The training courtyard behind the mansion was often filled in morning hours, it had become a usual occurrence for the diligent members of Magdaran's peerage to work out in the morning hours.
Even Kuroka, for all her willfulness was a real hard worker when it came to training.
The stone tiles were scorched and cracked in several places, scars left behind by repeated training sessions.
Valerie stood at the center of the courtyard, eyes closed, one hand pressed lightly against her chest.
A faint golden glow pulsed beneath her skin.
The Sephiroth Grall responded to her will without resistance now, its presence no longer foreign or overwhelming.
It moved with her breath, synchronizing with her heartbeat, reinforcing her body in subtle but profound ways. The Sephiroth Grall was different from the other Longinus, in terms of pure attack power, it was by far amongst the worst.
Maybe a bit better than Innovate clear.
But, still, most of it's uses were in enhancing and reinforcing, sure it could resurrect, alter others, but for personal strength, it's function was something akin to Hogyoku from bleach.
Magdaran watched from a short distance away, arms crossed, posture relaxed.
After a few seconds, Valerie exhaled and opened her eyes. The glow faded completely, leaving her looking almost ordinary, save for the faint confidence in her stance.
"How did it feel?" Magdaran asked casually.
Valerie considered the question for a moment before answering. She did not rush anymore. She no longer spoke like someone afraid of saying the wrong thing.
"Stable," she said. "Much more than before."
She flexed her fingers slowly, then clenched her fist.
"I can maintain Grall output passively now. It reinforces my body without conscious effort. Strength, regeneration, perception… all of it stacks on top of my vampiric traits instead of competing with them."
Magdaran nodded once.
"And the strain? The Grall is notorious for having tremendous strain."
"Minimal," Valerie replied. "Unless I push it deliberately. Compared to before, it feels like breathing."
She hesitated briefly, then continued, voice steady but thoughtful.
"My physical strength is above most pureblood vampires now. Regeneration too. Sensory range especially. I can hear heartbeats across the estate when I focus. Smell intent. Aggression. Fear."
She paused, then added more quietly, "I do not feel scared of them anymore... I am stronger than them now."
That was the part Magdaran paid attention to.
He stepped closer, his presence calm but heavy in a way that had become natural over the past year.
"And how do you feel about it?" he asked.
Valerie lowered her gaze for a moment, then lifted it again without flinching.
"I still have… moments," she admitted. "Certain smells. Certain tones of voice. Sometimes when I wake up, my first instinct is still to check for restraints."
She said it without bitterness. Just honesty.
"But," she continued, straightening slightly, "I do not feel powerless anymore. Even if someone came for me now, I know I can fight back. And if I cannot… I know I am not alone."
She looked at him then, directly.
"Thank you," Valerie said. Not in a dramatic or emotional way, just pure sincerety.
Magdaran held her gaze for a second longer than necessary.
'She is no longer barely surviving,' he thought. 'She is living. Hope, future prospects, security... maybe they create another layer on the complexity of life.'
"You've earned it," he said with a smile, praising her. "The Grall responds well to discipline and intent. Not desperation. Desperate measures often leave you with desperate setbacks."
A faint smile appeared on Valerie's lips.
She relaxed, letting her arms fall to her sides.
"When I first joined," she said after a moment, "I thought strength was the only thing that mattered. That if I became strong enough, nothing could ever hurt me again."
She glanced at the courtyard, at the scars etched into the stone.
"Now I think... Understanding what I am, matters more, accepting it, instead of running from it."
Magdaran inclined his head slightly, approving.
"That realization will keep you alive longer than raw power ever could."
Valerie exhaled, the tension fully leaving her shoulders.
For a brief moment, the courtyard was silent again.
Then Magdaran turned his gaze toward the mansion, sensing familiar presences beginning to stir within.
"Training for today is done," he said. "Rest for now. Eat properly, although you have almost recovered, you still need to maintain a healthy diet for you to make up for all that."
Valerie nodded. "Yes."
As she walked past him toward the doors, her steps were light. Confident.
Magdaran remained behind for a moment, watching the space she had occupied.
'A year ago, she was broken,' he reflected. 'Now she stands without fear, seeing the change is... comforting, is this the peace which saving others bring? Maybe I can understand those superheroes stories a bit now.'
He turned away at last.
The Bael mansion was practically a massive castle, standing tall, and looking somewhat ominous.
Morning light spilled through tall windows, glinting off polished floors. The faint sound of movement echoed through the halls.
It had been one full year since Valerie Tepes had joined Magdaran's peerage.
The change was obvious, not because anyone announced it, but because no one needed to, anyone with eyes could see it.
Valerie walked through the living room with a relaxed stride, carrying a tray of cups balanced effortlessly in one hand. Her posture was straight, her movements confident. There was no hesitation in her steps, no lingering tension in her shoulders.
The timid girl who once flinched at sudden sounds no longer existed here.
She placed the tray down smoothly, unbothered by the presence of others in the room.
"Tea's ready," she said calmly.
Kuroka glanced up from the couch, tail flicking lazily. "You're getting scary efficient, you know that?"
Valerie shrugged lightly. "Practice."
It was a simple answer, but it carried weight.
Magdaran stood near the far window, looking out over the estate grounds. He did not need to turn around to feel the subtle shift in attention when he moved. Even in stillness, his presence pressed against the room like quiet gravity.
He was eighteen now.
The change was not dramatic, but it was unmistakable. His aura was denser, more refined, the edge of something vast held firmly in check. Peak Satan class sat just within reach, a threshold he brushed against without crossing, yet.
When he turned, even Kuroka straightened slightly.
"You're staring again," she said, grinning. "Did you finally notice how cool you look now?"
Magdaran ignored the comment and looked toward Valerie instead.
Her gaze met his without flinching.
Kuroka stretched, cracking her neck. The air around her rippled faintly, controlled power humming beneath the surface. Mid level Ultimate class suited her well, though even she had noticed the slowdown, the invisible wall that made further progress increasingly difficult.
Still, she was strong. Stronger than she had ever been, stronger than most devils would ever be.
The mansion settled back into its rhythm, comfortable and unguarded.
No one said it aloud, but everyone felt it.
This was peace.
And peace, as Magdaran knew better than anyone, never lasted forever.
The peace lasted exactly twelve seconds.
Magdaran had barely finished turning away from the window when something warm, soft, and very much intentional slammed into his back.
"MAG-CHAAAN!"
Arms wrapped around his waist with zero warning, fingers digging in with shameless familiarity. A tail flicked up and coiled around his leg like it owned the place.
Kuroka pressed herself against him from behind, cheek shamelessly nuzzling his shoulder.
"I'm bored," she announced loudly. "And frustrated."
Magdaran stiffened. "Get off."
"No."
She tightened her grip instead, deliberately pressing closer. "You know, for someone who's almost peak Satan, you're really bad at handling your women."
Akeno, seated at the table with her tea, smiled into her cup. "Ara… Kuroka-chan, that's a dangerous accusation."
"It's true!" Kuroka shot back. "A whole year of touching, kissing, teasing, hands everywhere but where they should actually be. Foreplay is great and all, but foreplay for a year is just cruelty."
Shirone, who had been quietly reading nearby, froze.
Her ears went bright red.
"S-sister…" she muttered. "Please don't say it like that."
Kuroka waved a hand dismissively. "Relax, kitten. This is educational."
"It is not!" Shirone snapped, burying her face in her book.
Valerie stood near the doorway, arms crossed, clearly unsure where to look. Her lips twitched despite herself. "You're… very direct," she said carefully.
Kuroka grinned at her. "You'll get used to it. And don't think I don't see how you look at Mag-chan, you would probably join us soon enough."
Valerie instantly turned into a blushing mess.
Magdaran finally grabbed Kuroka's wrist and pried her loose with controlled force, turning to face her. "You are doing this on purpose."
"No shit, Sherlock.," she said cheerfully. "Someone has to."
She leaned in again, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. "Mag-chan, you promised your first time would be with Rias, right?"
He frowned. "That was-"
"Exactly," Kuroka cut in. "So what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? Should I send Rias a formal invitation to invite her to join you on bed? I want sex too, you know. But I'm not allowed to have you properly until you break that stupid self-imposed rule."
Akeno tilted her head, eyes sparkling. "So impatient. Though… I admit I'm curious how long you plan to restrain yourself."
Valerie coughed lightly. "I feel like I should excuse myself."
"Nope," Kuroka said immediately. "Stay. This is important household discourse."
Magdaran pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I am not discussing my sex life like this. Rias is young, and we are immortals, we have a lot of time."
"But you are thinking about it," Kuroka shot back. "All that control, all that power, and you're still pretending you're a monk. I want kittens, Mag-chan. Eventually. Preferably sooner rather than later."
Shirone made a strangled noise. "STOP SAYING KITTENS!"
Kuroka laughed, loud and unashamed.
Magdaran exhaled slowly, then straightened.
"That's enough," he said, tone firm.
The room quieted immediately. Not because he raised his voice, but because he didn't need to.
"I am going to train," he continued. "Now. We will sleep later. All of you will behave."
Kuroka pouted exaggeratedly. "You're dodging."
"I know what I am doing.," he replied flatly.
Akeno smiled. "Take you time then, Mag-chan~"
Magdaran did not look back and stepped towards his training chamber.
He didn't realize yet how much that noise would matter.
Magdaran walked through the inner corridors of the mansion toward the underground training space, his footsteps unhurried, measured. The wards recognized him instantly, layers of space and demonic authority parting without resistance. The deeper he went, the quieter the world became, until only his own presence remained.
It had become noticeable over the past year.
Not to him, at first, but to others.
The air reacted when he passed. Subtly, as if the space around him had learned to acknowledge weight. Demons with keen perception felt it immediately. Humans would have called it pressure. Devils called it presence.
He was nearing the ceiling.
Peak Satan class was no longer a distant milestone. It was close enough to feel, like a wall just beyond arm's reach. His power had stabilized there, dense and refined, no longer exploding outward in uncontrolled growth. Every improvement now demanded intent, precision, and understanding rather than brute accumulation.
That was the price of approaching the upper limits.
Kuroka's progress mirrored that truth in a different way.
She had broken through to Ultimate class months ago, violently and gloriously, her power surging with a feral intensity that suited her perfectly. Even now, she sat comfortably at mid Ultimate, stronger than nearly any youkai or devil that crossed her path.
But her growth had slowed.
Not stalled, but narrowed.
Magdaran had noticed it during joint spars and monitoring sessions. The leaps were smaller. The breakthroughs harder earned. Reaching Satan class was no longer a matter of time or effort alone. For Kuroka, the path forward was uncertain, and the probability of ever crossing that final threshold was slim.
Not impossible.
But slim.
He did not mention it to her.
Some truths were better carried alone.
His original long term plan had been delayed as well.
Forseti.
The Norse god remained an objective, but circumstances had shifted.
Loki, predictably, had decided to tear open old wounds within the Norse pantheon, stirring internal conflict and paranoia. Assassinations, false flags, provocations. The result was simple.
Heightened vigilance.
Too many eyes.
Too many contingencies.
Attempting to seize Forseti under those conditions would have been inefficient at best, suicidal at worst. So Magdaran had postponed it without hesitation. Opportunity was a resource. Wasting it was unforgivable.
He reached the threshold of the training chamber and paused, resting a hand briefly against the wall.
A year full of growth.
He stood alone at the center of the chamber and closed his eyes.
Immediately, the world peeled back.
Space unfurled before his senses, not as distance or direction, but as structure. Threads, layers, folds. Invisible to ordinary perception, yet impossibly clear to him. He did not push power outward. He let it flow, quiet and deliberate, like a hand moving through still water.
'It still feels strange,' he thought.
Not the magic. Not the power.
The world.
DxD.
A setting he had once known as fiction. A constructed narrative filled with devils, gods, sacred gears, and absurdly escalating threats. But in the end, it was just that, a story, a piece of fiction.
And yet here it was. Tangible, Responsive. Real in every sense that mattered.
'If this world exists,' he continued, 'then the premise that it was ever fictional is flawed.'
Fiction required imagination without reality. But imagination itself did not arise from nothing. Ideas were reflections, distortions, or echoes of something that could exist, somewhere.
There was a theory stating that everything one could think of, has already happened somewhere, sometime.
A multiverse.
The thought was no longer abstract to him. It was no longer a philosophical indulgence or a late night curiosity. It had become a working hypothesis, reinforced by experience.
The Dimensional Gap alone was proof enough.
Magdaran extended his senses outward, brushing against the thin boundary that separated stable reality from the chaos between worlds. The Dimensional Gap was not empty space. It was absence. A turbulent medium where laws weakened, overlapped, or failed entirely.
He had traveled through it dozens of times now.
At first out of necessity.
Then out of interest.
And now, out of fascination.
Raw space manipulation had once been enough. Folding distance. Short range teleportation. Creating pocket dimensions anchored to stable coordinates. Those techniques had come easily to him, built on instinct and reinforced by calculation.
But that was only surface level.
Raw control meant imposing will on space. Stretching it. Compressing it. Tearing it open and stitching it closed again. Effective, but crude.
Conceptual powers of space was different.
It was not about where something was.
It was about what space meant.
Boundaries. Separation. Continuity. Existence as defined by position.
Destruction had taught him that lesson first.
At its lower levels, destruction erased matter and energy. At higher levels, it erased form. At the conceptual threshold, it erased meaning. The idea that something had ever existed in the first place.
Space, he had realized, followed the same hierarchy.
And he was standing just below that wall.
Magdaran opened his eyes and raised a hand.
The air in front of him twisted. Not violently, not visibly, but wrong. The chamber's geometry bent inward, folding over itself in impossible angles. For a moment, distance lost coherence. Near and far ceased to matter.
Then he released it.
Reality snapped back into place.
He exhaled slowly.
'I am close,' he thought. 'Closer than I was a year ago. But still not there.'
He had nearly matched his mastery of destruction. His control over space had reached the same tier in raw application. Speed. Precision. Efficiency. He could outmaneuver most Satan class opponents purely through spatial dominance.
But conceptual mastery refused to yield.
No matter how carefully he approached it, the barrier remained intact. Not resistant. Simply absolute. As if space itself acknowledged his progress, but denied him passage until he understood something fundamental he was still missing.
Understanding could not be forced.
That was the irony.
Power could be taken. Knowledge could be learned. But concepts required insight. A shift in perspective.
And so his thoughts returned, again and again, to the same question.
'If this universe exists, then others must as well.'
Different physical constants. Different rules. Different interpretations of existence. Worlds where destruction did not exist as a concept. Worlds where space behaved entirely differently. Worlds where causality itself was optional.
He had brushed against a few already.
Shallow ones. Fragile dimensions. Incomplete realities that collapsed under prolonged observation. But even those fragments were proof.
The multiverse was not theory.
It was reality.
Magdaran lowered his hand and allowed himself a small, rare smile.
'Someday,' he thought, 'I will step into a world that no one here has ever imagined. Or maybe one they imagined to be a fictional one, just like DxD.'
It was not out of arrogance. But inevitability.
He turned his attention outward once more, preparing to initiate another controlled hop through the Dimensional Gap. Just another exploration. Just another data point.
Nothing extraordinary.
At least, that was what it should have been.
Space hopping had become routine.
That alone would have terrified most beings who understood what the Dimensional Gap truly was. To Magdaran, it had turned into something closer to controlled breathing. A sequence of calculations, a shift in perspective, then movement.
He stood still and let his senses align.
Coordinates did not exist here in the conventional sense. Instead, he chose based on texture. Density. The way reality pressed back when acknowledged. He reached outward and selected a nearby layer, one that felt stable, quiet, and unremarkable.
An ordinary dimension.
Space folded.
The transition was smooth, almost lazy. No resistance. No turbulence. The kind of hop that barely registered as exertion anymore.
Magdaran stepped through.
The world reassembled around him in a muted blur of color and structure. Gravity settled. Distance reasserted itself. Sound returned in a low ambient hum that suggested wind moving through unseen terrain.
At first glance, nothing was wrong.
The sky was pale and featureless. The ground beneath his feet was solid stone, unmarred and undisturbed.
'Too clean,' he thought.
The realization came quietly, without panic.
He had learned to trust that instinct.
A faint tingling crept along the back of his spine. Not fear, not yet. Just premonition.
Magdaran narrowed his senses and extended them outward.
Something answered.
A hollow in the fabric of space, deliberate and shaped. As if the dimension itself had been instructed to remain still.
He did not hesitate.
Space rippled as he reached to leave, folding reality inward to return to the Gap.
Nothing happened.
His eyes sharpened.
He tried again, this time with more force. The response was immediate and unmistakable.
Resistance.
Space did not bend. It did not tear. It held.
Locked.
Magdaran inhaled slowly and let the breath out through his nose.
'That is new.'
He did not struggle. Panic wasted time. Instead, he tested the boundaries, lightly at first, then with controlled pressure. The result was the same each time.
The dimension rejected displacement.
Not permanently though.
But long enough to matter. Getting out of here would take some time...
The tingling sensation deepened, spreading across his awareness like a warning pulse.
He straightened and turned slightly, eyes scanning the empty horizon.
Whoever had done this had not acted clumsily.
And whoever it was fast enough enough to prepare.
For the first time that day, Magdaran did not move forward.
He waited, with all the alertness he could.
-POV Rizevim Livan Lucifer-
Rizevim Livan Lucifer felt it the moment the dimension shuddered.
Not a violent disturbance. Not a reckless tear. It was precise, clean, almost polite. The kind of spatial movement that spoke of mastery rather than desperation.
He paused mid step inside the vast hall of his hideout mansion, a structure hidden deep within a layered pocket dimension. The polished floor beneath his feet reflected the candlelight in long, elegant streaks. Around him, several figures stiffened as his mood shifted.
Rizevim smiled.
"So," he murmured softly. "Someone just knocked."
Without raising his voice, he issued the command. "Suppress everything. Aura, presence, intent. I want this place dead to the senses."
Instantly, the mansion went still.
Dozens of magicians, mid and high class beings who had sold their souls piece by piece, vanished from perception. Even Euclid Lucifuge, standing near the far end of the hall, drew his presence inward until it became a faint whisper.
Rizevim closed his eyes.
His senses expanded, not outward in a brute sweep, but inward first, aligning with the dimensional structure itself. He followed the disturbance backward, tracing the fold like a thread pulled through silk.
There.
A lone figure.
Young.
Far too young.
Rizevim's eyes opened, gleaming with interest.
He focused further, increasing his perception.
Energy reserves flooded his awareness first, vast and dense, compressed with frightening efficiency. Satan class, unmistakably so. Not bloated. Not wasteful. Controlled to a degree that made even him look crude.
'Oh, that is interesting.'
Next came control.
Absolute spell authority. Space affinity so refined it bordered on bloodline ability. The dimensional lock he had applied in this dimension had not panicked him. It had merely slowed him.
Rizevim chuckled under his breath.
The signature was subtle, but it carried lineage. Bael blood. The destructive aura gave it away easily.
Recognition bloomed like a flower.
"Magdaran Bael," Rizevim said aloud, tasting the name. "So the rumors were true."
He leaned back slightly, resting one hand against a marble pillar, amusement dancing across his face.
'Eighteen, perhaps. Already brushing against peak Satan. Control and destruction both polished to an absurd shine. No external help. Entirely self made.'
His grin widened.
'A rising star indeed.'
Rizevim's thoughts drifted lazily, delight threading through them.
'Either I have just stumbled upon the most promising subordinate I have seen in centuries.'
His eyes flicked toward the sealed dimension, imagining the boy standing there, senses sharp, instincts screaming.
'Or I remove a future thorn before it has time to become unbearable.'
The prospect thrilled him.
Conflict was art. Corruption was pleasure. Breaking something brilliant before it realized how bright it could become was a personal indulgence.
He straightened, smoothing his coat.
"Prepare the welcome," Rizevim said lightly. "But do not reveal yourselves yet."
His smile sharpened into something feral.
"Let us see how the puppy reacts when he realizes he has wandered into a den full of monsters."
-POV back to Magdaran-
Magdaran stood still.
The sensation crept over him slowly, not like an ambush, but like the quiet realization that a room was far more crowded than it first appeared.
Presences.
Many of them.
They were hidden well. Too well. If he had been even a fraction less attentive, he would have dismissed the silence as emptiness. Instead, his instincts screamed. The dimensional substrate around him felt dense, layered, reinforced with intent rather than raw power.
He reached outward, trying to fold space once again.
It did not respond.
Magdaran frowned.
Space was still there, obedient in theory, but something had wrapped around it like a vice. Not suppression. Not negation though. A lock. Complex, patient, deliberately prepared.
That was when the voice arrived.
It echoed from everywhere and nowhere at once, rich with amusement and unrestrained curiosity.
"Well look at this," the voice said pleasantly. "We did not even set a trap, and yet something valuable wandered straight in."
Magdaran turned slowly, eyes scanning the empty air.
"You should be Magdaran Bael, yes?" the voice continued. "The underworld has been quite fond of whispering your name lately. It's greatest prodigy. A rising star."
Magdaran's jaw tightened.
He could feel it now. The structure of the dimension. The way every exit bent back into itself. The way escape would take time he did not have.
The voice chuckled softly.
"Relax. No need to look so tense," it said. "If you cooperate, this can end very peacefully."
Magdaran exhaled once, slow and controlled.
In that moment, clarity settled in.
This was not a random pocket. Not an unclaimed layer of the dimensional gap.
He had not stumbled into neutral territory.
He had stepped directly into the den of a predator.
And the wolf had been waiting.
____________________________________________
Send off power stones and 5 star reviews. Next chapter coming out soon enough.