Review Time:

RandomName41: Holy shit, I did not expect your review to come in so quickly! To be frank, your writing did entertain, unravel, and kept my spirits up while reading your Imps Guide series. Can't wait to see your next chapter using ChatGPT (4.0) and thank you so much for the warm welcome!

BlueDragon576: Thank you for your interests!

Gamelover41592: Tbh, this series will be far easier to write as there is a plotline already written and examples to doll out! I hope y'all enjoy the quick and speedy chapters adapted from a roleplay I have had with a close friend of mine!

Updates: Edited to include bits I forgot to add into the conversation among Andrealphus , Via and Oct!

Harry Potter: Goetian Beginnings

Chapter 1: Friends and Family

Hogwarts, Headmasters Office

July 25, 1990

Deep within the walls of Hogwarts, in the headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore found himself sunk deep in thought, his fingers steepled together as he brooded over the mysteries of the past. The half-moon spectacles perched upon his nose caught the flickering firelight from the hearth, and his gaze, lost in the distance, held a hint of sorrow that did not often darken his twinkling blue eyes.

The tragic demise of Lily and James Potter had sent shockwaves through the wizarding community. It was an event that signified the end of an era and the onset of better times. However, what had truly shaken the foundations of their world was the inexplicable disappearance of their son, Harry Potter.

Despite the painful mystery surrounding Harry Potter's disappearance, one thing was abundantly clear: Voldemort had met his end. His demise, strangely enough, had occurred the very night the Potters were murdered. He knew of the protection the young boy had and the sacrifice Lily would make to ensure his survival, and it had served to admonish Voldemort from the war.

In the wake of Voldemort's downfall, Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to capitalize on the newfound absence of the Dark Lord. There was a war to end, a community to mend, and the future of the wizarding world to safeguard. Though Harry was missing, the end of Voldemort marked a significant turning point in the war. The oppressive reign of the Death Eaters began to crumble, and slowly but surely, the forces of good regained their footing.

The wizarding world rallied behind Dumbledore, their spirits bolstered by the death of Voldemort. His passing was treated as a beacon of hope, a testament to the belief that even the darkest of forces could be vanquished. There was a renewed sense of purpose in the hearts of witches and wizards everywhere, a conviction that they could rebuild their world from the ashes of the war.

However, even as the wizarding world rejoiced in their hard-fought peace, the shadow of Harry Potter's disappearance continued to linger. His vanishing was an open wound in the heart of the community, an agonizing reminder of the innocent lives lost and the price paid for their freedom.

Dumbledore was no stranger to the weight of this grief. He had dedicated his life to the welfare of the magical world, and the loss of the Potter family, and especially Harry's inexplicable disappearance, felt like a personal failure. As he reflected on the past and the battles yet to come, his resolve hardened. The war was over, Voldemort was gone, but he would not rest until every mystery of that fateful night was unraveled, until he knew what had truly happened to Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and then vanished.

News of the Potters' demise, coupled with Harry's mysterious disappearance, had spread like wildfire. The wizarding world had been thrown into chaos. Speculation, fear, and sorrow filled every home. Some were convinced the boy had been taken by Death Eaters, others believed he had been hidden away for his protection, and some, in their grief, feared he had met the same fate as his parents.

Dumbledore had done his best to quell the rumors, assure the community, and organize a search for the boy, all the while wracked with his own private concerns and guilt. But the reality was that Harry Potter, the boy who was prophesied to be their savior, was missing, and no magic could discern his whereabouts.

Years had passed since that dreadful night, yet the unanswered questions of Harry's disappearance still haunted Dumbledore. He glanced towards the pictures of the Potter family that stood on his desk, his eyes lingering on the cherubic face of the missing boy. He whispered a silent hope into the quiet office, a safe return of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived... and then vanished.

Imp City, Goetian Palace

July 25, 1990

The Goetian Palace in Hell was always teeming with activity, but today it seemed to have a particular zest for life. Laughter echoed through the opulent halls as Octavius and Octavia indulged in the company of their friends.

Dusk, a member of the Goetian nobility and known for his sharp wit and wily charm, was regaling the group with tales of his latest exploits. His laughter was rich and infectious, causing even the usually reserved Octavia to chuckle.

Then there was Noctus, the son of a prestigious Goetian legionnaire. He was quieter than Dusk, his words more measured, but his stories about life in the legions were no less captivating. His tales were filled with honor and bravery, and his eyes held an untamed spark that was incredibly magnetic.

Gylfie, the daughter of a Duke and the only female in their group besides Octavia, was a firecracker. Her wit was sharp, her laughter loud, and she carried a certain rebellious streak that made her both exciting and unpredictable. She was fiercely independent and was quick to challenge anyone who underestimated her because of her gender. Her presence brought a unique dynamism to the group that was hard to ignore.

These were the companions that Octavius had chosen to surround himself with, each unique in their own way but united in their loyalty and camaraderie. There they were, a group of young Goetians, the next generation of Hell's nobility, seated amidst the grandeur of the palace, swapping stories and sharing laughter. Their voices filled the palace with an infectious energy, a testament to the bonds they shared, and a promise of the adventures yet to come.

"No, no, no," Dusk exclaimed, slapping his thigh as he leaned back in his chair, a wide grin on his face. "You have to believe me, Octavius. There's no creature in Hell that moves faster than a Nether Viper when it's agitated."

Octavius, adorned in his princely attire, hummed thoughtfully, one of his violet brows raised in curiosity. "Is that so?" he replied, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps I should tease one the next time I come across it."

Gylfie snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "And risk getting your princely tail burnt? I'd pay to see that."

Octavius let out a hearty laugh at that, his red eyes sparkling with amusement. "Fair enough, Gylfie."

Noctus, leaning against a grand pillar, chimed in, "Speaking of payment, Dusk, you still owe me from the last round of Infernal Chess. You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"

Dusk waved him off dismissively, rolling his eyes. "Alright, alright. You'll get your damned payment."

Octavia, who had been silently observing the conversation, let out a soft chuckle, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "I must say, you all have quite the knack for entertainment."

The others turned to her, their faces lighting up with grins. This was their life, a tapestry of friendship, laughter, and camaraderie, woven amidst the grandeur of the Goetian Palace.

Octavia cleared her throat, her fingers circling the rim of her teacup. "You know," she started, casting a glance at Octavius who looked back at her, curiosity piqued. "Octavius had a rather...strange dream last night."

A collective 'oh?' echoed around the group, their attention shifting from the bickering duo of Dusk and Noctus, who were now attempting to sort out their Infernal Chess debt, to the Prince and Princess Goetia.

Gylfie leaned in, her gaze inquisitive. "A strange dream?" she echoed, tilting her head to one side. "Pray tell, what sort of dream?"

"Well..." Octavia began, glancing at Octavius for permission. At his nod, she continued, "He dreamt of two people dying. He didn't recognize them, but the dream felt... real. As if he were there, watching it happen."

Dusk leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Interesting," he mused. "I've heard that dreams of death can sometimes symbolize transformation and new beginnings."

"But what kind of transformation?" Noctus chimed in, his gaze locked onto Octavius, concern furrowing his brows. "Or perhaps it's a sign of some unresolved issue? Something you need to face?"

Octavius shrugged, a frown marring his otherwise composed expression. "I'm not sure. But it felt so... familiar yet distant. As if it's a memory, not my own."

A silence hung heavy in the room, the mirthful atmosphere now replaced by a shared curiosity, concern for Octavius plainly etched on everyone's face. It was Gylfie who eventually broke the silence, her voice gentle yet firm.

"Perhaps," she said, drawing everyone's attention, "it's not something you need to fear, Octavius. It could be a part of your past that's been sealed away, emerging through dreams. We are, after all, shaped by our past experiences."

Dusk nodded, agreeing with Gylfie's take on the matter. "Gylfie has a point. Dreams are known to manifest suppressed memories. Have you tried discussing it with your father, Octavius? Maybe he can offer some insight."

Octavius looked thoughtful, considering Dusk's suggestion. He turned to Octavia, who nodded encouragingly. He sighed, finally breaking his silence. "Maybe... I haven't talked to him yet. But perhaps he knows something."

Noctus leaned forward, his serious gaze never leaving Octavius. "In the meantime, don't let this dream trouble you too much. We're here for you."

Octavia smiled at their friends, appreciating the support they showed for her brother. "Yes, Octavius. Remember that, we're here."

Looking to change the topic and lighten the atmosphere, Octavius turned his gaze to Noctus, his face lighting up with a curious smile. "Speaking of experiences," he began, "I heard you've been training in some new combat magic, Noctus. Care to share some insights?"

Noctus perked up at the mention of combat magic, his previous concern quickly replaced with an enthusiastic glint in his eyes. He was always eager to discuss the various magical techniques he'd been learning, taking pride in his progress and skill.

"Well, since you asked..." Noctus began, a broad grin spreading across his face. "I've been training with Duke Bael. We're focusing on energy manipulation, particularly creating defensive barriers and powerful blasts."

"And how's that going?" Octavia chimed in, her interest piqued.

"It's quite challenging, actually," Noctus admitted, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration. "The key is in controlling the flow of energy. Too little, and your spell won't have any effect. Too much, and you risk exhausting yourself, or worse."

As Noctus delved deeper into the intricate details of his training, the room filled once again with animated chatter. The weight of Octavius's dream seemed to lessen, replaced by the familiar comfort of their shared experiences, their friendships forged in the crucible of Hell's unique pressures.

Octavius leaned in, fascinated. "I'd like to learn that," he mused, tapping his finger thoughtfully against the edge of the table. "Energy manipulation sounds like a useful skill to have."

"It certainly is," Dusk interjected, smirking at Noctus. "Although, mastering it requires a significant amount of patience and control, two things Noctus here struggles with."

Noctus shot Dusk a glare, though there was no real malice behind it. "Well, at least I'm making progress," he retorted, puffing out his chest a bit in mock offense.

Before Dusk could respond, Gylfie chimed in. "Learning new skills is always beneficial," she said, sipping her tea. "However, it's also essential to master what you already know, Octavius. Your arcane abilities are quite impressive."

Octavius nodded, taking her words to heart. "I appreciate that, Gylfie. I'll make sure to balance out my training."

The conversation flowed effortlessly, moving from magical techniques to shared anecdotes of mishaps during training, laughter echoing through the grand hall. As the group chatted and laughed, the tense air gradually dissipated.

Gylfie leaned back in her seat, sipping from her tea as she assumed the role of Hell's unofficial social correspondent. Her keen understanding of the interplay between the noble families was unmatched, and she was always up to date on the latest happenings.

"You remember the party at Count Belial's mansion last week?" she began, her tone casual, as if she were discussing the weather rather than the complex intricacies of Hell's high society. "His daughter, Lilia, is being courted by Marquis Phenex's son, Zephyr. It seems they're hoping to unite their families through marriage."

A hum of surprise echoed through the group. Count Belial and Marquis Phenex had long been rivals, and this union could mean a significant shift in the balance of power amongst the noble families.

"That's certainly unexpected," Octavius mused. "But if it brings some stability, then it's a welcome development."

Gylfie nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Indeed. However, we'll have to wait and see how this alliance pans out."

"What about other families?" Octavia asked, her curiosity piqued. "Any other developments we should know about?"

Gylfie's lips twitched into a smile. "Actually, there is. Baron Vapula has been hosting a series of soirees at his estate. There's been some speculation that he's trying to curry favor with Duke Agares. I'd wager we'll be seeing more of these alliances in the coming months."

"Oh, and there's another bit of news you might find interesting," Gylfie added after a pause. Her eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief as she watched the group lean in closer, their curiosity piqued. "It seems Duke Zepar's son, Francesco, has been stirring up a bit of a storm."

Now this was interesting. Duke Zepar was a prominent figure in Hell's aristocracy, and any move by him or his family was worth noting. Octavius couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "What has Francesco been up to?" he asked.

"Well," Gylfie started, a sly grin on her face, "it appears that he's been making some rather bold moves, challenging the status quo. He's been seen mingling with families of lower rank, attending their functions, even negotiating business deals."

A murmur of surprise swept the table. This was unheard of. Nobility, especially of a Duke's lineage, typically kept to their own kind. Breaking from tradition and associating with those lower in rank was practically scandalous.

"Francesco's always been a bit unconventional," Octavia remarked, looking thoughtful. "But this...it's quite a departure from the norm. I wonder what his end game is."

"That, my dear Octavia, remains to be seen," Gylfie said, her voice laced with intrigue. "But one thing's for sure: Hell's nobility is in for a few surprises."

Octavius leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink in thought. He couldn't help but be intrigued by Francesco's recent antics. It was a clear defiance of Hell's stringent social norms, a rebellious act that could either earn him respect or alienate him entirely. Either way, it made him interesting.

Octavius was always one to relish a bit of chaos, especially when it served to shake up the mundanity of Hell's aristocracy. This presented a golden opportunity.

"You know," he began, his violet eyes sparkling with mischief, "we could always invite Francesco to join us next time. It might be interesting to hear his side of the story, and it would certainly give the nobility something to talk about."

At this, the table erupted in laughter, but it was clear they saw the appeal in his suggestion. Inviting Francesco, the renegade noble, into their inner circle would undoubtedly turn heads and stir the pot. And there was the added bonus of getting to know the person behind the rumors.

Octavia raised an eyebrow at her brother, a smirk playing on her lips. "You do love stirring the pot, don't you, Octavius?"

He simply shrugged, an innocent smile on his face. "I can't help it if I find the prospect of shaking things up a bit... intriguing."

Not so long after the plan was decided to bring and include another member of the social circle, Stolas appeared at the entrance of the room, his tall, regal form easily commanding attention. His eyes, glowing bright red, scanned the room until they landed on his children and their friends.

"Ah, there you are," he said, his voice carrying an undercurrent of importance. His gaze flickered over to Dusk, Noctus, and Gylfie, nodding at each in turn. "Dusk. Noctus. Gylfie. I trust you're all well?"

Each of Octavius's friends returned the nod, polite smiles gracing their features. Stolas may have been their friend's father, but his stature and authority demanded a certain level of respect.

With formalities observed, Stolas turned his attention back to his children. "Via, Oct, I require your presence in the study." His tone left little room for argument, but there was a warmth to his gaze that took the edge off his command.

Octavius and Octavia exchanged curious glances before getting up from their seats. Stolas inclined his head once more towards their friends before turning to leave, his children following him out of the room. The friends they left behind watched their departure with intrigued eyes. If anything, this only served to further pique their curiosity. After all, it was rare for Stolas to interrupt one of their get-togethers, and rarer still for him to call both Octavia and Octavius away at once.

Stolas led Octavia and Octavius into his grand study, a room filled with ancient scrolls, potent potions, and an array of mystical artifacts. Tall shelves of books towered over them, carrying countless stories and secrets from Hell and beyond. The air was saturated with the scent of parchment and lingering spells, a familiar and comforting aroma.

Settling down in his high-backed chair, Stolas gestured for his children to take the seats opposite him. His glowing red eyes held an unusual seriousness, indicating the importance of the discussion at hand.

"Your birthdays are coming up next week," he began, his voice steady and calm. "And as you know, reaching these ages hold certain significance within our society, and within our family."

He paused for a moment, ensuring he had their full attention. "Your grandfather, Paimon, has expressed his desire to summon you to his palace soon. It is his way of acknowledging your maturity and your place in our family hierarchy."

Octavia and Octavius exchanged glances. They had heard tales of Paimon, their grandfather, who was known for his immense power and influence. The prospect of meeting him was both intriguing and daunting.

Stolas caught their shared look and gave a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, you two. You've been prepared for this your entire lives. Just remember everything we've discussed about politics and power dynamics, and you'll do well."

Stolas studied Octavius a bit more intently, his brow furrowing with concern. While Octavia was his natural-born child, her lineage undeniable, Octavius was a different matter. He was the result of an ancient blood ritual, adopted into their lineage, but not of it by birth.

Paimon was one of the oldest and most powerful demons in Hell, gifted with profound senses and wisdom accumulated over eons. Stolas couldn't dismiss the chance that his father might perceive Octavius's unique origins.

"Octavius," Stolas began, his voice slightly softer than before, "your situation is...special. Paimon is very perceptive, and there's a possibility he might sense your unusual aura and adept perception in the arcana. We don't know for certain how he'll react." He spoke in a soft lie.

Octavius remained silent for a moment, a thoughtful frown marking his features. His red eyes, so reminiscent of Stolas's own, stared back at his father. The fear he felt was minimal, an echo in the back of his mind. He knew he was different, but he was still a Goetia, the blood of the infernal running strong in him.

"I understand, Father," Octavius replied, a hint of determination gleaming in his eyes.

Octavius' mind whirled as he processed his father's words. An 'unusual aura'— the implications of such a thing were significant, especially in the presence of a demon as powerful and discerning as Paimon. He had always been aware of his unique circumstances, but the possibility that it might be discernible to others was a new and unsettling prospect.

He glanced over at his sister, Octavia, who looked back at him with a mixture of concern and support. Their bond was deep, forged not only by shared experiences and upbringing, but by a mutual understanding of the challenges and expectations of their roles in Hell's hierarchy.

"Father," Octavius started, his voice steady despite the uncertainty swirling within him, "if Grandfather Paimon were to... sense something, what would that mean?"

Stolas, ever the calm in the storm, regarded Octavius with thoughtful eyes. He weighed his words carefully before responding, understanding the weight they carried.

"It would depend on his interpretation," Stolas began, his gaze holding Octavius's, "and his perspective on our family's strength and lineage. Paimon values power and loyalty above all, traits you no doubt have. Octavius, your strength, intelligence, and commitment are undeniable, your grandfather will take note of it."

Just as Stolas finished his sentence, a wave of palpable energy rolled into the room, causing the air to shiver. This was a power they recognized — ancient, commanding, and undeniably belonging to one entity: Paimon. A silent, collective breath was held as the room swirled with his formidable essence.

With an audible pop, a scroll materialized in the middle of the room. It was sealed with the insignia of Paimon, an intricate pattern depicting a crowned man on a camel, his power and authority unmistakable.

Stolas moved forward, picking up the parchment and breaking the seal. As he unrolled it, the elegant, looping script of the elder Goetia came into view, a formal invitation that commanded their presence at his palace for the upcoming birthdays.

The room was silent as Stolas read aloud the request for Octavia and Octavius to visit Paimon's palace immediately, to commemorate their transition into adulthood.

Once the final words were spoken, a strange stillness fell upon the room, a quiet before the storm. Octavia and Octavius shared a glance, a silent conversation over how this may go.

Paimon's Palace, Unknown Location

July 25, 1990

In the grandeur of the throne room, the siblings stood side by side, the magnificent architecture looming above them. Walls made of obsidian were adorned with intricate golden embellishments, radiating a majestic glow that pulsed with ethereal power. Paimon's throne, an imposing construct of crimson and gold, dominated the room.

King Paimon, in all his regality, sat on the throne. His presence was commanding, his eyes, ancient and all-knowing, studied his grandchildren with curiosity and an indiscernible scrutiny. He was the very epitome of Goetian nobility - strong, shrewd, and undeniably powerful.

Paimon, the grand patriarch of the Goetia lineage, with his raven-like grandeur, gazed at his grandchildren with an inscrutable gaze. His glowing red eyes flickered between Octavia and Octavius. His voice, when he spoke, echoed off the high arches of the throne room. Yet there was no warmth in his tone, no real recognition, merely a lofty obligation.

"Ah, O...Octavia and... Octavio?" he mispronounced, his voice a deep baritone rumble that shook the air. There was no correction when he botched Octavius' name, nor did he seem bothered by it. It wasn't out of malice but neglect; a negligent disregard so profound that he couldn't be bothered to recall the names of his own lineage.

Paimon continued, gesturing grandly with one clawed hand, his long crimson cloak flowing around him like a river of blood. "It's been some time, hasn't it?" he said, not waiting for an answer. "Your father tells me you've both been doing... well, things. Learning about this and that. Practicing your magic."

There was no question in his statement, no interest in hearing their achievements or setbacks. The words hung heavily in the air, and the siblings exchanged a glance.

"Indeed, grandfather," Octavia replied dutifully, hiding her annoyance well. Octavius, on the other hand, held a contemplative expression, his red eyes glowing as he studied the imposing figure of their grandfather.

"Very well," Paimon dismissed, turning his gaze to some irrelevant object off to the side. "Your father also mentioned some... birthday celebrations coming up." He waved his hand in a vague gesture, the hint of a bored sigh escaping his beak.

Octavius's interest peaked, "Will you be attending, grandfather?" He asked, more out of courtesy than genuine anticipation.

Paimon turned his gaze back to his grandchildren, a hint of surprise flashed through his eyes. "Perhaps," he muttered, seemingly taken aback. "We shall see."

Despite his general indifference, Paimon's gaze shifted and lingered on Octavius, his expression tightening ever so slightly. "Octavius..." His voice echoed through the vast throne room, the name rolling off his tongue as if he were tasting it for the first time.

His piercing red eyes examined the young prince from head to toe. The regal violet feathers, the intensity of the crimson gaze, the aura of power that the boy carried, all caught his attention. There was an odd sensation, a niggling doubt at the back of his mind, a faint tremor in the very fabric of Hell that seemed to resonate with the presence of the young prince.

Paimon's gaze narrowed further. "You carry yourself differently," he observed, his voice layered with curiosity and suspicion. "You bear a unique aura... unlike your father's, unlike anyone's in our lineage." He paused, his gaze boring into Octavius, who met his eyes steadily.

Octavia glanced at her brother, worry etching on her face, but Octavius remained calm, his expression thoughtful, his posture unwavering under his grandfather's scrutiny.

A sudden rumble of amusement echoed through the chamber, deep and sonorous, a mere whisper yet carrying an undeniable power. It was Paimon, who had let out a rare chuckle. His red eyes sparkled with newfound realization, his gaze never leaving Octavius.

"Ah, that's it. How amusing. There's a scent of something about you, lad," he mused aloud, the smirk on his face growing wider.

His gaze shifted to a painting of Stolas hanging on the wall, his laughter growing louder, filling the expansive room. "Oh, this is Stolas's work, I have no doubt," he commented, an almost cruel twist to his lips. "Always playing with the mortals... but this," he motioned towards Octavius with a sweeping gesture, "this is new."

The laughter continued, bouncing off the high, vaulted ceilings of the grand throne room. His beady eyes shone with mirth as he reclined further into his throne, looking quite pleased with himself. Paimon, clearly relishing the moment, made no effort to dispel the tension that had settled over the room. The silence that followed was punctuated only by his continued chuckles, as he reveled in the discomfort his observations had caused.

Octavius swallowed hard, a feeling of unease curling in his gut. He took a step back, casting a wary glance at his sister, then back at his grandfather. His mind raced, his father's earlier concern about this meeting now making perfect sense.

"I'm not certain I understand, Grandfather," Octavius admitted, his voice steady despite the tension that was building within him. He straightened his posture, standing tall amidst the grandeur and intimidation that was Paimon's throne room.

Paimon, still laughing, straightened himself up, leaning his imposing figure forward, his gaze narrowing onto Octavius. "Surely, you don't expect me to believe that, boy?" The elderly demon's voice echoed ominously around the cavernous room, his eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of menace.

Octavius took a breath, steeling himself against the formidable presence of his grandfather. "I don't see why not," he answered steadily, "as I've said, I have no knowledge of what you suggest."

The tension in the room was palpable, cutting through the otherwise grand atmosphere like a blade. Paimon regarded him with a quizzical expression, before throwing his head back and letting out another rich, ominous laugh. "Ah," he mused, seemingly speaking to himself, "you've really outdone yourself with this one."

Octavia, who had been watching the exchange, stepped forward. "Is there something you're not telling us, grandfather?" she questioned, her voice sharp.

Paimon waved a dismissive hand in her direction. "Merely family matters, my dear. I wouldn't worry your little head over it." His gaze shifted back to Octavius, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his beak.

The conversation hung in the air, the tension mounting as Octavius and Octavia were left to decipher their grandfather's cryptic words and unnerving laughter. The question of what Paimon knew, or suspected, about Octavius's origins lingered, casting a shadow over the grandeur of the throne room and the future of their lineage.

Still wearing that knowing smile, Paimon gracefully shifted his focus from the uncomfortable subject of Octavius's peculiar aura. His eyes gleamed in the gloom of the throne room as he declared, "But enough of that, we're not here to delve into mysteries and speculations. I've called you here for a much more important matter."

The tension in the room eased slightly at Paimon's change of topic. Octavia's stiff posture relaxed, while Octavius looked slightly relieved, curiosity flickering in his vibrant eyes.

"You see," Paimon continued, his voice regaining its usual grandeur, "it's time we discussed the future of our lineage, the roles you both will play as part of the Goetian nobility." He swept his gaze between Octavia and Octavius, instilling them both with the gravity of his words.

"As my grandchildren, and more importantly, as the children of your father erm… yes, Stolas, you two are destined to be a continued legacy of our prestigious family."

Turning his attention back to Octavius, he continued, "You both are. Should anything ever happen to your father," he said, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his beak, "it is comforting to know that his roles and responsibilities will be in capable hands."

"I can't help but notice," Octavius began, his voice steady as he found the courage to speak.

"You treat your descendants little more than discarded items to trade." His words echoed in the grand chamber, daring to question the whims of the Goetian King.

Octavius continued, "even a mechanic cares for his tools. He doesn't forget their names, or misplace them. He uses them, yes, but he also maintains them. Ensures they're always in the best condition. Because without them, his work cannot be done."

His gaze hardened, challenging. "Why didn't you do the same with our father? Why have you never shown the same care, the same regard, even for someone as important as a son?"

Paimon studied the young prince, his curiosity piqued by Octavius's challenge. The silence stretched between them. Then, a deep, rich chuckle escaped from his beak, reverberating through the grand hall.

"An interesting analogy, my dear grandson," he said, his voice coated with an air of amusement. "You see, a mechanic does indeed care for his tools. But one must understand, not all tools are of equal importance, not all require the same degree of attention."

His gaze flicked over to Octavia, before settling back on Octavius. "In our world, some... offspring, as you call them, are born to be Kings, some are born to be soldiers, and some... some are simply born to play their part."

His eyes held a cruel, cold glint as he continued. "Your father played his part well. As will you, and your dear sister." His gaze drifted back to Octavia, a clear dismissal of the topic.

Octavia held her breath, a frown etched on her face as she watched Paimon dismiss their father's worth so casually. She could see the fire in her brother's eyes, the defiance, the challenge, the hurt. Yet she also knew they were treading on dangerous grounds.

"I see," Octavius replied, trying to keep his voice even. His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists, but he held Paimon's gaze, unyielding.

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. The tension was palpable, a charged energy that hung in the air like an impending storm.

Paimon's dismissive gaze lingered on Octavia for a moment longer before he turned back to Octavius, his beady eyes narrowing. "I trust you will remember your place, grandson," he said, his voice an icy calm. "We are not humans who put sentimental values on everything. We are Goetian. We are born to fulfill our roles, to further our family's dominance. Your father... he understood this."

Octavius stayed silent, his jaw clenched. Octavia saw her brother's struggle, caught between the urge to defend their father and the need to tread lightly around the King. It was a precarious balance, one that could easily tip and plunge them into danger.

"Stolas... your father," Paimon continued, his voice softer now, "did what was expected of him. He fulfilled his role and for that, he was rewarded with a place in our family's history. Remember that."

The room fell silent once again, the King's words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. Octavia reached out and placed a comforting hand on her brother's arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. They may not have received the answers they wanted, but they had gained something else - a deeper understanding of their place in the Goetian hierarchy and the daunting expectations that came with it. Their journey had just begun.

However, there was always a spark in the hearts of nobles to speak.

"I understand, grandfather," Octavius began, his voice firm, "that we are Goetian, and that we are born to fulfill our roles, to further our family's dominance. But what if we could do more? What if we could redefine our roles without disregarding our duties?"

His gaze was unwavering as he met Paimon's, his fiery determination clearly visible in his eyes. "We don't have to be confined by the traditions that have been set before us. We have the power to change, to adapt, to evolve."

Octavia watched as her brother spoke, her heart swelling with pride. His words were bold, daring, but they carried a certain truth that resonated within her. They were not mere tools to be used and discarded; they were capable of so much more.

"I am not suggesting we abandon our duties," Octavius continued, "but rather that we approach them in new ways. Perhaps in doing so, we can achieve even greater feats, ascend to even greater heights, and bring even more prestige to our family's name."

Paimon's beak opened slightly, then closed. He studied Octavius, his gaze thoughtful. It was clear that Octavius's words had struck a chord.

Octavius ended on a resolute note, "I am not my father, nor am I a mere tool to be used. I will fulfill my duties and uphold our family's dominance, but not at the expense of my own worth. I am Octavius, a prince of Goetia. And I will make my own mark on our history, not as a tool, but as a leader."

Paimon remained silent for a moment, studying Octavius with an inscrutable expression. His gaze was cold, calculating, as though reassessing the young prince standing defiantly before him.

He let out a low hum, the sound echoing ominously in the grand chamber. "Bold words, Octavius," he said, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue. "Very bold words indeed."

He paused, circling Octavius slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey. "You speak of change, of evolution, of redefining roles. But remember, grandson, change is a double-edged sword. It can bring about greatness, yes, but it can also lead to ruin."

He stopped in front of Octavius, his eyes piercing into the young prince's. "You wish to make your mark as a leader, not a tool. A commendable ambition, I must admit. But leadership comes with its own set of challenges, its own burdens. Are you prepared to shoulder them?"

Octavius held his gaze, nodding. "I am."

Paimon chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that filled the room. "Very well, Octavius. Let us see if your actions can live up to your words."

With that, he turned away, his grand feathers ruffling as he moved towards his throne. Octavia exhaled softly, her hand still gripping her brother's arm. The exchange was over, but the challenge had only just begun. As Paimon took his seat, Octavia wondered just what Octavius walked into this time?

Octavia took a step forward, her heart pounding as she met Paimon's gaze. "Grandfather," she began, her voice steady. "What is expected of us? What are our roles?"

Paimon's gaze shifted to Octavia, a faint smile playing on his beak. "An important question, Octavia," he began, his voice echoing throughout the grand chamber.

"You and Octavius are to learn the duties and responsibilities of your father, Stolas. His roles, his tasks, everything that has kept our family strong and prominent. You must prepare for the possibility that he may not be around forever." His words carried an ominous weight, hinting at a future they all knew was possible but seldom discussed openly.

Paimon paused, his gaze turning sharper, more serious. "Octavia, you are the firstborn. You stand first in line to inherit your father's position. You must be ready to shoulder his responsibilities, to uphold our family's legacy, should the need arise. Your preparation begins now."

His words hung heavy in the silence that followed, a stark reminder of the burden they were to bear. The room seemed to hold its breath as Octavia took in his words, her mind racing to process the enormity of the expectations placed upon her and her brother.

Octavia nodded, her expression resolute. "I understand, grandfather," she said, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts in her head.

The room fell into a solemn silence as Paimon's words echoed off the grand chamber's walls. Octavia held her head high, her gaze meeting the Goetian King's. The weight of his words was daunting, but she was resolved. Beside her, Octavius stood tall, his determination matching hers.

"Very well, grandfather," Octavia finally said, her voice ringing clear in the silence. "We will prepare ourselves."

With that, the audience with the King was over. Octavia and Octavius turned, their steps echoing in the grand chamber as they made their way towards the exit.

As the grand chamber doors closed behind Octavia and Octavius, Paimon remained seated on his throne, deep in thought. The echoes of their conversation still resonated in the vast room, sparking a trail of suspicion in Paimon's mind.

With a slight motion of his clawed hand, a ripple of energy moved through the air. In a flash of light, his son Stolas appeared before him, regal and composed.

"Stolas," Paimon intoned, his voice reverberating off the stone walls of the chamber. Stolas nodded, acknowledging his father's summon.

"You called for me, Father?" he queried, his voice cool and steady.

Paimon leaned back on his throne, his gaze penetrating as he studied his son. "I've had a... enlightening conversation with your offspring," he began, his tone hinting at the unease beneath his words.

Stolas remained silent, his eyes reflecting a flicker of interest at the mention of his children.

"Octavius," Paimon continued, his voice laced with suspicion, "displayed an unusual familiarity with the affairs of the human world."

Paimon paused, letting the implication of his statement settle in the air. "It leads me to question whether you, Stolas, have been... meddling in their realm."

His gaze was sharp as he scrutinized Stolas. "What can you tell me about this, son? Have you been influencing events in the human world?"

The silence that followed was thick with tension. Stolas' expression remained unreadable as he weighed his response to his father's pointed inquiry. The future of their family hung in the balance, hinging on the answers to Paimon's probing questions.

Stolas remained composed under his father's scrutiny, his gaze steady. The silence in the grand chamber seemed to stretch, the tension palpable in the air. Then, he finally spoke.

"Father," Stolas began, his voice calm and resolute. "The affairs of the human world have always held a certain... fascination for our kind. Their struggles, their triumphs, their ceaseless will to survive - it's intriguing."

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "As for Octavius, his curiosity about humans is a reflection of his character, not a result of my influence. He's always been keen on understanding different perspectives, different worlds."

Stolas met his father's gaze, his expression unyielding. "But, Father, rest assured. My interest in the human world has never crossed the bounds set by our laws."

Paimon listened to Stolas's explanation, his gaze never leaving his son. As Stolas finished speaking, a deep, rich chuckle escaped from Paimon's beak, filling the grand chamber with its resonating sound.

His chuckle subsided, but the smile remained on his beak. "But let me put it to you plainly, son. Have you, or have you not, interfered with the affairs of the human world?"

The directness of the question hung heavy in the air between them. Stolas held his father's gaze, his expression unreadable. Paimon was looking for a simple yes or no, but the answer to that question was anything but simple.

Stolas held his father's gaze, the silence in the chamber stretching between them. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he broke the silence.

"Yes," he admitted, his voice steady. "I have."

His admission hung heavy in the air, echoing in the grand chamber. Paimon's suspicion had been confirmed, but the consequences of that confirmation remained to be seen.

Upon hearing Stolas's admission, Paimon's laughter echoed through the grand chamber, deep and resounding. The Goetian King seemed to take delight in his son's revelation, his amusement evident in his boisterous laughter.

"Stolas, my son," Paimon began, his voice filled with mirth. "You truly are a bold one. To meddle in the affairs of the human world, knowing the risks..."

His laughter subsided, replaced by a grin that spread across his beak. "I must admit, I did not expect such audacity from you. But it is an audacity I can appreciate."

Raising his clawed hand, Paimon clapped Stolas on the shoulder, a clear sign of approval. "Congratulations, Stolas. You've surprised me. And that, my son, is no easy feat."

His words hung in the air, adding a touch of warmth to the tension that had permeated the room. It was clear that Paimon, in his own way, was proud of his son's audacious actions.

Duke Zepar's Palace, Unknown Location

July 25, 1990

Francesco, the son of Duke Zepar, had just emerged from an intense discourse with his father when the familiar trill of his phone sounded, slicing through the heavy silence in the room. Being a Parrot Demon, he was not part of the Goetian family, but as a Duke's son, his life was deeply intertwined with the complex web of demon nobility.

His father's stern lecture still hung in the air, a weighty reminder of the expectations and duties placed on his shoulders. Eager for a diversion, he retrieved his phone from his pocket, the screen illuminating with a new message.

The sender: Octavius. The name was known to Francesco, the offspring of Stolas, a figure of note within the Goetian clan. While they were not close, their paths had crossed occasionally in the intricate dance of demon politics.

A sense of curiosity pricked at Francesco as he viewed the incoming message. Octavius, as far as he knew, was a character wrapped in enigma. Intrigued, Francesco swiped to unlock his phone, his attention now fully absorbed by the unexpected communication.

As Francesco unlocked his phone, he was greeted by Octavius's message:

Octavius: Francesco, care to join us for a night out? We're gathering a group of our peers for some much-needed levity.

Francesco blinked at the message, taken aback. A social gathering was a far cry from the weighty affairs of demon politics he was accustomed to. Yet, the invitation held an undeniable appeal. An evening spent in the company of his peers, free from the usual pressures and responsibilities, sounded like a welcome change of pace.

Octavius's reputation of defying traditional Goetian conduct added an element of intrigue to the invitation. Francesco found himself curious to witness this side of Octavius, to explore the camaraderie and mutual understanding that could be forged outside the strict confines of their noble duties.

With a small nod to himself, Francesco began to type his response, already considering the potential this night held for unexpected alliances and friendships.

Francesco considered his response carefully, his fingers hovering over the phone's screen. The unexpected invitation from Octavius had taken him by surprise, but he found himself intrigued by the idea. After a few moments, he started typing.

Francesco: Octavius! Thank you for the invitation. A social gathering certainly sounds like a welcome change of pace!

He paused, then added:

I would be delighted to join you and our peers for the evening. I look forward to it!

He hit send, his heart pounding slightly with the anticipation of the unknown. This night promised to be an interesting diversion from the usual formalities and expectations of their noble duties.

Imp City, Goetian Palace's Courtyard

July 26, 1990

In the vast training courtyard, a spectacle of magic and combat unfolded. Octavius, Noctus, and Dusk, each brandishing their sabers, faced off in a triangle of anticipation. The air was thick with tension, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of competition. The first move was made, and the duel was ignited.

Octavius took the initiative, launching a quick strike towards Noctus. He parried swiftly, his saber clashing against Octavius', sending sparks flying. Dusk, seizing the momentary distraction, lunged at Octavius, but was intercepted by a shield of magic Octavius summoned. The complex mix of magic and combat was just as they had learned: more than waving incantations and saying a few funny words, magic required concentration and finesse .

The clash of blades echoed through the courtyard, punctuated by bursts of magic. They cast spells, both verbally and non-verbally, to enhance their attacks and defenses. Some were cast with their weapons, focusing their magic , while others were performed by the motions of their hands, showing their skill and power . Yet, all were mindful of the limitations and exceptions of magic, particularly when it came to conjuring objects from thin air or duplicating items, such as their weapons .

Dusk and Noctus, both novices in energy manipulation, were a sight to behold. They manipulated the very ground beneath them, drawing up chunks of earth, transmuting them into new blades and weapons whenever their current ones took damage. The weapons they conjured bore the same properties as the ground, demonstrating surface-level behavior .

Suddenly, a saber was knocked from Octavius' hand, skidding across the courtyard. Without missing a beat, Octavius extended his hand, his magic working to repair his weapon. It was a race against time, his magic working quickly to fix the blade before his opponents could take advantage of his momentary vulnerability.

As the duel continued, it was clear that these were not ordinary bouts. They were a test of their magical prowess, a dance of blades and spells, and a display of their understanding and control over the laws of magic .

The courtyard echoed with the symphony of a three-way duel, the air humming with magic, the ground trembling beneath the weight of their intensity. Octavius, Noctus, and Dusk each demonstrated their unique strengths, making every moment of the contest a spectacle of power, skill, and adaptability.

Octavius, though new to the art of dueling, was a prodigy in magic. His grasp of spells was superior, his understanding of magic far beyond his years; the pride of his father's lessons in the study being tested firsthand. The air around him shimmered with his power, his hands moving with deft precision to cast spells that both attacked and defended. He was quick to adapt, learning from each clash, each parry, each feint. He was a force to be reckoned with, his magic flowing around him like an ethereal cloak, his every move a testament to his rapidly growing prowess in combat.

Noctus, on the other hand, was the most experienced duelist. His understanding of the blade, its movements, and its potential made him a formidable opponent. His saber danced in his hands, twirling, thrusting, parrying with an elegance and ferocity that was a sight to behold. He was a tempest, his movements a whirlwind of calculated strikes and defenses. His energy manipulation was flawless, creating blades from the earth, repairing damaged weapons with a mere flick of his wrist.

And then there was Dusk, the most dexterous of the trio. Agile and swift, he moved like a shadow, his movements almost impossible to predict. His agility allowed him to weave through the battle, dodging attacks with ease, striking when least expected. His energy manipulation allowed him to create weapons that matched his style, light and quick, catching the Hell-light in a dazzling display of magic and might.

The duel was intense, each participant giving their all, pushing their limits. The air crackled with energy, the ground scarred by the force of their magic. And yet, despite the intensity of the duel, there was a sense of passion, a silent agreement of mutual respect and the thrill of competition.

The courtyard was alive with the sound of clashing blades and the hum of magic. It was a testament to their skills, their abilities, their dedication. And as the duel continued, one thing was clear - they were not just dueling. They were learning, growing, pushing each other to become better. And in the end, that was the true magic of the duel.

With his back against the wall, Octavius dug deep into his vast reservoir of experience and knowledge, a testament to his years of magical practice and study. He observed Noctus and Dusk, their movements brimming with raw power yet lacking in precision. They were new to energy manipulation, their inexperience evident in their erratic energy flows and suboptimal control.

Spotting an opening, Octavius seized the opportunity to exploit their vulnerability. He began to weave complex spells, each one requiring a level of sophistication beyond the abilities of his novice opponents. He used spells that were tricky to counter, requiring fine control and understanding of magic, not just raw power.

As he cast his spells, Octavius subtly manipulated the energy around them, creating disruptions in the flow that Noctus and Dusk struggled to handle. Their spells began to falter, losing potency and direction. They were like children trying to control a raging river with mere twigs, utterly outmatched by the forces they were attempting to control.

Noticing their floundering attempts, Octavius increased the intensity, casting intricate charms and jinxes with expert precision. His mastery over magic was evident, his moves fluid and natural as he channeled his spells through the wave of his hand. He was a conductor directing a symphony, and magic was his orchestra, responding to his every command with unerring accuracy.

As the duel reached its climax, Octavius decided it was time to end it. He focused his magic on a final, decisive spell. The energy around him crackled and hissed, responding to his will. His spell took shape, a magnificent blend of power and control, a testament to his years of mastering the arcane art with the consistent training of his father and the discipline of his mother.

Noctus and Dusk, consumed by their struggle to maintain control over their spells, failed to counter in time. The spell hit them, their shields faltering under the onslaught. With a final gasp of effort, they tried to push back, but it was too late. The spell overpowered them, sending them sprawling to the ground, defeated.

In the end, it was Octavius' experience and understanding of magic that made the difference. His ability to exploit the nuances of energy manipulation, something Noctus and Dusk had yet to fully grasp, allowed him to claim victory. The duel served as a reminder of the importance of mastering the fundamentals of magic, and how raw power was nothing without the skill and knowledge to control it.

As the dust settled, a sound broke the silence. It was the slow, deliberate clap of hands, echoing across the training ground. Stella stood at the edge of the arena, her eyes gleaming with admiration as she applauded Octavius' victory. "Well done, Octavius," she called out, her voice ringing clear and true. Her clapping echoed in the otherwise silent grounds, a testament to Octavius' well-earned victory.

With the victory in his grasp, Octavius turned to face Stella, sheathing his weapons in one fluid motion. He dipped his head in a respectful bow, acknowledging the applause and the guidance that she had given him. "I am always learning, mother," he said, straightening and meeting her gaze.

Stella nodded, her face softened by a proud smile. "Remember, Octavius," she began, her voice carrying wisdom and authority, "overpowering your opponents is not always about brute force. It's about outsmarting them, finding their weaknesses, and using them to your advantage. And if that fails, you must be prepared to shatter their ability to fight. It's a harsh world, my son, and you must be ready for it."

With her lesson imparted, Stella turned and began her journey back to the palace, her figure slowly fading into the distance. As she departed, Octavius turned back to his companions, his face alight with excitement.

Octavius, his gaze still holding a trace of the intensity from the duel, grinned at Noctus and Dusk. "Well fought, both of you. Now, let's shift our battle to another realm - the realm of Warhammer 40K."

Noctus, recovering from the duel, returned the grin. "You're on, Octavius. But be warned, I'm thinking of bringing out my Eldar this time."

Dusk chimed in, excitement lighting up his eyes, "And I have been working on my Ork army. You won't even see what hit you."

"Alright," Octavius began, a glint of excitement in his eyes, "I'm going to field an Astra Militarum force this time. Don't underestimate the strength of the Imperial Guard. They may be mere men in the midst of gods and monsters, but under the right command, they can hold their own against any threat. You would do well to remember that." He added a hint of a smirk playing at his lips as he looked at Noctus and Dusk, daring them to take his choice lightly.

Just as the three of them were about to dive deeper into their Warhammer 40K discussions, Octavia and Gylfie approached them. Gylfie, with a playful smile, cleared her throat to draw their attention.

"Change of plans, boys," Octavia announced, her voice echoing in the training grounds. "You have a dinner date with Francesco tonight. I trust you'll put on your best behavior?"

A collective groan resonated from the trio, their plans of a night filled with strategic tabletop warfare disrupted. Gylfie chuckled at their dismay, adding, "Don't worry, you can continue your interstellar conquests when we return. Now, go clean up. We don't want to keep Francesco waiting."

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter!

Fleshing out the intricate details of a Goetic Noble's daily lifecycle was the beauty of making or remaking said lifestyles and using it for the chapter. What I had extreme enjoyment, both as a Harry Potter lover and a fan of action, is Dueling and the use of both magic and physical exertion in the fight! All of the intricate details of putting down hexes, charms, and the flow of magic is one that also threw me in for a ride, since I have not fully grasped how layered spellcasting worked in HP (thank D&D for that lmao).

However, writing in Paimon's perception and his interaction with Stolas was something of a difficulty on how the situation was going to go. Left it up to Paimon's personality to embrace a more "I am bored, entertain me" behavior to carry out the interactions. And yes, this was carried out the same way in Octavius's defiance, when in other situations, he would have been ripped from balls to brain XD

Regardless, hoped you all enjoyed this chapter and please don't be afraid to Fav or Follow this story, means a lot!

Thank you for your time,

-True