Walk A Demonic Path - Chapter 1 - Death and the Tower

Chapter 1 - Death and the Tower

A shaky hand struggled to keep the cigarette steady as I watched the smoke drift and form myriad shapes before me. Taking a quick drag offered only slight relief, momentarily easing the trembling. Wisps of smoke still danced in the light cast by the magical flame of the camp.

The night watch was a nightmare, but as the only middle-class demon in a corps exclusively composed of high-class and above, I couldn't exactly refuse. I was the clear runt of the litter.

Initially, I thought they only assigned me to the undesirable tasks. However, after thirteen deployments with the same monstrous unit, I realized the truth: not a single job we took on could ever be described as 'clean.'

“You really should get some sleep, Ash.”

I turned my head with a wordless sigh. Of course he’d chosen to relieve me himself rather than order any of his peerage to do so. That was simply the kind of man Sairaorg Bael was. He was even two hours early. 

“Sleep is best reserved for heavy-hitters like you, lord.” I spoke, getting up. I’d always been tall for my age, tall enough that I could meet him eye-to-eye, but I had nothing on his ridiculous musculature. 

“Don’t call me ‘lord’, man. That’s reserved for gramps.” Sairaorg spoke, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Go, get some sleep. Seeka’s plan’s got a lot riding on you. Plus I already got my eight hours.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re just as much ‘lord’ as Lord Zekram.” I replied with a bow. “I still have two hours of my shift left. As much as I love rest, I think Lady Agares would be angered if I were to skip out on my duties.”

Sairaorg sighed. “Yeah, Seeka’s a bit of a stickler for rules. Tell you what, sit down. Misery loves company, after all.”

I didn’t complain as I sat down on a stump across from him. He looked comical, balancing on his own, but the way he gazed into the fire gave him a serene, contemplative aura. Extremely at odds with the fist-first, obtuse personality he was popular for.

“I read your file, you know.” he started, leaning back. “Bit late, considering we’ve both been sortied under Seeka thirteen times now. It’s impressive, and that’s me underplaying it.”

“Impressive for a no-name mixbreed, you mean.” I shot back, leaning forward.

“No. Impressive enough that if I had any pieces left, I’d offer you peerage.” Sairaorg growled back. “I don’t judge people on their origin, I think you can tell if you take one look at my peerage.”

Or himself. Sairaorg was a proper rags to riches story, and not one manufactured by the pillar devils either. His very existence was a continual fight against fate, and by sheer discipline and resilience, he’d cracked the ceiling that divided high class and ultimate.

Yet, the benefits afforded to the Bael, the benefits of being a high class devil from birth, were still considerable. Not amongst his peers, sure, but compared to a whoreson devil who didn’t even have a clan name to add to his given name? 

I shook my head. This was Sairaorg. He was a man of action. It was unlikely he’d even considered any of that. So why was I thinking so deep about it?

“Doesn’t matter. I thank you for your consideration anyways.” I spoke, giving him a slight, seated bow, much to his amusement. 

“Man you really aren’t talkative, are you?” He asked with a chuckle. 

“I don’t exactly have many people of my standing to talk to, sir.” I mumbled. I didn’t know if it was a lack of sleep, general fatigue from the last few months, or Sairaorg’s disarming personality, but I had slipped up. 

“You gotta chill, Ash. We don’t bite.” Sairaorg laughed, a laugh that disappeared after one look at my face. “Hot damn, you really meant that, didn’t you?”

I shook my head. “I’d be generalising if I said that devil high society is full of dicks.” I replied. I’d already slipped up, at this point, there was no more loss in being candid. “I also wouldn’t be lying if I said I’ve had more than two positive interactions with the upper class.”

“Wish I could deny that.” Sairaorg grumbled. “Two good interactions, huh? When were those?”

“The first was with your grandfather, Lord Bael was the reason I was promoted to a middle class devil.” I commented, a small smirk on his face. “As for the second interaction, I’m still in the middle of it.”

“Hah! Glad to know I’m not one of those idiots.” Reality then dawned on him. “Wait, what about all the others in the corps. Seeka isn’t that ba-”

“Can’t live without authority. Tends to overlook riskier options due to risk aversion, even when the .” I shot back. 

“Okay, sure, I can see that.” Sairaorg acquiesced. “Seeka… worries a bit too much. What about Riser? He’s really mellowed out recently.”

“He forgets that us lowly folk are not fireproof.” I commented. “Or as robust as members of his peerage. Plus, flaunting a harem is a pretty clear way of saying ‘don’t talk to me, pleb.’”

“Yeah, he is a bit of a peacock, isn’t he?” Sairaorg chuckled. “You really have no filter when you start going, do you?”

“Your response to my first slipup was positive. I’m just wondering how far I can push that now till you order me to shut up.” I replied.

“I don’t have authority to do that, man. We’re both under Seeka. Neither of us is commander material.” He commented. “You’re the scout, me and my peerage are the cavalry. We’re equals on the battlefield.”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” I commented humorously. “I’m going to turn in. I’ll go service my sword a while before clocking out. That way, she won’t get on either of our asses.” 

Getting up, I noticed the brief look of sadness that appeared on Sairaorg’s face. I was sure he wasn’t used to being blown off that quickly, especially considering the conversation had been going friendly. He was probably wondering if I disliked him, and in all honesty? I didn’t.

I didn’t hate him, I didn’t hate Lady Agares or Lord Phenix either. They were good people, a rarity for what they represented, yet the divide still stood.

I would never be like them, I’d always be ‘Ash’. No family, no future, just a tool to be used and forgotten once this goddamned war ended.

That was if I survived.

LB

“Are you in position, Ash?”

I jumped down from the ledge, hiding behind a bush. I raised a hand to my temple, activating the reply function of the communication spell. “In position, Lady Agares.” 

“Do you have a visual on the location?”

An innocuous-looking factory, nestled in the middle of a South American forest. A common enough site, considering the booming drug economy in the area. What wasn’t common was the guards, or lack thereof. 

From my location, I could see the crow, as well as the shadow-dog melding into the shadows cast by the walls. Familiars, because why would a devil do the gruntwork?

“Affirmative. Light security, lighter than predicted.” I replied. Moving to a better vantage point, still unable to find any more familiars, much less a devil.

“Odd. Intel says that this is Euclid Lucifuge’s main laboratory.” Lady Agares’s voice sounded hesitant. “One would assume better security.”

“Or less, I’ve seen some of his monstrosities before. I can imagine the inside of this factory’s gonna be full of nasty surprises.” I supplied. “Are we going ahead with the plan?”

There was silence, likely as Lady Agares considered her options. I could practically imagine her mental process. One one hand, I could get in easily. If I could scope out the facility and get the intel back to her, Sairaorg and Riser’s peerages would have a much better chance of success even if I was able to get them the general layout of the factory.

If I was able to get them any more intel than that? All the better.

“I’d heavily recommend going forward with the mission, Lady Agares.” I chimed in before she could come to a decision. I knew how her mind worked. I understood how risk averse she was. Yet here was a chance to take out the base of operations for one of their greatest enemies. I was not going to let this chance get away just because of risk.

I heard a sigh from the other side of the communication array. “I will leave it to your discretion, then.” she spoke, followed by a measured pause, “You must make sure to retreat at the first sign of trouble. I will accept no casualties.”

“Affirmative.” I signed off. I could work with that. I accessed the magic that made up my body. I didn’t have any clan traits, even though I was the bastard son of two devils. I didn’t have the insane magical reserves and personal tutelage that they had. What I had, instead, was resourcefulness.

‘Meld’, a spell that would typically be useless, was one of my greatest gifts. Being able to hide my physique, becoming one with my surroundings, was worth its mana cost in gold. It also helped that a single half-hour cast of it was all I could muster, completely eradicating any magical signature someone could track me by.

It was useless when used by a being that was high class or higher. For me? It was almost perfect invisibility. Almost, because even as I moved, I left little ripples behind me, like a shadow passing by at high speed. It was a limitation that degraded my capability, and unable to simply power through it, I’d learnt to adapt.

I moved fast, bouncing on the very tips of my toes. Quick acceleration used my entire foot, but speed was maintained by careful selection of angles, by quick hops to change direction. It was like gliding over the ground. Had any of my devil instructors seen it, they’d have a heart attack.

After all, this was the movement of prey. Of the ever-elusive jade rabbit, learnt from a book I’d retrieved on one of my missions, mastered over years of painful execution. It was the antithesis of everything devilkind stood for. Yet, it was my great advantage.

Silent, invisible, and too weak to detect, it made me the perfect operative. It was my piece de resistance, the only reason I’d gone from being a nobody to somebody, and it was this experience that allowed me to breach the facility undetected. 

Which was a good thing, because Euclid’s fingerprints were all over the damn place. I knew little of the man outside of his file. A devil who loved to pervert the world around him in any way imaginable. A sick, twisted mind who was second only to Rizevim Lucifer himself, in both debauchery and command. 

Someone who could erase my existence with a careless flick of his hand.

His misshapen monstrosities roamed the building, creations of the Sephirot Graal, the only reason why this stupid war had been extended this far. Culling the big names in the Khaos Brigade barely mattered when a dozen clones of them could be created on command, after all.

I sped up as I crossed a walkway, making sure to stay away from the hulking, shaded monstrosities that prowled the factory. Any of those could end me with ease, if they so much as caught a whiff of me.

I was not going to give them the satisfaction.

The industrial monotony of the building gave way to arcane sigils. Energies I could barely fathom hummed in resonance with machines that looked like they were showing the finger to even the suggestion of physics, much less the laws. 

It was nestled between these machines that I found Euclid Lucifuge, striking, in his butler vestments. His curious eyes monitored a test chamber of sorts, cloudy green liquid coursed through it, and nestled inside was a body that could vaguely be considered humanoid.

It was captivating, yet terrifying. Even featureless, there was a certain beauty to the body, a certain perfection that no amount of magical modification could sculpt. It drew me in, even as it terrified me, because something so uncanny, so… divine, for lack of a better word, shouldn’t exist.

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”

I didn’t even feel him arrive, which was an absurd notion, as his very existence paralysed me. Unable to so much as move a finger, I stayed crouched as he popped a squat next to me. Robes that probably cost more than my entire existence creased as the face I’d seen on a thousand wanted posters lowered itself to mine.

Rizevim Livan Lucifer, the perpetrator of this mad fucking war.

“Go on, take a closer look.” He said, putting a hand on my shoulder and pushing once. I had no illusions that I could escape, that I could take a single hit from him and not be turned to dust. 

It still felt demeaning as a simple shove from him sent me careening into the open, my back bouncing off the ground till I came to rest within striking distance of Lucifuge, who didn’t even bother giving me a second glance.

“Of all the interlopers they could have sent. A mixblood was the best they could find?” Euclid commented, not a second of his attention wasted on me. 

“Now now, don’t write off the poor little boy.” Rizevim joked, his airy laugh sounding like a death knell to my ears. “He did get through your defenses, didn’t he?”

“I’ll give him that.” Euclid looked at me. There was no hatred in his eyes, no anger, just a mild sense of curiosity as he gave me a once-over. “Ingenious, the way he’s managed to turn his crippling weaknesses into strengths. I’m half tempted to keep him.”

“Only half?” Rizevim asked. “The kid deserves a goddamned medal. Fearlessly walking into the abyss with so little power.”

“Fools are willing to go to places even angels dare not tread.” Euclid answered. “You taught me that.”

As fascinating as their conversation was, it brought me a precious few moments, moments that I used to activate the communication spell. I didn’t dare speak a word, even the very act of broadcasting a single, wordless SOS signal was not lost on the two. A single captured image, framing both my captors, a warning against coming for me.

Around them, even a single millisecond of action felt like years.

“It seems our sneaky little rat has gotten a message out.” Euclid commented with a sigh. “Would it really have been too much effort to have gotten rid of him when you first noticed him?”

Rizevim chuckled. “I had to rub it in your face that you missed him. Would I truly be me if I missed a chance to gloat?” 

“That, and you hate getting blood on your shoes.” Euclid commented. “Too bad we can’t use him to lure the rest of his companions into sacrificing themselves.”

“Oh Euclid. Logical little Euclid.” Rizevim spoke, walking over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder, a patronising smile on his face. At the same time, a single voice reply broke through the communication spell.

“Proceeding with extraction. Try to stay alive. Please.”

“Goddamned bleeding hearts won’t take his capture lying down.” Rizevim commented, an evil smirk spreading on his face. “So fucking predictable.”

I grimaced, reaching back to try and belay that order, but before I could even access the spell, it dissolved. A single flick of Euclid’s finger burnt the specialized, encrypted spell that Lady Agares had spent months perfecting. 

I got to my feet unsteadily, wobbling as I drew my sword. I knew - deep inside - that the only reason I was still standing, that I was still alive, was because of that amused smirk on Rizevim’s face. 

“Ooh, he’s got a little fight left in him!” Rizevim laughed at my face. “What’s he gonna do? Drive that sword through big ‘ol me?”

I didn’t waste my breath replying. Just being in the presence of a super devil was sapping me of the will to fight. Yet, if I could force them to kill me, the vital sign sensor spell on my body would flicker and die. Maybe, just maybe, that would make Lady Agares give up on the mission.

Even with the entire might of the corps, there was nothing they could do against a super devil. Yet, they would try, fucking hell they’d try, because that was their nature. 

I hated it. So I’d do everything in my power to make sure it never came to pass.

My right hand reached into my cloak. Rizevim didn’t miss it as he took a step forward, then another. I found what I was looking for and threw it with all the might I could afford.

Only for Rizevim to catch it with a lazy flick of his hand. The smile on his face grew predatory as he brought it closer to his face, “An artefact? Of course, even with all your mana gone, there was no way you walked in here without a backup plan. Too bad for you, it isn’t exactly a surprise.”

I shut my eyes, not in surrender, but because the object in Rizevim's grip wasn't a conventional artifact. Instead, it was a testament to human ingenuity, a perfect example of America's duplicitous strategy of subduing adversaries without killing them.

It was a goddamn Flashbang grenade.

Even through eyes clenched shut, I could still black out only the worst of it. My eardrums, sadly, were not something I could shut down on command. Instead, I soldiered through it, driven by years and years of discipline and resilience to pain. 

“He’s coming for you, Euclid!” Rizevim yelled. Immortal super-devil or not, he was still someone who still relied on his senses. I’d been moving past him when the flashbang went off, so as he recovered, his mind had probably come to the conclusion that I was going for Euclid. 

Too bad for him, I was already past Euclid by the time either of them could launch an attack.

My sword crashed through the test chamber, the green liquid poured out with a vengeance as an ear-splitting alarm started to sound. Whatever spell Euclid had cast had chopped off one of my legs clean below the knee. Yet, it did nothing to arrest my momentum as my sword went clean through the creature in the test chamber.

I turned, my leg gushing blood, my back supported by the test chamber. I let my sword go as I slumped down, enjoying the absolutely stunned look on Rizevim’s face. Yet, even that expression paled when compared to the rising terror clearly visible on Euclid’s visage.

“No! What have you done!” He yelled. His eyes were wandering, even as green healing magic began to coalesce around his hands. He still thought there was a chance he could stabilize the creature. In his panic, and in Rizevim’s astonishment, they seemed to completely miss as small embers started to lick at my fingers.

My last gambit, my fucking win.

“For all your posturing, for all your faith, you ancient fucking retards are still the easiest to fool.” I breathed out as the fire spread. The little ornamental porcelain chinese pot I’d carried in it rolled out of my hand, shattering into pieces on the ground. They finally saw it, and unless they’d brushed up on their Chinese mythology, there was no chance they would recognise what it was.

Very few outside of the heavenly court got to see Samadhi fire, even less got to face it. And here I was, sacrificing my body to a sliver of it that I'd won off a yaoguai over a game of cards. 

But that was the thing about Samadhi fire. Even a sliver, when sacrificed a life, could burn down anything in existence, material or not. 

“Suck on this, decrepit trash!” I yelled, as the fire erupted off me, waves of heat burning down everything it touched. Yet, I saw Euclid jump at the creature, frantically trying to save the creature even as the Samadhi fire melted straight through his body.

Rizevim, to his credit, immediately fled. As my sight faded and the final sparks of my soul extinguished, a faint smile touched my lips. I had, at least, taken one of the pair with me.

Not a bad end, for a worthless bastard.

LB

The fact that my eyes opened to darkness was somehow less surprising than the fact that my eyes had opened at all. 

I was alive. I was in one piece, my leg was still attached. How?

I clambered up, slowly getting to my feet. Visibility was nil, even the fact I could see my own body was a surprise considering the pitch black darkness surrounding me. Hesitantly, I took a step forward, then another. I couldn’t see any ground below my boots, but whatever I was walking on was smooth. Smoother than any surface had the right to be, yet still somehow magically offering me grip.

My thoughts were put on the backburner as something finally came into view.

.I saw the tower, impossibly tall, a sight beyond comprehension. It was visible to me despite the complete absence of light or any obstruction that might have made it so. The structure's sheer height was unmatched; even the great spires of Lilith or the tower of Lucifaad paled in comparison. It seemed to stretch infinitely upward, a colossal spear aimed at the very heavens.

The gate to it resembled a gaping abyss, a silent invitation that pulled me forward. My feet acted on their own, driven by a sudden zeal that my conscious mind couldn't even register or consent to.

Before I could so much as object, I was inside, and a moment later, a gate so large that armies could break upon it for centuries with no avail, swung shut without so much as a singular groan or creak. 

The hexagonal hall I found myself in was dominated by an impossible silence. Its architecture was a perplexing blend, appearing both incredibly ancient and impossibly futuristic. A single, large, locked gate faced the entrance. Along every other wall of the hexagon were smaller doors, each bearing a unique, unfamiliar insignia.

In the middle stood an altar, and on the altar lay the unmoving corpse of the very same creature I’d killed in Euclid’s lab. Yet this time, there was more to its design. While its face still lacked features, twelve horns emerged from its head, forming an intricate crown of sorts. On an altar in the center lay the still corpse of the creature I had previously slain in Euclid's lab. This time, however, its design was altered. Though its face remained featureless, a complex, crown-like structure was formed by the twelve horns protruding from its head.

It’s eyeless face, on the other hand, was staring right at me.

I approached it unbidden, watching as the creature slid off the altar. It was dead, of that much I was certain. Yet, it still moved, it still beckoned to me, and before I could process that it could be dangerous, I was in front of it. 

And my hand was cupped around its heart.

The creature's hand took hold of mine and slowly drew it from the hollow I had instinctively created in its chest. As I pulled the heart free, there was no blood, no fluids, not even any connecting tissue to resist; the heart was still and lifeless. The moment it fully cleared the cavity, it began to beat. I heard a single beat, then a third, followed by a wet squelching sound.

And then it was inside me, and so was the creature’s hand.

In a single, fluid motion, the creature caught me as I fell and laid me upon the altar. Though I was losing blood, I felt no weakness or pain. Instead, I sensed my own heart fading as the creature's heart took its place. Stronger, greater.

As my head rolled to the side, I finally realized that we weren’t alone. 

Eyes peered out from the darkness, seventy two pairs. I knew, even without having counted them. They milled in the unnatural darkness, their gaze flitting between me and the creature standing lifelessly over me. 

Until one of them stepped forth.

The man was both familiar and a stranger. His hair, so blonde it almost seemed to gleam in the dark, and his facial features were unsettlingly recognizable, contrasting with eyes the color of a setting, red sun. He was a striking blend of beauty and terror. His presence was simultaneously immense—surpassing even Rizevim's—and utterly nonexistent.

Approaching the altar, he cast a curious glance my way before his gaze settled on the creature looming above me. A flicker of distaste crossed his otherwise expressionless face. "What an unflattering copy of the lord," he murmured, his eyes utterly dispassionate.

"Thankfully, your purpose is served. An aberration like you? I can, at least, grant you oblivion."

He spoke, lifting his hand. Between his fingers coalesced a small orb of... something. It was something because its power vastly exceeded any clan trait I had ever witnessed. It felt like the power of destruction, but the comparison was as hollow as comparing real milk to the cheap powdered substitute. It was in a league entirely of its own.

The moment it made contact, the creature simply vanished. It wasn't merely destroyed or extinguished, as I'd observed with Lady Gremory's power against an unwary foe. Instead, it was an absolute cessation of existence; nothing of what made up that creature remained. All that was left was its heart, still beating within me.

The black-tinged white orb stubbornly persisted, resting on the man's palm for an additional moment before being aggressively extinguished. The very act of erasure was itself erased, leaving a profound sense of wrongness.

Having concluded that matter, the man finally directed his gaze towards me. His expression was devoid of distaste; his features, clearly echoing devil nobility, were free of the judgment I had always encountered. Instead, his curious eyes studied me, and the smile that formed on his face was genuinely pure and honest, utterly lacking in malice.

"So, you are our future," he declared, a playful mirth lacing his voice. "The long-awaited next step in our existence."

I struggled to speak, a torrent of unanswered questions locked behind lips that wouldn't part. Everything was a blur, and the rhythmic thump of my new heart was a hypnotic lullaby, slowly drawing me toward sleep.

“Rest now. I will be there when you awaken.” He spoke, laying a hand on my shoulder. 

“After all, who better to teach a demon than another of his ilk?”

LB

I awoke to an experience of pure indulgence.

That might be an exaggeration, but to someone who had spent the last five years living rough in the field, waking up in a proper room—in a real bed, under actual covers, with a solid ceiling overhead—felt like the epitome of luxury. Even the most ordinary comforts of human life were a lavish treat.

It wasn't until I rose from the bed that the unsettling, inexplicable realization hit: something was terribly wrong.

As I got off, a feeling of being 'off' washed over me. I was shorter. Not just felt it—I was shorter. Moreover, the chronic aches and pains I had simply accepted as part of life were completely gone. I felt liberated, better than I had in a decade, and I understood precisely why. The very familiar reflection staring back at me in the mirror was only part of the answer.

I was still me, with the same ashy blonde hair that had inspired my mother's choice of name at my birth. However, I was significantly younger now. I hadn't been old when I embarked on that fateful mission—barely in my twenties. Now, though, I was clearly in my early teens.

Before everything, before the Khaos Brigade had ever made themselves known, before the leaders of the three factions got locked in an endless fight against the beast of destruction, before the world went to shit.

Back when I was still young and hopeful, right after I’d gained admittance to the Bael school for young devils. Back when I still thought academia was the path I could take to nobility.

What a naive, foolish notion.

"The decision was sound," the voice insisted. "As my friend Siddhartha once said, there is no higher purpose than the pursuit of enlightenment."

I spun around, my hand instinctively seeking the sword that wasn't there. At that point in my life, I hadn't yet grasped the limits of my magical aptitude, nor had I shifted my focus to the more physical demands of combat.

If I remembered correctly, I used to think swords were ‘brutish’, oh how far I’d fallen.

The ethereal man from the tower, his form translucent, stood before me. He observed me with the curious air of a scientist examining a new experiment, though he was not physically present.

"I doubt your definition of 'nobility' aligns with mine," I stated flatly.

"Quite true," he acknowledged with a chuckle. "It's honestly absurd how much the underworld has transformed since our absence." He crossed the room to the sole window, a wistful look in his eyes as he stared out. "The mere notion of cities existing in the underworld is astonishing to me. We never truly had enough people to justify such grandeur before."

“Okay, I’ll be honest, just what are you?” I asked. Now that I was off that altar, I could finally ask the questions I couldn't before.

The man chuckled. “Interesting. You're more curious about finding out what exactly I am than how you ended up back in time.” As he turned to face me, I realized just how much taller he was, especially now that I was back to being a teenager.

“I’m happy to see that the first demon born in millennia still holds the same curiosity that once made our kind great,” he finished, a genuine fondness in his expression.

"Demon?" I questioned, noticing the confusion on his face.

"Yes, Demon. Are you really telling me you're ignorant of the ones who birthed your original lineage of lesser remnants?" he countered. Despite the pointed nature of his words, his tone remained purely inquisitive.

I replied, "To my knowledge, Lucifer and Lilith were the progenitors of the first devils. Some of those original devils are still alive and among us." I recalled Zekram Bael, who was, after all, the founder of his house.

"You will have to explain further,” he pressed. So, I complied.

For hours, I walked him through the history of the faction, the war, and the pillar houses, detailing the division of society, the concept of the evil pieces, and the dominance of bloodline over merit. He listened impassively the entire time, his lack of reaction unnerving.

I described each of the pillar devil houses. His only interruptions were to ask surprisingly basic questions: Why were the pillars important? Why were there four Satans instead of one? Why did family traits hold such paramount importance in this society?

It was only when I began to describe the power of destruction that his composure finally broke.

He practically roared, "What a fucking farce!" The orb of pure erasure, identical to the one he had displayed in the tower, materialized above his hand. Despite its lack of physical form, the mere recollection of its immense power was enough to seize my attention.

"They contaminate my reputation, diminish my greatest achievement. They sustain a lie, and have the audacity to claim ownership of the underworld?" He spat, thrusting the orb nearer to my face. "Tell me, young demon, what bloodline magic could possibly oppose this? Something that took me millennia of study to perfect?"

“Your reputation?” I asked. His face went blank. He straightened his cloak, smoothing it down, and then abruptly knelt on one knee. Before I could object, he began his introduction.

“I am Bael, greatest of the kings of hell. He who makes the world disappear,” he announced, bowing deeply. “I greet the great descendant.”

I was completely blank. He stood up, a sly smile returning to his face. “Quite grand, isn’t it?”

“So, you’re just Bael—no first name, and no connection to Zekram?” I asked, still hesitant. “And you’re a demon, not a devil.”

“That’s a critical distinction,” Bael clarified. “The difference between the genuine article and a pathetic imitation.”

“You do realize the ‘pathetic imitation’ practically rules hell from behind the scenes, right?” I countered.

“Of course he does. After all, I created him to rule in my place.” Bael stated casually. “Sixty-six legions of demons are not easily managed, so I needed an intermediary. However, like all devils, the capacity for personal choice and a distinct personality was never a trait he was given.”

“Lucifer…” I put the pieces together.

“That is my working theory as well,” Bael agreed. “Lucifer and Lilith sought refuge in the underworld. Following our vanishing, they repurposed our remaining assets for his small-scale war.”

Ignoring the fact that he'd referred to the single most significant conflict in Catholic history as ‘small-scale,’ his words fundamentally undermined everything I believed about devilkind. Nevertheless, I had witnessed his power and seen his evidence.

“This changes everything,” I gasped.

“No, it changes nothing,” Bael immediately countered. “A descendant's status grants you no political power if our lineage was completely erased from history. Therefore, we must explore other paths.”

I was taken aback by his fervor. “To what end?”

“To your inevitable rise to power, of course,” he stated, as if it were self-evident. “The heart of our lord beats within your chest. Is it not your destiny to one day rule the underworld?”

That gave me pause. “Your leader?”

“Yes. You are the direct descendant of Satan himself,” he confirmed. “There is no rightful place for you but at the pinnacle of this wretched society.”

“We simply need to devise the means to get you there.”

LB

"You can simply give me powers?" I asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

Bael denied this. "No, I can provide the necessary knowledge for you to replicate it. However, with your insignificant mana reserves, even attempting to manifest 'Erasure' would likely induce a coma, if not instantly obliterate you."

"So, essentially, I'm back where I started before I died," I sighed, defeated.

"Not precisely," Bael countered. "While 'Erasure' is currently beyond your capabilities, that won't remain the case indefinitely."

"Oh? Can you just magically augment my magical capacity on demand then?" I retorted sardonically.

"No, not me," he replied, shaking his head. "But the others can."

"By 'the others,' I assume you mean those seventy-two figures who lurked in the shadows back in the tower?" I inquired, an involuntary shiver running through me as the memory of seventy-two pairs of eyes fixed on me surfaced.

"There are seventy-two of us. Seventy-two pillars," Bael confirmed. "My strength stems from research—from decades of experience and mental refinement. Not all my peers are the same. In fact, none of us achieved power through the exact same method."

“So, you’re saying I must return to the tower?” I pressed for clarification.

Bael shook his head. “My companions are not all as accepting of this new situation as I am,” he stated. “Most feel you haven't earned our lord’s affection. Some even despise you for it. While they can't openly defy you, they are under no obligation to offer their assistance.”

“So, my task is to win them over?” I inferred.

“They will extend an invitation to their sanctums when they decide to help you,” Bael clarified. “Alternatively, once you possess enough power, you can simply command their obedience. Might, after all, makes right.”

The mere thought of potentially having to physically overpower someone of Bael’s strength was a terrifying prospect, one I immediately chose to ignore.

"For now, we must focus on what's achievable," Bael stated, pacing my room. "Fortunately, the circumstances of your birth, combined with this society's near-obsessive focus on bloodline-specific traits, provide a unique advantage, a 'leg up' in the competition, if you will."

I stared at him, completely bewildered, as if he'd spoken an alien tongue. "Okay, could you please be a little more... clear?"

"It's better if I demonstrate than explain," he replied, placing an ethereal hand on my shoulder.

"I, Bael, great king of hell, offer my lord his due tithe." He spoke, and a hundred thousand memories violently flooded my mind. I screamed as a splitting, unbearable pain threatened to shatter my skull. Everything—from the very concept of Erasure to its final fine-tuning—was beamed into my head, seamlessly integrating as if it had always been a part of me.

The transfer, though lasting no more than a second, felt interminable. It concluded as abruptly as it began, leaving even Bael unsteady.

"There," he declared. "All my research, my most treasured possession, now shared with you. In return, I accessed your memories to gain a better understanding of this world."

I rubbed my head and mumbled, "It's pretty damn bleak, isn't it?"

Bael confirmed the dire situation with a nod, stating, "Bleak, yes. Advantageous? Doubly so."

I voiced my skepticism, growling, "I’m glad you have faith in whatever your plan is. All I know now is that using Erasure with my current capabilities is a surefire way to send me to the hospital or the dustpan."

Bael dismissively joked, "It’s unlikely there will be enough of you left to need a dustpan." He then offered a key piece of advice: "Also, you’re missing the point. Think lower."

The realization struck me instantly. The knowledge Bael had implanted was the culmination of millennia of failures and successes. Within those countless 'failures' lay something of immeasurable value to modern devils, something far beyond any monetary worth.

Red sparks began to flicker between my fingers. This wasn't the crude power of destruction; that would be too elementary for a master like Bael to create. This energy was far purer, though incredibly draining—the small display had already consumed most of my mana.

"Now you’re getting it," Bael smirked, acknowledging my discovery. "There’s your in, your provenance. Combine it with the fact that you’re a whoreson, and suddenly, you have more legitimacy to the Bael throne than any of Zekram’s little kiddos."

"So what good is it if I can't even use the damned thing?" I snapped.

Bael shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "Oh, you of little faith. Remember, you are a demon. We are inherently malleable. Our entire existence is geared toward growth, be it internal or external. I've taken care of half of that for you. Now, we must leave to address the other half, at least somewhat."

"Leave? Where are we going?" I asked, genuinely intrigued.

"To my old castle, of course," Bael replied, his smile widening. "It's still there, still standing. Zekram is guarding my treasures like a vulture perched on carrion."

"How about we put those old infiltration skills of yours to good use?"

LB

Here’s the promised pilot chapter! More chapters will be posted this weekend and the coming week. Chapter 1 will be posted on FFnet once chapter 3 is uploaded here. 

Do leave your feedback on the story. This is a bit experimental, and so is the writing style.

As always, join the discord for more shenanigans. Link is https://discord.com/invite/AP8nG65RmA

-Cold Daylight