POV: Haruki
Sometimes I wonder if my younger self would be disgusted to see me. Ever since I became a devil, it has felt like a slow descent into moral decay. I have lied, manipulated, deceived, killed. Every crime imaginable, committed for a purpose I still claim to be necessary. I do not even know if that belief still holds value or if it is merely pride disguised as conviction.
It is not sleeping with Rias that I regret. That, I do not and will never regret. No, what I regret is that I faltered. For a moment, I allowed myself to consider the possibility of staying with her forever. The thought entered my mind like a whisper, and I listened. Her warmth, her trust, her blind love- it was so easy to imagine an eternity of that. An eternity without conflict, without ambition, without the weight of purpose. Just her and I.
I knew that if I chose her, she would love me eternally. That is who she is, devoted beyond reason. And for a fleeting moment, I almost wanted to let that devotion consume me. To stop resisting and allow myself the comfort of her affection.
But I know what that would have been. A lie. A beautiful, quiet lie.
Even if I had accepted her, I would have done so by deceiving myself. By pretending that I could live in peace knowing what I had abandoned. Happiness built on denial is no happiness at all. I could have convinced myself for a time – weeks, years perhaps – that I was content. But I would have woken one day and realized I had betrayed everything that once gave me meaning.
Principles are not for the times when there is no temptation. They are for moments such as these; when every part of you, body and soul, rises in rebellion against their burden. If I broke them whenever it suited me, they would be worth nothing.
Rias would have forgiven me anything. She would have built her world around me, and I would have let her, all the while knowing it was false. She loves too purely to see the truth of what I am. That is why I had to refuse her, even as every instinct in me wanted to stay.
What does that make me? A man of conviction, or a coward too afraid to live without the armor of principle? Perhaps both. I do not know anymore.
But I know this, if I had stayed, I would have become something worse than what I already am. Not a monster by act, but by surrender. And I have done too much, sacrificed too much, to let my soul rot in comfort.
Temptation is a luxury for those who can afford it. I cannot.
I walked toward my destination in silence.
The underworld has no seas. In their absence, the realm stretches outward in endless plains and jagged ridges, vast and uninhabited. Once, these lands teemed with devils, countless in number, forged by Lucifer himself for an eternal war that would never end. The earth then had purpose, its darkness alive with the echoes of creation and conquest. Now, only desolation remains, ancient fortresses crumbling beneath the weight of time, battlefields buried under the dust of centuries, and monuments that no longer remember the hands that built them.
I passed through one of these ruins, a fortress half-devoured by the barren soil. Its blackened towers stood like broken fangs against the dim violet sky. No sound stirred except the whisper of ash carried by a wind that did not belong to any world.
The one who had chosen such a place for our meeting required secrecy. It takes a certain kind of creature to make its home amid silence and ruin, one accustomed to hiding in the shadows.
Normally, I would not accept an invitation to such a place. The underworld is full of those who mistake cunning for wisdom, and traps are as common as dust. Yet this letter was different, not for what it said, but for whom it was addressed.
Dorian Thornewald.
The name lingered in my thoughts like an echo from a forgotten life. Very few should know that name, and even fewer still live to speak it. Those who once shared in that chapter of my existence are either dead or bound by loyalties that should not have broken.
And yet, it seems there is always a loose end.
As soon as I entered the ruined fortress, I was struck by the opulence within, a startling contrast to its crumbling exterior. The inside resembled a noble's mansion rather than the ruin it pretended to be.
"It is a great honor for you to grace us with your presence, Lord Haruki," came a woman's voice as I looked around the grand hall.
I turned to regard her. She was beautiful in the way most devils were: tall, tanned skin, and golden hair that shimmered faintly in the light. But her eyes… her eyes were what caught me. I had come to recognize that look over the past few weeks, the gaze of one who beheld a god. Utter devotion, unreasoning zeal.
Great. Another fanatic.
"Good evening," I said politely. "Who are you?"
"This one is called Aera Orobas, my lord," she replied, bowing deeply, her voice trembling with fervor.
"Orobas?" I murmured. "Weren't your houses supposedly extinct?"
Naturally, not all of the so-called extinct Pillar Houses were truly gone. Most had simply lost the bloodlines or traits that defined them. At least, by the arbitrary standards of those who declared such things.
"That is what the false Satan wishes others to believe," she said, smiling faintly. "It is a great honor that you remember us, my lord."
Her fervor deepened merely from being acknowledged.
"But where are my manners," she continued after a pause, as though recalling herself from a trance. "The Lady is awaiting your presence in the living room. If you would allow me the honor of leading you."
I nodded and followed.
She led me through corridors rich with crimson drapery and gold filigree until we reached a vast, lavishly decorated hall. Two figures awaited me there.
The first was a pale-skinned, white-haired, with mismatched eyes of green and blue, which made the mystery of the letter clear the instant I saw her. Dressed in red noble attire, she was unmistakable. Of all those who could have survived the massacre, it had to be her.
Delilah Vauclair.
Then my gaze turned to the woman beside her. Tanned skin, flawless form, beauty sculpted to an almost divine symmetry, and an unmistakable air of royal authority. A devil, and a powerful one at that.
"Welcome to my humble abode, Lord Haruki," said the brown-haired woman with a courteous bow. "My sincerest apologies that this meeting could not be held in a place more befitting of your station, but circumstances make that… difficult."
"And what place would that be?" I asked, amused.
"Pardon?" she blinked.
"A place befitting my station," I repeated.
"The empty throne of Heaven," she said, with zealous conviction.
I couldn't help a quiet laugh. The tone, the power, the pride, it is unmistakable. She was of the Old Satan Faction. And judging by Aera Orobas's reverence, there was no mistaking which lineage she claimed.
"You are of the House of Leviathan," I observed.
"Indeed, I am, Lord Haruki," she said, inclining her head in a graceful bow. "Forgive the oversight. Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Katerea Leviathan, daughter of Lady Thalassra Leviathan, granddaughter and heir to the Great Leviathan herself."
I hummed at her introduction and seated myself upon the sofa, comfortable and deliberate in gesture.
"I didn't think you'd survive, Delilah," I said at last, turning my gaze to the pale woman who visibly trembled beneath it.
If Katerea felt insulted by my casual dismissal, she gave no sign. She simply took a seat opposite me, curious to see how this exchange would unfold.
Delilah lowered her gaze, but her voice, though soft, carried a trembling reverence. "By your design alone, my lord… I did."
She clasped her hands before her chest, as though in prayer. "When the flames consumed my kin, I understood too late that it was no accident of war, but your will made manifest. You wove a tragedy with such precision that even gods might envy your hand. To see an entire race undone by a single thought… that was when I knew I had beheld divinity. I did not survive despite you, my lord… I survived because of you"
Her mismatched eyes lifted, glimmering with an almost feverish devotion. "To be spared from your judgment was a mercy I did not deserve, and a purpose I now seek to repay. I have offered my service to Lady Katerea so that, should you ever will it, I might once again stand before you as your willing instrument."
"And the fact that I orchestrated the fall of your people does not bother you?"
"Bother me?" she whispered, voice trembling with something between awe and madness. "No, my lord. It humbles me. To think that my kin perished as pieces in a design so vast they could never comprehend it, that their end served your will, what greater purpose could they have hoped for?"
It says much about what I have become that people like this are drawn to me. How art thou fallen from heaven, O shining star, son of the morning. How art thou cut down to the ground, thou who didst weaken the nations.
"What is it you think I need your help for, Delilah?" I asked.
"To return to your former glory," she said with awe. "To topple heaven and the false gods, to master all that is, and to become the true suzerain of this world."
"I see," I murmured. "I assume this meeting has something to do with that."
"That is true, my lord," said Katerea. "If I may be so bold as to ask, how much do you remember?"
"Remember what?"
"Your true identity, Lord Haruki," said Katerea. "Or should I say, Lucifer."
"I am Haruki Yamashiro," I said, calmly.
"Understood," said Katerea, though her tone betrayed that she understood nothing. "You wish for a new beginning. Very well, I shall refer to you only as Lord Haruki."
"So what exactly do you need?" I asked again, unwilling to explain myself to someone who had already decided what I was. Whether I was Lucifer or not made no difference to her.
"Am I to assume that you remember nothing of your past identity, Lord Haruki?" she pressed, her tone tightening with seriousness.
"Do as you will," I replied, indifferent.
"Very well," Katerea said, rising slightly from her seat, her expression taking on a fervent glow. "Then allow me to speak plainly. My lord, your people are lost. The devils who once ruled with pride and power now crawl at the feet of lesser beings. The thrones of Hell have been seized by impostors, weak-hearted creatures who preach peace and call it progress. They dine with angels and men, and in doing so, have spat upon the legacy of our forebears. They desecrate our blood with their accursed Evil Pieces, turning humans, beasts, and even fallen angels into mockeries of true devils. They have forgotten who we are, what it means to be born of darkness, to wield power unbound by mortal conscience.
"The devils of old were kings. We did not bow. We conquered. We did not bargain for scraps at the tables of heaven or earth; we took what was ours by right. That is the creed our ancestors lived and died for; the creed of Lucifer, Leviathan, Beelzebub, and Asmodeus. Now, that legacy lies buried beneath the lies of peace and equality. Our once-mighty race has been diluted, our pride shackled by cowards who fear the light more than they cherish our darkness. But that can change, my lord. You can change it. You, the rightful heir of the Morning Star, whose will once commanded legions and whose name shook the heavens themselves. We who remain pure have waited in shadow for your return. The Old Blood still beats in our veins, and we would follow you to the end of creation to see our kind restored. Rise again, my lord. Cast down the false Satans. Tear away the veil of peace. Let the world remember once more what it means to tremble before a true devil."
Thus spoke Katerea, insulting the reincarnated devils and begging a reincarnated devil to end them. The jokes write themselves at this point.
I regarded her quietly, hands folded, her fervor reflected faintly in Delilah's trembling gaze.
It was almost amusing, how easily faith could twist itself into chains.
"Well spoken, Katerea," I said, a trace of mockery curling my lips. "And how do you imagine achieving that? You, who were humiliated by Serafall and have been hiding from her ever since."
"I have no excuse for my weakness," Katerea said at once, her tone steady though her voice trembled beneath it. "You are right, my lord. We disgraced you and our mighty ancestors. Yet I beg you, overlook our failures and save our race, for you are the only one who can. You created us, after all."
"Do you imagine that admitting your fault makes it better?" I asked, amused. "Surely you cannot be that pitiful. Instead of improving yourself, what have you done all this time?"
"M-my lord… I–" she stammered, her composure breaking as she fell to her knees.
"How long has it been since you went into hiding, Katerea?" I asked.
"F-five centuries…" she whispered, trembling.
"Five centuries," I repeated slowly. "And still you kneel before another, begging them to accomplish what you could not. Five centuries, and still you remain merely an Ultimate-class devil. Tell me, Katerea, if the state of the Underworld is as blasphemous as you claim, why have you not done everything in your power to cleanse it yourself?"
"I… I…" Her words faltered. She dared not lift her gaze. Even Delilah, who had been silent, lowered herself fully to the floor, her forehead pressed against the marble.
The words I spoke were ordinary, but to them they were gospel. My voice carried more weight than I intended; my will resonated in a way that transcended meaning. My nature, both holy and demonic, amplified every word I uttered. My recent ascension had refined that effect. Even beings who rivaled me in power now felt the pull of my presence, as if the air itself demanded their obedience.
It is strange to watch the same pattern repeat, how people begin to worship not what I do, but what I am. They see in me the reflection of their desire for order and meaning.
"You have been hiding beneath the tower of your inadequacies," I said. "Let me tell you a little secret, Katerea. The only thing that has ever mattered in this world is power. It does not matter what ideals you hold, what dreams you cherish, or what justice you claim to serve. Without power, your will is meaningless. Serafall defeated you. By the law of strength, you have no right to complain, only to obey the shape of the world she built."
Katerea's shoulders shook. Her eyes glistened as tears traced paths down her cheeks.
"I am sorry," she whispered again and again, as if the words could cleanse her of failure.
I watched her silently for a moment.
"Apologies? Really Katerea?" I said disdainfully. "That is all you can say in your defence? Look at you, kneeling and waiting for a miracle to solve all your problems. It's pathetic really. Like the humans you claim you are better than."
There is a reason I am cruel. The best way to bind a soul is not through kindness but through despair. Break them until they see no path but the one you offer. When you take away a person's pride, when you strip them of illusion, what remains is the most malleable part of their being. They become raw, uncertain, seeking structure where before they sought freedom. It is the same for devils, humans, vampires, or anything else that thinks and feels. Beneath all the layers of culture and ideology, there is a shared truth: every creature longs to belong to something greater than itself. Most cannot endure chaos. They crave direction, authority, certainty, and when those are given by another, they mistake them for salvation.
It is not hatred that moves the world. It is not love either. It is dependence. The weak depend on the strong to define the boundaries of their existence, and the strong depend on the weak to confirm the weight of their dominance. It is a cycle so ancient and natural that even gods participate in it, whether they recognize it or not. The act of worship is nothing but the psychological instinct to submit to what one perceives as higher order. When that instinct is understood, it can be shaped, guided, even manufactured.
There was a study once, in the human world, concerning a phenomenon they later called Stockholm Syndrome. A small group of people had been held hostage for several days inside a bank. They were threatened, deprived of control, made to rely on their captors for food, water, and even the permission to speak. By the time they were freed, the captives refused to testify against those who had held them. Some even defended them.
What fascinated psychologists was not the violence itself, but the transformation of perception. The captives' minds, stripped of agency, had begun to seek safety in the same figures that terrified them. Their fear was slowly replaced by attachment, their reason by gratitude, because their survival became tied to the whims of their oppressors. The human mind cannot endure uncertainty for long, so it learns to love the hand that cages it, so long as that hand offers order.
That, I find, is the key to control. You do not force loyalty. You shape it through deprivation. You take away what a person believes they are, until they find stability only in your presence. It is not cruelty in the emotional sense; it is a form of conditioning. The mind, regardless of race or realm, seeks patterns to survive. When pain and comfort both originate from the same source, the source becomes divine.
Katerea is no different. For all her talk of lineage and destiny, she is still ruled by that same primitive yearning. She hides it beneath titles and the pride of the old blood, but beneath it all lies fear, the fear of irrelevance, of being forgotten by history, of realizing that her noble birth no longer commands respect in a world that has moved beyond her ideals. She believes she desires power, but what she truly seeks is validation. She wants to believe that her suffering has meaning, that her humiliation under Serafall was part of some grand design, not her own failure. That is why she kneels now. It is not my holiness that compels her, nor my demonic nature. It is the structure I represent.
If I offer her scorn, she takes it as judgment. If I offer her mercy, she takes it as grace. Every word I speak becomes an anchor in the storm of her uncertainty. She will cling to it, because it gives her identity again, even if that identity is that of a subordinate, a believer, a tool. The irony is that in bringing her to her knees, I grant her exactly what she desires most: purpose.
That is why she kneels so easily now. She is not bowing to me, not truly. She is bowing to the idea that I might make the world make sense again. And I will use that, because people who crave salvation are the easiest to command.
People do not follow the gentle. They follow the ones who make them tremble.
And Katerea, for all her pride and lineage, was trembling beautifully.
I waited and watched her cry, her shoulders trembling under the weight of my words. It is always easy to break people. It is building them up that proves difficult.
"But you are right about one thing," I said thoughtfully. "The Underworld is in need of change. It needs a revolution."
Katerea lifted her tear-streaked face toward me, searching my eyes for meaning, while Delilah looked on with that same fanatic gleam that bordered on madness.
I rose from my seat and walked toward the still-kneeling Katerea. My footsteps echoed softly across the polished floor.
"I am going to change the underworld," I said. "But I cannot do it alone, not with my current strength. No, I will need to gain more power first. Will you aid me in this, Katerea? Will you show the world that you are not merely a frightened girl hiding behind the titles of her betters, but someone worthy to bear the name Leviathan?"
I extended my hand toward her. She hesitated, then lifted her trembling one to meet mine.
"Will you devote yourself fully this time?" I asked. "To truly change the Underworld?"
"Yes, my lord," she said, her voice steadier now though her eyes still glistened. "I have wasted centuries drowning in bitterness, resenting my weakness, when I should have been working to overcome it. I see now that I have proven myself unworthy of the title I believed was mine by right. But, my lord, if you grant me one chance to redeem myself, I give you my oath that I will do everything in my power to aid you."
I felt it then, the weight of another oath settling into place. It was the same sensation as when Ravel swore to me. You would think that a devil as old as Katerea would understand the consequences of binding her soul in such a way.
"Then rise, Katerea," I commanded. "We have much work to do. I have questions."
"I will do my best to answer any you may have," she said, wiping the tears from her face and composing herself.
"In your letter, you mentioned an organization called the Khaos Brigade, which you are a part of," I said. The letter had not included her name or identity, only the claim that the Khaos Brigade would assist me in achieving my goals.
"Yes, my lord," she replied. "The Khaos Brigade was created to oppose the growing pacifism spreading across the mythologies. Devils making peace with angels and fallen alike, gods allying with mortals, such things are unnatural. We have come together to bring havoc to these false harmony."
"A peace between Heaven and Hell?" I asked, unimpressed. "Have the angels begun to abandon what they are?"
All my research on angels painted them as beings of light: pure, righteous, devoted to humanity's protection. If God was dead, perhaps the ideals that sustained them had died as well. Was it possible that they now bartered with the same creatures they once condemned? How else could peace with the devils even be entertained?
"They might as well have," Katerea said bitterly. "Although the negotiations have been going on for a while now. My spies inform me that one of the conditions heaven demands for peace is the regulation of the Evil Pieces and better treatment of reincarnated beings."
"Oh? Is that so?" I said, intrigued.
"Yes, I am afraid so," she continued. "The angels cannot abandon their purpose completely, but they seem to have realized that clinging to it too rigidly only benefits the devils. With beings like Sirzechs Gremory and Ajuka Astaroth holding the current thrones, any notion of war has become futile. So now they scheme in their own way, manipulating peace to serve their interests. They demand that no human may be reincarnated as a devil without consent, and that those already reincarnated must be treated as people with rights and dignity. I despise the reincarnated myself, yet that the angels dare to dictate terms to Hell, and that such demands are even being considered, is revolting."
I nodded slightly. So that's it. The Angels are adapting, trying to protect humanity in subtler ways.
"So the Khaos Brigade means to stop these … unnatural developments," I said. It was curious, this tangled web of schemes and counter-schemes. Who would have thought an anime about a horny boy would cloak such darkness beneath its farce?
"Just so, my lord," Katerea replied. "We believe that evil must remain evil, not bend to the whims of fools who would dilute it with false virtue."
"Who does this we consist of?" I asked.
"Disillusioned beings from every faction," she said. "Devils, fallen angels, gods, yokai, even dragons. Every mythology has those who recognize the decay of the world and wish to return it to its rightful order."
So a collection of egomaniacs and sore losers who could not accept change.
"And who leads this organization?" I asked, genuinely curious. To unite so many conflicting powers, their leader must be formidable indeed.
"There are many factions within the Khaos Brigade," said Katerea. "But there is one figure who binds them loosely together. You may know them as the Blind Idiot God, the Dragon of Infinity."
"The Ouroboros Dragon?" I said in surprise.
That was unexpected. For the organization to have the Infinite Dragon God among its ranks meant it was far more dangerous than I had assumed. Only the Great Red and Trihexa could rival such a being.
"Indeed," said Katerea, a faint smile of satisfaction touching her lips. "The Dragon God seeks only to reclaim its home in the Dimensional Gap, which was taken by the Great Red. It has gathered powerful individuals to help it achieve this."
That changed things considerably.
"And how is it?" I asked, curious. "Is it rational?"
"It is a simple creature," Katerea said. "It desires nothing beyond returning home. It has no cunning and cannot see how it is being used. None within the Khaos Brigade truly intends to help it succeed. It is like a child with infinite power. Dangerous, but easily directed, if you know how to speak to it. A tool waiting to be guided by a greater will."
That changed things immensely.
"The Khaos Brigade has no true leader," she continued. "Anyone with ambition, strength, and vision could rise within it and bend it to their design. Someone with the prestige and power to command respect."
"You are not as subtle as you think you are," I said, unimpressed. "I will approach the Infinite Dragon when I deem the time right. For now, focus on gathering information for me."
She bowed her head deeply. "As you command, my lord."
Silence settled over the room. Katerea and Delilah both remained kneeling, their eyes downcast in reverence, while I sat back and thought. The revelations had changed much. Plans will need to be changed
"May I ask you a question, my lord?" said Katerea, her voice cautious.
I gestured lightly for her to continue.
"Do you believe in our cause?" she asked at last.
"And what Cause is that?" I asked, nonchalantly.
"The cause of the pure bloods," said Katerea. "That the reincarnated devils are smearing our blood with their impurities."
"I can see how that belief might have developed," I said thoughtfully. "Listen here, Katerea. The foundation of this so-called pure blooded cause is not purity at all, but the older, more honest law: might makes right. In the past, those of great houses were more powerful than the lesser ones, and pure-blooded devils often stronger than their diluted kin. That power gave rise to the illusion that blood itself was sacred. But strength does not flow from ancestry; it flows from will, discipline, and the relentless pursuit of power.
"Bloodlines decay when they are worshipped rather than cultivated. The moment a family begins to rely upon its heritage, it begins to die. A noble house that speaks of honor but hides from struggle is already rotting from within. The world has always been a crucible, Katerea, and only those who adapt survive it. The rest drown in the weight of their own pride. You speak of reincarnated devils as if they are an infection. Yet they fight, they learn, they struggle to grow stronger. They may lack your noble names, but they possess something many of your kind have long forgotten- hunger. Ambition. The will to rise above their limits. Those traits are what gave your ancestors power in the first place. It was not their blood that made them great; it was the hunger in that blood."
Her expression faltered.
"Do you know what I see when I look at the so-called pure-blooded houses?" I asked. "I see complacency. Families who have mistaken privilege for strength and memory for merit. You hide behind the glory of your ancestors because it is easier than earning your own. You believe that heritage should command reverence, but reverence cannot be inherited. It must be seized and reaffirmed, over and over, through power that no one can deny. If the reincarnated devils have risen, it is not because they corrupted your kind. It is because your kind grew stagnant. You lost the will to dominate, and so the world replaced you with those who still possess it. Evolution does not honor purity; it honors persistence. And power does not care whose veins it fills, only that it finds a worthy vessel."
Katerea bowed her head slightly, her pride wounded, her faith shaken.
"So no, Katerea," I said softly. "I do not believe in your cause. I believe in power. I believe in mastery. If purity leads to weakness, then it deserves extinction. I have no sympathy for the blood that refuses to burn."
There was a stunned look on Katerea's face, the look of someone whose entire perspective had been dragged through the mud and pissed on.
I explained my plans to her then, outlining her role in just enough detail to make everything proceed smoothly while feeding into her delusion that I cared about any of that nonsense concerning the salvation of the devil race.
I will have to meet with Meron Naberius and take on his offer. I had intended to do that at a later time, but the support of Katerea and her armies has greatly accelerated the development of my plans. And it is time I contact Cain as well, his aid will be necessary.
Now, how does one negotiate with a man who desires nothing but his own death?
AN: All the sweetness from the last few chapters almost gave me diabetes, so naturally I had to balance it out with a little "might makes right" manifesto and a nice, healthy dose of conspiracy to topple nations.