I own nothing.
As he made his way towards the chambers of the small council, Zekram Bael, Former Head of the House of Bael, Lord Chancellor of the Elder Demon Council, and the Head of the Great King Faction, was busy in his thoughts pondering upon the fate of his underworld as of late, which now seemed to become brighter with each passing day. The Anti-Satan Rebellion had emerged victorious, and the foundations of power that the original Satans had created through sweat and blood during the era of their founding fathers had long crumbled into ashes and wind.
Time, it seemed, reigned true as the sole absolute justice in this endless world and even the Great Satans who had once seized the throne of true freedom for his race had been swept away by its absoluteness. Zekram would not have been who he was, had he not been capable of learning, especially from lessons so hard wrought.
Of course, he intended to do everything in his power to ensure that his House Bael had a say in defining the contours of the future and for that, it was necessary for him to ingratiate himself to those who would rule the future, however galling that concept might be to his pride.
Even he had been taken aback, observing from the sidelines as the fierce flames of war raged across the Underworld he once thought he knew and set ablaze the thrones of the Satans whose authority had at that time seemed unquestionable.
To think that Sirzechs had been so capable as a general— the fool, for that was what he seemed at times, because as capable a general as he was, that idiot had no sense for the great game. But even a broken was right twice a day, and Sirzechs for all this idealistic foolishness was anything but incompetent. He had once squandered away the fortunes of his family in what once seemed to be a youthful fit of brashness, and because of it— he now ruled over the Underworld from the throne of Lucifer himself.
Of course, Zekram had not been resting on his laurels when this had happened. But even so, he never could have accounted for the fact that the new generation, not even bloodied even once by war, would see generals of such calibre emerge from the chains of tyranny. That perhaps had been the greatest miscalculation of his former kings.
During the Civil War, the new Satans had no doubt established themselves as great generals and tactician with both intellect and courage. They had proven themselves as men who warranted the utmost of caution in dealing with.
He would not make the mistake of assuming that they were young and untested as the Former Satans had done from the comfort of their Thrones, much to their misfortune. It galled him to the core, but no matter what, no matter how furiously he raged against conceding the point that they were better than him in both sheer bearable strength and in the art of waging war, he had to grudgingly accept that he was no match for any of the four young Satans.
This had made it even more imperative that he ingratiate himself with the leaders of the rebellion by any means necessary, to ensure that they would not focus their considerable martial skills against him. A realization that had been perhaps the driving factor behind decisions that led him to the grand position he now occupied. If politics was a game, then as far as Zekram was concerned, he had already won. All that was left, was the tedious and never-ending task of guarding his throne.
To comprehend Zekram, one must understand one important fact about him and that is— contrary to what a casual bystander might imagine, Zekram was completely satisfied and content with the current state of the Underworld and the status quo that he had helped create.
It might not be apparent at a glance, especially to those who knew not the intricacies of the but the situation could not be clearer to any fool who could read between the lines and look at the greater picture. The Bael was currently the most powerful Clan in the Underworld, by far; for they controlled almost twice the amount of land and resource than the second largest Clan that came after them, and it has been that way for over two and a half centuries. The Power of Destruction, the bloodline that Zekram himself was the progenitor of, was widely recognized and secretly acknowledged as the most powerful of the seventy-two Sacred Bloodline Traits. He currently ruled as the Head of the Elder Council and had the ear of all four of the Satans, his authority with the voice of the Great King Faction behind him almost standing all but unquestioned. In additional Sairaorg, one of his many descendants was considered the strongest Devil of the newest generation, and then there was Sirzechs, his other descendent, who was perhaps the strongest recorded Devil in history.
All it had taken was boldness and patience which when combined created a potent weapon that was the stuff of legend, and his daughter whose name he probably would have forgotten had she not been the most crucial part of what he considered the smartest investment of his life.
After all, he had many children. His current wife was even pregnant with his seventeenth one, though only a handful of them had survived. Allowing a single girl to marry the heir of what was once a poor washed-up Clan was a small price to pay compared to what he had gained in the end, though he was not aware of it at that time.
No devil could have predicted the coming of a monster such as Sirzechs, himself included…
According to laws and tradition of the Underworld, each devil born with a manifested Sacred Bloodline was rightfully a member of the Clan to which the trait in question belonged. Sirzechs Lucifer had inhered both the Power of Destruction and the bloodline of the House Gremory, though it was relatively weaker in comparison. It happened from time to time that a bloodline weakens for a couple of generations before emerging stronger than ever, so the Gremory Patriarch had not much of a reason to worry in that regard. If anything, he had more reason to worry about his young daughter— she was currently too young to manifest her inherited bloodline but even so, the chance that she would take after her brother and inherit both bloodlines remained which was all but a political disaster in the making.
The problem was that in such cases by law, the predominant bloodline of the individual usually determined which of the patent's respective clans would have the biggest claim on the person in question. Had it been normal circumstances it would have been well within his right to have Sirzechs declared a Bael instead of Gremory but the Gremory Patriarch of that time had used his powers to predict something such as that would happen and insisted that his Clan would have the first claim to all his grandchildren even before they had stated negotiating the marriage contract.
The Gremory Patriarch was quite fortunate in that regard. Baels would have kicked up more of a fuss if another Clan had gotten access to their bloodline, but it became apparent as soon as Sirzechs started showing his true potential that the benefits of the agreement far outweighed the risks in this particular case and Zekram was quite content to reap the advantages which ensured the supremacy of his authority for the foreseeable future in return for allowing the Gremory Clan to hold the upper hand when it came to semantics alone.
Case in point, what was agreed upon was not quite how the old associates of his with a more traditional mindset read the situation.
To those archaic fools who refused to ride the tides of fortune as he had because of their impotent rigidness which enshrouded the value of change from their dirty vision, Sirzechs may carry the Gremory name, but he was a Bael in all but name. So not only had a Bael usurped Lucifer's throne but one of his descendants was being recognized as perhaps the most powerful Devil born in two centuries.
Moreover, this was exactly the reason why the new regime was more than content to let him be. He had every reason to want the new Satans to prosper. In their eyes, why would Zekram ever want to betray us when he already has everything he wants? What could the Old Satan Faction tempt him with that he does not already have? What king would be foolish enough to harm his own nation?
Of course, Zekram knew that seeking comfort from such a status quo that could change with the view of those new Satans was the height of foolishness which was why he had to expend considerable influence and power both financial and political to consolidate his position. But yes, if this was all a game then Zekram had already won it.
He was not one of those overeager fools who wished to rule from high thrones and command untold legions, for he would much rather become the power behind it. He had accumulated more influence and political power than any single devil since the Original Satans themselves. The Underworld was as much Zekram's kingdom as that of the new Satans.
Even so, emperors who were content to rest on their laurels were never ones to rule for long. That was what truly was— lying on a bed of roses and plucking them out one by one before they strangled him in his sleep. The recent events had made him ever more aware of this harrowing truth.
Cleria Belial…
He was close, so close to achieving the complete security of his position. The revered Satans whom he truly respected had long perished during the great war and their worthless descendants who were naught but disappointments were almost gone, removed from the path of his ambitions. His ambitious goals of seating someone with Bael blood on the Throne of Underworld were all but complete and seemed brighter than ever with another one of his descendants set to become the head of a Pillar House.
Yet that worthless whore had dared to threaten it all…
That worthless Belial chit from a mere branch family had the audacity to threaten his schemes by almost revealing the existence of King Pieces. A threat that would have completely undermined and threatened not only the reputation of his Faction but also the authority of the current regime.
The King Pieces were exceptional, the most magnificent pinnacle in state of the art technology which had once again proven the superiority of the current Satans in a way even he had to grudgingly accept despite how much it pained him. But they were too dangerous, and the production line had to be stopped before it was even created. Being who he was, Zekram had not let such an opportunity go to waste
Seizing nine of the pieces had been a trivial task with his authority, and he considered it a fine venture too considering it allowed his personal Faction to considerably expand in authority, both financial and political.
The money and influence gained by fixing matches through the bestowal of the King Piece to certain devils who held his favour and obtaining the rights to commercialize the Rating Games were just the least of his gains. Times were such that it was the Rating Games that controlled the Underworld and it was his Faction who controlled the Rating Games.
It was an absolute success but as was always the case— the risk which accompanied this venture was almost as great as the advantages it brought. Revelation of certain secrets regarding these undertakings might have put the current class divisions to question and undermined the systems created by the current regime.
Cleria Belial became aware of certain secrets which were too dangerous to even be openly acknowledged through mechanisms unknown and that was simply unforgivable in his humble opinion.
As if that were not enough, her thoughtless actions had even threatened the negotiations with the Shinto that both the young Satans and the Elders were working by allowing her position as the overseer of the Kuoh Town which had been bought on a lease to be questioned, tarnishing the reputation of Devil administration by extension. Heck, she even dared to try sullying her pure bloodline by marrying a human— a celebrated exorcist no less.
Her other sins were not even worth mentioning when compared to the audacity that threatened the authority he had grown quite accustomed to but they did give him a reasonable excuse to have her dealt with.
He had made sure that the outrage created because of certain rumours his men had spread throughout the underworld was not something that her brother, Diehauser, would ever forget. Pride was one of the seven sins his race revelled in, and to even think that a respectable maiden of a noble clan had been swept away by a human from the church no less as if she were a worthless wench from a debauched brothel had stung them hard.
With but a few words, he had already laid the foundations of the scheme to see that wench punished for her audacity. Even the beggars under his pay had slowly started despoiling the reputation of Cleria Belial in low and hushed tones around the streets of the capital, to say the least about nobles who could put mummers to shame when it came to such matters. There were whispers of her being soiled, of being unworthy of her noble lineage. Even more damaging were the whispers of how she had abandoned all her duties and wantonly ran away with a human exorcist and that she was a harlot, impure, and unworthy of her name. It was slow, tedious work, and he had gone to great pains to ensure that the rumour mongers were not associated with him or his house.
It was his hope which inevitably came true as it always did, that in time, the whispers would rise into a crescendo and force those of the noble society to take notice and deal with the issue in their own overtly overbearing way as they often did when their name was tarnished, even by indirect association. Then it took but a few carefully placed suggestions to decide her fate.
Of course, he needed the Church to work alongside him to complete his schemes and they had not betrayed his expectations even if Heaven had not even bothered responding to his calls for negotiation and he had to deal with church dogs directly.
If they had insisted on being too stubborn when it came to protecting the exorcist, then he would have had to resort to more direct means to have the girl removed. Of course, he would have needed to be exceedingly careful in this task. The blunt methods that the cruder members of his race were used to would not have worked here.
Provoking Heaven was not something he favoured, if only because he remembered what they were. What they once used to be…
Weak and worthless Heaven currently may be, but once they were literally capable of wiping out Underworld completely if enraged. Oh, it would have been a costly and bloody affair to be sure, greater in intensity than any war before, but he had no doubts that Heaven could have prevailed and wiped out his race had they used their entire strength during the Great War. God had not participated in the Great War and his System had not been weaponized because of considerations that he could not comprehend, he shuddered whenever he remembered that.
Of the two leaders of the Factions which opposed his race, each was a conundrum in his own right. For hundreds of years, the members of his race had disparaged Heaven as a desolate wasteland, filled with idiotic optimists with no ambitions, worthless of notice. But none of those fools remembered the horrors of the Great War as he did.
That wretched God and his armada had very thoroughly shattered the martial prestige of his entire race in the course of their war, he might just have won too had it not been for the various interventions that his leaders had devised at that time to change the course of the war— involving the Fallen to force Heaven into a two-front war, provoking the Heavenly Dragons, damaging the system itself. and the numerous ticks each equally ingenious they had used to ensure that the exalted God would never grace the battlefields himself…
Those fools of Heaven had been stronger, but they were smarter by far. The fact that Heaven had not yet recovered, even as his race flourished with its new Satans and their various revolutions mitigated every advantage Heaven might have once held over them.
But even so, he had not forgotten nor would he ever. Never again would the Devils underestimate their enemies as long as he lived, and even beyond, this he had sworn.
If Heaven had truly refused to accept his involvement, hmm, best not to go there. This was why it was a task that had required extreme precision and delicateness in handling. He had been fortunate that the Church was more than content with the current status quo even if angels had refused to even answer his calls, and had agreed to look the other way this time.
Even so, the entire deal left a bad taste in his mouth. Almost as if he had missed something crucial, something important…
Zekram Bael frowned, and the guards accompanying walking beside him shuddered for the devil they were accompanying was amongst the most dangerous power in the Underworld, maybe even more so than the Maous themselves.
He moved with calm confident strides, his pace unhurried even under the watchful eyes which observed every part of this palace on the order of the Satans themselves, even humans would have known there was something different about him with but a glance had they been unfortunate enough to lay their eyes on him. He was such an unusual sight even amongst Devils, a race that seemed to be blessed with eternal youth.
With their limited ability to alter their appearance, and with enough vanity to use it, it was rare to find a Devil that did not look young, as if they were in the prime of their lives instead of hundreds or even thousands of years old. This man however was old, and opposite to most of his race, he looked it. Instead of concealing his age, he flaunted it, donning it as it were a cloak that he wore with pride. As if his advanced years were a sign of power rather than frailty.
Which was understandable seeing as he was the oldest Devil alive.
The fingers that peaked out of his sleeves were wrinkled and deceptively frail, though they held enough strength in them to bend even the strongest of steel. His swept-back and once-dark hair had long turned grey, with only a few strands of black remaining to remind observers of its original colour. Crow's feet extended from the corners of his lavender eyes, set on a grandfatherly-looking face, a polite smile pasted onto his lips even as something dangerous moved inside of him.
To say Zekram Bael was old would not be enough to convey how ancient this being truly was. He had lived in the time before the founding of the 72 Pillars, before the original Satans succeeded in conquering the Underworld and uniting it under one banner. He was the first Head of the Bael Clan, the original Bael, and the first Devil to wield the Power of Destruction. He was a survivor of the Unifying wars, the Great War, and more recently, the Civil War. And while others died and fell during those wars, only he prospered.
Always managing to come out on top after each war and only growing stronger with each passing millennium. Under his rule, the Bael Clan became the most powerful of all the Pillars in the Underworld.
There lived no other Devil from his generation, no other of the founding member of the 72 Pillars, for all the others had perished long ago. Only he remained. There was no Devil alive who remembered a time when Zekram Bael was not a powerhouse in the Underworld.
But even he could not stop the strange sense of forbearing when he thought of the Heaven who had remained quiet in isolation for almost an eon. He could not stop the shudder that ran past his spine when he thought of the once prevalent angels no being had seen for centuries.
His frown deepened…
As he neared the doors of the small council chamber, he could hear a spirited discussion going on. It looked like it was going to be another stormy session then. Some things never changed…
"Hard at work, are you?"
Shemhazai looked up from his desk to the speaker, sorting the papers before him as he did so. He contemplated ignoring the question— it would hardly be the first time his colleague had shown up to bother him, after all. It could even be called a regular occurrence, if he were to take all those times he had to clean up after almost everyone in High Command into account. He grinned, and stretched his arms above his head, convinced to get this over with soon, but the draining tension in his body as a result of the stretch convinced him to extend his impromptu break. Ignoring the remaining mound of files in front of him, he responded to his newly arrived friend.
"No rest for the wicked, they say. What are we if not the most wicked of all, having betrayed Father himself for selfish dreams?"
His subordinate and his best friend, Baraqiel released a snort. "As if I haven't heard that particular one before. You have been spending too much time with Azazel, and I suppose his humour has not aged as well as he has."
Shemhazai accepted the friendly jab aimed at his leader with a smile. "Indeed. Nothing can withstand the rivers of time, except perhaps for the sins we have been cursed with."
"Yet, time seems to have served us well," Baraqiel stated, pulling the decorated chair placed in front of his friend's desk and assuming a seat naturally as if the entire office were his own. "I hear that you are expecting another child soon. I suppose a congratulation is in order."
Like the rest of the leaders of the Fallen Angels, Shemhazai had lost his place in the Fifth Heaven because of his reckless actions in the past which supposedly included an alleged rape of a queen and a subsequent war between kingdoms of old.
As one of the founding members of Grigori, an organization created by Azazel that had united the divided Fallen and now governed over half the underworld— Shemhazai was perhaps one of the most celebrated survivors of the Great War whose excellent record, shining career, overbearing reputation, and unparalleled intellect had ensured that he would rise to become the most crucial members of the legendary Grigori itself as its Vice Governor-General.
"From what I've been hearing, the same can be said of you." Shemhazai smiled, leaning back against his chair, and allowing his body to relax for the first time in what seemed to be the first time in weeks. "You've been busy with Akeno nowadays and Shuri has certainly been treating you well, hasn't she?"
Baraqiel, who was also from the Fifth Heaven, was perhaps the most celebrated and renowned amongst them all— known as the Lightning of God himself for his devotion and courage before he fell and became even more infamous as one of the first and most unexpected traitors who later joined Azazel and served as one of the most distinguished generals with a rather dashing career during the Great War.
As Shemhazai had quickly come to learn, Baraqiel was a warrior through and through. Though he had a good head on his shoulders, he was one of those brutes who always preferred to talk with the edge of his blade rather than words and as most of the men with such a character Shemhazai had ended up knowing during his rather long life, there was almost nothing he loved more than a good fight. But in contrast to warriors such as Kokabiel who seemed to expel bloodlust and endless violence at the prospect of combat, Baraqiel instead reminded him of a kid in a candy store when faced with a challenge— his eyes lighting up with glee and an excited grin appearing on his face each such time, looking nothing as the veteran warrior Shemhazai knew he was.
He loved fighting, and that was how he had fallen as well— fighting over a human woman he once loved.
Sometimes when they were but young angels, barely even fallen— Shemhazai often found himself looking at him, and wondering where the sudden devotion of Baraqiel towards Azazel had come from. But as they became more and more acquainted with each other, Shemhazai started understanding more and more of this man who now stood before him, and one day something finally clicked in his head as the pieces came together and he understood. Baraqiel simply had nowhere else to go…
With God's grace gone, the purpose that he dedicated his entire life to was gone as well. It was not that he had no place to go to, for Shemhazai had no doubt that almost every single one of the countless rouge supernatural groups of that time who fought for a greater purpose would have had no problem accepting him, it was just that he had nothing to live for.
This man, Shemhazai was sure that he had chosen the wrong Faction to support. He was the type who needed a cause to fight for, a king to serve under. He needed a purpose in his life other than simply living, something to give his life meaning. That is why he had once dedicated his life to God so fiercely, and why he had been so ready to dedicate himself to Azazel even though the first woman he loved and the last master he served both betrayed him, though that was a tale in itself entirely.
His nature, endearing as it was, was also the reason why Shemhazai often worried for him. Though even that had become a dying concern as of late with small Akeno and lovely Shuri taking care of him better than he ever could. Even though a small part of him acknowledged that an angel growing so close to a human was a disaster in making, he was glad for his friend.
"Family is certainly a luxury we've both learned to indulge in." Baraqiel nodded, his closing his eyes in remembrance of what Shemhazai assumed to be his wife and daughter before he opened them and smirked, "But the same cannot be said of our Governor General. I think that not even the calls of matrimony could pull him from his research, should he ever choose to settle."
"Alas, not even that," he said, shaking his head with a mocking smirk as flashes of his leader and the trouble he caused flashed through his mind. "I have grown used to Azazel's antics. He would continue his research until business calls him, and would resume immediately afterward unless he finds something— or rather someone, more interesting to serve as a temporary distraction."
"You seem remarkably unconcerned about the whole affair, considering it is you who have to deal with the trouble he creates."
The question was phrased in a way that was laced with contempt and concern at the same time in a way that came naturally to few. If he had not known the asker for most of his life, it may have yet fooled him. A smug grin crept its way onto his features as he turned towards his friend.
"Why you almost seem almost concerned, Baraqiel." Shemhazai spoke, "Has worry over my well-being moved you to such an extent?"
The other Fallen almost stepped backward in shock, his bearded cheeks colouring slightly in embarrassment and proving Shemhazai right. "Of course not, Shemhazai. I am merely concerned about my Faction, a reasonable thought considering our recent dealings with those Gods of all things."
Shemhazai's smirk widened deviously as he watched his friend behave in a manner that could only be described in a manner befitting that of a tsundere, a most recent term that Azazel had introduced him to. He had heard the rumours about how the mighty Baraqiel had been tamed by his wife Shuri, something almost nobody in Grigori believed except for those who knew him personally and were aware of his tendency to enjoy suffering that ranged from raw pain to simple embarrassment, especially that inflicted unto himself.
"It wounds me that my beloved subordinate thinks so less of me, that I would interfere with the workings of my faction. The very notion leaves me positively heartbroken!"
He accompanied the melodramatic words with a grandiose show of clutching at his heart. Seconds passed, and he cracked open one of them to peek at Baraqiel's reaction. There was a notable lack of one, and his fellow fallen was gazing at him with a thoroughly blank look, paired with a rigid posture.
A moment passed and Shemhazai's lips broke into a wide grin, dropping his facade as he beaconed his friend to take a seat. "So, what was it this time?"
"I have learned many a thing in service both for and against Heaven, but haggling was never one of them." Baraqiel frowned, the shadows of his face somehow deepening as he leaned back against his cushioned seat. "Surely Azazel must know this by now."
In a way what Baraqiel said was somewhat true, Shemhazai could ask his friend to march upon the Seventh Heaven and sleep soundly knowing that if there were any way to break the Gates of Heaven then no omnipotent dragon nor any mighty god could protect them from Baraqiel's Holy Lightning. Yet, ask him to step into the most important battlefield of them all where wars were fought with honeyed words spoken from silver tongues and he would tremble.
His friend was a military man through and through— brave and bold and courageous, which was why he never refused any direct order from Azazel regardless of how distasteful he might find it, something that their Governor General had gotten used to taking full advantage of. Shemhazai sometimes wished that his superior would stop seeking amusement at the expense of his subordinates, but the knowledge that the subordinate in question had a tendency to derive pleasure from such pains allowed him to rest in good conscience without intervening.
"Yes, Azazel is aware of this," Shemhazai leaned backward, finding the whole thing to be more amusing than was proper. "Which is perhaps why he sends you to represent the Fallen on his behalf whenever the Norse call for an explanation."
"They need explanations more often than required," Baraqiel complained with a sigh. "Moreover, working with King Odin is simply tiring."
"Or perhaps work as a diplomat tires you more than it should, my friend." Shemhazai nodded, "I for one find the demands quite reasonable considering the service we provide is quite complex and demands an appropriate amount of red tape for clearer working."
He paused for a moment. "I agree with your second point though."
Odin could be more than troublesome even on the best of his days, and that was not taking his almost comical perversion into account.
Shemhazai could understand the pains Baraqiel must have constantly been dealing with, working with that Chief God was bound to be exhausting especially when taking into account the kind of man his friend was, the sort who was not amused by such antics. But he also understood that this was a work that could not be avoided.
Money and Technology— that was what made their Faction matchless amongst peers. The Fallen faction, to put it simply, was the single largest source of capital transactions, research, and manufacturing in the supernatural world.
The supernatural world, in contrast to what some conservationists might say, was surprisingly stagnant all things considered. The best comparison being the very race they had once dismissed for its weakness— Humanity.
Humans are beings of infinite potential, though they started out as so lesser they quickly grew to achieve so much, immeasurably faster than any other race before them. It was once whispered amongst ignorant angels that a curse preyed upon mankind ever since they had betrayed the trust of God in Eden, which was why they were always moving, never stopping and constantly changing.
A casual observer would not be able to see at the start but the variances become increasingly apparent as time passed— meet an adult human every decade and they would be an entirely separate person at each meeting but meet a matured Devil every decade and they would probably be the exact same person they were a dozen meetings ago.
A glance at Underworld would give anyone all the proof they need. If one were to look at their cities, at their technology, at their greatest of monuments then one would find that all of them were nothing but a reflection of human designs. That for all their immortality and eons of knowledge, they needed to imitate human science and rely on human discoveries to progress as a species instead of discovering them on their own.
Their ability to survive and persevere through hardships though they were so very fragile, the sheer amount of things that they could accomplish, the things they could build and create in their tiny insignificant lifespans was astonishing. Those things alone made them worthy of some measure of her respect. He was even willing to look at some of the more talented among their numbers as equals.
Humans were not a race to be looked down upon and it was their potential for boundless change which made mankind unique.
The Fallen were quick to capitalize on that untapped potential, being perhaps the first ones to do so for they had already started recruiting humans into their Faction centuries ago back when even Newton was but a toddler before the Devils had even thought of their Evil Pieces which were flawed and could not perfectly preserve human uniqueness. The Fallen had learned a lot from their human compatriots, opportunity and business being the least of them.
Making the entire world dependent on their trade was perhaps the most prevalent reason behind the astounding success of the Fallen Faction, whose rise had in ways even surpassed that of their immediate neighbours on the other, darker side of the underworld and the Norse were one of their largest partners in almost every field of work, making the negotiations that Baraqiel handled quite crucial to the interests of the Fallen Faction.
Baraqiel spoke after a moment of quiet, most probably thinking about the troubles he had to bear for the sake of his leader's amusement and his own misplaced sense of duty. "About King Odin though, are you aware—"
He paused midway when a simple knock interrupted him. His purple eyes flew towards the closed door that guarded the entrance to the office of Shemhazai. He knew that no Fallen would interrupt them so brazenly when they were together, especially during rest hours such as this. His brow furrowed, knowing that something truly important must have come up.
"What is it?" Shemhazai asked, a single brow of his raising on its own in a manner Baraqiel had seen so many times before.
"Lord Azazel called for a convergence of the Order of Blackened Dominus, you both have been summoned, sir." A male voice responded— the words hurried and breathing accompanying them heavy, almost as if the messenger had run all this way on orders which could not be refused.
As he made his way towards the palace where he had been summoned alongside all his brothers and sisters, Michael, the Archangel of Justice, paused to look at the Sixth Heaven one more time as he often found himself doing during quiet moments which were scarce these days. His emerald eyes followed the tarmac towards the east, where the first light of dawn was just beginning to break through the grey mist hanging over the world below.
He could hear the sounds of a thousand workers drudging away, the clashing booms of hammers and anvils which reverberated across this world, the overbearing hum of intricate Echonian spells whose contiguity made his hair stand on end, and the distant roar of a thousand forges blazing underneath the sky. It was a magnificent sight.
The Sixth Heaven once used to be an empty world, a lone seat of power meant to represent a majestic ideal— a world of divine providence, adorned with grand palaces of marble and gold fashioned for each Seraph. It was meant to be a symbol, a realm entirely removed from worldly affairs. It was grand, majestic, and entirely too wasteful.
Now, it was being repurposed as the grand capital administering the whole Kingdom of Heaven— the centre of an empire his father had once ruled. The restructuration of the Sixth Heaven was scheduled to be completed soon, in a week or so as per the word of Raziel and his prophecies were never entirely inaccurate.
A misappropriation of space, Emperor Lelouch had once called it, and now that he was seeing it shaped into something greater, Michael was forced to agree.
To truly change something, one had to create a new model which made the one obsolete which was what his ruler had done to archaic traditions and wasteful systems which once were far too numerous to count.
Few of his brothers considered Emperor Lelouch the perfect embodiment of Machiavelli's Prince— the paragon of the ruthless pragmatist who prized logic over compassion as the instrument for rule even as more of his brethren pointed to the contrary, to his chivalry and generosity unto his friends and the devotion which he inspired in his followers. Personally, Michael thought that the truth lay somewhere in between though he did not yet know if he should be glad for it, that was something he pondered upon during restless nights when he stayed up late past midnight, drawing inspiration from the successes and failures of his predecessor and successor.
The reinvigorate sight before his eyes would have been unfathomable just a few centuries ago when sorrow had laid siege to the hopes of Heaven but anguish had been stronger than all other teachings, and had taught Heaven how its heart should be. More so importantly, a single boy with haunting amethyst eyes had suddenly appeared and changed everything. It was a meliorism the likes of which he had seldom seen before— a revolution for the better, as some of his brothers often whispered.
He had never questioned his Father's wisdom, trusting his Lord who had no need to prove himself. That trust had bled over to his bright successor who had so suddenly appeared. The coming of this new era had been a veritable storm, and he had nearly been swept away by the waves of change brought by his relatively young Emperor alongside all of Heaven. Amazed and moved by this unknown boy's resolve, the crestfallen heart of his father's kingdom had moved to life once more—the sign of a kingdom renewed by a show of grace and that quality rarely encountered among mere men: majesty
No angel would question the world of God, even if he ordered them to march upon death itself, for they never needed to fear the touch of that final end so long as God stood before them. Michael knew that Lelouch would soon be the same. He knew that just as his father, Lelouch would soon stand above them all— Gods who existed since the dawn of time and would be here at its end. Supreme beings that would never die, Primordial entities who knew neither pain nor suffering, omnipotent demons who could not bleed.
As both time and experience had taught him, wisdom was a weapon with no match— far higher, indeed, than any other, as it needed no explanation. It could not be questioned for it had divine right of sovereignty, capable of making princes of those who even have a shred of it. It was one of the great facts of the world, just as sunlight or springtime. Michael had noticed that very sharp spark of wisdom in his amethyst eyes an eternity ago when he was brought before the Seraphim to be judged, but never had he thought that he would in the future freely acknowledge that he might have misjudged the extent of his emperor's genius.
If he did not know any better, then Michael could have sworn that his liege was experienced in rule and administration, for that was what he often seemed— a grand ruler summoned from a distant world.
Heaven remained the smallest of the Three Faction as of yet, but Michael could proudly declare that it now stood centuries ahead of its peers. Even humanity, with its boundless innovation, was far behind Heaven in all realms of measure. Heaven had changed completely and it was Emperor Lelouch who had brought about that miraculous change.
The young emperor had first been an enigma to the Seraphim, for even Gabriel could not completely understand him. Opinion on the emperor's personal thoughts enjoyed a wide consensus both in and outside the Seraphim, and the issue of his personality was a subject of much greater debate. Granted, identifying and defining one's motivation was an inexact science, which many have long accepted to be an exercise in futility especially when it came to the emperor, except for Gabriel of course.
But such debates were of no relevance now. Emperor Lelouch had long proven himself, his place on the Throne of God could not be questioned regardless of what revelations his thoughts may bring. The star of the emperor had been rising ever since his ascension and Michael could only be glad, for he wished to see it rise even further.
He chuckled quietly. The past was to be respected and acknowledged, but not worshipped— for he had long accepted that it was the future in which they would find greatness. This he was now sure of more than he had ever been...
"I never would have imagined that our Kingdom would change so much in what seems to be just the dawn of a greater era yet to come." Michael smiled hauntingly as he turned towards his younger brother Raziel walking respectfully behind him as was appropriate and asked, "What do you think our father would make of the sprawling complexes that stand outside our halls?"
"He would be glad," answered Raziel with rare approval in his tone. "Nothing brought him greater joy than growth. I remember the way his eyes shone when he observed his humans who were perhaps capable of the greatest progress. He had created countless different species but he held mankind above them all because of this, even above the perfect and flawless angels."
"Indeed." Michael replied, "Heaven has grown stronger and its splendour has touched skies we once could have only dreamt of. We might not have reclaimed our former glory but we have recovered. That in itself is more than what I once prayed for."
His Faction once stood frozen in between two foes, what had once been the heart of creation itself now broken— a kingdom on which the sun never set and whose standard flew over more than a billion souls facing its downfall. To his left and right had been an assembly of vultures and hyenas who once had bowed before his father's court whose pity, amusement, and derision Heaven had felt and heard through their sideways remarks and muted whispers. Even as an inexperienced ruler, Michael understood perfectly what he and his people were to these people— a spectacle, soon to become a cautionary tale to their own children and the subject of gossip over their decorated balls. The happy demise of the once mighty Heaven, who received their just deserts for once daring to lord over them all as though they were morally superior.
A small part of Michael that he never dared acknowledge once despised them, hated them, these worms who looked as if they were men. They had preyed upon the great kingdom of his Father, at its most vulnerable, was just on the full receiving end of blows that could break lesser pantheons and the fear they felt was so great it was all Heaven could do to remain barely standing, shaking for they were too frightened to flee or move.
It was only now they were starting to recover— centuries later. The force of his world crashing around Heaven had doused the optimist passion that ruled the thoughts of its residents when it was young. It was only the appearance of Lelouch that had prevented it from breaking altogether.
Raziel nodded in agreement, languidly adjusting his spectacles before turning to Michael with curiosity clear on his face. "Your work on the revised administrative regulations should be completed in ten days, am I right?"
"That is correct." Michael nodded and thought about it for a moment, his mind going over a thousand orders and then some more. "There are other ventures that I am working on, but almost every task delegated to me by His Majesty is all but complete, or soon would be if nothing untoward happens."
"I see." Raziel nodded, humming in the same manner as he often did when verifying something of grave importance. "The work on Project Knightmare and Project Brave Saint is yet to be completely finished, but I too have finished almost every order I was tasked with. Metatron has also returned and it is the same for you as well."
Michael's eyes widened as he immediately caught the subtle insinuation behind Raziel's words, the implications. "Is that so?" He quietly murmured.
"No new ordinance has been released, but I can only imagine that is only because a grand declaration is imminent. The world is but a stage, and Heaven might just be the greatest performer yet if His Majesty were to have his way."
Michael closed his emerald eyes, neither acknowledging nor denying his brother's words. He was aware that the young Emperor had a dream and was not one to rest on his laurels. He remembered clearly the declaration made on that fateful day; his emperor had vowed to create a gentle world before them all. It was in his eyes. Constantly seeking, swaying here and there as he took in everything around him at once. Lelouch hid it well, but Michael had seen resolved in his life, and he saw it inside him that day.
Raziel yawned languidly before turning to him, his voice grave as his eyes reflected a hardness Michael had seldom seen before.
"Though our wounds have stopped bleeding, the scars upon Heaven's honour have not yet faded. We may have made astounding lately, but the resentment which plagues the heart of our Kingdom has only grown." Raziel paused, before he quietly added "We spent centuries in shadows, but that shall soon change as well. I wonder if we are truly prepared."
Michael sighed at Raziel's words, noticing how the fingers of his empty hand seemed to twitch, clenching and unclenching as if it longed to summon his sceptre from where it lay hidden. Given to him by Father himself, it currently rested in a personal dimensional pocket, but he knew Raziel rarely left it there for long. After the death of his Father, Raziel would take it out every chance he could, whether to practice with it or simply hold the weapon and feel its weight in his hands. It reached the point that Michael would not be surprised to find out that he slept with the thing.
Ordinarily, Michael had been concerned over the matter, but he soon realized that he could not bring himself to do anything about it, he just could not blame him for latching onto a remnant of Father so strongly, especially when taking into account the loss which had just been recent at that time.
In a way, he may have even seen the sceptre as proof that reminded him why his choice to follow Heaven was the right one. He had known his brother for all his life, and it had become almost painfully clear that for all of the outward confidence that he displayed, Raziel had been feeling more than a bit insecure since the loss of Father and he had not been the only one.
The reason Heaven was so highly valued by those sworn to it was not because of credence or loyalty, but because Father was its chosen ruler. In their eyes, it was not the nation that was important, but the ruler itself. To them, Heaven was just the nation that Father ruled, a valuable asset but not an irreplaceable one.
Michael knew of every drop of blood that had fallen in Heaven's name, every battle his brothers had fought in, and every life that had been laid for a greater cause; and he knew that all of it was done for the sake of a single God who had created them. Almost the entirety of his Factions sense of self-value and pride had revolved around his Father, and with his loss, Heaven had lost the self-confidence with which they once challenged the world itself. With Father no longer by its side, Heaven seemed to doubt its very value as a power, which perhaps was the most foolish notion had he been talking about any other power.
What did a single individual mean to someone such as humanity? What value could a single man possibly hold that mankind could not replace a hundred times over and more?
But angels of heaven were inherently different. They had been broken in a way that could not be fixed when Father died. They perhaps were even now, the Seraphs even more so.
Heaven may have been spurred on by dreams of chivalry and ambition born from the sweet promises that the young Emperor had whispered to them, as they remained isolated— protected inside the safe arms of Heaven. They might be optimistic dreams that had no place in this cruel world, a world where knights only lived in legends and the title of king was synonymous with a dictator, but they were dreams his Faction had needed, sincere in a way that only children could make them.
Michael knew Heaven and he knew his siblings even better, he knew them in a way few others could. He knew that they would neither waver nor regret anything once they had chosen their course, that most of them held inside themselves a determination that bordered on bull-headed stubbornness, one that would not be swayed by danger nor reason.
Michael knew that so long as Lelouch did not betray their trust, they would forever be his swords and would follow him to hell itself once again without regret or hesitation. But he also knew that once they had been just as broken as the rest of Heaven had been.
Though they tried to smile and laughed again for the sake of their subjects, they were still not whole. Just a copy of what they had once been. It was as if they wanted to live again but could not figure out how to go about it, so all they did was mimic how they once used to behave during happier times, without any of the meaning behind her actions.
They stood frozen, hearts cold and stagnant.
Michael had thought, that was it. The Heaven he once knew was truly lost, and only this fragmented piece of what he had been tasked to lead was all he'd ever have left.
Then one day, without any warning, after centuries of hidden pain and anguish, his sister had arrived on the doorstep of their Council dragging a lost and injured boy behind her.
That had been almost an eon ago. After hundreds of years, his faction had finally returned. Michael knew that his siblings were still broken, yet he sometimes wondered for how long would this continue with the advent of the storm known as Lelouch.
Lelouch was a master of words, his charm capable of breeding both love and hatred with but a few whispers. He knew how to sway the hearts of men. His charisma could bring kings to the knee, his wit could charm demons of seduction, and his wisdom could render kingdoms asunder. It was perhaps a weapon even greater than any sword of destruction.
Five hundred years had passed since his ascension as the sole inheritor of the Seat of God and many things had changed since then.
The High Seraphim Council had been disbanded and then fashioned into a new body entirely as the very administrative system they knew was completely changed. It was not just the legislature either. The armadas of Heaven had been restructured and organized personally by Lelouch himself, made into something improved. Even the hierarchy of angels had changed, for seven Great Seraphs now served Heaven instead of a mere four.
In a fraction of an eon, Heaven had changed. It grew and became more than what God made it to be, greater than he intended them to be. They had surpassed even the glory of days when the humans whom God crafted with his own hands walked the Earth and they did so by the grace of their new emperor.
Slowly but surely, Emperor Lelouch had ingratiated himself inside the hearts of his subjects in a way Michael could have never imagined. Heaven was not the same as before, they were stronger and they were ready.
"Do you know why we have been so suddenly summoned?" Raziel questioned, breaking him from his thoughts. "It seems odd considering the circumstances, to say the least."
"It matters not, we shall do what we have been asked to regardless of what that might be." Michael found himself answering, "Those who stand in our way shall learn of our resolve."
"And If they refuse to learn?"
"Then they would be made to," was Michael's curt reply, and that was the end of that.
I am back and with a time-skip. This chapter was inspired by a Demon Lord's Hero and Lelouch of Britannia, both of which reignited my interest in this story.
My friend with whom I had started this work has long gone to college and this story was collecting dust which it did not deserve, so I thought that I might as well work on it myself rather than abandoning it. I would now work on this alone.
The time skip must have disappointed you all, but it is my way to cope considering all our plans regarding this story were basically gone when my friend received his admission letter. I have some new plans for this, hence the time skip. They were inspired by Legend of Galactic Heroes- I watched the DNT, then the Originals, and now I'm reading the novels. Reinhard is what I imagine this Lelouch to be.
I already warn you- updates would be slow but this story would not be abandoned.
As some of you might have noticed— Sairaorg is actually quite older than the DxD cast, even in canon. In this story, Rias and others are but mere toddlers, and Sairaorg is well into his twenties and has already been acknowledged as the strongest devil born in two centuries.
Also, something important has happened that obviously alarmed both the Devils, Angels, and the Fallen which would be the basis of the next arc, this was obviously an interlude meant to introduce us to the new stage upon which this story would play out. I such at this, but character development has been something I have focused on since the beginning. I created a five-chapter prologue just for this, and the trend would not change.
Being an interlude, the chapter did not contain anything groundbreaking. I established Baraqiel and Zekram (whose segment was heavily based upon A Demon Lord's Hero) as important characters and gave hints regarding where the three factions stand now. All three factions have grown stronger and I gave simple hints as to how they have grown.
To give a clearer picture regarding what I envision-
Devils focused purely on military might after the great war. Evil Pieces have allowed devils to grow exponentially stronger by stealing talents, and the Four Satans who are all super-devils in this story ensure that devils remain an unparallel military powerhouse. But these very evil pieces and their aggressive policies have ensured that they are not looked upon favorably by the world. Their society focuses on strength and its structure remains excessively feudal.
The Fallen, on the other hand, are behind devils in strength but because of a yet unrevealed method to improve their population and their futuristic policies inspired by humanity, they are the strongest faction economically and geopolitically. They are the industrial and economic powerhouse of the supernatural world, manufacturing everything possible and providing every service they can. So removing them from the picture is impossible without changing the world order, and they have great relationships with every other supernatural power.
The capabilities of Heaven are unknown, and almost everyone has already dismissed them as a power of the past. They have remained in isolation ever since the arrival of Lelouch which is an unknown event to the greater world, and no angel has been seen on earth for centuries. It is speculated that they maintain contact with the church in secret.
But Lelouch has not been sitting on his ass either. Heaven was quite literally remade, all its organizations including government and military were restructured centuries ago according to futuristic and modern methods which Lelouch knew coming from a world more advanced than our own, and its citizens are devoted almost entirely to Lelouch. So what do you think about this?
I know you expected Lelouch to go guns blazing the moment he arrived, but I chose to do a time skip because of convenience. My headcanon is that God asked him to help his children, not to conquer the world- so obviously Lelouch would prioritize the recovery of Heaven over defeating its enemies. The capabilities of Heaven would be revealed as the story progresses.
Lastly, somebody said that I am ignoring DxD cannon and making up my own explanations for the sake of my story. Of course, I am.
Don't read if this bothers you so much, or just consider this an AU. Sigh...
Thanks for reading.