A phylactery, or lifebox, is a lich's lifeline.
While it doesn't carry the soul itself, it is what allows a lich to be reborn again and again.
The body of a lich is made of magic—dark magic, to be precise.
To kill a lich, one must destroy the body, then the phylactery, and then the body once more.
Before Steve took over, Sum'gial's phylactery was flawed.
The flaw was of his own making.
The phylactery had been a hasty creation—something no truly chaotic mind should have attempted without preparation.
No archmage would ever leave his source of power—his knowledge, his library—in chaos.
For all his cruelty and destruction, Sum'gial had once been rigorous.
It was only his reckless rush toward lichdom that left him riddled with imperfections.
Sighing as he read through a scroll on phylacteries, Sum'gial came to this conclusion.
He was halfway through the scrolls; the books, he suspected, would be far more interesting.
Occasionally glancing at the Forums of the Damned, he worked through the formulas until he finally crafted a legally binding contract—one that would tie itself to the library and follow his every instruction.
He had devised a clever workaround.
Since he didn't know the true names of the devils capable of delicate labor, he wouldn't control the devils themselves—he would control where they appeared.
In simple terms, he would write laws into the library itself.
Any being that entered would be compelled to work.
By imposing all the rules upon a small pocket dimension, he would make that dimension the library.
All Sum'gial needed to do now was summon a devil and lure it into the Library Dimension.
He wasn't planning anything cruel, not by infernal standards.
Librarians were allowed to read any book within the library, and their term of service lasted only a hundred years.
Even without pay, most devils would find the arrangement tolerable—perhaps even enviable.
He needed bait for lawful devils.
As a lich, he possessed more souls than most mortals had thoughts.
He didn't need a warrior, but a devil with precision—one skilled in administration.
Thinking of the Hells made his non-existent eyebrows twitch.
The upper three layers were chaotic: evil for amusement's sake.
The middle three were ambitious: evil for power's sake.
But the lower three… those were to Sum'gial's liking.
They were evil simply because it was their work.
Summoning a devil from the lower levels required paperwork, ten souls as an offering, and a stable summoning channel.
He decided he'd better begin with the library modifications.
For an archmage like him, it should take only a few hours.
---
It took him more than six.
That might have been due to his habit of rechecking every line, every rune, over and over again.
While the library's interior remained chaotic, the library itself was now its own dimension—a space he could shift between planes with a thought.
Writing the rules directly into the dimension took the most time.
While he was at it, he also created a librarian position.
Sitting at his desk and filling out Form 113-B: Application for Infernal Staffing Request, the lich frowned.
"Even Hell makes grammatical mistakes?" he muttered.
Using dragon blood as ink—the closest thing he had to red—he crossed out every error and corrected the form line by line.
All he had to do now was wait.
---
Hell POV
Scene: Department of Infernal Human Resources — Applicant Review
Location: The Ninth Bureau of Staffing, 66th Desk Row, Layer Nine.
A mountain of parchment rustled under green firelight. Quills scratched by themselves. The air smelled of ink, sulfur, and burnt ambition.
"Next file!" barked the overseer.
A horned HR devil with eight monocles—Personnel Auditor Ahr'zel—picked up the newest packet. It glowed faintly blue, smoked slightly at the edges, and bore an immaculate title:
"Form 113-B, Corrected, Revised, Proofread, and Blessed by Grammar."
Ahr'zel sighed. "Oh no. Another reformer."
He broke the seal. The parchment screamed once—politely—and unfolded into a neat stack of forms. Every line was rewritten in pristine script, margins perfectly aligned.
"Applicant: Sum'gial, lich. Request: Librarian, lower-tier management."
He read further.
'Offered Compensation: Ten mortal souls (non-premium tier, assorted), two of which are slightly used but well-preserved.'
"Reasonable," Ahr'zel murmured, stamping the line ACCEPTABLE OFFERING (TENTATIVE).
Then his eyes twitched. In red ink across Section VII, the lich had written:
'Your infernal clauses contain 67 grammatical errors, 12 redundancies, and one moral paradox. Corrected for your convenience.'
"He edited the clauses," hissed the imp clerk nearby. "Sir, that voids the submission."
"Technically," Ahr'zel said, adjusting one monocle, "it improves it."
He flipped to the next page.
'Additional Note: Kindly assign a devil with administrative discipline and alphabetical empathy. I will not tolerate misfiled grimoires.'
"Alphabetical empathy?" the imp asked.
"It means the applicant can hear when the shelves are out of order," Ahr'zel replied dryly.
He turned to the signature block. The signature wasn't written—it was engraved into the paper by necrotic energy, surrounded by footnotes explaining the proper use of semicolons in infernal text.
Ahr'zel stared for a long moment. Then he exhaled a long plume of smoke.
"Assign this one to me," he said. "Anyone who corrects infernal grammar deserves direct supervision."
"Sir, that means you'll have to visit the mortal plane."
"Yes," Ahr'zel said, folding the glowing pages into a perfect square. "Bring me my travel ledger. If this lich can fix our paperwork, he's worth the risk."
He glanced at the final page—Sum'gial's addendum:
'P.S. Your fonts are appalling. Expect new templates upon my approval.'
Ahr'zel groaned. "Oh, my beloved Satan below… he's one of those."
—
As Sum'gial kept reading a body-modification scroll of Ther'vassi origin—which suggested a mechanized eye should be capable of seeing magic with proper alterations—he kept a sliver of his attention on the summoning circle he had drawn in the library.
Dring… Dring… dring…
He froze.
"What now? Am I… receiving a multidimensional call from Hell?"
The circle pulsed a lazy crimson. A small rune on its edge blinked red-red-green-red. Curious, he tapped the glowing section with one bony finger.
A voice burst out, polite and far too cheerful.
"Good day, sir! We have reviewed your application. Our Infernal Staffing Department is most pleased to inform you that your request for administrative assistance has been… preliminarily approved!"
Sum'gial raised an absent eyebrow ridge. "You're calling me back?"
"Indeed, sir! I am speaking from the Infernal Registry of Employment and Souls, External Staffing Division. My name is B'harath, and I will be your customer-service representative for this eternal interaction."
"I wasn't expecting Hell to call back."
"We pride ourselves on proactive torment, sir! Now, before dispatching your assigned personnel, we require a few details for quality assurance and future damnation purposes."
Sum'gial sighed. "Go ahead."
"Wonderful, sir! First, please confirm your species—lich, correct? Excellent. Current body status—fully skeletal? Fantastic. Phylactery condition—stable? Lovely, lovely. And do you consent to minor planar tearing during the delivery process?"
"Fine," he said flatly. "Just don't get blood on the floor."
"Oh, no worries at all, sir. We've upgraded to soot and despair—much cleaner. Please hold while I connect you to Senior Auditor Ahr'zel, who will finalize the arrangement."
Hold music began—an infernal choir singing in disturbingly upbeat harmony.
Sum'gial stared at the glowing circle, unimpressed.
"Hell," he muttered, "really is customer service."
The hold music cut mid-scream.
"Good evening, lich Sum'gial," a new voice announced, low and crisp. "This is Senior Auditor Ahr'zel, Department of Infernal Human Resources. I'm calling to discuss your application and the seventy-three unauthorized corrections you—"
There was a snap of blue light.
The summoning circle flared white-hot.
"—made to our—wait. Why is my summoning channel stabilizing? Who authorized—"
A figure fell through the circle with a puff of sulfur and paperwork.
He landed on his feet, adjusting a collar made entirely of official seals, and looked around the endless rows of shelves.
"Ah," he said flatly. "I appear to have been... delivered."
Sum'gial didn't look up from his scroll. "You're late."
Ahr'zel blinked. "Late? I wasn't scheduled for transport. I was reviewing your case."
"Yes, yes," Sum'gial said, flipping a page. "Consider this fieldwork. Welcome to the Library Dimension. Please refrain from dripping infernal ink on the carpet."
Ahr'zel's wings twitched in irritation. "This violates at least forty infernal labor laws."
"Forty-two," Sum'gial corrected. "But who's counting?"
"I am, actually," Ahr'zel replied, pulling out a quill that wrote by itself. "By regulation, you can't summon a department head without written consent—"
"Correction," Sum'gial interrupted. "I didn't summon you. You followed the transfer protocol. That's voluntary relocation."
The devil frowned. "That is not how it works."
"Of course it is," Sum'gial said, finally setting his scroll down. "You filled the form yourself when you accepted the call. Now, as per the Library Law—clause eight, sub-rule thirteen—any being entering this space automatically assumes the duties of librarian."
Ahr'zel's quill stopped midair.
"...You're joking."
"I'm undead," Sum'gial replied. "I don't joke."
Ahr'zel stared up at it in disbelief. "You can't be serious."
"Don't worry," Sum'gial said, waving a hand dismissively. "It's only for a hundred years."
"A hundred—"
"Read Section Three, paragraph four. It's all there."
He turned back to his scroll, voice perfectly calm. "Now, make yourself useful. The restricted section's index cards are in alphabetical disorder."
Ahr'zel stood there for a long moment, shoulders rising, smoke curling faintly from his collar.
Then he exhaled.
"Fine. But I'm filing a complaint."
"File away," Sum'gial said. "Just use the correct form."
The sound of quills scratching filled the library — one fueled by patience, the other by spite.