"Why?" Asmodeus croaked as Peon's relentless blows continued to rain down on him.
Peon didn't stop; in fact, his strikes became even fiercer, the force of his fists unrelenting.
"I've never even met you," Asmodeus said weakly, blood dripping from his split lips. His voice cracked with confusion and pain.
Peon froze for a moment, his chest heaving with rage. He leaned in close, his eyes burning with hatred. "You really don't remember, do you, deadbeat?" he growled, his voice low and venomous. "Then allow me to remind you."
He punctuated his words with another brutal punch to Asmodeus's face, the impact sending a spray of blood across the ground.
"Grandpa Vince," A young Leon's voice broke the silence, soft yet heavy with longing. He tugged gently at the hem of an elderly devil's frayed coat, his wide, innocent eyes searching for comfort. "Is Mother back yet?"
The old man, Vince, paused, his shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. Leaning heavily on his cane, his single peg leg made a dull thud against the wooden floor as he shifted. He exhaled deeply, his breath shaky. "No, kid," he said quietly, his voice tinged with regret. "She's still out there… fighting the war."
Leon's small face fell, his brows knitting in frustration and confusion. "Why does she have to go and fight?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Doesn't she care about me?"
The words struck Vince like a blade. He froze, his weathered face tightening as he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his expression was softer, but his eyes brimmed with an unspoken sorrow. Slowly, he knelt down, his rough, calloused hand resting on Leon's small shoulder.
"Listen to me, kid," Vince said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "Never,ever doubt your mother's love for you. She cares about you more than anything in this world. But the war it takes people. Good people. And your mother… she was drafted.
Leon's lip trembled, his small hands balling into fists at his sides as tears welled in his eyes. "But why does there have to be a war at all?" he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of a question far too heavy for his young heart.
Vince's face darkened, his expression hardening into a grim scowl. He looked away, staring at the floor as though the answer were etched into the worn planks. ""Because war is what happens when devils want more than what they've got," he said, his voice bitter and edged with anger. "It's greed, pride, and power. It's those at the very top playing games, and the rest of us… we're just pieces on the board."
The boy stared at him, trying to understand, but the answer only made the ache in his chest grow. "Will she come back?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Vince let out a shaky breath. His hand drifted to his chest, where beneath his shirt lay a worn insignia, a camel etched into faded metal. His eyes, clouded with memories of long-forgotten battles, refused to meet Leon's. "We hope for the best," he said softly, "but we prepare for the worst. That's what soldiers do."
Weeks Later
The village was heavy with a somber stillness when a devil soldier flew into town. His armor was battered, scratched and smeared with the grime of battle. Leon watched from the shadows as the soldier dismounted, handing a sealed envelope to Vince.
Though their words were muffled, Leon saw the way Vince's hand trembled as he accepted the letter. The old man's face crumpled, his grief etched into every line.
Later that evening, Vince arrived at Leon's door. His knock was soft, hesitant, as though he dreaded what he had to say.
"What is it, Grandpa Vince?" Leon asked, his small voice trembling with unease.
The old man hesitated, gripping the doorframe for support. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse and broken. "Your mother… she's gone, kid. She gave her life in the war."
Leon felt the world around him shatter. The words didn't register at first, echoing meaninglessly in his mind. Then, like a tidal wave, the reality crashed over him. He couldn't speak. He couldn't cry. He felt as though something inside him had been ripped away.
In the days that followed, the boy drifted through the world like a ghost. He stopped eating, stopped talking. His small frame grew thinner, his cheeks hollow. Grief consumed him, leaving him in a quiet, desolate void.
One evening, Vince returned, a faint knock at Leon's door announcing his presence. In his hand, he held an envelope and a brooch, its intricate craftsmanship gleaming faintly even in the dim light.
"Leon," Vince said softly, stepping inside. "A letter came for you today. It… it's from your mother. It came with this." He held up the brooch, his hand trembling slightly.
Leon's eyes widened, his breath catching as he looked at the envelope. He reached out with trembling hands, taking it carefully.
"Do you want me to read it to you?" Vince asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Peon shook his head, clutching the letter tightly to his chest. "I'll read it myself, Grandpa Vince."
Vince nodded, his expression heavy with unspoken sorrow. He placed the brooch gently on the table beside the boy. "If you need me… I'll be right here." With that, he turned and left, the faint sound of his peg leg tapping against the floor fading into the silence.
Alone, Leon sat down and unfolded the letter with care, his small fingers trembling. His breath hitched as he saw the familiar handwriting, the curves of each letter bringing his mother's voice back to him as though she were right there beside him.
He took a deep breath and began to read, tears already brimming in his eyes.
My Sweet Leonard,
If you're reading this, it means I couldn't make it back to you. I'm so sorry, my darling. I wanted nothing more than to hold you again, to see you smile, to hear your laughter echo through the house. You are my greatest joy, and leaving you was the hardest thing I ever had to do.
This war has taken so much from so many, and now it has taken me from you. But you must know this every moment of every day, my thoughts were of you. I fought so that you might live free from the burdens I've carried.
There's something I've kept from you, something you deserve to know. Your father… he is the Satan Asmodeus. He doesn't know about you, not because I doubted him, but because I didn't want to distract him from the burdens he carries as a leader. He's a man who works tirelessly for our people, and I know in my heart that he would've loved you if he knew.
Before we parted, he gave me this brooch and told me to use it if I ever needed him. I'm giving it to you now, my sweet boy. Take it to him. Show it to him, and he will understand. I believe he'll see in you what I've always seen your determination, your brilliance, and yes, your heart full of love. Never let any devil tell you that love is a weakness, Leonard. It's your greatest strength.
Promise me one thing, my darling, never let this world harden your heart. Hold on to your kindness and your love, no matter how heavy life becomes. You have so much to give, so much potential.
I wish I could be there to watch you grow into the man I know you'll become. But even from beyond this life, I will always be with you, and I will always be proud of you.
With all my love,
Mother
Clutching the brooch tightly in his trembling hands, young Leon whispered, "Father..." The word felt foreign, distant, as though it belonged to someone else entirely.
Determined, he made his way to the grand castle of Asmodeus, the imposing structure looming over him like a cruel reminder of the power he sought to confront.
"Halt! Who goes there?" a devil guard barked, his spear gleaming menacingly under the darkened sky.
Leon swallowed his fear and held out the brooch, his small hand shaking. "It's me... Leon. I'm here to see my father, Satan Asmodeus." His voice, though soft, carried a flicker of hope.
The guards exchanged skeptical glances, their expressions hard and unreadable. After a moment, one of them turned and disappeared into the castle.
When he returned, a tall, Black haired noble looking devil accompanied him, his aura of authority and arrogance suffocating. The devil's piercing black eyes scanned Leon coldly.
"So," the devil said, his voice dripping with disdain, "you're the one claiming to be the son of the great Asmodeus?"
Leon stepped forward, clutching the brooch like a lifeline. "Yes," he said, a small smile of hope breaking through his fear. "Father, it's... it's nice to finally meet you."
The noble devil's laughter echoed through the courtyard, cruel and mocking. Before Leon could process the sound, the devil's hand lashed out, striking him hard across the face. Leon crumpled to the ground, the taste of blood filling his mouth as confusion and shock washed over him.
"A low-class devil like you," Asmodeus sneered, his voice a venomous snarl, "daring to claim to be the son of the great Asmodeus? What a pathetic joke." His gaze dropped to the brooch, now lying in the dirt. With deliberate cruelty, he ground it beneath his heel, the metal crumpling and the jewel shattering under the weight of his boot.
Leon's tears fell freely as he watched the brooch destroyed before his eyes. "No... please..." he choked out, his voice breaking.
Asmodeus's cold, unfeeling eyes bore into him. "Normally, I'd dispose of strays like you without a second thought. But looking at your pitiful, demonic energy... it's hardly worth the effort of dirtying my own hands." He turned away with a dismissive wave. "Run along, before I change my mind."
Leon reached out, his heart shattering. "But... but I'm your son..."
"Didn't you hear him?" one of the guards barked. "You're nothing! Now leave!" The guards grabbed Leon roughly, dragging him to the edge of the castle grounds. Without ceremony, they hurled him into the sky.
Leon landed hard, pain shooting through his body as he felt bones crack. He lay there for a moment, the ache in his body overshadowed by the unbearable weight in his chest.
Through his tears, he clenched his fists. "I'll make him pay," he whispered to himself, his voice trembling with rage and despair. "One day, no matter what it takes, I'll make him regret this... even if it kills me."
Peon's flaming fist crashed into Asmodeus's face, sending the devil reeling. "Do you remember now?" Peon shouted, his voice raw with years of pent-up anger.
Asmodeus groaned, his body slumping from the relentless assault. His lips moved, but his voice was weak and faltering. "Da... Da..."
Peon's fury burned brighter. "What? Are you telling me to die?" His fist connected again, this time with enough force to leave scorch marks. Asmodeus's cries of pain filled the air.
Breathing heavily, Peon paused, his chest heaving from exertion. He glared down at the broken figure of Asmodeus, his anger simmering. "Say it!" Peon demanded. "Do you remember what you did to me?!"
Tears began to pool in Asmodeus's eyes as he muttered through trembling lips, "Da... Damaidosu... Asmodeus."
Peon froze, his rage momentarily overshadowed by confusion. "Your son?" he echoed, his voice softening. "What... what that supposed to mean?"
Then he saw it. The black eyes he remembered so vividly were gone, replaced by deep, sorrowful purple. A sinking realization washed over him.
"I... I'm sorry," Asmodeus said, tears streaming down his face. "I didn't know. I swear to you, I didn't know..." His voice cracked, raw with guilt and sorrow. "I wasn't there for you, my son... I wasn't there..."
Peon's breath caught in his throat, his fists trembling. The man before him wasn't the heartless monster he had envisioned for so long. This wasn't the Asmodeus who had crushed his hope.
Tears filled Peon's own eyes as he screamed, the sound carrying years of anguish, heartbreak, and confusion. With one final punch, he knocked Asmodeus unconscious, the devil collapsing to the ground in a heap.
Peon Asmodeus: Son of Asomodeus – Lvl 380
A long silence followed, broken only by Peon's ragged breaths as his cries subsided. The stillness was suffocating, pressing down on him like the weight of the sky itself. Then, the deliberate crunch of footsteps shattered the quiet.
Jezabel approached, the sound of her shoes striking the cracked ground steady and deliberate. She stopped just short of Peon, standing silently for a moment as if weighing what to say. Her violet eyes, usually glinting with mischief, seemed softer now. But the playful mask she always wore remained firmly in place, her lips curling into a faint, awkward smile.
"Well," she began, her tone light but slightly unsure, "that's enough theatrics for one day, don't you think?"
The words came out almost casually, but there was a hesitation, a slight waver in her voice. Jezabel shifted on her feet, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to reach out but didn't know how.
Peon didn't respond. He stayed on his knees, his shoulders trembling with the remnants of his sobs. Jezabel tilted her head, her usual air of indifference clashing with the faint flicker of unease in her gaze. She frowned slightly, then sighed, the sound heavy with a frustration she couldn't quite name as she turned her attention toward the devils.
"Alright!" Jezabel called out suddenly, her tone a sharp contrast to the heavy silence. She spread her arms wide as if addressing an adoring crowd. "Listen up, because I'm only saying this once." Her voice was sing-song but carried an edge that sent a chill down every spine. "From this day forward," she continued, her grin widening into something wicked, "none of you are to call yourselves demons, that title can only belong to us."
"Now," she said, her tone abruptly shifting to a false sweetness, "pick up your precious leaders and get out of my sight before I decide to play with you all too." She gestured lazily toward the unconscious bodies of the four Satans, her expression gleeful. "Chop, chop!"
The devils exchanged hesitant glances, but none dared to challenge her. A few higher-ranking devils moved cautiously forward, their every step betraying their fear. With trembling hands, they lifted the unconscious bodies of the four Satans. No words were exchanged as they teleported away, their forms vanishing into the ether. The rest of the devils followed suit, taking to the skies like a dark flock, their silhouettes fading into the horizon.
Jezabel turned to her newly claimed army of demons, her grin softening into something almost welcoming. Her gaze swept across the crowd, taking in their reverent bows and uncertain faces.
"What will you have us do, Overlord Jezabel?" a lone samurai demon asked, his voice steady despite the nervous energy radiating from him. He bowed deeply, his hands gripping the hilt of his katana. "Will you declare war on the other factions? Lead us into endless battles?"
Jezabel laughed, a light, lilting sound that seemed at odds with the oppressive wasteland. "Declare war?" she repeated, her tone dripping with mockery. "How dreadfully boring." She waved a hand dismissively. "No, I didn't bring you back for something as mundane as that. Live your lives. Pursue your ambitions. And, most importantly…" Her voice dropped into a mischievous purr. "Create chaos with your new found freedom. Lots and lots of chaos."
The crowd murmured uncertainly, though a few demons nodded hesitantly.
Nyra stepped forward, her every movement a challenge. Her tail lashed sharply behind her, and her piercing eyes blazed with defiance. "You call this freedom?" she snapped, her voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. Though steady, anger crackled beneath each word. "You resurrected us, commanded us against our will, and now you dare to speak of freedom? That's not freedom it's tyranny!" She started to lunge toward Jezabel, but Venefica darted in with unsettling speed, her fingers curling around Nyra's arm.
"Let go, Venefica," Nyra growled, her tail flicking angrily as she starts to break free.
Jezabel clapped her hands together, the sharp sound breaking the tension. "Oh, Nyra!" she exclaimed, her violet eyes sparkling with delight. "Such boldness, such fire! I love it." She tilted her head, her grin widening into something predatory. "You've earned a reward for speaking your mind. Let me show you how much I value honesty."
With a casual flick of her wrist, a bundle of vibrant green leaves appeared in the air, floating lazily around Nyra.
Nyra froze, her nostrils flaring as the intoxicating scent wafted toward her. Her body went rigid for a heartbeat before she staggered back, her eyes wide and pupils blown. "What…?" she managed, but the word dissolved into an involuntary, high-pitched "Nya?"
She dropped to her hands and knees, the proud warrior reduced to a purring, rolling figure on the ground. She rubbed her face against the leaves, her sharp claws retracting as she nuzzled and writhed, utterly lost in bliss.
"Lady Nyra!" her followers cried out, their voices tinged with shock and dismay. They rushed toward her but hesitated, unsure how to approach her in this undignified state.
Mastema stepped forward, etched with concern. Her innocent eyes flicked to Jezabel, pleading for an explanation. "Lady Jezabel, what… what did you do to her? "
"She's far from hurt," Venefica interrupted, her tone dripping with manic glee. "Oh no, no, no! She's in a state of pure euphoria! Those delightful little leaves catnip, they're called are a marvelous botanical concoction. Entirely harmless but oh-so-effective on felines. A fascinating specimen, wouldn't you agree?"
Jezabel watched Nyra's display with a mixture of amusement and mischief. "She's having the time of her life," she said lightly, twirling a strand of her hair. "Consider it a… demonstration of my generosity."
Nyra's followers exchanged uncertain glances, torn between concern and bewilderment.
Satisfied, Jezabel turned back to the gathered demons, her expression shifting from playful to calculating. She spread her arms wide, her voice rising to address the crowd. "True freedom," she began, her tone almost theatrical, "isn't something I can hand to you. It's something you have to earn. It belongs to the strong, to those who can fight for it, bleed for it, and claim it as their own!"
The demons stiffened, the weight of her words settling over them like a heavy fog.
"So," Jezabel continued, her voice rising with a wicked edge, "get strong. Train harder than you ever have. Fight like your very existence depends on it. Reach heights you never imagined. And maybe just maybe you'll grow powerful enough to play with me on equal ground." Her lips curled into a wicked grin. "I will promise you this however, I won't command any of you all again with my Overlord's Will. You're free to do as you please follow your ambitions, or crawl back to your former masters. It's your choice."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, quickly swelling into cheers. Though Jezabel's words carried the promise of freedom, they also held an undeniable edge of challenge a dangerous invitation they couldn't ignore.
"But one last thing," Jezabel said, her voice abruptly dropping into a chilling calm. The cheers faltered, replaced by uneasy silence. Her violet eyes glowed, her playful grin twisting into something darker. "Freedom has consequences. Step in the way of someone else's goals, and they will make pay the price. But more importantly…" Her voice turned cold, her presence suffocating. "If you step in the way of my fun, let me assure you, you're gonna have a bad time, do you understand?"
The demons gulped in unison, nodding hurriedly.
Jezabel's grin returned, light and mischievous once more. "Good," she said, clapping her hands. She turned toward the massive tear in space behind her, the portal's jagged edges shimmering like fractured glass. Beyond it lay a surreal, grim fairytale-like world She gestured toward it with a flourish.
"Now then," she said, her tone bright and almost cheerful, "onwards to your new home the Netherworld! Go forth, my demons, and embrace the chaos that awaits you!"
For a moment, hesitation gripped the crowd. Then, one by one, the demons began stepping through the portal. Some moved hesitantly, their fear of the unknown holding them back. Others strode forward with grim determination, ready to face whatever awaited them on the other side.
As the last of them disappeared into the tear, the wasteland around Jezabel began to shift. The cracked ground dissolved into a checkerboard of glowing tiles, and the looming pyramids cast long, eerie shadows across the surreal landscape. Jezabel stood at the edge of the portal, her laughter ringing out like a bell of impending chaos.
The portal remained open, a gateway to a new chapter filled with uncertainty, danger, and twisted freedom. Jezabel turned her gaze toward the horizon, her violet eyes glinting with anticipation.
"Let the games begin," she whispered, stepping into the rift and vanishing into the shadows of the Netherworld.
The first war with demons marked a turning point in devil history. It was said that Jezabel, the Demon Overlord, struck without warning, leading an assault on Lucifer's castle. Though Lucifer, along with Asmodeus, Leviathan, and Beelzebub, repelled the initial attack, Jezabel's cunning proved formidable.
Luring the devil armies to the Netherworld borders, she deployed a trap of devastating Geo Panels and Geo Symbols, casting debilitating effects across the battlefield. The betrayal of Nyra Beleth and Venefica Astaroth, along with 70 million devils who sold their souls to Jezabel, turned the tide. Faced with overwhelming odds, Lucifer made the strategic decision to retreat, ensuring the survival of the remaining forces. The border remains heavily contested to this day, an enduring scar of that brutal war.
"I knew it!" a young girl declared, her red eyes sparkling with smug triumph as she slammed the book shut., she tossed her snow-white hair over her shoulder with exaggerated confidence. She pointed dramatically at the two other girls seated nearby. "Take that, Sona! There is no way my idol our great founder Lucifer was made a fool of! He's a tactical genius!"
The girl smirked and leaned in closer. "And now, as per our bet, you'll be dressing up as a magical girl while striking embarrassing poses. Don't worry, I'll even provide the wand."
Sona, a young bespectacled girl with short black hair, narrowed her eyes as she reached for the book. "Let me see that," she said, flipping through its pages. Her tone was calm but carried the weight of her sharp intellect.
After a brief scan, Sona adjusted her glasses. "This book is clearly outdated propaganda written by the old Satan faction," she stated, pointing to the publication date at the bottom of the page.
Before the girl could retort, another young girl with flowing crimson hair and a mischievous smile, spoke up. "I have the most recent history book right here!" she said cheerfully, pulling a pristine copy from her bag and handing it to Sona.
"Traitor!" the girl snapped, glaring at her young aunt. Who just giggled, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama.
Sona skimmed through the book before landing on a specific section. "Here," she said, tapping the page. "It clearly states that Lucifer and the other Satans suffered a decisive loss. Jezabel outmaneuvered them at every turn." Sona smirked. "You know what this means, Lucy."
"Oh, I know exactly what it means!" Rias chimed in, suddenly holding up a frilly maid outfit with a wide grin. "It means we get to see Lucy-chan in this adorable little ensemble!"
Lucy took a nervous step back as her crimson-eyed gaze darted between the two girls closing in on her. "S-Stay away from me! There's no way I, Lucy Gremory the future Lucifer will ever wear a lowly servant's uniform!"
"Aw, but it'll be so cute!" Rias cooed as she lunged forward, catching Lucy by the wrist. "Don't You want to look just like your mother?"
"A bet is a bet," Sona added, pushing her glasses up. "As a high-class devil, it's your duty to honor your commitments. Don't worry, Lucy we'll make sure you look perfect."
"No! You can't do this to me!" Lucy wailed as she struggled against their grip.
"Oh, but I already have the camera ready!" Rias teased, holding up the device with a wink.
"No, no, NOOOOOOOO!" Lucy's cries echoed dramatically as the two girls worked together to wrangle her into the outfit, their laughter ringing through the air.