After the Rating Game, Kael did not linger in the coliseum to bask in the adulation or face the scrutiny of the crowd. He simply left, his departure as swift and decisive as his victory. For him, actions spoke louder than words, and his actions in that arena had just delivered the most thunderous statement imaginable. He had no interest in the panicked questions of reporters or the wary, calculating looks from other clan lords. He had a far more critical engagement to prepare for: his meeting with Zekrum Bael.
As he exited, the stadium behind him erupted into a cacophony of sound, but it was the whispered conversations that carried the furthest. Whispers about his terrifying, unprecedented power and how he had completely and utterly crushed Sona Sitri's peerage without even breaking a sweat spread through the demonic aristocracy like wildfire. Some people, their voices filled with awe, were already calling him the strongest devil of the new generation, a title that carried immense weight and danger.
Simultaneously, another, more calculated rumor began to circulate, originating from the associates and vassals of the Bael clan. They spoke in hushed, deliberate tones, not of a Phenex, but of a Bael born a Phenex. The narrative was being expertly shaped. Why would the Bael clan spread these rumors? The reason was transparently strategic: they wanted to claim him, to weave him into the fabric of their legacy. They wanted him to become a part of the Bael clan officially. His value was incalculable; he possessed both the Power of Destruction, their clan's signature might, and the near-immortality of the Phenex's powers. If cultivated rightly, nurtured with the clan's vast resources and ancient knowledge, he would be without a doubt the strongest of his era, a guaranteed Satan-class devil. He represented the future of their bloodline's dominance.
When he arrived at the Bael clan manor later that evening, the difference from the Phoenix estate was immediately palpable. Where the Phoenix home was opulent and showy, the Bael manor was a fortress of understated, immense power. It was built not for beauty, but for endurance and intimidation, a physical manifestation of a clan who reserved power above everything, above gilded decorations or gaudy displays. Anything other was considered a frivolous distraction.
He had brought Izuku with me. The green-haired young man, ever observant, walked a step behind him, his eyes taking in every detail of the formidable compound. When they reached the grand, reinforced doors, Izuku moved ahead and opened the door for me, a gesture of respect that also served a practical purpose, allowing Kael to make an uninterrupted entrance.
Lord Bael, the current patriarch and the one Kael had humiliated in the council chamber, was already there with a contingent of servants and high-ranking clansmen, assembled formally to welcome me. The lord's expression was tightly controlled, a mask of forced civility over simmering resentment.
As Kael stepped across the threshold, he decided his greeting would set the tone for the entire negotiation. He did not speak. Instead, he allowed his spirit to radiate outwards. A visible wave of pressure, an immense and tangible Conqueror's Haki, erupted from him. It was not a violent outburst, but a controlled, deliberate expansion of his will, a declaration of his inherent right to dominate.
The effect was instantaneous. The lesser servants, those of low and mid-class power, were forced onto one knee by the overwhelming spiritual pressure, their heads bowing involuntarily. The Haki was precisely targeted; it washed over Lord Bael but did not force him to his knees. Whether Kael's will did not affect him out of choice, or the Lord's own power and will were simply too great to be overcome so easily, was left deliberately ambiguous. It was a sign of respect, or perhaps a challenge.
One servant, an Ultimate-class devil acting as the head of security, remained standing, though his body trembled with the strain, his teeth gritted as he fought against the compulsion to submit. As Kael continued his slow, deliberate walk towards Lord Bael and his grandfather, the pressure he exerted began to increase incrementally, like a deep-sea diver feeling the water pressure mount with every meter descended.
The air grew thick and heavy. The intricate glass windows in the hall vibrated with a faint, dangerous hum. The servants who had been forced to their knees now began to sway, their eyes rolling back into their heads as one by one, they succumbed to the pressure, sliding into unconsciousness. The Ultimate-class devil servant, his muscles straining and veins bulging on his forehead, fought a heroic but losing battle. His knees began to buckle, shaking violently. With a final, shuddering gasp, his will broke, and he was as well forced to kneel, his head hanging low, his body drenched in a cold sweat of defeat.
Why did he not affect Lord Bael? The message was multifaceted. It was a show of power to the entire household, demonstrating that their guest commanded a force that could humble even their strongest warriors. But by specifically excluding the clan lord from the effect, Kael was sending a simultaneous message of respect. He was showing that even though he was stronger, he still respected his seniors and the authority of the clan—so long as they did not go overboard and disrespect him in turn. It was a masterful display of political cunning wrapped in an exhibition of raw power.
Lord Bael's expression shifted subtly. The tightness around his eyes eased, and a look of grim approval, even grudging admiration, replaced it. He felt, in that moment, quite happy with the demonstration. The boy was not a mere blunt instrument; he was a strategist. He had shown the power to command respect from even the most hostile audience and the strategical mind to know how to wield that power without making permanent enemies unnecessarily.
As the pressure abruptly vanished, the servants who had fainted woke up groggily, and the powerful servant on his knees got up, his face a mixture of shame and newfound wariness. Without a word, and with a newfound respect in his demeanor, Lord Bael gestured for Kael to follow him. He was to be taken directly to meet with Zekrum and his father—the elder Bael who was also, through his mother's diluted bloodline, his grandfather.
When they arrived in a private, sound-proofed chamber deep within the manor, the atmosphere was heavy with history and power. Zekrum Bael and his son were seated, their presence filling the room. The pleasentries they shared were brief and formal, a dance of courtesy between powers that acknowledged each other's strength.
After the ritualistic cup of tea was sipped, Zekrum Bael cut to the heart of the matter. His voice, though aged, was laced with undeniable authority. He spoke of legacy, of power, of destiny. He formally asked Kael to join the Bael clan, to shed the name of Phoenix and embrace the bloodline that truly defined his power. He meticulously detailed the benefits over the Phoenix clan: access to the most ancient and destructive techniques, the political might of the Underworld's most feared family, resources beyond imagination, and the training to truly harness his dual heritage to its maximum potential.
Kael listened intently, his expression unreadable. When Zekrum finished, Kael agreed. "I will join the Bael clan," he stated, his voice calm and firm. But his acceptance was not unconditional. He immediately laid out his condition.
"I want the Bael clan's full support," he said, his royal purple eyes locking with Zekrum's ancient ones, "if I decide on something. My methods and my goals will be my own. I will not be a puppet for the clan's political machinations. When I move, I will require your unwavering backing, whether you personally agree with the action or not. In return, I will elevate the name of Bael to heights it has not seen since the Great War. My victories will be your victories. My power will be the clan's power."
He paused, letting the weight of his demand settle in the silent room.
"One more condition," he added, his gaze never wavering. "I will make myself the heir apparent. Not immediately, but through my actions. And when that time comes, it will be undisputed."
"And a second," he continued, the air crackling with his ambition. "My peerage is mine alone. Their loyalty is to me, and their command is mine. The clan will have no authority over them. They are my sword and shield, and they answer to no other."
He leaned back, his terms laid bare on the table between them. The ball was now in the court of the ancient kings. He had not come to beg for inclusion; he had come to negotiate a merger of powers.
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AUTHOR NOTES
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