark Banking Audit

In a massive pocket dimension, two immortal beings sat scribbling. The chairs and double desk spoke of luxury, being that they were crafted from the bones of the divine. One of the two signed a final document with a sigh before tossing it over his shoulders. As the last piece of parchment fell, it triggered a cascade reaction. Enormous paper stacks collapsed, burying the poor man.

“Why did we require paper for the records again, Jeeves?” Matt said, resisting the urge to obliterate everything on top of him. It had been exhausting for several months. Multiple times he had been tempted to erase the records. Only the thought of having to do all this work again at a later date halted his hand.

“Remember the last time we used computer systems from those sentient A.I., sir,” Jeeves replied with urban calm. The butler was never dressed in anything but a perfect suit using the perks of his position. Even with the paper blocking his view, he knew his butler’s craven penguin suit by heart. It was appalling to Matt, sometimes. What was the point of ultimate power if you couldn’t walk around wearing random clothes?

That was it. The next time he invaded, he would wear Hawaiian shirts and tie-dye mind-melting chaos colors. It would teach those prudes on the other side a valuable lesson. Also, it would make it easier to lure assassins and remove them from play. He would not be doing it to cause his butler stress.

Nope.

Never.

“The sentient, A.I. those, wait, those weren’t Systems, right?” Matt said as his mind pulled the information from its abyss when it finally returned to the conversation. “Ah! Right, the Divine Machine faction. They were using my funds for their crusade to wipe all organic life from every reality. I remember they were big into pi too. They could navigate these maddening sheets of paper like fish in the ocean.”

“Indeed, and they were getting tax write-offs for doing it,” Jeeves said with faint praise.

“Whatever happened to those little circuit breakers?” Matt asked, furrowing his brows. He didn’t remember obliterating them, so they’d left on good terms.

“Ah, they fled closer to the Anomaly and were never seen again,” Jeeves said nervously. Talking about the big giant super-duper mystery at the center of Reality was terrifying to specific types. Mostly immortals who realized how utterly horrifying it was.

Matt sighed. It was hard to find demon butlers with spunk these days. He blamed it on the training courses. It took a fraction of a moment before Matt conjured a bottle of spirits from his Dark Wine Collection, an extraordinary Skill stolen from an inferior Divinity of Darkness. It had taken a few centuries to repurpose the Skill into something better, but he had the time.

He couldn’t wait till some Pantheon of Light tried to poison his wines. The shelving would eat them alive. Either that or it would trigger another invasion from Chaos. Coin toss both ways, and neither was dull, so it was all good.

“A toast to those forgotten machine Divinities that, for their minor attempt at mass realicide, that’s a word, I just made it one. I can do that after going through the equivalent of a torture session designed by Olympian Math divines. Those planet-sized calculators were great accountants. Put out a bounty for their return.” Matt said, raising a toast. Jeeves went to pour himself a drink, and the bottle and additional glass vanished. It was petty, but Matt remembered the pain of six months of mathematical arcane insanity. He wouldn’t forget how he was foiled at every turn by a debonair demon butler. The damn demon prevented the destruction of the records at every chance. If such a being thought they were getting any wine he’d stolen from a Pantheon of Light’s drunken deity, they were wrong.

Matt firmly believed that tax codes were demonic rituals.

“Jeeves, are tax codes demonic rituals?” Matt said. He might ask an actual demon for the profound dark secret truth.

“Petty, sir,” Jeeves said, conjuring his drink with a sniff of disdain. “No, tax codes are not demonic rituals. There are limits to how much we torture the prey.”

“I’m powerful; that means my pettiness is called eccentricity,” Matt said, drinking his glass in one gulp. “Also, you lie. Tax codes were not only written by demons but so were the instructions on how to decipher them! Genius!”

“As you say, sir,” Jeeves said, sucking all the completed paperwork into a dimension within the sleeves of his urban suit woven of living darkness.

Mat emerged on the cold stone floor with three bottles already downed. When it involved drinking, his speed was the speed of Dark, after all.

“Now that the accounting is done, shall we get to the good part, sir?” Jeeves said as his eyes flashed with a hellish glint.

“Right,” Matt said, snapping vertically without any effort. “Let’s grab all those idiots who thought they would never get audited. I love this part. We need to find a way to get to it faster. Jeeves, I hope you find a way to get this done faster next time. Everything up to Class Nine restrictions is at your disposal.”

“Oh, joy,” Jeeves said as Darkness swirled up from the floor to surround both men.