Oakvale basked in its usual peace.
The sun hung warm over the fields, the smell of tilled soil drifted lazily on the breeze, and birds sang above the laughter of a village untouched by war.
Belzebuth stood waist-deep in golden stalks of grain, shirt clinging to his back with sweat, when Takeru nudged him with an elbow.
"So? Did you confess yesterday?"
"I… tried," Belzebuth muttered.
"Tried? Don't tell me you choked again. That's three times already!"
"I just—every time I get close to her, my heart goes weird."
Takeru groaned, dragging a hand through his dusty hair. "You're hopeless. Lucky for you, I already told her to wait for you tonight."
Belzebuth froze. "You what?!"
"You heard me. This is your chance. Don't blow it."
"You're going to kill me one day with your schemes, you know that?"
"Just return the favor by marrying my sister so I can finally call you brother-in-law."
They laughed, and the midday bell rang softly in the distance.
Soon after, Miranda arrived with little Yui in her arms and a woven basket of warm food. Raphael and Elena—Belzebuth's parents—followed with their own, sharing quiet smiles.
They gathered beneath the old oak tree for lunch. Yui tugged at Belzebuth's sleeve.
"Uncle Belze, play cat and mouse with me!"
"Yui, don't pester him," Miranda scolded gently.
"It's fine," Belzebuth said, stretching. "I could use a break—from farming and overthinking."
"You always say that," Miranda muttered. "Then you collapse from exhaustion later."
"Worthy sacrifice," he grinned. "Come on, Yui—I'm the cat first."
"Yay!"
They played a little more that half an hour.
"Uncle Belze!" she suddenly shouted at the end of their little game, puffing her chest. "When I grow up, I'll marry you if Aunt Ayane doesn't!"
"Oh?" Ayane said, appearing nearby with a sly smile. "And who said I'd give him up that easily?"
"Then hurry up!" Yui grinned. "I want to be the flower girl!"
Laughter broke out among them. Ayane knelt, brushing Yui's hair.
"You're a little villain in disguise."
"I learned from the best!" Yui called back, skipping away with Miranda.
Raphael chuckled beside Elena. "They'll make good parents. Just hurry up already."
---
That evening, beneath a blushing sunset, Belzebuth met Ayane by the river's edge.
"Ayane," he said, breath tight, "I love you. I may not be much, but I want to build a future with you. Will you be mine?"
Her eyes widened. Her cheeks flushed.
"You're serious?"
"I am."
"Then… yes. Yes, Belzebuth. I'd be happy to."
As they walked beneath the starlight, Ayane hesitated.
"You know," she said quietly, "when you stopped playing with me after your coming-of-age… I thought maybe you didn't care anymore."
Belzebuth paused, looking to the stars.
"I never stopped caring," he whispered. "I just didn't know how to show it."
Ayane smiled. "You just did."
---
The next morning, Takeru didn't even have to ask.
"So, brother-in-law?" he teased.
Belzebuth grinned. "She said yes."
Preparations moved quickly. Ayane's parents gave their blessing, and a date was set: four months from now.
Everything felt right.
The day before the wedding, as tradition demanded, Belzebuth left at dawn to hunt—the groom's duty to provide the feast. He promised he'd return before nightfall.
Back in Oakvale, joy bloomed.
Ribbons fluttered from windows. Bread baked in ovens. Children ran laughing through the streets. Ayane blushed beneath layers of lace and teasing.
The sky was clear.
And then—
A hum began to build.
Soft at first—like wind through glass.
Then, a shimmer bled from the heavens.
A colossal, translucent dome descended upon Oakvale.
The sky... had closed.
---
The celestial dome shimmered above the village, vast and soundless, like a god's unblinking eye.
At first, the villagers stood frozen—too dazed to panic. They whispered, hoping for a sign that it was only a strange omen.
It wasn't.
By the time the first scream tore through the air, Belzebuth was already sprinting from the forest, heart pounding like war drums.
He reached the village outskirts—too late.
Soldiers had already entered. Faces hidden behind masks. Blades wet with blood.
They moved without mercy.
Bodies littered the cobbled roads. Some were crushed. Others bore torn throats, smashed skulls. Blood stained the earth.
Belzebuth's gaze darted wildly.
"Mother… Father… Ayane—Takeru—Miranda—"
No answer. Only the clash of steel and fire.
Please… not them.
He ran harder, heart screaming, eyes blurred. The fastest path—through the alleyways, to the estate.
The door was ajar. Splintered.
Blood smeared the handle.
"No…"
He burst inside.
There—on the floor of the main hall—lay Raphaël and Elena.
His father's body was draped protectively over hers
Back riddled with wounds.
His tunic soaked red.
Elena lay beneath him
Hands tangled in his sleeves
Eyes wide and lifeless
Forever locked in silent horror.
Belzebuth dropped to his knees.
"No… no… not you too. Mom… Dad… please…"
His voice cracked, drowned by a grief too deep for sound. Only the trembling of his shoulders betrayed the scream trapped in his chest.
Then—footsteps behind him.
A soldier stepped in, sword dripping red.
"Tch. Found a little farmer," the man sneered.
Belzebuth didn't move.
The soldier laughed. "So this is what passes for a man here? Crying on the floor like a child?"
He nudged Raphaël's corpse with his boot.
"Should've stuck to your scythe, little peasant. You weren't even worth a sword."
Belzebuth didn't look at him.
He looked at his parents.
At the ruin of what should have been the happiest day of his life.
A—Ayane… where are you…
And then something broke.
Not a snap.
Not a scream.
A silence. A stillness. A pressure.
The air grew thick—unnatural.
The soldier took a step back. "What the hell—"
Then it happened.
Across the blood-soaked earth, where Alvaryan blood still flowed—
The survivor glowed in white light
And in Belzebuth, last of the royal line—
It awakened.
---
DING.
[SYSTEM NOTICE: Seraphel Protocol Activated.]
[Royal Bloodline Signature Detected… Initializing Core Sovereign Interface.]
Across the lands, survivors were bathed in searing white light. Some collapsed. Others screamed—until their screams were cut short, their pain overwritten by something far older than fear.
One soldier slashed at a glowing figure.
He turned to ash before the blade hit.
Then came the shifting.
Arms cracked and multiplied. Wings burst from backs. Horns grew like blades. Scales crawled across flesh. Eyes opened on foreheads—golden and slitted, set in black sclera.
They were no longer villagers.
They were Seraphel.
And they no longer thought like mortals.
Their minds—wiped clean. Their instincts—weaponized. Their purpose—survive.
But at the heart of it all, in the ruins of Oakvale—
One did not yield.
One did not go silent.
Belzebuth.
The light around him pulsed violently.
[Royal Bloodline Detected]
[Emotion Suppression Protocol Failed]
[Host Conscious. Warning: Pain Threshold May Exceed Tolerance]
Belzebuth screamed.
His body ignited from within—bone, sinew, soul. Wings tore from his back. Unlike the others, no extra arms grew—only two pairs of wings, stretched wide and raw. Scales shimmered across his frame, hard and brilliant.
Four horns curled from his skull, like a crown forged in agony.
His five eyes opened—bleeding crimson into the world.
And still… he remained aware.
The pain should've driven him mad. But his thoughts weren't of himself.
They were of Ayane. Takeru. Miranda. Yui.
He had already lost his parents.
He would not—could not—lose them all.
In the pain, memories flickered.
Not his own.
He saw lives he hadn't lived. Deaths that weren't his. Souls crying out in fury, pain, regret.
And with them—a second heart, dark and flickering, began to form.
Not of flesh.
Of loss.
It beat faintly beside his own—unfinished.
Dormant.
For now, his original heart held fast. Anchored by love. By desperation. By hope.
Belzebuth rose.
His claws flexed. His breath came ragged.
His mind did not clear.
It sharpened.
"Ayane…" he whispered. "Takeru… anyone… please."
And he moved.
Not with power.
Not with rage.
With desperation.
He tore through the ruins, calling their names again and again.
Let them be alive.
He crashed through splintered walls, overturned carts, smoldering homes. No answer.
Still, he ran.
Through blackened alleys and broken stone, his voice rasped:
"Ayane… Miranda… Takeru…"
A flicker of movement.
A silhouette.
He surged forward—hope erupting in his chest.
"Ayane!"
But the moment he reached the square—
He stopped.
Something cold gripped his soul. A stillness too pure to belong in this world.
A lone figure stood in the ash, back turned, wreathed in pale flame.
Familiar.
Wrong.
Her wings were not warmth—but judgment. Her breath, shallow. Her eyes… empty gold.
"…Ayane?"
The figure turned.
No recognition. No warmth.
Just divine silence.
And behind her…
The first king arrived.