Companion Quest: Rite-ful Ruler has been activated! Rewards hidden.
"Demi-fiend."
My regicidal machinations are rudely interrupted by the arrival of yet another uninvited guest and a pop-up on my shitty HUD, the voice ahead of me one I distinctly remember as well, though for all the wrong reasons this time.
"Ah, Lord Cunt!" I start, smiling at Diallos as he stands with arms folded to my side, frowning at my warm regards.
"What brings you to see such an ignoble Demi-fiend like myself?"
He sighs, no doubt already regretting his choice to start a dialogue with me. For what it's worth, I regret his decision as well.
"I didn't come here to break bread with you, if that's what you're expecting. I still believe you a crass, ignorant cur. Truthfully, I suppose I wanted to say..."
He pauses for a moment. Mulls over the words for several seconds, grimacing as though he'd been fed a rusty nail. Eventually, he scoffs at his own hesitance, taking a few steps to lean against the tavern wall alongside me.
"Thank you for not killing Diamor. I know the choice wasn't truly yours, but I'm grateful all the same that you spared my brother's life."
I blink in surprise, before it quickly turns to mocking laughter.
"You could have at least pretended to be sincere. Tell me, did Serafall put you up to this, or is this some sort of fear response? Have you realised now that the 'ignoble Demi-fiend' is notorious for a reason?"
Again, he grimaces, unable to meet my eyes as he resists the urge to scoff once more.
"I've not spoken with Lady Sitri yet. I wanted to find you the instant I heard about what happened here, how your presence alone shifted the tide of battle against my brother."
Diallos' eyes suddenly crinkle, staring at Alduin as he lay perched across a shattered monument to Lucifer's glory. His hand idly rests atop his small blade, fingers drumming against the hilt.
"It is... a uniquely humbling experience, to have a man you believed so unimportant do what you never could in the span of a day. Lady Sitri spoke so extensively of you, of your talents. I thought it mere hyperbole. Perhaps I was wrong to dismiss her words."
Raising a brow, I find myself laughing once more at his admission, pointedly ignoring Serafall's supposed fawning over me.
"I take it back! That actually does sound like a genuine apology. I must say, Lord Cunt, maybe you aren't such a cunt after all!"
Diallos grimaces. His distaste for me is still quite clear to see.
"I may have been wrong about your power, yes... but it seems I was correct about your crass demeanour. The lack of respect you have for your superiors is disgusting."
"My superiors?" I repeat, smirking at his begrudging respect for my power.
"Yes. Your superior." He starts, now smug as he turns to me.
"As a Lieutenant of the Satanihilus - and the second in command to Lady Sitri - you fall under my command, Demi-fiend."
Again, I find myself smiling, chuckling to myself at his bizarre self-assuredness.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Diallos."
He scoffs at my blatant disregard for his rank. For good reason, too. Though I had been inducted into the Satanihilus as a regular mook, power is king in these lands, and I'd say I've got quite the advantage over Diallos in that regard...
Diallos Belial
Level: 190
Though that Stat does beg the very important question:
"...Why are you so weak, Diallos?"
Spluttering in mild indignation and shock, Diallos stumbles over his words as he responds to me, a chorus of 'how dare you' and 'you have no right' spilling out.
Grimacing, I decide to be more precise with my words, mainly to shut him up.
"Alright, let me reword that. Why is it that you are so much weaker than your brother?"
This time, he doesn't stumble to defend himself, nor does he try and spit out some vapid spiel about how I have no right to ask such a question.
No, Diallos instead goes silent at my query.
He once again shifts his gaze, eyes going from me to the burning sky above us as agonizes over the question.
"...I don't know." He finally breathes out, fingers once again drumming against his blade to occupy the silence that forms.
I frown in confusion.
"You don't know? Most siblings aren't entire worlds of power apart from one another. I figured there'd be an actual reason for that."
He shakes his head in lieu of a verbal response, gaze now focused solely on the cellars beneath the town hall where his brother is currently being held.
A moment later though, and Diallos sighs again, suddenly far more willing to indulge me with his thoughts.
"We're twins, he and I. Spent our whole lives together before the War broke out. There's only been four other sets of them born in the history of the Underworld. To say our development was carefully presided over would be... a mild understatement."
He runs a hand through his hair, sleeve falling enough to reveal the thin, downright frail body beneath. I'd almost be deceived into thinking it weakness were I not aware of how potent Magic is.
"All I know is that something happened to us in the womb. The doctors had no idea just what it was. For all their tests and their scrying, they could never put together a proper explanation. Not even our own mother truly understood what happened."
Intrigued now, I say nothing and let him continue at his own pace, already astonished that such a thing as twins was even possible with the dogshit birthrate.
"I've always had my own theory, of course. It's wasn't very hard to realise that he and I are worlds apart, despite having all the same tools at our disposal. Even from a young age, certain differences I had became more and more apparent. Weaker Magic, a smaller body, less Mana."
His tone suddenly shifts to that of steel, fist clenched around the handle of his dagger as he stares balefully into Diamor's cage.
"I think he took something from me. While we were young, mere cells in our mother's womb... I think he absorbed a part of me. I've no proof of it, nothing but wild speculation and envy in the eyes of the Underworld, but... I truly do think he stole some of my Demonic Power when it first developed."
Frowning in confusion, I turn to him once again, though he chooses to stare at Diamor's housing the entire time I speak.
"I thought a Devil didn't actually develop their power until a certain age... you know, to specifically stop problematic shit like that from happening."
Finally, he turns to me, though it's with a look that has all the respect of a man regarding a lamp-post. The Ajuka Special is what I've come to know it as, also known as the 'are you fucking stupid' gaze.
"Yes. They don't. The power is there from conception, used for the creation of the Soul, but they can't access it. Even if they could, the Spells of a baby would harm a grown Devil no less than an insect bite."
Ah... right. Proportional damage. Wait, what was that he said?
"Hold on, just how the hell do you make a Soul? Isn't that treading in the realm of divinity?" I ask, bewildered now.
...and yet again, I am met with that look. My reluctant peacefulness withers away quickly.
"Have you not read a single book in your lifetime, Demi-fiend? These are the questions of an Academy student- no, even the Academy expects you to know these things, this is something-"
"Just answer the fucking question, Diallos."
Annoyed by his rapidly growing ego, I unfold my arms and summon Caduceus into my hand after I speak, resting my palm atop it, the message quite clear for him to see.
Diallos, thankfully, speaks my language.
"...Devils do not have the same gift that Humanity does. We do not share their blessings from the Father to 'be fruitful and multiply'. Several factors need to align, and our Demonic Power must fuse after that to even begin the creation of a Devil's Soul."
His eyes dart between myself and the blade of Caduceus as he speaks. Interestingly though, his fear seems to settle down slightly as he very quickly realises just how interested I am in this conversation.
"What do you mean several factors? Is there some special position that always works, or a time of day you need to be fucking at to guarantee results?"
He grimaces at my crude language, but thankfully decides to elaborate further.
"Not quite, Demi-fiend. All Devils, deep within them, hold a small spark of the Mother Lilith's power. It's only present at a cellular level, located exclusively within the gametes, but it allows us to mimic the Great Conception on a much, much smaller scale to produce an artificial Soul."
He sighs, foot tapping against the ground.
"The reason our birthrate is so abysmal is that most potential pregnancies never make it past the aforementioned Soul Conception. We have no way of forcing the Mother Lilith's power to activate, and we never truly will. It simply happens when it happens."
With nothing to contribute, I stay silent and listen to every word spoken, taking several mental notes all the while.
After all, if there was ever something an enterprising young reincarnate should strive for, it's cracking open the Devil's fertility crisis and claiming the fruits of such labour.
"Even when it does activate, it doesn't always guarantee success. The fusing of Demonic Power can be just as stubborn as Soul Conception. It's also the reason why Ars Goetian children rarely ever develop both of their parents Clan Traits. The fusion is almost never entirely perfect."
For a moment, I'm almost led to believe that Diallos is finished, and that the impromptu lecture is over. Contrary to my expectations though, it seems there's still more to learn.
"Ironically, when it comes to half-breeds, Soul Conception is a much, much less difficult endeavour overall."
Almost instantly, a spike of... something, something I can't ever begin to fully describe tears through my heart upon hearing those words, a mesh of several burning emotions.
Of them all though, the one that I recognise most is quite simple:
Hope.
"Oh? And why is that?" I ask, trying - and no doubt failing - to hide just how much this information means to me.
"You still carry the Father's blessing. Should you ever decide to have a child, the creation of their Soul will be made far easier by your inherent Humanity."
I fall silent upon hearing that, several thousand different thoughts crashing through my conscience.
Diallos sighs, folding his arms and pointedly looking up at the sky, away from me. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost say it were a gesture born of begrudging respect.
"That's not to say it's a guaranteed chance, but... turning a one in a million into one in a thousand is quite a hefty boon. Were it not for the stigma, I'm sure there would be quite a few half-breeds like yourself alive today."
Without realising, I find myself smiling warmly like a fucking idiot at his words, countless images flashing through my mind of Grayfia and I laughing together, a young child- no, two children sat between us.
They'd giggle and babble incoherently, their silver hair shining in the warm daylight, hands raised to grab at Alduin's tripartite maws as it nuzzles up against them and-
"Don't go losing yourself to idle fantasies, Demi-fiend. There's a war to be won before you can ever indulge such dreams."
Now grinning and twirling the Caduceus in my hand, brimming with newfound confidence, I turn to Diallos.
"Well, I'd say I'm feeling uniquely motivated to fight said war right about now. If anything, those dreams of mine will only serve to make it end all the quicker."
"And just how would you go about that?"
My grin remains strong in spite of his blatantly scornful tone.
"Quite easily. I'll cut down every last Loyalist I find, be they man or woman, Ars Goetian or Low-born, and I'll take their power for myself. Lucifaad will fall within the next month."
He scoffs.
"So you'd risk dooming our people to further instability? Cut down the population by an entire decimal point and cull the Bloodlines we so desperately seek to maintain? That's your great plan for our society's future?"
After he finishes speaking, I very quickly realise that beneath Diallos' lingering fear, there's a heavy degree of... disappointment simmering in his eyes as well.
Before I can give a response to it though, Diallos sighs and speaks again... and I get the distinct feeling that his words aren't just pointed at me.
"...Must you always resort to such ruthless violence to get what you want?"
I scoff on instinct immediately, grinning disdainfully at his judgemental look before I can stop myself and digging Caduceus an inch deeper into the ground.
"Violence seems to be the only language you Devils understand. Violence and power. You can judge me all you want, but blood and steel gets more results than anything else in this world. Besides, that would only serve to make you a hypocrite. You work for Lady Sitri, after all."
Before he can spit out any more bullshit about how I'm mistaken and that she's actually not a blood-crazed sociopath, I continue my diatribe, incensed at the idea that he has any right to judge me for trying to solve his people's fucking problem.
"Come to think of it, it's always 'ignoble Demi-fiend' before anything else with you Ars Goetian lot. You're always so quick with the insults and the judgemental looks - so assured in your own superiority - until my sword is in my hand and like magic, I'm a man of great talents, one to be respected."
Diallos is silent.
"You all think so highly of yourselves, convinced that you're some... civilised aristocracy, only to then treat me and anyone else you deem 'lowly' like trash from the comfort of your ivory towers... and yet that all changes so quickly when you're on the battlefield."
I find myself sneering at the thought, mind brought back to all the countless cowardly men and women I've seen so far in this war, so quick to beg for my forgiveness.
"Even your brother, for all his strength and ego, begged me to spare him. After all that talk of half-breeds and lesser beings, all the hatred and spite, he still trembled and pleaded with me for his life. It's pathetic. Deep down, you're all fucking sycophants."
Realising I've spoken far more than I intended to, I sigh and run a hand through my hair, turning to Diallos once more.
He's looking at me like a puzzle one would try to solve, like he's missing a pieces but still able to make out the full picture.
"You are... a uniquely hateful man, Alistair."
Instead of taking offense, I find myself laughing at his words.
"Oh, so it's Alistair now? Not the Demi-fiend? I wonder why that might be."
...He goes silent.
For a moment, Diallos stares at me, trying to find some type of retort, and quickly realises he has none.
Sighing, he turns away, recognising that even if the slip-up was only subconscious, he's still proven me right.
Said silence doesn't last long though.
"For what it's worth..." He starts a moment later, and I have to resist the urge to groan in annoyance, fingers now braced against the bridge of my nose.
"You're one of us as well."
Now confused more than anything, I lower my hand and turn to him, the 'what?' that leaves my lips one born of exhaustion.
"I couldn't help but notice it while you spoke is all. You Devils. You people... You may not like it, Demi-fiend, but you're one of us as well. Even if only partly. No matter what you, or anyone else may say, you bear the same Sins as we do. You share the same desires, the same weaknesses... the same flaws."
A moment of silence passes.
"...is that supposed to be encouraging?" I ask, unsure as to what his point is.
To my shock, Diallos laughs. It's small, barely a chuckle, but a laugh all the same.
"No, no. Not quite. I just think it's something you should have realised by now after all this time spent down here. It certainly helps to paint a picture of what you are."
Amused, I grin at him once more, my own fingers now tapping against Caduceus' hilt as it lay embedded in the ground still, my hands both resting atop the pommel.
"And just what is it that you think I am, Diallos?" I ask, now far more interested.
"...I think you're nothing more than scum. Hypocritical, self-indulgent, recalcitrant, bloodthirsty scum."
I hum. My smile remains tightly held as Diallos braces his hand against his dagger, almost expecting an attack from me.
"That sounds an awful lot like a certain someone we both know."
He scoffs, now sneering at me, nose upturned like a pompous prick.
"In spite of all her... eccentricities, Lady Sitri at the very least understands the necessity of her work. She fights for those lost in the Massacre, to ensure no such bloodshed need ever occur again. Why is it that you fight, Demi-fiend? This Civil War, all the violence and pain, why bother with it if you hate the Underworld so much?"
Without me realising, I've started laughing. Diallos continues to look at me like I'm dirt.
"I'm afraid I've no grand moral reason, or lofty ideal that I fight for, nor do I fall under any such illusions. No, what I fight for is the Satancy, and for the goal of Bidleid's crown sat atop my head. I fight so that I'll never again be the pathetic wretch I once was - trapped and tortured, all alone in Lucifaad with no way out. Above all else though, I fight because true happiness in this world must be fought for. It must be earned."
His eyes watch my every move as though I were rabid, like I might lash out at him at any given moment after my little speech.
It is... uniquely amusing.
"...and what about when the war ends? When there's no more blood left to be spilled? When you have the crown of House Beelzebub, and everything else you've ever wanted, what then Demi-fiend?"
The answer comes to me in an instant, my hand landing on Diallos' shoulder once more as I lean down to meet his gaze, smirking.
"I suppose we'll just have to wait until I get my Throne to find out, won't we Lord Cunt?"
He throws my hand aside in an instant, taking a half-step back while his grasp over the dagger at his hip tightens, drawn partly from it's sheath as he watches my every move like a hawk.
What's more interesting than the worry, though, is the disbelief in his eyes. Not at my dreams, no, but at the feasibility of them.
"If you believe the High Council would ever allow a half-breed to-"
"They won't have a choice in the matter!"
...
A moment of silence passes between us as my words echo in the air.
The sudden, loud interruption was enough to make him draw his blade fully this time, stance shifting to that of defensive readiness as he takes yet another step back.
Almost as if to punctuate my annoyance at the Council's ever-present shadow, the first drops of an approaching storm begin to fall occasionally from the sky in the wake of my exclamation.
Sighing, I dismiss Caduceus and take a moment to calm myself, a hand against my nose once more in frustration.
"The strongest among us all shall bear the title Satan should the Unholy Bloodlines fall. That is the decree, no? The Mors Satanae? The Council won't be able to do a damn thing to stop me from taking that crown."
Diallos disarms himself just as I have, his words slow and measured now as the tension disperses.
"Ars Goetia won't like being ruled by a half-breed. Surely you recognise that? They may just band together and invoke the Rite of Sovereignty to stop you. Either that, or to try and ascertain your power for themselves should they not have faith in you."
...I have absolutely no idea what that is.
The Mors Satanae is different, something I know quite well by now. I first read of it during my time in the Sitri Manor, and it's the basis for why Sirzechs is already one foot into the seat of Lord Lucifer, as well as why I'm so confident I'll have a Throne of my own by the War's end.
The Rite of Sovereignty though, well that's something entirely new to me.
"I don't suppose you'd be willing to explain just what that is, exactly?" I ask.
As I do, the weather continues to worsen, now akin to a downpour. The Doppelganger appears of his own volition, stood at my side to shield me from the rain with his wingspan.
Diallos sneers at the sight of it, torn between telling me to go fuck myself and jumping on another opportunity to insult my intelligence as he forms a small construct of his own.
"I can only hope you never see the splendor of the Golden Thrones if your knowledge of the Underworld is so... sickeningly lacking."
...I can't even bring myself to get mad at the insult. His words are, regrettably, quite true. If I want to jointly rule over Hell, then I'll need to learn far, far more about it than I already know, unless I want to wind up like the current generation of Satans.
I do still find his demeanour quite amusing, though. Diallos seems to respect my strength but despise my character, and he's constantly torn between acting in accordance with the two different sides.
It's truly astonishing just how far ones own power can take them. I imagine if I were still at the strength of the average half-breed, he'd treat me like dirt on his shoe. Then again, if I was at that level of strength, I would have never made it out of Lucifaad so I wouldn't really be here-
Oh, for fucks sake- look, at the end of the day the point still stands. He's only being so amicable out of a begrudging respect.
"The Rite, put simply, is gladiatorial combat. The Old Ways. Should Ars Goetia as a whole not believe the power of the Satan Aspirants to be sufficient, they can invoke the Rite of Sovereignty to prove to themselves, and the Underworld, that the Aspirants are deserving of the Thrones."
He looks up at the sky, then glances to the forestry at the edge of Chastinal, no doubt thinking of Serafall as he continues.
"The Tournament itself is nothing special. Aspirants would be pitted against one another in a round-robin style competition, fighting in single combat. A victory is one point. A loss is zero."
"What, no points for a draw?" I ask, grinning.
He shakes his head, arms now folded as he watches the rain fall rhythmically. In the small puddles that form across the ground, I see reflections of Alduin's form, and the now charred, damp funeral pyre.
"There can be no draws. Combatants fight until one concedes or cannot continue. By the end, the four Aspirants left with the highest point values would be given the title Satan, to rule over the Underworld and her people for the foreseeable future."
Hm.
"Seems like a surefire way to wind up with tyranny all over again, if the only criteria to rule is just which of us is the strongest."
Diallos smiles as he glances at me from the corner of his eye, almost sounding smug.
"What good fortune it is then, that Sirzechs Gremory is all but guaranteed the Throne of Lucifer with his overwhelming strength. If such a man can allow tyranny to prosper in his rule, then may the Mother Lilith help us all in the future to come."
He stops, running a hand through his hair and pausing for a moment to see how damp it is. Clearly dissatisfied, he tuts, expanding his construct enough that it acts like a giant canopy over the both of us.
Now sufficiently sheltered, I still decide to keep my Doppelganger active. He actually seems... quite happy, jumping around in the rain and- oh. He's woken Alduin.
Tearing my focus away from the now bickering children, and wanting to learn more of this unused plan the Devils concocted for the worst case scenario, I ask another question to Diallos.
"How do they decide who qualifies?"
He hums briefly.
"Simple. It's based on whoever is the most powerful, as you said. The High Council will gather the strongest and healthiest Devils in the Underworld to take part, irrespective of their backgrounds... To a certain extent that is. A man such as Ludwig the Accursed would not be allowed to partake."
...huh.
I always forget just how many people know about Ludwig. Hell, hearing his name from someone else's lips feels... wrong, for some reason. Ignoring the strange feeling crawling up my back, I ask yet another question.
"How many in total can join the tournament?
Diallos taps his foot against the now damp floor beneath us. The chatter and cheers from within the tavern behind us remain just as loud as they'd been a half hour ago.
"One for each of the ten commandments. Five male, five female."
I blink in confusion.
"Five women? Really? Seems an awful lot of competition for just the one seat."
Slowly turning his head, I quickly find the Ajuka Special once again plastered across Diallos' face as he looks at me blankly.
"...wha- what does that even mean? One seat? Why would there only be one?"
Suddenly far less confident in my knowledge of the Underworld under his scrutiny, I speak my words with as much false confidence as I can muster in my heart.
"Well, the seat of Leviathan is exclusive to a woman, isn't it?"
...
I think I can almost tangibly feel his expectations of me rapidly dwindling in the long, echoing silence my response brings.
"...No, Demi-fiend. Honestly I'm not even sure where you developed such a bizarre idea, but the seat of Leviathan is, in fact, not exclusive to a woman. If somehow a male member of Clan Leviathan had appeared just a decade ago, and been stronger than Tsuufame Leviathan, then the seat would fall to him instead. The strongest living Heir is always the one in power, unless specific circumstances demand otherwise, such as those surrounding the Wretched Son."
...Wretched Son? Who could that possibly- oh. Rizevim. It's almost definitely Rizevim.
You know what, that explanation definitely makes a lot more sense than whatever idea I had. Honestly I just figured it was that way since Tsuufame was the one in power before, and her mother was the original Leviathan, and Serafall took the mantle after the war ended... I mean, can I really be blamed for noticing a pattern?
"So how will they decide what Throne each Aspirant takes after the War ends? Hell, how do they even decide what the Satan's do?"
Diallos sighs. I almost get the feeling he's growing tired of this question and answer session of ours.
"The seat of Lucifer is reserved exclusively for the strongest Devil currently alive. The remaining Aspirants then decide amongst themselves which Thrones they want to take. As for the roles they occupy..."
He hums, a hand tapping against his wrist, arms still folded stiffly together.
"Well, there's never actually been a previously established 'role' for each Satan to uphold. The original Satans simply involved themselves within all aspects of the Underworld, be it scientific indulgence or domestic endeavours. The only distinction I suppose I could make is that Lucifer was the only Satan to ever handle military affairs, both during times of peace and warfare."
He sneers.
"However, once the Heirs took to the Thrones, and Rizevim vanished from the public eye, the power of the Satancy quickly fell apart. For all their special gifts, the second generation were far less competent at managing societal function than their predecessors. To make things worse, the High Council soon began to tear itself apart to try and exploit their inherent lack of experience, fighting amongst themselves like dogs for any scrap of power they could take from the naive rulers instead of trying to properly guide them."
He looks up to the sky, head resting against the cobblestone walls of the tavern. I find myself particularly interested in his mentions of the High Council's self-cannibalising, unashamedly pursuing that tidbit of info.
"Careful with your words now, Diallos. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were spouting treasonous rhetoric. You almost make it sound like the High Council are the ones to blame for this War."
He sighs, not playing along with my charade as he rests his head in one hand.
"With what limited knowledge I have of how this Civil War began, I consider the blame to rest upon both parties. I blame the Satans for their sickening brutality in enacting the Massacre, and I blame the Council for being so quick to conspire against the Satans for the sake of their own gains. Neither side was in the right, but the Satans were most definitely in the wrong."
...most intriguing.
"I take it that's as far as your knowledge of the events preceeding the Massacre goes?"
He exhales, his arms folding over yet again.
"Yes. I'm afraid there's nothing more I could even say to be honest. I barely know much more than the rest of the Underworld does, but with what little information I've managed to gather it seems there's far more resting beneath the surface of this conflict."
He then sighs, as though a weight has fallen off his shoulders as he turns to me.
"You can make of my words what you will, Demi-fiend. Your decisions are your own. Now then, is there anything else you might wish to know?"
Realising that I've all but exhausted any dialogue options I might have in regards to the High Council's deception given his lack of knowledge, I decide to bring the conversation back to the Rite.
I know now for certain though that I will have several more questions for Zekram the next time we speak. Whether he deigns to answer them is another matter entirely.
"What if there's a tie between two Aspirants by the end of the Rite's competiton?"
Diallos tilts his head to regard me, a mocking grin on his lips at my question.
"Do you honestly believe such a thing would ever be possible, when The Strongest Devil himself is set to compete should the Rite be invoked?"
I roll my eyes.
"I meant a tie between anyone else involved that isn't Sirzechs. Let's say... Serafall and I are a part of the tournament, and we wind up with the same number of points. We both sit at fourth place together. What then?"
He hums.
"You fight again. The winner takes the Throne. Of course, in this hypothetical you'd lose handily. Any other witless questions you might have for me, Demi-fiend?"
Just the one.
"...how likely is it that the Rite of Sovereignty will be invoked after the war ends?"
Diallos smirks. In his eyes, I see a misplaced sense of overwhelming satisfaction. Why he believes I would be afraid of such a thing at this point, I've simply no idea.
"It's all but guaranteed. Ars Goetia, no, the Supernatural as a whole will want genuine proof of your power. They will want to see it with their own eyes. Nobody will believe that a half-breed is worthy, no matter how grand a legend you build for yourself in the War."
...Good.
If they do end up invoking the Rite, then I will be far, far more powerful than they could ever hope to believe by then. If anything, it'll be exactly what I need to prove that I deserve my Throne, that I'm more than just a Demi-fiend punching above his weight.
"I'll be looking forward to the day, then."
Diallos, clearly taking my confidence for false bravado, scoffs. He says nothing further on the matter of the Rite, tapping his foot against the floor as he watches Alduin's tripartite heads swat and snap at my clone.
I find myself watching the show as well, the construct taking great joy in playing... what seems to be a game of tag with them. Al and Du are teaming up to try and catch him, while In seems to just be content laughing and playing around with them.
"I'd never seen a dragon before today."
Blinking, I take a moment to realise that Diallos has chosen to speak again. I must have quite a talent for bringing out the talkative side of the people around me, because I could have sworn this man wants nothing more than to strangle me.
"Most haven't." I respond a moment later, pride and smugness no doubt radiating from my every word.
"Alduin's as good a boy as you'll ever find. Grayfia and I raised him from a mere hatchling to the behemoth he is now."
The Doppelganger flies around in the air, always just an inch out of the trio's reach as they bite and swat at him. Distantly, I realise that their little game has garnered quite an audience despite the pouring rain.
"...I meant every word I've said about you, Demi-fiend. You truly are hateful, vile scum... but you also happen to be quite unique. In all my years alive, I've never met a man so bizarre, so distinctly out of place."
Folding my arms, smiling at both his words and the show from my favourite boy, I find myself quite jovial as I respond.
"I think I'll take that as a compliment."
He scoffs. It wipes the smile off my face.
"You probably shouldn't."
Now frowning in confusion, I tear my gaze away from the wholesome display ahead of me, and am met with steel in Diallos' eyes.
"The Underworld will need a Satan. Not a Demi-fiend. If you truly meant what you said, if you want to help rule over this realm and her people in spite of your... numerous flaws, then the Underworld will need something greater than what you are now to be sat upon that Throne should tomorrow arrive."
He pauses, gaze shifting momentarily between Alduin and the Doppelganger before returning to me, the steel in his eyes now akin to a burning flame.
His next words, so brief and so quiet beneath the pouring rain, would go on to stay with me for the rest of my life.
"You need to kill the man, Demi-fiend. Kill the man, so the Devil may thrive."
...and as if he hadn't just permanently altered my perspective of the world not a moment prior, Diallos shifts away from our spot against the tavern's wall.
I follow his movements with my eyes, hear his next words, but it all falls to being static in my mind as that single phrase repeats over and over, almost ringing in my ears.
Kill the man, so the Devil may thrive.
"It seems we've gotten quite sidetracked with idle chatter. Truthfully, I didn't just come here to thank you for Diamor's life. Your powers, while certainly useful, are not fulproof it seems. There's many an injured Devil that requires your aid at the moment."
He fixes his clothes, then runs a hand through his damp hair to stop it from falling in his eyes. Taking one last look at Alduin before walking away, he then glances at me from over his shoulder briefly.
"Come along, now. We've no time to waste."
Rain falls across my body in the absence of Diallos' construct. It soaks into my clothes, my hair, my skin. I find myself not caring.
...kill the man, huh?
If only it were so easy.
Hell, after what I've learned today about my Humanity... I'm not even sure if I'd want to.
Companion Quest: Rite-ful Ruler has been completed. Rewards:
750EXP (x2 Level Up!)
x1 EX Skill Selection
Prerequisite Quest: Crown of Sorrow has been unlocked!