[Not a Power Fantasy + Medieval Europe + Faustian Dilemma + Dark Humor + Workplace Oddities + Absurdity]
Hell is a vast bureaucracy. The callous quotas imposed by its higher-ups have pushed the low-ranking imps to the brink of madness. By a stroke of chance, a flood of contract signings begins with the male protagonist, and things spiral further and further into absurdity…
“Friend, take a look at this. It's just a little mutual assistance agreement. It won't hurt you, and it'll even help with a minor inconvenience. Just sign here. It won't take long.”
“Eternal curse? No, let's leave that deadly one for later. This one only requires me to provide a riddle each week, and in return I get the weather forecast for the next three days. Sounds reasonable.”
“I'm just a ‘contracting party,’ so how did I turn Hell upside down?”
“Knowledge is power, especially in an age when everyone is illiterate. Thank you, Hell's bureaucratic paperwork… for giving me a chance to nitpick the wording.”
An absurd scene unfolds in the library: a numb mortal sits at a desk, mechanically signing contracts from Hell as his blood flows. Not far behind him, an old man in a black priest's robe is kept under a demon's watch, ready to replenish the deal-maker's strength with holy prayers and “holy water” so he can sign even more contracts.
To “improve efficiency,” a department in Hell even approves a special budget to build a teleportation array outside his home, connecting directly to all of Hell's business centers, so demons can “deliver his quota right to his door.”
It's pretty good. Just don't be too lazy.