POV: Haruki
The corridor was long and silent. I walked behind Grayfia Lucifuge, the silver-haired wife of Lucifer, my footsteps muffled by the deep red carpet stretched beneath us. She moved with a calm elegance, neither hurried nor hesitant. Her posture was perfect, her presence cold and poised. From behind, I could see the twin braids in her long silver hair, each tied with a neat blue bow. Her uniform fit precisely, accentuating the sharp lines of her form without a single crease out of place.
The lights lining the hallway glowed with deliberate warmth, casting reflections on the polished floor. Oil paintings hung between the lamps, each of Sirzechs Lucifer, the Crimson Satan. Every portrait displayed his composure, his red hair carefully brushed, his eyes distant and intelligent. The effect was deliberate. This was a hall meant to remind visitors who ruled here. Not through force, but through refinement. Precision. Order.
I said nothing to Grayfia. She did not turn once to acknowledge my presence. That suited me. I had no interest in speaking, not now. My thoughts were still fixed on what had happened earlier.
Against all reason, my gamble had worked. I had wielded holy power.
That should have been impossible. And yet, it wasn't.
I've been running through the possibilities ever since. The first theory is rooted in the metaphysical consequences of the death of God. When He died, the divine system He created – the metaphysical framework governing the operation of holy power, miracles, and the oppositional forces that define the sacred and profane was left unattended. With the loss of His absolute will, dichotomies that were once immutable may have become… less so. What was once holy and what was once profane may no longer be mutually exclusive. Without God to reinforce the boundaries, they may no longer hold. A devil wielding holy magic may no longer be an impossibility, but rather a symptom of a decaying system struggling to maintain its original laws.
It would not be the first sign of systemic decay.
This theory has precedence. Balance Breakers – phenomena that transcend the inherent limits of Sacred Gears – became increasingly frequent after the Great War. Coincidence? Perhaps. But perhaps not. The correlation is difficult to ignore. Their emergence corresponds with the death of God. It is plausible that divine maintenance was the only thing preventing transgressive evolution within the system. Now that the source is gone, the law degrades. Exceptions become possible. Maybe, in the absence of divine maintenance, the system no longer rejects contradiction, it accommodates it.
The second theory centers on the moment I came into contact with the True Longinus, wielded by Cao Cao. When I was exposed to it, I saw something – a vision of God's corpse, still radiant even in death. Perhaps that encounter left an imprint on me. A trace. Perhaps not just memory, but resonance. The holy spear, being the weapon that killed Christ, may carry fragments of divine will, remnants of purpose, of judgment, or perhaps even rebellion. That fragment may have recognized my desperation, my intent, and responded to it. In that moment, I didn't just convert demonic energy – I inverted its nature, calling upon something I shouldn't possess. And yet, I did. I reached into my core and demanded contradiction. And it answered.
Another theory has to do with my nature, with what I used to be. I was once human. A believer. I had faith in God, however faint or flawed it might've been. Perhaps that faith left a trace. A grace. Something buried deep in the soul, untouched by my transformation into a devil. After all, humans were said to be made in God's image.They possess the potential to wield holy power – exorcists, priests, and sacred gear users are proof of that. Perhaps, buried beneath the layers of demonic reconstruction, there remains a fragment of divine grace. A sliver of what I used to be, still able to reach out, however briefly, to that lost light.
If that's true, then in theory, every human turned into a devil through the Evil Pieces should carry the same dormant potential. Which raises a troubling question: why hasn't anyone else managed to do what I did? It's been nearly a thousand years since the Great War ended and God died. And almost six centuries since Ajuka Beelzebub created the Evil Piece system. In that time, countless humans have been reincarnated as devils.That's centuries of conversions. Centuries of chances. I cannot possibly be the first to have once believed in God.
So why hasn't this happened before? That's the contradiction that bothers me. Either I'm the first to achieve it, or I'm the first to dare to try. Perhaps it's not just about faith or origins, but about mentality. Perhaps most devils, even former humans, are held back by internal limits. Conditioned to believe that it's impossible. That holy power burns, that it rejects them. And belief shapes power. It may be that my rebellious nature, my refusal to accept absolutes, broke through a psychological barrier that others never even thought to challenge.
Then there's a theory I find hardest to stomach, one that unsettles me deeply. What if none of this was a chance? What if this was never my achievement? What if this was always the plan?
Not my doing. Not anyone living. But His. What if God, before His death, foresaw all of it: this path, this outcome, me? What if He intended for a devil to awaken holy power? What if the foundation for it was laid long before the war even ended?
It's said He possessed a vast, though not absolute, omniscience. Could that have allowed Him to anticipate events centuries in advance? Could He have accepted His own death, fully aware of what would follow? That possibility is deeply troubling. If He foresaw the invention of the Evil Pieces, the forced transformation of human souls into devils… and allowed it or worse, intended it – what does that imply about His purpose? What could He possibly hope to gain?
And what would the qualifications be for such a plan to succeed? That the devil must have once been human? That he once held faith in God? That he would be resurrected through the Evil Pieces, exposed to the True Longinus, and eventually cornered into reversing the essence of his power? That's not a plan. That's a maze of improbabilities. It's an absurd sequence: too convoluted, too reliant on choice, circumstance, and despair… unless there was no chance involved. Unless every turn of my life had already been charted. Every belief I formed. Every action I took. Every wound I suffered. All part of a design. A script.
Predestination. The idea that everything was predetermined, that I've simply followed lines written long before I drew breath. The very thought repulses me. It would mean my agency was an illusion. That my pain, my determination, were elements of someone else's narrative. It would contradict everything I believed God cherished in humanity: freedom. The power to choose. The right to rise or fall on one's own merits.
If it isn't divine intent, then it must be a convergence of impossibilities: a miracle born from fractured laws, lingering memory, unstable systems, and relentless will.
There's another possibility. Less philosophical. Perhaps holy and demonic power were never as incompatible as we believed. Perhaps the separation was enforced. A divine firewall. Now that it's gone, the system no longer knows what to reject. Power is just power. It's intent and context that define it. And under the right conditions: desperation, clarity, sacrifice – a devil might tap into a current that was always beneath the surface. A current once locked away.
Or perhaps something has changed in me. The exposure to the True Longinus. The vision. The power. Maybe I'm no longer what I was. Maybe I'm shifting, becoming something new. Something in-between. Not a hybrid by blood, but by nature. A synthesis of contradictions. Or worse, maybe I'm being used. The system is broken, blind, and in that blindness, it has mistaken me for something else. Or something buried in the divine: silent, sleeping – has found me useful.
There are other possibilities. But none of them can be tested. Not yet.
And now is not the time. I must wait. I must focus.
The door now stood before us: massive, silent, marked with the sigil of Lucifer.
Grayfia turned to me, bowing with practiced elegance. "We have arrived at the study of Lord Lucifer. He will see you immediately. Please enter, Mr. Yamashiro."
She opened the door.
I nodded once and stepped inside.
--------------------------------------------------
The study was warmer than I expected. Not in temperature, but in atmosphere. Soft amber lamps illuminated the space with a quiet, ambient glow. Books lined the walls, not by genre or size but by use, by touch. Some looked worn, well-read. Others sat still, pristine. The faint scent of aged parchment lingered beneath a sharper, spiced undercurrent. It didn't feel like the sanctum of a Satan. It felt... lived in.
Sirzechs Lucifer stood by the hearth, setting down a leather-bound volume as I entered. Crimson-haired, blue-eyed, everything about him was composed without being rigid. His presence lacked any overt display of power, but that only made it more unsettling. It was disarming, not because it tried to be, but because it didn't have to.
He turned toward me, that easy, courteous smile already in place.
Sirzechs Lucifer, formerly known as Sirzechs Gremory. A handsome man appears to be in his early twenties. Shoulder-length crimson hair. Eyes as clear as his sister's. He looked like a male version of Rias, but the resemblance ended at the surface. His smile was courteous, well-practiced, and gave nothing away.
"Haruki Yamashiro. I've been looking forward to meeting you," he said, smiling as he extended his hand.
I took it. "Likewise. Though I have to say, I expected you to be taller. Or, I don't know, more ominous."
It was almost unsettling, the sincerity radiating from him. One wouldn't expect a Devil, much less a Satan, to feel genuine. But I suppose it made sense. Sirzechs Lucifer is the strongest devil to ever live. A being so powerful that the term "super devil" was coined to describe him. In many ways, to devils, he is what Christ is to Christians.
"I've found that being ominous tends to make conversations shorter. I prefer long ones," Sirzechs replied, still smiling.
"Then I'm in luck. Though…" I nodded toward the door Grayfia had led me through moments earlier. "The maid aesthetic caught me off guard. Bit of a strange kink for a Satan."
Lucky bastard.
"Grayfia's sense of duty is… traditional," he said, calm and faintly amused.
"Traditional? That's one way to describe your wife wearing a maid outfit and serving you tea. Another is 'deeply suspicious.' Should I be worried for your home life, or are you just living the dream of every man?"
I didn't hide the grin.
"Many have asked. Few dared ask in front of me," he replied, laughter hidden behind the curve of his lips.
"Ah, so this is the part where I disappear mysteriously in the night?" I asked, mock-thoughtful.
"Only if you misidentify the tea blend. Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing calmly.
The chairs were not the kind you'd expect in a formal meeting. Two high-backed, low-set armchairs faced each other over a small, ornate table. The arrangement was far too casual for a political summit, but I understood. He meant to put me at ease.
We sat. He conjured a bottle from the air: ancient glass, old design. He poured without comment.
"You're more relaxed than I expected. Is this how you always are, or is this just the diplomatic setting?" I asked, curious.
"That depends. Are you here to negotiate something… or to test how far you can push a king?" he said with mild amusement.
"I find pushing people to be the fastest way to learn who they are. Titles are cheap. Reactions aren't."
Truthfully, I just wanted to know what kind of man he was. Most people – especially powerful ones – hide behind formality. Push them, even a little, and the mask slips.
"A useful philosophy. Though one that tends to make enemies quickly," Sirzechs said, that smile of his unbroken.
I smiled back. My gaze wandered. A painting of the Leviathan Lake, rendered with such depth the waves seemed to pulse. A shelf of books whose spines were older than most countries. Above the hearth, a line of script: elegant, deliberate, shimmering faintly in the firelight. Not for ornamentation. It was meant to be read.
The Luciferian letters:
ᚦᛟᚢᛋᛖ ᚻᛟ ᚠᛁᚾᛞ ᛒᛖᚨᚢᛏᛁᚠᚢᛚ ᛗᛖᚨᚾᛁᚾᚷᛋ ᛁᚾ ᛒᛖᚨᚢᛏᛁᚠᚢᛚ ᛏᚺᛁᚾᚷᛋ ᚨᚱᛖ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚲᚢᛚᛏᛁᚢᚨᛏᛖᛞ. ᚠᛟᚱ ᛏᚺᛖᛋᛖ ᛏᚻᛖᚱᛖ ᛁᛋ ᚻᛟᛈᛖ.
I let my eyes rest on the inscription. It shimmered beneath the lamplight.
"…ᚦᛟᚢᛋᛖ… ᚠᛟᚱ… ah — 'Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things… are the cultivated. For these there is hope,'" I translated, slowly. "I've only been at it for a few weeks, but I can read it, slowly. I'm told that's decent progress."
Sirzechs approached, hands behind his back. "More than decent. Most young devils never bother. We can speak all tongues by nature. So we rarely study language as craft."
"A shame, though understandable, I suppose," I said. My fingers moved slightly, tracing the space just beneath the etching, not touching. Just gauged them.
"Has the language changed much? I mean… the spoken form. Compared to, say, two thousand years ago?"
He tilted his head slightly, then replied, not in modern Serelith, but in something older. Something deeper. It wasn't a voice. It was resonance. The syllables hummed through the air, vibrating within bone and breath alike, as if the words weren't shaped by a throat but woven through air itself. Each consonant hit with a fluid, tonal pulse. It shimmered through me, pulled at something internal.
When he finished, I exhaled. "That was… that felt like a vibration and a melody at the same time. It didn't sound spoken. It sounded… resonant. Like simultaneously speaking and singing."
"Old Serelith. Pre-Great War, possibly older. It is tonal, as you heard — 'ããã,' for instance, carries layers of meaning based on pitch. But it's not just the tones. It's the harmonics. Old Serelith wasn't just spoken. It was sung and spoken simultaneously," he explained, visibly pleased.
Serelith is the name of The devil-tongue. I'd read that much. But hearing it directly was something else entirely.
"And here I was worried I'd be the only language nerd in the room," I said with a grin.
"Fortunately, I'm a Satan of domestic affairs. Linguistics counts," he said, with a deliberately playful look. "I wrote a short paper on its evolution. A quiet fascination of mine."
"Fascinating indeed. In bygone ages – long past, by humans' reckoning – its speakers would have had contact with our people. But I perceive that much within it has changed; there have been many tongues and kindreds leaving their mark upon it. Fierce peoples and warlike, who love the open lands; city-dwellers; mariners. And yet at some point, and a recent one – by devil standards, at least – the changes seem to have slowed, as when a people dwells apart and at peace, but careless with the words they once shaped with intent," I analysed.
Devils can comprehend any spoken tongue, which made this kind of linguistic analysis far more efficient. His pleased expression told me my musings weren't unwelcome.
They say Sirzechs is the kindest of the Satans, and the most dangerous. I believed both.
But at this moment, we weren't maneuvering. We weren't measuring each other. Just two devils, quietly admiring a language.
"The linguists, I understand, are even now debating whether post-Great War Serelith should be considered its own language, or merely a dialect," he said softly. Then his gaze sharpened. "But I do not think you came here out of linguistic curiosity."
"Indeed, I did not," I said.
I hadn't originally planned for an audience with Sirzechs Lucifer. Yet when he insisted I name a prize upon victory against Riser, I saw the opening and took it. This was no trivial whim. I had studied him, at least what could be pieced together from the records Rias had provided me access to.
There were, of course, the usual dramatics: the prodigy born as a manifestation of pure Destruction; A living catastrophe. His role in the Devil Civil War was legend. There was no shortage of superlatives. I found little interest in such adulation. The mythology surrounding power rarely tells you how that power is actually wielded.
What I found far more illuminating were his policies.
The Devil Underworld had become a pseudo-federalist system under the Three Arms: Executive, Legislative, and Judicial. Sirzechs and the other Satans formed the Executive. The Lord Council made the laws. The Great King faction interpreted and enforced them. The structure was fragile, ideological divisions pronounced.
Sirzechs stands among the progressives. Low-class devils, even some middle-class, have seen marginal improvements under his guidance – modest reforms, concessions for the lowborn, incremental shifts in civil structure. Which, for a society built on lineage and power, is not insignificant.
It was notable. Limited. And telling.
There had been no such improvement for reincarnated devils.
He regarded me now with a cordial gaze. "Well, as promised," Sirzechs said, "you have an audience under guest covenant. No harm may come to you so long as you remain my guest here. You may speak freely."
"As I told Riser, I was meant to participate in the Rating Game, but... could not, due to circumstance," I began. He said nothing. He listened.
"A day before the match, I received a call from my sister. She had awakened a Sacred Gear: Tetrakleaver, the Butcher Saint. A creature from her own shadow emerged. It killed our parents. I went to her immediately."
"I see," he said softly. "I am sorry to hear that. Tetrakleaver is among the more... peculiar Sacred Gears. It responds deeply to its wielder's negative emotions. Was there conflict between your sister and your parents? With Tetrakleaver, even a minor quarrel might suffice."
"She mentioned something like that in her call," I replied. "After I found her, she was taken by another group. They called themselves the Heroes of Humanity."
At that, his expression shifted. A shadow passed through his gaze. "That," he said, "is troubling news."
"You know of them."
He exhaled lightly. "Indeed I do. They are a collection of individuals linked to humanity's most legendary bloodlines.Their mission is, at least on paper, a noble one: They believe their duty is to protect mankind from supernatural harm."
"But?"
"They cannot distinguish threat from existence. Their ideology is built upon fear and grief. It leaves no room for peaceful coexistence."
"What can you tell me about them?"
"Three years ago, many humans were slaughtered, sacrificed by a deity to amplify his divinity. In their rage, they took an oath, one of such weight and consequence that the world itself seemed to respond. The Hero Faction was born. Their presence alone has kept divine entities from descending into the human world. Gods fear them."
I had suspected they were strong. They had treated me as a nuisance. But this…
"They are led by those who wield the greatest of the Longinus. The Holder of the spear of Destiny, wielder of the True Longinus, Cao Cao. The eternal seeker, with Dimension Lost, Georg. The Child of Annihilation, bearer of The Annihilation Maker, Leonardo."
I had met some of them. Briefly. Violently.
"They each wield a Longinus," he said. "And since their oath, their might has multiplied rapidly. The world, perhaps even fate itself, recognizes their resolve."
"The world?" I echoed, uncertain.
"Their oath was made in the presence of divine witnesses. It bound them to consequences as great as their promises. Sacred Gears are not merely tools, they answer to desire. To belief. And nothing embodies resolve like a vow sworn in grief and fire."
"How strong are they?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"All seven who swore the original oath are on par with the Satans. And they never fight alone."
I said nothing. Processing it took time. Satan-class, that would mean at the level of godkings like odin, zeus, the seraphs etc.
"...You've got to be kidding me."
"Unfortunately not," he replied. "Sun Wukong, Ares, Typhon: these are names that have either been forced into stalemate or defeated by two of them acting together. Even Serafall fled when she sensed their presence."
My breath caught. I said nothing.
"To give you perspective," he continued, "the vampires, divided for centuries, ended their civil-war solely out of fear. They closed their dimension entirely, returned human captives, and vanished behind barriers. That is the magnitude of threat the Hero Faction commands."
"Incredible," I muttered. "Then… Why was Rias allowed to remain in the human world?"
"They act according to their oath. It declares war upon any who pose a threat to humanity. That language is flexible, allowing case-by-case judgment. They've published rules, codes of conduct for supernaturals living among humans. If one follows them, they are left alone, at least to a certain extent."
"And Rias didn't know?"
"Very few do. They are not interested in fame. Only results."
If I am to save my sister, I must become strong enough to rend that order apart. Strength so absurd the world itself would recognize it.
"Do not lose hope," said Sirzechs.
"Lose hope?" I gave a quiet laugh. "It doesn't matter if they're Satan-class or something higher. I will save my sister. No matter what."
He laughed, a warm, resonant sound."That's the spirit. The truth of this world is simple: nothing is impossible. If it seems so, it's only because we've grown accustomed to impossibility. The miraculous is so common we cease to see it. But the laws of this world are not fixed. They bend. They break. Magic is not a gift. It is the will to impose what should be onto what is. And if your will is strong enough… then yes, there is no fate you cannot rewrite."
He looked at me. I nodded slightly. I understood that more than anyone.
"Your actions earlier today proved as much," he said. "A devil wielding holy power. Unthinkable. Yet you did it."
"And yet," I said, "to challenge them, I need power. Far more than I have now."
"That is true," he said simply.
"Which brings me to my reason for requesting an audience."
He raised a brow slightly. "Go on."
I exhaled. "I need your help."
"With what?"
"Help me save my sister."
He paused. "I must say, I am both surprised and unsurprised by that request."
"Why is that?"
"I thought you would ask for freedom. From the peerage system. As a Satan, I can grant it with a word."
"Why would I ask you for something i alre–?" I retorted but stopped mid sentence.
"Something you already possess, you mean." His eyes narrowed slightly. "I see now. You will not ask for freedom. Because you understand that freedom given can also be taken. You never cared about your deal with Rias, did you?"
"You are wiser than most. I suppose that comes with centuries." I tilted my head slightly. "I don't want to be freed. I want freedom. There is a difference. One is given, another is claimed. A gift can be revoked. A claim must be taken by force. I won't wear liberty like a borrowed cloak, handed down at someone's pleasure. What's given is still owned. I want what belongs to no one. I want what cannot be taken back. Not a favor. Not a pardon. Not a blessing. I'll break my own chains. And if I can't, then I'll drag them. But i will not kneel for a key"
I want the kind of freedom that does not wait to be recognized.
"But you will kneel for something else," he asked, voice low, "or rather for someone else?"
"I do not kneel," I said coldly. "I propose a transaction."
"Oh?" he said. "And what do you offer in exchange for my aid?"
"My aid."
He laughed. "You offer your aid… for my aid? And what possible aid could I require from you?"
He did not raise his voice. He didn't need to. "Do you know who you are speaking to? No, you clearly don't know who you're talking to. So let me clue you in," he said with certain menace "I am not a man. Not merely a devil. Not a god. Not a myth. I am destruction, and I do not mean that metaphorically, poetically, or rhetorically. I am destruction, straight up. My name has ended dynasties. Driven kings to madness. My servants are monsters by your standards. Ultimate-class beings: each capable of toppling nations. And they kneel. There are immortals, gods, who would do anything for my favor."
He tilted his head. "How do you think you can aid me in any way I could not aid myself?"
I met his eyes.
I looked into his eyes, and for the briefest of moments, I was struck by a flicker of something close to fear. There was a clarity now, ever since I awakened the holy power, the world had become painfully lucid. I saw things not as they appeared, but as they truly were. And what I saw in him was destruction, unadulterated and effortless. The wine bottle, once whole, lay in ruin from the force of his boast.
"If you were going to waste it on melodrama, you might as well have brought a cheaper one," I said, my voice level, my eyes fixed on the crimson pool spreading across the marble.
He turned his gaze toward me, laughter breaking through. "There is a limit to arrogance. I wanted to make that point forcefully. Otherwise, we could squander the whole evening with stale repartee."
"I am aware that I am useless to you currently," I replied, my voice even. "I am talking about my potential."
He tilted his head. "Your potential?"
"It has barely been two months since I became a devil. Yet here I am, already High-class. How powerful do you think I will be in a year or so?"
"You are talented," he admitted without hesitation.
"You said that nothing is impossible. I proved that when I turned my demonic energy into a holy one. The only one alive to do so, as far as I am aware. I can see it clearly. The ability to use both demonic and holy power. The potential is limitless. Even you, a Super Devil, will not be an impossible goal."
His eyes narrowed slightly, then relaxed. "I got your point. So what exactly are you offering?"
"God is dead," I said plainly, feeling no pain in uttering the name.
Surprise flickered in his eyes. "So you knew. That puts things into perspective, I suppose."
"The world is changing. Rapidly. So many Longinus wielders born in the same era, gathered together for one purpose. His system is failing, and as a consequence, many anomalies are rising."
I paused for a moment, watching his reaction. Then I pressed forward.
"That begs the question. If the system God set is falling apart, what will happen to the ritual of Christ that separates the mundane from the magical?"
"What are you implying?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Oh, come on. You can see it clearly too, can't you? A half-wit could. It's only a matter of time."
He held my gaze. "For what?"
"Why, of course, for war," I said casually.
His jaw tightened. A flicker of discomfort, however brief.
"It is only a matter of time until the barrier falls and bad actors emerge. The gods, dragons, and the other supernatural creatures will rampage freely. The angels will move to protect humanity. The hero faction will move. Every faction will come out of the woodwork like insects, each for their own agenda. And the devils," I said, pointing at him, "will want a piece of that pie. War is inevitable."
Sirzechs regarded me with quiet intensity. "You are awfully observant. To quickly understand the implication of each event so easily."
"I offer you my aid in the future. I will become powerful. I must. You are powerful, but not omnipotent. Having me as an ally will be extremely useful."
"That is assuming you can become as powerful as you believe," he said. "But I suppose you are right. Allies can only be advantageous. What do you need from me?"
"To spare someone from your peerage to train me would be extremely helpful. Also, any information on the hero faction. And your aid in fighting them."
The most important thing for me now is to save my sister.
He looked contemplative. "Aiding you directly against the hero faction would be considered a declaration of war. So it has to be indirect, something that allows me plausible deniability if things go south."
I nodded. "Understood."
"Secondly, however, I need something directly from you in return. Instead of a future promise that may never come to pass."
"And what would that be?"
He gave me a measured look, then asked, "Do you know the significance of your achievement today?"
"I am aware I am the second devil to do so. The first being Lucifer."
"Yes. A devil using holy power has enormous consequences. What do you think other devils will say about you?"
I met his gaze. "They will likely claim I am a descendant of Lucifer or fabricate some myth to justify it."
He gave a pleased nod. "Exactly. That will be the major theory. For they will never accept that a reincarnated devil managed what only the creator of our race achieved. They will call you 'the Heir of Lucifer,' the new Prince of Hell, something along those lines."
I remained quiet. I had considered this outcome. I simply thought their assumptions would fall apart under scrutiny. I thought that once they found out I was not a descendant of Lucifer, they would ignore me.
"Lucifer is to devils what God is to angels" he continued. "There are cults dedicated to him. And fringe groups obsessed with his bloodline. There are people who could not be swayed by either riches or power, but they would jump upon a bed, lather their anuses with vaseline, and spread their cheeks wide the moment someone surnamed Lucifer made a request. Much less someone with the same ability as him."
"But they will find I have no connection to him once they research me," I said plainly.
"They are cults. They will not care about evidence. They will rationalize it. Perhaps they will say you inherited his soul or his will. They will find a justification. You will gain immense political capital. Almost all the lords of Hell will honor you."
"I assume, you need that political power for your agenda," I said carefully
"Indeed," he admitted. "There are many who oppose me within the state. Calling me no true devil, or my policies some kind of antithesis to being a devil. With you, it could be much easier to implement changes. Many houses that are undecided or against me would rally behind your banner if played carefully."
I gave him a long, evaluating look.
"And what change do you plan to bring?" I asked, curious.
The moment hung heavy with unspoken tension, as Sirzechs fixed me with a steady gaze.
"The devil faction is, on paper, the strongest among the three," he said, his voice calm and even. "We boast many powerful individuals. However, we are not, in truth. Can you guess why?"
"Lack of unity," I answered without hesitation.
It was a matter of common knowledge. Sirzechs and the current Satans were seen by many noble houses as imposters: placeholders at best, usurpers at worst. The old Satan faction had yet to fade away, festering in the shadows, their every act a slow sabotage. The politics among the noble houses remained a morass of shifting alliances and petty feuds. Reincarnated devils were mistreated and seen as tools, not beings. There was no true unity.
"Exactly," Sirzechs said. "We are fractured. That is our weakness."
"I hope your request is not for me to help you unite the devils. If so, you will be sorely disappointed. While I am not a radical like the hero faction, I am still human at heart. I will not assist the devil race in becoming more efficient slavers."
He tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You are remarkably arrogant. What you just said would be considered treasonous by most devils. Can you not at least pretend to like us?"
"I will not abandon my principles to appease anyone," I replied coolly. "Besides, I do not hate devils as a whole. Only those who abuse power."
His expression sobered. "Sometimes changing your principles can help you survive."
"If I abandon them to survive, then I am already dead."
He laughed, a full and genuine sound. "So blunt. So prideful. Are you certain you bear no trace of Lucifer's blood?"
I shrugged.
Sirzechs straightened, his amusement replaced with gravity. "What I ask of you, I believe even you will find agreeable."
"That would be?"
"Advocate for the reincarnated devils. Let us drop the pretense. They are second-class citizens. Legally speaking, they are little more than property. Most pure-blooded devils do not even see them as real devils."
"And you cannot change this because it would make your policies seem even more 'anti-devil,' and thus make you appear tyrannical," I said.
"Exactly. I walk a narrow line. Too much, and I fall."
It mirrored the civil rights movements in human history. Except this was hell. Everything was worse here.
"The irony is almost poetic," I said with a faint smirk. "A race born of a former archangel and former-human, decrying reincarnated devils as impure. But hypocrisy is a constant in hell as well it seems."
Sirzechs gave a soft chuckle. "Indeed. But if the so-called heir of Lucifer were to speak for them, they might be granted legitimacy. Their position might shift. Tremendously."
I raised a brow. "So instead of whining about injustice, you offer me the opportunity to do something about it? How dare you?"
He chuckled. "I do not believe I misjudged you. You do not abandon those who need help."
"Very well. You will have my support to improve their lives. The specifics will be discussed later. However, my priority remains unchanged: saving my sister. Only after that will I lend you direct assistance."
"Excellent. You will have my full support in that regard," he said with a smile.
He paused.Then his face turned solemn. "Now, another issue. More specifically, a warning."
"What is it this time?" I asked.
"Your achievement will earn you followers. But also enemies."
"That goes without saying. Any I should be particularly wary of?"
"A great many, actually. The original Satans may be adored here, but outside hell, they are loathed. None desire their return. Least of all Lucifer. His list of enemies includes gods, angels, spirits, yokai, immortals… in truth, nearly every race."
I had anticipated as much.
"Anyone specific I should worry about now?"
"Yes. The old Satan faction. And most dangerous of all, the son of Lucifer."
"Rizevim Livan Lucifer," I said, recalling the name from my study of the history and lineages of Ars Goetia
Sirzechs looked mildly impressed. "Yes. I'm surprised you know his name."
"I researched the house of Lucifer. There was barely anything about him beyond his existence."
"You need high clearance to access anything substantial. But believe me, he is one of the most dangerous beings alive."
I waited silently.
"He has many cults who worship him. They call him the Prince of Hell."
"What is he like?"
"He is what humanity imagines devils to be," Sirzechs said simply.
That was deeply troubling.
"He believes devils are meant to embody evil. Cruelty is his creed. He has no allegiance. No goal but spreading misery. The civil war might have been avoided if he had shouldered his duties. But no. He was busy going through his whore phase."
"Whore phase?" I echoed, amused.
"He is a serial rapist. Humans, goddesses, anything that breathed," Sirzechs said with unconcealed disgust.
"Wait, goddesses?" I asked, stunned. "How powerful is he?"
"There are three superdevils in history. Beings who surpass god-kings. Rizevim was the first."
Great, now I have a superdevil as an enemy.
"And what will his reaction to me be?"
Sirzechs gave a humorless smile. "Pure disgust. You wield his father's power not for cruelty, but to save your sister. A grave sin in his view."
"Well, damn."
"He has had many children through his… pursuits. Most of them were killed for disappointing him. The rest he left broken. One in particular is so traumatized, he murders anyone with ties to Lucifer."
"So I'm in a precarious position," I said flatly.
"More like suicidal. But I like your optimism," he said with a smirk.
"You mentioned support."
He then leaned forward, his tone carefully measured. "I can provide you with Evil Pieces. Use them to recruit powerful allies."
"No. I am not becoming a slaver," I replied without hesitation.
He shrugged. "Then I suggest you grow stronger. Quickly."
We discussed the fine points of our agreement after that.
Then I left.
Then I turned my attention to preparing the funeral rites for my parents.
AN: Another chapter done. I gotta sleep now, so any corrections will be addressed tomorrow when I wake up. This one's another dialogue-heavy chapter, I hope I managed to show Haruki's contradictory personality: he wants freedom, but only the kind he earns himself. A special kind of arrogance.
We also now have a fourth plot point developing: devil politics.
How do you guys feel about dialogue-heavy chapters, by the way? I actually enjoy writing them more than fight scenes.