Last time, Albert analysis humanity's standing against the Kingless demons, while Crestia reaches the end of her rope with the Devil King allowing Emilia to sneak and see him.

"What are we going to do?" Adramelech looks at the round table. Behind them, the imposing throne of Devil Castle lies dark and emptied, even when the barriers and the magic in the air remain oppressive. As if the Devil King's gaze was still upon them, there's no way to tell if the enduring enchantments mean that their King is alive.

"...do we have to do anything?" Lucifer, bare-chested because of his wounds, lays sprawl on his chair, twisting a violet-colored lock in between pale fingers.

"Lucifer!" Alciel bursts from his own chair, the long, scaled tail swishing angrily behind him as he leans forward to point an accusing finger. "We are in this predicament because of your incompetence!"

"The Lord made his choice, he could've let Lucifer die." Malacoda shrugs, only his shoulders indicating the gesture. His wide eyes and marking remain unmoved; one may wonder if the Malebranche leader is capable of expression.

"Upper echelon demons take responsibility for their subordinates, as Demon General's I expect you to know at least that," Alciel answers waspishly, glaring at both of his companions.

"Taking responsibility and dyin…" Alciel's tail digs deep into Lucifer's neck, enough so that blood slicks itself down the fallen angel's chest. His eyes narrow and glow, but is careful not to move and aggravate the injury further. Alciel thought of hitting the patchwork, keeping him together after the Hero's blow, but holds himself at the last moment.

"The Devil King," he threatens, "is not dead and never again dare you to utter such blasphemy out loud."

"Calm yourself, Alciel," Adramelech chides, but his previously simple posture changes to reach for his Demonic Halberd. He'll be vicious if their meeting comes to blows.

"The troops will grow restless, should we contact Camio?" Malacoda wonders, "I trust myself to keep the Malebranche in line, but you, on the other hand,…" No one picks up on the throwaway bait.

"No, lest the masses back home, we need more information." Alciel denies, abruptly letting go of a fuming Lucifer, and once again taking his seat. "Lucifer, spread your troops amongst our conquered lands, take with you only the scouts. Locate the Devil King." Alciel lets out a sigh as his eyes drift to the ebony throne. "Adramelech, Malacoda. We must not lose any more terrain. Once our Lord is back, we can think about recuperating the West."

"Who put you in charge, Alcciel? We are all Great Demon Generals serving the Devil King!" Malacoda spits out, the shadows in the room seem to grow longer in his anger.

"Do not be mistaken that I am distinctively aware of your circumventing the Devil King's restrictions, Malacoda. Your troops are bloodthirsty, and the enmity you've raised within the human is the reason they've concocted such a backhanded plan. I am our military strategist, or did you forget how you managed to settle in Southern Lands." Alciel looks over the table, but Adramelech holds no objection, and Lucifer is standing up, ready to leave. Regardless of his bravado, the white-haired demon believes him to be invested in their King's well-being. "I can most definitely fight you for the right to lead if you'd prefer."

"Find the Devil King fast, Lucifer," Malacoda sniffs, his angered tone incongruent with his unblemished appearance, "or our war with the humans will be the least of our problems."

"I can hear you," the harried voice greets her as Emilia invites herself upon the prison chambers. "Smell you too, I saw you out on the Western Plains. The Hero?" His voice seems to be wondering, but his head points directly at her, sharp canine showing through his self-assurance. "Isn't it?"

Smart, Crestia had called him in their last dinner conversation, very cunning.

"It's irrelevant," his lips seem to fall a little in surprise, before curling even further up his cheeks, they pull at the scabbed slices dragging down his throat. Emilia doesn't know where to look, but she avoids the bleeding fingers pinned to the wall the most. How can anyone…?

"A woman," he whispers in surprise, unknowingly pulling Emilia out of her thoughts, "who would've thought?"

Unlike a lot of other men, the Devil King doesn't seem put out by the discovery. If Emilia had to describe it, she'd say he was… intrigued. Now that Emilia is thinking about it, she has never met a female demon before. All of the ones fighting at Ente Isla were men. Are there no women… or is there an entire population of them that just have never seen war? She shakes her head, keeping the idea in the back of her mind but decisive about the answers she came to take.

"I want to know why you did it."

"Oh, your agenda seems different to the High Inquisitor's," he notes in the same raspy, pained gasp, "No insults? Recriminations? Promises of pain? Or are those above your station, Hero?"

"I want to know why you did it," she repeats, feeling her temper close to the surface. Emilia has been preparing herself for this confrontation almost her entire life, but it's hard to keep her emotions in check now that she's really here. She keeps thinking of the last time she saw her father's face, about his promise, forever to be kept uncheck.

The man slowly raises his head; the movement is groggy and painful, betraying how disoriented the demon is.

"Why did you do it?"

"I fear you'll need to be more specific; I have done many things." Like killing my father, immediately comes to the forefront of her mind. Emilia means to ask why the Demons invaded Ente Isla, but instead, a more pressing issue overtakes her curiosity.

"Why did you allow your demons to flee without you?"

"I am their King."

Emilia asks again, berates him, and curses at him, but the Devil King says no more.

Emerada Etuva smiles airily at the dinner table; she's always enjoyed eating, but politics -and she makes no mistakes about the daily conventions taking place- have never been her favorite pastime. Her dinner companions aren't too bad, but there's certainly a lot of entitlement and tendency for being self-serving at the table. Crestia Bell, who represents the Church's interest and Olba, are worrisome figures, primarily because Emerada has a rising understanding that they do not have the same goals. Olba has been pressing the Inquisitor for time alone with the Devil King for days, but the Inquisitor has politely but firmly refused. An interesting approach, her success has been limited, and Olba -as an archbishop of the Church- is her superior.

Albert is predictable only in how deceptively clever he can be, but Emerada believes that in the end, he might be the only person on the table who joined this campaign only to help drive the demons back. She knows he has some background in politics, but the Northern lands are so isolated from the rest of the world that none of this war business has a chance of paying off for him. Finally, there's Emilia. Emerada has known her for years, and she considers Emilia her friend. The teenager is hard-headed and loyal, impulsive, and kind, but politically speaking, she's a wild-card. She's probably the most significant figure of this entire conflict, other than the Devil King himself. That's a lot of power for an unaffiliated, seventeen-year-old girl. Emerada worries about the Church's intentions with Emilia, now that everyone who matters knows she's been trained to be bait.

Dinners have become rather mundane, even the subtle power plays going undisturbed. Olba and Crestia Bell discuss Olba's role in the Demon King's questioning again when Emilia interrupts. The first exciting thing that's happened in days if anyone were to ask the magician.

"I spoke with the Devil King today," Emilia is going for subtle, and she throws her comment onto the conversation without much preamble, not even looking up from where she's cutting up her dinner.

"Excuse me?" Crestia Bell narrows her eyes, but her pallor is palling. Emerada wonders in what state the Devil King must be in.

"E-Emilia," Olba stutters, "why would you do such a thing?"

"I had things I wanted to know, and some brief time in between Bell's visits and the casters," her tone is unapologetic, but Emerada knows her enough to notice the clenched fist in her lap.

"Aaaan?" Emerada prompts because there's a reason Emilia brought this up -other than getting herself in trouble surely. "Did hee saaay, anyyything?"

"I thought his powers were weakinening."

"They areeee," Emerald answers, "the caaasters are workiiing on his booonds everydayyyy."

"He recognized me as the Hero immediately," Emilia replies, looking at Emerada, "from my scent. I'm not saying they're doing a bad job, he's still locked up after all, but… is he supposed to be able to do that?" Olba's frown is dark on his face.

"No," he admits grudgingly.

"Also, have we ever given any thought as to why we've never seen female demons? The thought has been bothering me all afternoon."

"They exist," Albert assures her, "but they were left behind for some reason. It is not wise to assume they're not battle-ready. Until recently, the invading forces didn't need further help after all."

"Did he say anything else, Emilia?" The Hero, pursuing her lips in displeasure.

"After I asked him why he allowed his demons to flee without him, he answered that it was because he was their King."

"That's all?" Albert asks in confusion, but Emerada notices the way Crestia Bell straightens up.

"Hero Emilia, I have an idea that might provide further answers from the Devil King." The High Inquisitor doesn't precisely look pleased, but she seems somewhat hopeful. "May you lend me your assistance?"

"Mine?" Emilia sputters out in confusion, caught completely off-guard by the earnest request. At Crestia's nod, she takes in a deep breath throwing one look at Emerada. The magician doesn't offer neither disapproval nor encouragement; this is Emilia's decision after all. "Okay," she nods, hesitant, "I'll help if I can."

It's slow going and I remain hesitant, but here's another chapter! :D

Take care,

Dee