Life.14: Miracles Do Happen
.
.
Sirzechs had to admit, he was satisfied with the results. He expected fewer people to come by and accept a seat at the meeting.
"This pessimistic thinking…" the Super Devil chuckled sheepishly, "looks like Ajuka's attitude is rubbing off on me. Mom will be furious if she catches me saying these things."
Aside from the Hindu Gods and Hades, the only ones who he believed wouldn't answer his request was the Egyptian Pantheon—that didn't mean he couldn't give it a try.
The outcome? Just as he imagined.
The world questioned what their current status was. There was not a single trace of them.
In fact, he stopped hearing news from their Pantheon entirely. The last time they had a massive event was when the Eclipse Dragon Apophis threatened to submerge their sands beneath layers of pitch darkness, only to be smitten by Ra.
After that, an age of stillness.
Michael believed that they were withdrawn and reclusive like the Amatsukami and Kyoto Youkai Faction—but on a new level.
Azazel suggested that they were extinct.
Sirzechs didn't know who to side with; both Angel and Fallen Angel had good arguments and evidence to back up their claims.
He shouldn't have been thinking way too much about it—don't look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say. He should be satisfied with the characters he had right at that precise moment.
The Crimson Satan finally concentrated on the matter at hand. Not counting him, Hades, Lugh, and Odin were the last to come over to the meeting according to Azazel.
Hades' attire was something only high priests would wear at a ceremony—he could've been mistaken for a Pope if it wasn't for the creepy aura and lack of skin and eyeballs.
Under his headdress, Sirzechs could barely identify the well-hidden Kotinos covering Hades' temple like an elastic band—a symbol of divinity worn only by Greek Gods.
The All-father Odin wore a blue robe with sigils written in the mother tongue of his people. He had a monocle over which protected his magical eye and he was holding his famous spear like a walking stick.
Then, only second Hades in terms of stature was Lugh. He was a tall, muscular man with long orange hair and a stubbly beard. His attire consisted of a green vest, a dark green cloak, and brown boots. He had a tattoo of Celtic design and a conscious crow on his shoulder, scanning the place with wary, maroon eyes.
He knew very well that that wasn't a mere familiar—far from it.
"Lucifer," the Super Devil felt a nudge to his side—it was Azazel, "time is ticking. Let's get this show running."
"You are right. Pretty sure that's all the people that will show up," Sirzechs harrumphed to capture their attention, "Everyone, let's go to our—"
"Not yet," Indra cut him off above his mount, they could taste the venom slipping from his voice, "Someone is coming."
Right on cue, a magic circle appeared in one of the empty spots of the table.
A woman of unparalleled beauty appeared before them. She had long, jet-black hair and wore a red sari that only accentuated her buxom body. Her smile—which was fair, beautiful, and benevolent—contrasted with the emptiness of her yellow eyes.
Sirzechs noted the deep dark circles under her eyes but didn't speak about it.
This was Parvati—goddess of love and beauty.
"I made it," priorities first, the goddess turned to Indra and the white elephant under him. She gave a deep bow, "Lord Śakra, Lord Airavata. It's an honor."
Indra said nothing in exchange, merely glaring a hole in her skull.
Not like she was expecting a greeting in return. She faced the Super Devil and smiled apologetically, "I ask for forgiveness for my rude entrance and lateness. Did I miss anything crucial?"
"Not at all—your timing is impeccable. Your attendance is highly appreciated as well, Lady Parvati," Sirzechs then addressed everyone, "Now I'm confident no one else will arrive at the last minute to this meeting. Take a seat and we can begin. Everyone, I hope that we all have come in harmony and—"
"No," Indra interrupted him a second time, "Lucifer. Do you insult my presence by bringing her of all people here to this meeting? I'm disappointed. I accepted your invitation as a gesture of goodwill."
"That didn't take long," Azazel muttered.
"Diplomacy, please," Michael urged them.
"I have every right to be in this negotiation," Parvati defended her position, "someone must represent Mount Kailash."
"And why is it that your husband could not act as a leader for once and come instead? Isn't he more suited to speak for Mount Kailash than his woman?"
"My husband is a busy man," Parvati's response came out as vague, "I decided to take some of his burdens off his shoulders."
"Occupied you say? On what, exactly? Drooling and blowing bubbles?"
"Please, let's keep it civil. If we must negotiate the conditions of the negotiation, we will only talk in circles," Sirzechs tried to act as the voice of reason.
"… A warning to this room," Indra started, "I have faced many gods. The worst wears the face of a child," he drawled until his lavender eyes crashed into the almond eyes of Parvati, "and the second-worst are the ones that hide behind misleading smiles. Take this piece of information as you may see fit."
"Are you done?" Hades grumbled, thrumming his skeletal fingers impatiently on the rounded table, "did you attend just to share trivial foretokens? Or can we get this over with and never see each other again?"
The King of Devas shot him a powerful glare, "Yes, let's put an end to this."
"Let's shall, then," Sirzechs harrumphed, "I can't express with words how relieved I am to see a good number of people participating in this meeting. I hope in the future we can have more supporters."
"It's a pleasure, Satan Lucifer. I'm actually curious what this talk will be about," Odin spoke up, "the Governor-General pulled me over. By the looks of it, it seems important given how insistent he was."
"Does it have anything to do with the attack on the Vatican led by the Old Satan Faction?" Yasaka asked.
"It does play a big role, indeed," Sirzechs nodded, "the results of the attack precipitated Heaven and the Remaining Pillars entrance into this war."
"And they had their comeuppance afterward," Indra finished with a sneer, "Pathetic. The attack happened without even a declaration of war and without explicit warning."
"I think the word that you're looking for is a war crime, Śakra," Lugh supplied.
"A date which will live in infamy," Michael lamented.
"And despite that, the Old Satan Faction has officially been taken care off, this is far from over," Sirzechs stated, "In fact, this is just starting. It's confirmed that the Old Satan Faction was a wing of a larger terrorist organization."
"Someone is pulling the strings behind the scenes. Hmm," Odin hummed, stroking his large beard, "who this organization is that cowers in the shadows and alarmed the likes of Satan Lucifer?"
"Khaos Brigade," Azazel responded, "A terrorist organization that is composed of subgroups working underneath them, each with their own goals and ideas."
"And the Old Satan Faction was one of the puppets," Lugh got a nod from the Fallen Angel. He glanced to the crow in his shoulder and snickered, "Damn, that's hilarious. They really thought they would get so far."
"This is where the purpose of this gathering comes up," Sirzechs paused to look at each one of them, "Instead of being observers, I encourage each one of you to come together to achieve a mutual goal—counterattack the Khaos Brigade."
"A coalition," Parvati took a guess and nailed it, "an anti-terrorist cell."
"… Conflict. We may not feel it yet, but, step by step, the world is devolving until it hits the brink of chaos and fear. We need order and hope to oppose it. An anti-terrorist group charged with ending the Army of Disaster and restoring peace to all factions. Guardians who can secure global peace for a generation and more to come. To become a symbol of heroism, sacrifice, and nobility. To teach that they represented the best of their race and become a capable, dedicated force," after the speech, the Crimson Satan stole a quick breath, "Similar to the formation of Khaos Brigade, each one of us will represent a subsidiary group whose purpose is to confront efficiently all the branches working for Khaos Brigade."
"Putting that dramatic and portentous speech aside, you're asking us to donate troops," Indra surmised it, his lips turning into a frown, "but given how dire the situation seemed to look like, you are demanding first-class soldiers and not cannon fodder."
"I'm not fond of the usage of the words cannon fodder… but if it gets the point across, then so be it," Sirzechs sighed out, "but indeed, Lord Śakra. That's pretty much it. In my case, I will employ my peerage to support this cause."
"What now? Pulling out the Strongest Peerage from your sleeve so nonchalantly, Crimson Satan?" Azazel curved an eyebrow, "what happened with solving everything through talks instead of fighting?"
"The Vatican Invasion happened," Sirzechs reminded him, "it wounds my heart to use armed conflict as my first option instead of a diplomatic approach… but Shalba confirmed my suspicions that no member of Khaos Brigade is willing to listen. They forced my hand—that's all."
"How honest. I can see in your eyes how much you want to defend this world, hear the seriousness in your voice as you willingly take new lengths and responsibilities to impede chaos," Parvati noted and pulled a serene smile, "Very well. I will contribute to this cause by—"
"Bestowing your son Ganesha to represent Mount Kailash," Indra finished for her after foretelling the future. They could see the suspiciousness hiking behind his sunglasses, "I must have lived under a rock for so long, but since when did Mount Kailash become such a charitable organization?"
"Why, is my decision not of your liking, Lord Śakra?"
"To casually bequeathing one of the strongest gods from Mount Kailash because of a mediocre sermon does certainly raise some questions," Indra leveled her with an intense gaze, "What are you truly plotting, woman?"
"Satan Lucifer is such a charismatic individual," Parvati explained, "With such performance, it's no wonder how he became the face and voice of the Four Great Satan."
"Is that it? Is that your excuse? Such an easy woman to please," Indra rolled his eyes sky-high, "Your bar is set very low. Then it's to nobody's surprise why you permitted Rudra to put that ring around your finger."
Taking offense to his remark, the goddess instinctively reached out for the finger carrying the ring, "He's an interesting man."
"My dear, your man is about as interesting as the moss growing upon stone." Folding his arms, Indra answered Sirzechs, "Sun Wukong. Wukong will emblematize Mount Meru and Svargaloka."
"The Monkey King," Sirzechs closed his eyes, "I've read reports that he played a key role in fending off the Old Satan Faction, I'm deeply grateful for his support. With the brief encounters he had with the Khaos Brigade, his experience will be profitable to us," as his eyes opened, Sirzech's gaze locked to the Greek God, who'd been quiet during the ordeal and still thrummed his finger on the table, "Hades macte, can we count with your support?"
"Let's make something clear. This council wasn't my idea. This is nothing short of a waste of time," the God of Dead started.
"Then why even come," Azazel muttered.
"That fool Zeus ordered me to speak on behalf of the Dodekatheon," Hades grumbled, "disturbing my peace just to be surrounded by nuisance."
"Such an interesting choice. I imagined Zeus macte would pick anybody from the Twelve Olympians," Yasaka noted, the insult of the god either ignored or went over her vulpine ears, "could it be because of the short distance between the Realm of the Dead and Ars Goetia? Or to represent the Realm of the Dead and the Dodekatheon?"
"And yet, we are one of a mind about our current situation," Hades admitted, surprising the Biblical leaders, "Khaos Brigade is in fact a threat to earth."
"Oh?" Azazel blinked, twice, "Is it happening?"
"Do not get your hopes high, crow. My view of your breed hasn't faltered in the slightest," Hades glared at Azazel, "this sentiment goes to the bats and doves as well."
"I talked a bit soon then," Azazel chuckled.
"I could tolerate this reunion if it were made up by races originating from earth," Hades' glowing eyes stopped over the Nordic and Hinduist deities, "what I do not tolerate is seeing these people intruding themselves in matters that are none of their business."
The Governor-General sighed, "Here we go…"
"To think I would sit down at the same table with each one of you," the skeleton cackled dangerously, "You trespassers are not welcomed to this world. Travel back to the Dimensional Gap, to the world you belong to. We do not need your kind here, outlanders."
The Allfather scowled at his remark, "And who you are to decide who does or does not have access or rights to a place, Hades macte?"
"And who gave you the rights to invade earth, Odin?" Hades countered, "You brought nothing beneficial to this planet, only claiming our soils and stealing air. Inciting wars for selfish gains."
"HAHAHA!" Indra cocked his head while laughing with mirth, "This is rich coming from the pantheon that waged a war over an apple!"
"I wasn't entangled in that stupid war nor am I part of that absolute useless, inner group," Hades shoved his accusation away, "They were the ones that stuck their noses in the personal concerns of mortals. Their actions do not represent my persona."
"That doesn't change the narrative, Hades macte. Like the Dodekatheon, you're tainted by their hamartia—to be a Greek God. Your kind is the most arrogant, narrow-minded, vengeful, and volatile of all the gods. Their lack of control over their fierce temperament and fragile ego only leads them to commit violent acts upon mortals just because they've shown the tiniest of disrespect—not even the world is spared by their tantrums. Hmph. And here I thought that Rudra's family was the most dysfunctional of all."
"That was oddly specific," Lugh awkwardly chuckled.
"Going after my family with your uncalled-for insults," the goddess Parvati had a firm hold on the table, nearly crushing it with her god-like strength, "An unscrupulous attack. I would expect nothing less from you, Lord Śakra."
"That's enough!" Michael finally snapped, "each one of you is behaving ridiculously. You let your old grudges blind you from what's happening outside this room. Here you stand, giving lip… over silliness! While the fate of the world is being threatened by an entity beyond our understanding!"
Indra glanced with disregard to the Angel before turning to the Fallen One, "Is he with you, Aza-boy? I suggest you tell him to watch his tongue. The gods are talking."
"Yeah. He is with me Śakra, thanks for the observation," Azazel stood up for the Archangel, "I suggest you listen what he has to say instead. Who knows? It may surprise you."
"I advise you to behave as requested in the invitation as well, Lord Śakra," Sirzechs reminded him, "this goes to everyone in this room as well."
"Is anyone truly understanding the danger? The threat behind the doors of our factions? The climax of this world and many more? It honestly baffles that no one yet has asked who the leader is of Khaos Brigade," the blond Angel continued, "the being behind all this disorder is Ophis. The Ouroboros Dragon."
A pregnant silence, even Hades stopped tapping his finger on the table.
"The Jet-Black God of Infinity," Odin recovered his breath, his grip over his spear tightening, "The Dragon of songs and legends…"
"I don't know about the end of the world, but this has gotten out of hand with a Dragon God playing as the chess master," Lugh had an awkward smile as he rubbed the back of his neck, "That makes three dragons now. Crom Cruach and Niðhöggr are still out there causing mischief after all."
The Norse God scowled, tapping the butt of his spear on the floor in thought. He glanced over to the Biblical leaders and nodded, "Very well. I can't say for certain who I will pick, but you have my vow that someone will fight under the banner of the Nine Realms. Wherever he is, Niðhöggr must pay for his crimes."
Sirzechs had his share of knowledge about the Norsemen. He knew that oath-breaking was perhaps the worst possible sin amongst them, "I look forward to hearing more from you in the future, Allfather."
"I need to contact the Amatsukami first," Yasaka spoke up, "or rather, with Lady Amaterasu. I can't give you an answer yet, Satan Lucifer."
"I understand," the Crimson Satan watched the taller god summoned a magic circle underneath him, "I would appreciate if you could pass out Zeus macte the substantial aspects of this meeting, Hades macte."
Hades never replied as he vanished.
"I have to say, Hades macte stayed longer than I thought," Azazel threw the God of Dead a bone, "I expected him to leave sooner."
Michael smiled at Azazel, "I must vouch for that, I'm afraid."
Sirzechs just chuckled, "Since Hades macte already left, I draw the session to a close. Thank you all for your participation."
Amongst the gods, the only one that remained was the Irish one. Michael was quick to start a conversation, "Chief Ollam. I had consulted the Third-Generation Apex of Humanity about his fight against Crom Cruach. Would you require any information about him?"
The crow hanging on Lugh shoulder's perked up at that.
"Nope. You can keep those, Archangel," Lugh beamed at him, "I know Crom Cruach very well. I can't believe he still doesn't use an alias to hide his true identity. He knows that a name is something vital to battle, as it can reveal much about them, and yet still he throws his like it's nothing. Such a troublesome dragon."
"Chief Ollam. Forgive my ignorance, but how strong is he truly?" Yasaka suddenly spoke up, "not to discredit the capabilities of Eminence Strada, but I'm skeptical that Crom Cruach fought seriously. He must have been holding back during the ordeal."
"I must concur with the High Priestess," Michael nodded, "It would help us immensely if you could share your wisdom."
"In the Tuath Dé, Crom Cruach is recognized as an Evil Dragon; most are inclined to see him as an Evil God rather than a dragon as he rarely uses his true form. He lived in slavery under the rule of Tyrant King Balor. Although that was more than a thousand years ago. On the Second Battle of Mag Turied, many gods of the tribe I belong to reunited to deal with him without success. He was a catalyst for the oppression of the Fomorians. No doubt he lives up to his title as the Strongest Evil Dragon." He leaned back on his seat, forcing the crow to jump off of him and land on the table. "They even called him as the Black Dragon Emperor since they believe he's already on par or even surpasses the Heavenly Dragons in their prime."
"Give me a break," Azazel rubbed the bridge of his nose, "not only do we have a Dragon God to worry about, but a wanna-be Heavenly Dragon too? Just lovely..."
"How did he achieve so much power, Chief Ollam?" Sirzechs asked, "Did Balor have anything to do with it?"
The Irish God shrugged, "Training," he laughed vigorously at their reactions, "Hahaha! What? I'm serious! After escaping from his former owner, he started to train like crazy. He's a training maniac through and through!
"…"
Her trance wasn't overlooked by Lugh, "Something startled your mind, High Priestess of the Sun?"
The Twelve-Tailed Fox swayed her hand, "It's nothing, forgive my silence. Crom Cruach reminded me of someone," she cleared her throat, "If I may ask, who is stronger? Him or you?"
"Hmm… Let's see…" Lugh rolled one of his shoulders, deep in thought, "If Crom Cruach transforms in his Dragon form, he would give me some trouble."
"Would you lose?" Michael asked.
Lugh broke into a wide smile, "I'd beat him," he replied before thumbing over his shoulder, "Good talk, but I have to go now—being a leader can be such a bother."
"I'll take my leave too," Yasaka gave a bow, "Once I have an answer from my superiors, I will reach out to you, Satan Lucifer. Until next time."
"Safe travels," once they disappeared through the power of magic, Sirzechs turned to the other two Biblical leaders, "what about you two?"
"I will get in contact with the Supreme Pontiff for a briefing," Michael answered, "hopefully we can get to the bottom of this and find suitable candidates. And you Azazel?"
"Take a guess," Azazel had that knowing smirk, "I'll give you a hint since I'm in a good mood today. He has grey hair."
The Super Devil scowled in recognition, "Danhauser?"
"We got a winner!" Azazel snapped his fingers in his direction, "We go way back since the stone age, yeah? We teamed up to fight against Satanael, the Utsusemi Agency, and the Wizards of Oz. You know what, let's make it spicier. I'll bring the whole party by pulling Mephisto Pheles here too! I can't see why Grauzauberer wouldn't accept the invitation for dear old times."
"I'm not sure that I'm delighted for this idea," Sirzechs voiced his doubts. "While Danhauser has proven to be strong on multiple occasions, joining a group of anti-terrorism isn't fit for people around his age."
"I'd be sold if Danhauser didn't fight against Satanael at the age of fifteen or sixteen," the Fallen Angel retorted. "He played a role in defuncting the Old Satan Faction, didn't he? He'll be a good addition to this task force."
"Azazel, he's a treasure to Ars Goetia," Satan Lucifer's became firm, "an heir—the future leader of Clan Belial. Losing him would be a deep scar to the Remaining Pillars. Don't you have anyone from Grigori to take his place instead?"
"Let's see… the ones that come to mind are Slash Dog as our top fighter in Grigori… who is part of Danhauser's peerage," Azazel furrowed his brows, "Shigune Nanadaru could do, but it isn't enough—we need numbers too. And if what Mephisto told me is true, that girl with Absolute Demise is doing preparations for a Magician Pact with Danhauser. And Vali, well…"
"The White Dragon?" Sirzechs was aware of the existence of the Hakuryuukou and his family tree. "It's for the best that he doesn't take any part of this until the controversy around his bloodline wears out."
"Exactly, seems we're on the same page," the raven-haired angel moved his hands to his hips, "which is the reason why he will do great working alongside Grigori. Long ago, I was talking with Slash Dog about hiring Danhauser and his peerage as Grigori Agents… maybe it's time to make it official."
"… I hope you understand what you're getting into, Azazel," Sirzechs warned him, "the members of Clan Belial are extremely close to each other… they'll do ridiculous things to keep their family away from harm."
"Don't worry yourself, Crimson Satan. I've taken a bratty Half-Devil under my wing and taught him the ropes. A Pure Devil won't make any difference," the Governor-General looked over the Archangel. "Heard you visited the Vatican before. Everything went well between you and the humans?"
"… It's hard," Michael admitted after a short period of silence, "but not impossible. My communication skills with humans are no match to Gabriel and Grigori. I have an easier time interacting with Devils and Fallen Angels, as ridiculous as it sounds."
The leader of Grigori patted the Archangel encouragingly on the back, "Hey, practice makes perfect, Mickey. You'll eventually get in there," he turned to the Crimson Satan, "there was something off about you during the session. It almost slipped away, but I saw it at the last second. Where's the Silver-Haired Queen of Annihilation? It's an eyesore to see a Lucifer without their Lucifuge tagging along."
Sirzechs let out a heavy sigh, looking at the distance, "Grayfia… she's getting her hands dirty."
.
.
He awakened with a gasp after a splash of water splattered his face—his brain replaying the last scenes of his dream. His sight was blurry, vision still swimming in murky darkness, there was liquid dripping in his heterochromatic eyes and his now damp clothes.
Despite his eyesight not offering relief, his hearing was working properly. He could hear a faint humming and footsteps around the place. The air had a neutral smell, the scent of a stainless-steel kettle once the water was getting brewed. Someone was preparing tea.
The shade in his brain receded, but it left him with one distressing thought as he strained at the biding in his wrists.
He was in trouble.
And to make it worse, they didn't use ropes to tie him up—it was Pitch Resin.
He was a dead man.
After seconds of fogginess, his range of view managed to adjust to his surroundings—albeit to a slow pace. In front of him was a bulky figure of what he guessed was the bodyguard he hired to keep him safe as he traveled across the City of Dis. A small table between them.
A waste of coin—he thought. It looked like he was also regaining consciousness.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," a woman's voice said, educated, refined. "You've been napping for 90 minutes. That's unhealthy. Are you not following an adequate duration of sleep?"
He turned to her, wincing in the process. Half of his face was swelled and bruised. The corners of his mouth were stuck together. He swallowed and a taste of blood pooled in his throat. He should have been thankful to still be breathing.
The fact that he was in his home brought a small relief in his accelerated heart.
"I conducted myself to arrange a thorough management of your place," the elegant woman continued. She had her back to them and was almost everywhere with that broom in her grasp—a squint of his eyes and he could see the silver of her braided hair and maid clothing. "The place was an absolute disaster when I stepped inside. So much blood spilled everywhere… you're not fond of visits, are you, Lord Nebiros?"
He tried to come up with a witty answer, but his swollen jaw impeded doing so.
"Regardless of your answer, it's of utter importance to sacrifice a bit of your time to clean your household, or employ someone to do so," she left the broom leaning on a wall and turned to face them—her red eyes boring into his mismatched ones, "A dirty room speaks volumes about its owner, Lord Nebiros."
Silver hair.
Red eyes.
A Lucifuge.
Just his damn luck.
"Put a sock in it," his bodyguard groaned.
Great. Leave it to his bodyguard to do more harm than good.
But thankfully, she seemed to ignore his slur, "You two gentlemen have important information that I wish to know. We will tackle that matter after we have a refreshing, cup of tea. Any questions?"
"I'm not sharing jack shit with you," his bodyguard spat a mixture of saliva and blood to the floor, "Even less to a fucking Lucifuge of all people."
Despite not articulating it out, Lord Nebiros wholeheartedly agreed with his words… despite the vulgar and rough tone he used.
Her eyes finally flickered over the bulky man, sparing him with a bit of her time, "Your henchman has a gifted sense of speech, Lord Nebiros."
A hoarse laugh escaped from his thick-headed bodyguard, it's like he hired him to throw fuel to the fire. He brought tied hands in resin up and shook them, "Take these off and I'll show you where else I'm gifted," an arrogant smirk plastered across his beaten face, "and put that mouth to a better use."
Her face remained unchanged—passive. Like he was looking at a machine instead of a Devil. She started walking in his direction until she stood in front of his acquaintance. Her intimidating, red eyes looking back at the smug eyes of her captive—waiting patiently.
"Lord Nebiros," a chill crawled from his spine—the tone of her voice didn't betray her facial features, "Is this bodyguard of yours connected to any one of the Lucifer Six?"
He understood, "None. Extra Demon trash."
Not a second passed and the maid spun. One of her legs swung sideways to deliver a clean strike to the side of his head.
Lord Nebiros sweated profusely at the sound of a rolling head. He refused to look underneath him once he felt something resting on his leg.
Now everything was silent.
A poetic death for someone with a big mouth.
And suddenly, the sound of water boiling in a kettle echoed in the laboratory.
"Tea is ready," the silver-haired maid casually walked to where the chem-burner was seen—blowing off the near-invisible flame, "How many sugar cubes would you like to accompany your tea, Lord Nebiros?"
"O-One?" He nearly squeaked out the words.
"Of course," he watched through the bids of sweat as the silver-haired woman placed a teacup on his table and started serving the drink, "You have valuable information about someone who could potentially cause trouble in the future. A threat to the Underworld. He's a member of your Household—the child of the Original Nebiros."
"L-Lord Nebuchad?"
"Wonderful, you catch on quick. This saves us a good portion of time," she finished pouring the tea and their eyes met, he almost turned to stone, "You will tell me what I wish to know. You will tell me everything about Nebuchad Nezzar Nebiros."
He tensed once a pair of hands clamped down to his shoulders, "How about you take a rest? I'll take it from here."
Lord Nebiros paled like a ghost at the familiar voice, "M-Malacoda…"
Grayfia curved an eyebrow at his proposal, "You don't have to worry, Malacoda. I am not exhausted."
"For real? Am I only going to sit here and let you have all the fun?" Malacoda folded his arms, "No way you brought me all the way here to give you a free tour across Dis."
"I did, actually," Grayfia then scowled, "And we are not here to have fun, Malacoda. This is a mission, we should behave like professionals and act accordingly."
"Come on, Gray! We go way back!" Lord Nebiros felt the strong grip vanish from his shoulders. Instead, Evil Tail opted to stand beside the maid and wrap an arm around her like they were good friends, "We both were part of the Old Satan Faction back when it was cool! We were one of the most powerful Devils—better than those Satan brats with a silver spoon in their mouths if I say so myself!"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning…" he drawled while separating from her, "I am a reliable guy. You can trust me! We were as thick as thieves, hand, and glove—ass and panties!"
Grayfia deadpanned.
But that didn't discourage Malacoda to persuade the Queen of Lucifer, "Bet you've heard from the barracks about my work to make our enemies talk!"
"They did speak about your methods and questioned your sanity, yes," the Lucifuge recalled.
"All the better! As long as it gets the job done who cares what people think!" the Malebranche grinned from ear to ear, "my past alone should make Nebiros shit bricks on his pants—and we both know fear plays a big factor when interrogating someone!"
…
"Very well," Grayfia conceded, already reaching for the door, "I'll leave you to your own devices. Use any techniques you may see fit to make him reveal anything useful—but refrain from killing him. In the meantime, I shall put Lord Nebiro's pants in size order."
"Yeah, yeah. Have fun," Malacoda didn't move a muscle even after she left the room, waiting until her footsteps became inaudible. "Alright, all clear," he cut the bindings of his prey with a casual swing of his barbed tail. "So, Zaorama Nebiros, right?"
Even after being untied, Zaorama refused to stand from his chair—a look of perplexity framing his face.
"Ugh, great. Look man, I want to get this over with, alright?" Zaorama waited on pins and needles, his face drenched in a nervous sweat as Malacoda pulled something out of his pocket—a cellphone, "Catch."
And that he did. The device almost slipped from his fingers—bouncing in each hand until he caught it midair. The phone was perfectly positioned so that the black screen was facing him.
"Go on. You're doing great. A click away to drop your jaw," he looked up to meet the impatient eyes of Malacoda. His shoulders jumped when the raven-haired snapped his fingers in his direction to hurry him, "Move it!"
Knowing that there wasn't any other way out other than playing the sick game Evil Tail had in mind, Zaorama begrudgingly obeyed.
He was now met by the wallpaper of the cellphone—a gray-haired young man and a purple-haired young woman. They both looked to be somewhere in their early twenties.
He recognized the gray-haired right away—Danhauser Belial. The younger brother of the Rating Game Champion and nephew of the Devil before him.
The foreign girl was a different case altogether. Despite not knowing her first name, that hair and eye color was a giveaway of her last name.
"A Leviathan," what furtherly stole his breath away was the multiple wings coming from their backs. His brain stuttered for a moment, he rubbed his eyes to wipe away any hallucinations and turned back to the picture—nothing changed, "this… no. Impossible. I… it can't be. This can't be real…!"
"Everything in that picture is real," Malacoda retorted before Zaorama entered a phase of full denial, "the girl is real and all those wings are real too."
Finally, Zaorama left his seat, all signs of fear gone as he matched Malacoda's glare with his own. He accidentally kicked away the head of his former bodyguard aside, "How can I trust this isn't made up?"
"There's a video too, search in the gallery."
And he did. He immediately started rummaging through hundreds of images of female devils that had bodies to die for. But he wasn't here to appreciate the female body, his mind was settled on searching for answers.
He finally found the video and pressed the play on the screen, watching attentively as the camera circled the two young devils, giving detail to the texture of the multiple wings they both had.
"How?" he tapped the screen to pause the recording, "how did you find her?"
"My nephew found the Leviathan with the Sleeping Disease," Malacoda skipped the unnecessary stuff, "He woke her up and took her to his house. He's taking care of her as we speak."
"Thank the Morning Star," after releasing a strong sigh, Zaorama gently laid down the cellphone on the table, "This is some relieving news. It devastated the City of Dis to hear that three of the four Satan Houses were extinguished by the hands of Sirzechs Gremory. We mourn for their deaths… but then you brought this valuable information to me," he signaled to the phone on the table, " … under the care of your nephew is possibly the last of her household—The Last Leviathan. Today you've proved to me that miracles do happen, Malacoda. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you."
Evil Tail blinked twice when Zaorama kneeled and bowed his head down, "Uh, yeah. Don't sweat it," he awkwardly coughed on a fist, not used to getting signs of respect in City of Dis, "Now, about my nephew…"
"Save it. I don't need an explanation, it's something that has been cited a long time ago by my ancestors, passed from generation to generation," Zaorama left the ground, dusting his garments, "After reading their notes, it has been hypothesized that this is a mutation amongst Pure Devils."
Malacoda wanted to believe it was a similar case to Mutated Clan Traits. However, there was something that felt off, "Hold on a sec. What do you mean with 'hypothesized'?"
"It means that it wasn't confirmed, but wasn't debunked either. It was in the stage of hypothesis thanks to the limited evidence and occurrence my ancestors had back then. Aside from the Satan Houses, no other Households showed to be capable of possessing multiple wings," Zaorama explained, looking back to the black screen on the phone, "Until now."
Technically, that hypothesis had to be refuted by now. Because if his nephew was being sincere, then Danhauser had his four-pair of wings thanks to the intrusion of the Sephiroth Graal.
Danhauser fooled that system—he didn't have any mutations on him. But it's a minor detail that Zaorama didn't know.
Ignorance is bliss as they say.
"A Devil Clan outside of the Satan Bloodline showing signs of sudden spurt of multiple wings was something that was acknowledged before the Civil War happened. At the end, when one of the Satan Houses is confirmed extinct, another Clan becomes the successor."
"Huh. You guys were planning to overthrow your bosses?"
"Watch your tongue, Malacoda! My ancestors were trying to find a solution in case any of the Four Satan Houses became suddenly extinct!" Lord Nebiros rebutted him, "When the Original Satans died during the Great War… it became an eye-opener to the Heads of the Lucifer Six of that era. They realized that our masters weren't omnipotent as they interpreted them to be. They realized that the members of the Satan Households were also at risk of being massacred if something horrible happened. As a backup plan, they all agreed that if this disaster occurred—"
"Another Devil House inherits the throne," Malacoda finished, quickly adding, "as long as they have multiple pairs of wings, I guess. Does that shit extend to any of the Lucifer Six?"
"… We were created to serve, not to rule," out of nowhere, Zaorama growled, "Rofocale Lucifuge… that bastard is the only one who began opposing that rule after the Civil War concluded…!"
Malacoda let Zaorama vent some steam. Meanwhile, he started compressing all the information he'd gathered so far. Was this the whole reason Matanbuchus wanted to approach the Lucifer Six? "So, in a nutshell. House Belial is now part of Satan Royalty?"
"A Second Generation, but yes," Zaorama answered once he calmed down, "however, only when your nephew becomes the next head of their house will they be officially considered part of the Satan Houses. He will need to copulate to increase the offspring numbers as well. To expand his bloodline."
"That can be arranged," Malacoda grinned like a hyena, "can't say the blood of these brats gonna be pure, though."
"We don't care about that."
"Oh, really?"
"It was never about blood purity back then, Malacoda!" Zaorama threw his hands up in disgust, "Lucifer Six never cared about that detail, at most, the icing on the cake—but a minor one. That was a philosophy implanted and enforced by Zekram and his Household after the closure of the Civil War!" he leaned forward a few inches, "I have faith that I don't need to explain it to you?"
Malacoda knew Clan Bael was one of the first Houses created by the Morning Star—behind only to the Lucifer Six. The first amongst what's known today as Remaining Pillars and Extra Demons.
Since victory was at the front door of the Anti-Satan Faction, Lucifer Six and the Satan Houses were chased away to unknown lands thus losing their political power, stripped of their standing and their royalty dropped to the ground—leaving Clan Bael as the "next in line" to claim the throne and rule Devilkin. As such, blood purity became the element to rank a House in the hierarchical system of Ars Goetia. Everyone accepted the new set of rules with happy smiles.
He could've sworn Shalba and his circus had strict rules about the caliber of someone's blood as well. The children of the Original Satans as well. In fact, a factor that sparked the Civil War was the Evil Pieces.
Unless Lucifer Six had a different mindset than their masters.
Then again, Malacoda could've been wrong. It had been so long since that happened and his Clan only joined during the middle part of the war.
"No need to," Evil Tail, at last, replied, "saw the main act eons ago."
"The Original Satans cared for the quality and quantity of demonic power, but more importantly," Zaorama drawled, grabbing once again the phone on the table to show the picture—the one that blew away his socks, "Wings," he furiously tapped at the screen for emphasis, "Multiple wings. They are proof of one who has qualities of a True Satan! A candidate to rule the Underworld!"
"Alright, let's say I'm buying all your large ham," Malacoda rubbed his chin, "Which means, according to you, Clan Belial takes the torch from either Beelzebub or Asmodeus to become the, uh, I dunno… second generation of Satan Houses I guess?" he counted off his fingertips and mouthing words silently, "Uh…. That'd be a total of three of four Satans now. You're missing one, buddy."
"Am I?" A mysterious smirk tugged Zaorama's lips before snapping his fingers to summon a well-kept book with ancient letters. He lent it to Malacoda, "Page 75."
With a grunt, the Evil Tail snatched it from his grasp—searching and flipping over the pages until he reached his point of destination.
His heart missed a beat.
The only letters Malacoda could see were the title of the chapter—the rest of the paper being nothing but a portrait of a famous Devil.
Calling it a drawing was an insult—this was on the level of a picture with the highest resolution. Whoever held the brush had the talent to portray her nature wonderfully.
Hair long and dark as the night. A never-ending black.
What stood out the most were her piercing-looking eyes with multiple rings within them. The glare of an owl. Grayfia wouldn't stand a chance in a staring contest against her. Not even the Original Satans.
Not Adam. Not Lucifer.
Not him.
Whoever painted her, they managed to capture the cold rage behind her yellowish gaze perfectly.
Evil Tail swallowed the large lump stuck in his throat.
"The Beginning Mother of All Devils," he heard Zaorama voice beside him, "Mother Lilith."
"Like that's ever gonna happen," Malacoda slammed the book shut, "She's dead—the bitch is turning over in her grave as we chit chat."
"Have you seen it?" Lord Nebiros suddenly asked.
"Seen what?"
"Her corpse. Have you seen it?"
"No. But—"
"Then she's not dead," Zaorama cut him off, "any other allegations that you've heard are nothing but more rumors implanted by the Remaining Pillars to brainwash their people," he tapped the book twice. "I will not follow any trend that speaks ill of her status until I see Mother Lilith's corpse with my very own eyes."
Suddenly, Malacoda sensed the familiar demonic aura of Grayfia getting nearby, "Speaking of bitches…"
"The Lucifuge!" Zaorama detected her as well, the fear glimmering in his mismatched eyes evident, "What are we going to—!"
He stopped midsentence once the barbed tail of Malacoda stabbed his hand that rested on the table. His scream of pain traveled all over the walls as he desperately tried to pull out the tail off his hand, but to no avail.
"Oh, Gray!" Malacoda greeted her casually, ignoring the fruitless acts of Zaorama, "Finished already?"
"I did, Lord Nebiros has an abundant type of clothing in his wardrobe, but I took care of accommodating it," the maid replied after getting inside, "I also took the liberty of passing a broom across his bedroom. Why is he released from your bindings?"
"Oh, ya know. To give him that moment of hope before turning it in despair," Malacoda twisted and dug deeper his tail on his prey, much to the latter's dismay, "that's the secret ingredient to make them talk."
"Do you require any of my assistance?"
"Nah, I got this," Malacoda gave her an assuring thumbs up, "tops a few minutes and he'll squeal like a pig. See what else you can do in this manner."
"Excellent idea. I shall go upstairs and arrange the tins I saw in the kitchen by alphabetical order. I'll get back to you on short notice."
"Sure thing," just like before, he waited until Grayfia was out of earshot, "All right, she's gone," he finally took his tail back and whistled, "phew! we almost got caught with our pants down."
"You piece of shit!" Lord Nebiros cried out, clenching his red-stained hand in an attempt to avoid a blood loss, "what was that for?!"
"To not blow our cover?" Malacoda replied with obviousness, snorting, "We got here because Grayfia wanted to interrogate you, remember?"
"And butchering my hand in half was the best plan you got?!"
"Man, stop acting like a bitch," Malacoda reached out inside his pockets to pull out a Phoenix Tear, "Your bodyguard had it worse."
Zaorama snatched it from his grasp and quickly dropped all its content on his hand, watching his wound slowly stitching together. He passed a thumb over the back of his hand and sighed with relief.
"So, what's gonna be?" he heard Malacoda speak up and looked up, meeting those demanding eyes of his, "You game or pussy out?"
…
"… In the past, Lucifer Six were Households that served strictly only Clan Lucifer. Those were the teachings that our ancestors left upon us before perishing, shifting the responsibility and future in our hands. But these ages… they are trying times. Dark ones even. With two of the four Satan Clans confirmed extinct… with no one else to serve, we are obsolete—a hindrance. An embarrassment to our primogenitors after failing our duties."
He watched as Zaorama restlessly walk back and forth, mumbling to himself, "They'd understand if we were to act… flexible and expand our services to the surviving Satan Households," Zaorama ceased his restless movement, looking at his palms intently, "yes, yes they would. To redeem ourselves."
Zaorama fired one last look where Malacoda wounded him before meeting the eyes of his aggressor—determined, "What would Lord Danhauser and Lady Leviathan want us to do?"
"Matanbuchus, you son of a bitch," Malacoda felt a smirk tug his lips, "Satanachia, Agaliarept, Fleurety, and Sargatanas," he brought up four fingers, "We got a long fucking week ahead of us. We're gonna lurk in the shadows and pay them a visit—get them to join our cause," he heard once again the footsteps of Grayfia growing louder. Holy fuck, she's fast—he thought, "Aaaand you're gonna tell everything about Nebuchad's shitty adventures to Grayfia. We better get you clean to not get my family in any trouble in the future. Capiche?"
"… It shall be done," Zaorama accepted his terms with a firm nod, "Glory to the True Satans."
.
.
His head hurt. A throbbing headache made itself known the moment he stepped inside their ride. It felt like a vibration that traveled all over his skull or a mimic of his heartbeat—and it wasn't caused by the movements of the vehicle.
It'd been days since the arrival of Indra that intimidated each peerage member of his. And while he did his best to not let his exchange with the god affect him, riding the train in complete silence and a lack of distraction made it impossible.
He had so many questions—questions that couldn't be answered unless he found a professional on the subject.
But who? Who would spare their time to spoil him with the knowledge he inwardly thirsted for? By the looks of it, it was information accessible only between buddhas, gods, and such.
Or maybe not. Maybe not only deities were aware of this phenomenon. If so, the only godsends he had at his reach were either Azazel, Nurarihyon, and Yasaka.
So much stuff happened back when Indra spoke to each of Danhauser's servants. The god was being vague about it, but chances were that he predicted the future of each one of them or revealed deep secrets. Some things he recalled were off-putting.
…
Enlightenment... what the hell was even that?
"A penny for your thoughts?" a familiar voice asked.
He looked to his left to see the tiny smile of his first and last pawn—Valerie Tepes. Only the two of them were on the train, en route to the capital of the Great King Faction—Bael State. The lion's den.
The rest of the peerage was ordered to wait at the Belial Estate, mostly because they weren't needed for this. It should suffice with the Dhampir.
"Keep your penny," Danhauser smiled back at her, "it's not hard to figure out what's wracking my brain when you were there too."
"Quite the first impression he left, hmm?" Valerie huffed indignantly, "he must think so highly of himself after insulting a group of people that are a thousand times younger than him."
"You know what? Let's forget about him," easier said than done—he thought. The god was a blink away to live rent-free in his head, "Let's not give him any more attention. I want him out of my head as much as possible."
"Very well. I'll humor you by changing the topic," Valerie suddenly folded her arms and stared at him with a scowl, "Danhauser, I'm not sure I find this idea fascinating."
He met her demanding gaze with a curved eyebrow, "Huh? What are you talking about now?"
"I'm talking about this," she gestured to all the train with a wave of her hands, "picking up a train to the Bael State—followed by going on foot to a remote place so I could use my Longinus on them."
"We're not walking—we'll be taking a second ride," Danhauser clarified, "And we're not using our Sacred Gear on them, but to help two people."
"And these two people are connected to them," Valerie shot back, "One of them is the heir and the other the previous Great Queen."
"What are you getting with this?"
"That we shouldn't offer any support," the Dhampir bluntly said, "You are doing more than enough by cleaning the reputation of Clan Bael—you shouldn't pamper them any further."
"I'm not doing this for Lord Bael or Zekram—this is for Sairaorg," Danhauser corrected her, "he has nothing to do with the actions of what his Clan did to mine."
"He is still part of Clan Bael."
"If Sairaorg and I changed roles, he would do the same thing for me."
He knew that Valerie was trying to guard him against harm—but he already settled his mind. If he had the right tools to cure the mother of his friend, why delay it?
Plus, it may piss off Lord Bael. That was a bonus in his book.
"... I still am not convinced about the idea," Valerie shook her head, "but I know how stubborn you can be."
"We will have to agree to disagree then."
"Unfortunately, yes."
…
"Valerie. What Indra said to you," he saw how her back straightened, "… what's happening inside your Sacred Gear?"
"… I thought you wanted to bury this topic," she did all her best to avoid his gaze, "And besides, don't tell me you believe each word that man said to us?"
"Don't get me wrong, I'd never trust a word of what he says… under certain conditions such as when he's mind-reading someone," Danhauser responded, "And the way you reacted, there appears to be some truth in his words."
She glanced at him through the corner of her eye only for a second, "I was going to tell you," she finally admitted, "I swear. I was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike up this conversation."
"Valerie…" Danhauser stopped to massage the bridge of his nose. It had to be something related to the dead people within the Sephiroth Graal—the Secluded World. She had an obvious fear of ghosts, no matter how much she tried to deny it. "The ghosts inside your Longinus, are they still haunting you? Is that it?"
"No. Not anymore, it's something else that took their place," Valerie absentmindedly hugged herself, "it has this aura around it which was somewhat similar to Indra… but eviler."
"An Evil God," he saw her meek nod. He massaged both sides of his head, "Holy shit, this… this is… wow."
He never expected that an Evil God of all things would find shelter in her Sacred Gear. How did it even end up inside there? Either past users of Sephiroth Graal did something or it was because Sephiroth Graal was bugged as well.
He remembered Azazel's Sacred Gear babble about Valerie's Longinus. The Secluded World was supposed to be a place where only atheists could enter during the afterlife—no matter if they were good or bad people.
But now that God of the Bible died, the system of the Secluded World was a spaghetti code. It now allowed supernatural creatures as well.
In this case, an Evil God of all things was tormenting his Pawn.
"It wanted to talk with you," Valerie spoke up, interrupting his thoughts.
Danhauser clicked his tongue, "That doesn't sound good. No matter the moral alignment of a god, that's always bad news," he looked at her, worried, "have they hurt you or something?"
"It's the usual, Danhauser. An apparition of its image to the real world. Its voice always grabbing me off-guard, echoing in my head," After shivering, the Longinus User sighed at that, "but it can't kill me. Of all Sephiroth Graal's Users, I'm the first they made contact with."
"Would they become a threat to anyone we know?" Danhauser watched as Valerie shook her head, "… Fine. I'll talk with them—see what they want."
The blonde looked at him, astonished, "Are you serious?"
"Why would I joke about this?"
"I just… I never thought you'd accept this quickly," she muttered, rubbing an arm, "as a minimum, I expected you to display some hesitation. A-Are you not even the slightest scared? This is a god."
"Don't get the wrong idea, I'm shitting bricks just thinking about it," Danhauser admitted with a laugh, hoping it'd calm her down for a bit, "but I can't just stand there arm folded while you're facing this. Four years you've been through this. At least I have to give it a shot. We'll find a way, Little Missus."
"… Thank you," Valerie had a shy smile that reminded him that—behind that sour attitude—there was still a cute girl by his side, "it feels good to take this off my chest, especially when it's you who is lending an ear."
"You can always count on me," He smiled back at her, but that quickly dissipated, "By the way, what's the name of the god?"
"The Evil King of Formorians, Balor."
.
.
"Thank you!" the butler continued expressing his gratitude to the visitors, his steps not faltering, "Thank you so much for coming! I… I don't know how to repay you."
Despite the nuke that Valerie threw during the train, it was a pleasant ride. They didn't speak a word after that, satisfied with the company of the other.
He had so many questions about Balor, but for now, it was better to focus on the matter at hand. Sooner or later, their talk will happen.
The enjoyable feeling of the train soon disappeared once they'd arrived at their destination. The capital of the Great King Faction—Bael State. As expected of a Great House, the territory was pleasant to the eyes. It could leave first-timers wide-eyed and drop their jaws. It was rich in nature and had vast buildings where progress was being made for the future of Clans ranking from Great King, King, or Lesser King.
That all sounded great and honorable written on paper. He had the unpleasantries to see the main act with his own eyes. This was where most of his duty comes from whenever Lord and Zekram Bael contacted him to plan on their goals.
Similar during their brief stay in Agreas, they didn't have enough time to play as tourists. They put the second phase of their plan in action by hiring a carriage that could take them to a remote region of the Bael territory—where mother nature triumphed over devilkin technology.
A remote area where Lord Bael refused to put a foot in—and yet—it was one of the few spots under surveillance by professional intelligence employed by the Head of Bael. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week—all the time. For the purpose to observe closely a pair that were treated as defects by their own family.
It'd be to nobody's surprise if they already knew about Danhauser's arrival and tracked his destination.
"You can repay us by not telling this to anyone outside this house," the heir eventually replied, following a pace behind the butler along with the quiet Valerie, "if the media suddenly jumps out of nowhere, make up a story."
The butler's steps didn't pause as he looked over his shoulder, "I understand. I'll take this secret with me to the grave, Lord Danhauser," he returned his gaze to the front, "Please let's hurry, we're almost there."
They proceeded into the small house until they turned right in which there was a single door at the end of the corridor. A sign above the entrance was marked with "First Aid Room" and had no one guarding it.
"I told the guards to leave their posts for today," the butler read his mind as he reached for the knob of the door. "I had a hunch that you would prefer as much privacy as possible for this. Plus, you two are strong enough to keep order around here."
Just as the butler swung the door open, he stepped aside to let them pass. It wasn't hard to predict that the elderly-looking man was actually relieved to see a dim of hope on the horizon.
The floors were shining and there were pillars of beautiful stones with the Bael symbol embedded on them. There were less than a dozen hospital beds hidden behind fancifully embroidered partitions—all of them vacant except one. The smell of antiseptic was nowhere to be found, carefully masked with lilac, jasmine, and rose.
They approached the bed occupied by the comatose woman with brown hair. The machinery that kept her alive connected to her. It was different compared to what Ingvild had under her. He didn't know who had the best technology between Satan Beelzebub or the Great King.
The empty vase beside her clinical bed was easy to spot, "We should've brought some flowers," he noted before nodding to Valerie, "you know the procedure, let's make this quick."
…
"Danhauser, are you sure about this? We can still leave."
"I'll owe you one if you do this."
Valerie bit her lip and shook her head, "No… never say that. I'll do it—for you," she finally agreed upon, standing beside the comatose patient and invoking her Longinus in both hands—eliciting a gasp from the butler. "Let's get this over with."
.
.
"I'm back," Sairaorg announced once he stepped inside the building. To his surprise, no reply came afterward. "Hmm?"
Usually, after coming back there was a line of butlers and maids ready to welcome him after a gruesome day submerged in the world of politics. While he didn't oblige them to pull that act whenever he returned, it wasn't unwished-for either. In fact, it made the place feel homely with someone expecting his arrival.
But today, it was different.
All it took was a strong aroma to find their current location, "The kitchen? How kind. They were already preparing the dining table. Might as well go and take a seat then."
So without even weakening the grip over the bouquet, he reached for the knob with his other hand but stopped halfway. Behind that door, Sairaorg heard the approaching of footfalls. The door opened a crack and a purple eye peeked out.
"Oh! You're here!" hearing that familiar voice took his breath but seeing her familiar face stole the heat from his skin.
Once the doors completely opened he could see the complete appearance of the last devil he expected to see on her feet. A sight he longed for since the accident.
It was his mother—Misla Bael, "Welcome home, my son."
The flowers he bought dropped to the floor and instead of picking them up, his big hands went for her cheeks.
He refused to breathe as he held her face, the smile never leaving his mother's lips as he gently turned her head left and right, "I…" he tucked her hair behind her ear to have a clear view of her neck. Nothing out of ordinary. There was no trickery. This was genuine skin.
It was her—it had to be her.
It had to be!
He finally met the firm and gentle eyes that taught him how to overcome his lack of talent. He swallowed the nonexistent lump stuck on his throat. "M-Mother?"
"At last," she shut her eyes and broke into a big smile, "I am able to lay my eyes upon you again."
"After all this time…" Sairaorg wanted to speak—so much to say to her. Yet, he was unable to express it. He had no clue how to react. His head was spinning with a myriad of thoughts and emotions that he didn't know which one to pick first.
But then a pang of realization struck him, "You shouldn't be on your feet," he exhaled, "you just woke up! Your body must be frail! We will have time to talk later!"
"I'm fine," Misla assured him.
"Mother, please," but Sairaorg insisted, grabbing her shoulders, "Y-You just woke up! You need to lie down!"
"I'm fine," she chuckled at his behavior, finally grabbing his wrists to push them off her shoulders. She took a step back and did a swirl. "See? Good as new!"
But… how?
He watched as she bent down to pick the almost forgotten bouquet, "Mother. I feared… I feared for your health."
"I was scared too," Misla admitted, putting the flowers on a vase, "it was tormenting. Like living chained inside a cage, Sairaorg. It sought to tear my will in half, to permanently put me in an endless sleep with no means to escape. I was alone."
She glanced over her shoulder, that look in her eyes hurt his chest, "So as you."
How the ground between them was erased he'll never recall, but one moment she was apart and the next she was in front of him. "And yet, I can't regret what happened to me. If fate chose me instead of my son, then I'll gladly accept this punishment. For you, I would give my life a thousand times, my little lion."
Before Sairaorg could draw in the air his lungs needed, he had melted into her love. He could feel her thumbs tracing down his cheeks. Her hands cupped his face, drawing him closer until their foreheads touched.
It was at this moment that his walls crumbled. He could feel his body shake—sobbing for the missed time they will never make back, crying to release the tension of these four long years. His mother pulled her head back and wiped the tears with gentle fingers, even this kindness brought more relief and joy than his heart could hold.
Sairaorg wanted to speak, but all he could do was a croak, "Don't go, never again."
Her mouth drew a soft smile and she nodded once before folding him in her arms again.
.
.
It had been ten minutes since they left the house with the help of the enclosed carriage pulled by two unicorns. With nothing else to do in the Bael State, it was useless to roam around the soil of the Great King—unless Danhauser was looking forward to sitting and drink tea and eat crumpets with Lord Bael and Zekram.
They were done here.
He spared a glance to his silent pawn sitting beside him. Her hands secured in her lap, her eyes attracted through the window—basking on the view of the landscape which was a marriage of rainbow hues congregated in the greens with the flowers of the meadow. The hills in the background only accentuated the beauty of nature.
She was unfazed by the rays of the sun poking at her face. Whether it was because of her Dhampir physiology or thanks to her Sacred Gear remained a mystery.
He could tell something was off with Valerie. Her expression was pensive. Danhauser knew she wasn't mad by his decision of healing Misla. She would be frowning and folding her arms while muttering something incoherent.
"What would happen if I wasn't born with my Longinus—let alone with a Sacred Gear?"
Ah, so that was it.
"And I was born like a full-blooded Vampire," she quickly added before facing him, "What do you think?"
He pursed his lips, "And still be a member of the Tepes Faction?"
"Yes."
"Not much would change," he slapped her with his response, "Tepes Faction has a low opinion of women, remember? You'd be still in a dungeon, and, at most, be used as a tool for betrothing someone of great status."
He didn't count that she was the third child as well. She was expandible.
"I imagined so," She sighed before returning to the window, "it was either locked in a dungeon or sentenced to death it seems. Joy."
"Or be reincarnated by a handsome devil."
She briefly shot him a deadpan look but spotted a smile threatening her lips.
…
"… You know, of all the Longinus I know of, yours is my most favorite compared to others."
"Oh, really? It didn't occur to me that seeing the dead or having an Evil God stuck in your head was a wonderful experience," she scoffed lightly, "or have your own sibling experiment with you. All Sacred Gears are evil and a curse by nature."
"It all varies from one person to another, Valerie," Danhauser retorted, "someone with a Longinus could be a hero that protects the world."
"Or a villain seeking world domination," the Dhampir finished.
"But you aren't a villain. Are you?"
"Well…"
"Valerie."
"Ehehehe…" Valerie looked downwards and her shoulders slumped, "Fine, I'll bite. What did Sephiroth Graal has ever done that made you put it on a high pedestal?"
"You're asking that? After what you did minutes ago? Everyone presumed the Sleeping Disease was uncurable. You busted that myth, two times," Danhauser pointed out, "the famous Phoenix Tear couldn't do that. You could heal someone from their blindness. Cure someone from their paralysis. Resurrect someone from the grave."
The Longinus User rolled her eyes, "Is perhaps turning water into wine in that list as well?"
"And a ton of other things," he ignored her satirical remark, "None of the other Sacred Gears could ever do that. You are a walking miracle. Sairaorg has his mother back because of you. You did it right," he got comfortable on his seat by folding his arms behind the head, "I somewhat envy you, you know? It must feel nice to fix something."
Valerie's eyes darted to him, "But you fixed something!" she covered her mouth once Danhauser arched a brow at her raise of voice, "You… you fixed me."
A pregnant silence.
"I think it's now or never," Valerie murmured to herself, "Danhauser, I want to pick up the conversation we previously had at Tobio's bar. The one that we mutually agreed on postponing after we found some privacy, do you remember?"
Their gazes collided and neither seemed to back down. He snapped his fingers and summoned a barrier between them, "Let's make sure the coachman isn't listening. Better safe than sorry."
"… I wanted to speak this strictly with you only because you're the only one who I trust about this subject because you're the only one that can help me, and…" Valerie rubbed her arm, "and because you may be the cause of it."
Danhauser felt his back straightened, but remained silent.
"It… It only happens when I'm around you," it was the first time he'd seen Valerie so nervous and worried, "Sometimes, I can't even stop thinking about you. Every little interaction we had together was permanently imprinted in my brain. Whenever you touch me my body reacts eerie too. My skin burns, my heart beats fast and my breath hitches."
"…"
"I was wondering if you have any idea why this is happening to me all of the sudden," she looked at him with trepidation, "are these warning symptoms of an oncoming sickness? Can Reincarnated Devils develop the Sleeping Disease as well? I can easily handle it with my Longinus… but I would like to know what's happening to me as well and how it started."
This was it.
The Dhampir wasn't aware of what she just said, but he knew right off the bat the meaning behind her words.
This was her way to convey her feelings. This was a confession—a hell of a confession too. The first one he had ever received.
Honestly? This conversation felt like a parent ready to have "The Talk" with his teenage offspring.
…
Once he gave her a response, things may not be the same from hereon. There was no turning back now. She wasn't looking forward to a "let's talk about it later" or anything that only slowed the inevitable and could fatally wound their relationship. No. She wanted answers that sated her curiosity.
And sure as hell he would provide them.
It was time to take a leap of faith. It was his job not only to solve her confusion but to reciprocate as well.
What he didn't know if it was either like or love. These words always get mixed and misused. He doubted what she felt was the latter, it's way too soon for someone to jump into that stage in his opinion.
"It's something bad, isn't it?" taking his prolonged silence as an answer, Valerie already started to take guesses, negative ones of course, "I knew it. I knew something wrong was with—!"
"It means that you like me," he finally dropped the bomb.
"Like you?" Valerie frowned a little, "Danhauser, of course, I like you. I—"
He brought a hand up, stopping her tracks, "Let me talk. I'm not using the term "like" as finding someone as an agreeable and a pleasant company. I'm using the word "like" as if liking me… romantically."
Her fists balled on her lap, she seemed frustrated by the lack of progress, "I…I still don't follow?"
He kneaded his forehead, fishing for the adequate words, "You like me, you really do. But not just as a friend, but as something beyond that."
She stared blankly at him, but her eyes gradually grew wide as a shade of red expanded on her face, "As if an… intimate partner? Like how your parents behave?"
Danhauser rubbed the back of his neck, slipping a chuckle, "Something like that, but without the wedding ring."
She looked everywhere but him, "I-I see…"
…
"The feeling is mutual," it was now his turn to feel embarrassed, laughing nervously at how her head spun rapidly in his direction. He brought his hands up in mocking surrender, "Yep, you've heard me right. I'm guilty as charged! I like you too, Valerie Tepes."
Who would have imagined that her blush could further darken, "A-A jest. This is you taking advantage of the moment to tease me, isn't it?" When he shook his head, the knot in her throat tightened. "This…! This is…!" She stopped to take careful breaths and pinched the bridge of her nose, "… since when?"
"When you kissed me for the first time," he recalled, "that's when it all began. When I realized that I have a thing for you."
"Why did you never say anything back then?"
He lowered two of his five fingers, "Three reasons: I hate the concept of long-distance relationships, I didn't want you to get distracted during your training and…"
"And…?" Valerie urged him.
"You left me astonished," he couldn't help but whistle at the memory, "who would have thought that my Little Missus, with little training, would be a good kisser."
She shoved him away, albeit weakly, "Now you're teasing me!"
"I'm not!" He laughed while blocking her petty slaps, "for real!"
He swore to see a small pout forming on her face, "Y-you are exaggerating," she folded her arms with a huff, "It was a mere peck to the lips that lasted seconds."
"Seconds? I don't think so, it felt like time slowed down to me."
It was all quiet after that. Neither of them decided to speak up and waited patiently in their seat to reach the train station. The silence was less awkward than before, but traces of it remained. The only source of sound out there was the carriage passing through the roads, the steps of the unicorns echoing and their random snorts.
"Danhauser, are you being honest?" Valerie didn't seem sold to his narrative yet—she wanted to be convinced, "our... kiss. Did you really like it?"
"I did Valerie. You don't have to feel insecure about it."
...
That's when Valerie's next sentence came up, his heart was now in his mouth, "Do you… want to repeat it, then?"
His attention was instantly fixated on her, wide-eyed. Despite her bold offer, it's probably a safe guess that the nervousness was emerging in her features.
How she flinched away from his stare was a nod to his statement, "N-Never mind. I apologize, I don't know what has—!"
Danhauser reached over and cupped Valerie's cheek in his hands, enjoying her gasp and growing blush, realizing what's happening. He pulled her face closer to plant a gentle but firm kiss on the lips.
Valerie tensed, every fiber of her body taut like a statue, and then she gradually melted in his grasp, gingerly reciprocating.
Her lips tasted like wine—sweet and bitter. Her torso pressed against his, it was warm—almost hot—every second as soft as her lips. Little kisses, sweeter than they were intimate. It was futile to ignore her breasts pressed against his chest, their ample size squeezed against his body. Were those rapid heartbeats his, or hers?
Valerie emitted some kind of happy sound, not a moan, but not too far from it. Unfortunately, they pulled back, the Dhampir stared into his eyes with a glow he'd never seen on her, the deep red of her orbs almost mesmeric, "A-Again."
Danhauser didn't hesitate to agree, leaning back and claiming her lips. Valerie's arms locked firmly around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands wrapped around her torso, but his hands slowly brushed across her body until they stopped over her hip.
Her half-lidded eyes gradually dropped close as she fully submitted to the wave of pleasure. Danhauser started to feel overwhelmed by her touch, taste, and scent—sparkling otherworldly hints of emotions familiar and alien alike.
A shiver ran through his spine as the Dhampir in his embrace moaned into his mouth. She was breathy and greedy and he found himself eager to meet her needs just as how he was hungry to satisfy his own with her body.
If it wasn't for the lack of air, they'd continue until a third party separated them, but they abruptly pulled away with ragged breaths, dark spots invading his vision as he wrestled away the lightheadedness in his head. He refused to release her from his arms, the fire in his body acknowledging his desire to pull her back.
He saw how Valerie was breathing heavily as well, her chest rising and falling rapidly, licking her lips absentmindedly. Her eyes open and wide once more, clouded and succumbed to an array of emotions that were foreign to her until now.
But rather than going for a third kiss, they simultaneously fell back on their seats—regaining lungful of air missed out after their liaison. They stared at the ceiling of the carriage and stroked each other lightly with their fingertips, she was feeling her warmth, he was feeling her chill.
...
"Well then," Danhauser murmured, shoving some strands of his hair off his temple, "I stand correct. You are a good kisser."
He glanced in her direction, seeing how her look was dazed slightly, Valerie seemed slightly unconcerned. "Unfortunately, you are not."
Danhauser deadpanned, mood ruined, "You're supposed to compliment me back."
"My point still stands," but the Dhampir persisted, looking at him now dead in the eyes, "After all, if you're not good at it, we're going to require more practice in the future…"
…
"It's settled, I'm bad then."
"Ehehehe…" the Dhampir leaned forward to rest her cheek on his chest, listening to the thrumming of his agitated heart. Glowing with affection, Danhauser made his move by circling an arm around her lower back and gathering her body closer to his.
They were under a comfortable silence and at each other's presence. Time flew by, it remained a mystery how much had passed since they remained in the same position.
Better enjoy every last second.
With that final thought archived, he heard Valerie yawning as she snuggled further into his chest.
Likewise, his eyes started to feel heavier. The movements of the carriage made it harder to stay awake—proven by the girl in his arms. It was like being inside a cradle that gently rocked back and forth.
"Screw it," he got comfortable on his seat and shut his eyes, letting himself drift off.
He was glad. He was so glad everything went great.
He hoped it stayed this way.
.
.
Guest reviews
Guest: No problem noproblemnoproblemnoproblem!
Firlz: No, not really. There's no proof whatsoever that Indra is Top 5. I dropped him in that tier cuz of the abilities that I gave him and how much I buffed him. Also, because I put Vishnu and Brahma on the same rank. They are both equal in terms of power in their base form with Shiva being superior than them.
Ryou: Sorry for taking damn long, my man.
Guest: Thank you! Good to hear you're liking the peerage I have so far. Keep in mind it's incomplete for now, there are more potential members to come!
.
.
Alright, we have a lot to talk about. This is going to be huge. You can skip this if you want.
First of all, the thing that perhaps most of you were waiting for, the progress between Danhauser and Valerie.
About damn time. I hope the confession was worthy of the wait, if not, then unlucky. Nonetheless, look more to that.
While I was writing this, I started to realize that I will need to make an account on the DxD Fanon Wiki and started doing some work out there.
New characters with big names such as Parvati, Lugh, Balor, Ganesha will eventually show up. And characters that showed up since the early days of this fic such as Malacoda, Calcabrina, Gilles, and Matanbuchus… you get the drill.
I wanted to avoid the wiki, but it's impossible now.
The first wiki page I will make is of course Danhauser and the good ol' [Insert Pure Devil Full Name's] Peerage". What I don't know however if I will be making a page for each servant, since, you know, they're all canon.
But since I don't know jack shit about making the pages and which codes to use, I'll see if YouTube has some tutorials or anything like that to make my life easier.
This brings me to the next point… the images to show how they look like. Oh boy.
Chances are that none of them will have a picture. Or find anime characters that closely resemble the ones I have in mind. To give you an idea, Lugh is like Robin Hood from fate but buffed as fuck.
Danhauser is a different story, though. What I had in mind is search for an artist and pay him to draw Dan. Maybe his True Forms too. This idea is something that I also want to expand to other characters such as the ones I previously mentioned, and the future to come.
But money is tight, man. More with the pandemic still beating the living shit out of my country. The benefits of being from a third-world country, I guess.
I'll find a way, but I'll do my best to hire someone for that fanart once I'm financially stable. It may take years, but idgaf.
Also, something I wanted to do with you guys. To celebrate that, for an unknown reason, I have 2K favorites and 3K followers, I had in mind to make a "contest" of who is the best girl in this fic.
It's simple, I'll make a poll about the girls in the harem and you'll be the judge. You'll vote who has been, in your eyes, the best girl in this story. This will be solely for the harem members.
There will be only one winner, not two or more.
What will the winner get? Same as I mentioned before, I'll find an artist to draw the "best girl" that won the conquest, but wearing a wedding dress. That drawing will permanently be the cover art of this fic.
Let's call this event as: "Waifu Of The Year" or for short: WOTY.
Be warned, this will take a looong time to happen since I need to give each girl some time to shine per se.
Cringe aside, let's move on to the next subject. For those who have been reading my fic for a LONG time, I had back then the animal motif of Octopus on my profile as a clue for someone to guess who it was. The majority believed it was Vritra, a small number knew who it was.
The octopus was Balor. He was supposed to be the Queen Piece of the Peerage. I'm aware he's a god in dxd, in my fic he still is too, but what I had in mind was to revive him and change his race from a God to a Fomorian. Like how Rizevim changed vampires into Evil Dragons with Sephiroth Graal.
I discarded that idea a long time ago. He won't longer be a Queen Piece, as much as I believe that some of you love that idea, just as much as I do, I won't change my mind. I have other plans for him that may compensate.
Does anyone play Fate/GO here? I wanna know if Anastasia and Arjuna are worth leveling up.
.
.
Life. 15: Wake-Up Call
