POV: Adrameleth Beleth
King Adrameleth sat alone in the inner sanctum of his citadel, and watched as his beloved wife, Morena, meticulously prepared a potion for him.
The early symptoms of Sleep Disease were subtle yet undeniable. The heaviness behind the eyes. The moments when thought blurred and the world dulled at the edges. He had not fallen into the endless slumber yet, though every expert in the Underworld had made it clear that it was only a matter of time.
Devils who slept did not wake again. They withered, sustained by artificial means in silent wards, until even those measures failed.
He allowed no one to see anyone to see his fear. The image he presented to the world was that of a meticulous and unshakable monarch. Inside, the clock had begun to scream. Devils did not have an after life, he wondered what it feels to cease to be. To return to nothingness.
He had never been meant to wear the crown of House Beleth. He had been born the spare heir, the second son of a king whose firstborn arrived with the full manifestation of the Shrine of Pride.
His elder brother had been brilliance given flesh, adored by their father, feared by their rivals, spoken of as a future terror of the Devil Civil War. Then that brother had fallen at the war's beginning five centuries ago, and the future that had once been closed to Adrameleth was forced upon him.
He had learned to rule with cold clarity because no one had ever expected him to rule at all. He had to take his brother's place and do his best to bring his house to greatness. Yet he could never be his elder brother. That feeling of inadequacy had never left him.
It sharpened him. It turned him into something harder than any natural king. It gave him ambition. Every army he shaped, every political marriage he arranged, every alliance he dismantled existed for a single purpose.
To make House Beleth indisputably the greatest houses of the Underworld.
He wanted to leave a Legacy to be remembered by.
When the Sleep Disease announced itself, faint at first, he had understood that he was racing time itself. Devils rarely bore many children. The bloodlines of noble houses thinned and fractured across eras.
So he had done the unthinkable. He had bargained with Demeter, goddess of fertility, paying a price so severe that no other king would dare repeat it. The debt was paid in full. A future payment still waited in shadow.
Yet he did not regret it even once. From that pact came five children, living proof that his line was secured for generations, provided he arranged the board correctly before sleep took him.
His reputation had to be flawless. House Beleth deserved reverence, fear, obedience. Instead, they were spoken of as a common house rather than supreme. The insult gnawed at him with the same cruelty as the disease.
The Satans had made him exile his own son, the heir he had groomed with such obsessive care. That decree had struck deeper than any battlefield wound. It was a personal humiliation.
He seethed over it in the silence of his chambers, powerless before the authority of Lucifer himself, Sirzechs, the strongest devil to ever exist. A king reduced to obedience.
Still, he planned.
He knew his son. He knew the fire in his veins, the discipline he had cultivated, the intelligence he had refined through merciless training. All the boy required was time. Time to grow. Time to gather power.
Time to let the shame of exile ferment into ambition. Adrameleth needed only to leave him fortune, allies he could rely on, enemies already weakened.
When the moment came, the Satans themselves would think twice before daring to offend House Beleth again.
He remembered the words his grandfather had spoken centuries earlier, the rare moment of softness in a lineage of tyrants.
Everyone must leave something behind when he dies. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you are there.
It does not matter what you do so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that is like you after you take your hands away. Even though your time on the job is temporary, if you do a good enough job, your work there will last forever.
To seek greatness is the only righteous vengeance.
He repeated that last line often, the closest thing he had to faith.
The Sleep Disease will claim him. He accepted that long ago. There was no changing fate. But before it took him, House Beleth would be unassailable. His children would inherit greatness.
He closed his eyes for a fraction too long, feeling the weight of sleep press closer than it had the day before. He forced them open, breath steady.
There was still time.
There had to be.
Morena came with a cup and gently handed it to him. He accepted it with a nod and swallowed the potion in one go. It tasted awful. It somehow managed to get worse every time he drank it, as if his body had developed a personal grudge against it.
Yet it was necessary. The potion allowed him to project an image of strength and control to the countless vultures waiting for any sign of weakness.
.
.
.
"How are you feeling, my love?" Morena asked, her eyes filled with concern and a trace of pity.
He had no need for pity.
"I will manage."
"Our vassals are beginning to sense weakness," Morena said, disgust slipping into her voice. "House Acteus and House Ormenus have not paid their taxes since last year. It is only a matter of time before the others start copying them. They must be shown the consequences of defying their liege."
It has become a familiar pattern over the past two years. The nobles believed he had fallen out of Lucifer's favor and now treated him as someone they could ignore.
They had acted the same way when the Eye of the Pit first appeared, convinced that House Beleth would collapse. They had been wrong every time.
"I am aware."
"They think we will not act," Morena continued thoughtfully. "Someone is backing them."
"Lord Acteus's wife is a Bael," he said, the name heavy with disdain.
"You believe he is behind this?" Morena asked, a hint of fear slipping through her composure. It amused him that despite her pride and sharp tongue, she was deeply wary of House Bael. To be fair, much of the nobility shared that fear.
Zekram Bael was widely regarded as the shadow Satan.
"Most certainly," he replied. "We are one of the few houses he has no leverage over. He has always sought a way to bring us under his influence, one way or another."
He had refused every offer to marry into House Bael, even when Lord Bael had dangled irresistible rewards before him. He had no intention of becoming Bael's vassal the way the Gremory were in all but name.
"I see," Morena said, her voice grave. "So he intends to show us that we are not beyond his reach, that he can humiliate us if we refuse to comply. Knowing him, many of our vassals will soon follow the example of Acteus and Ormenus."
"And they are eager to watch us fall, like a pack of hyenas," he agreed. "They believe they can raise their own standing by overthrowing us, or at least by aligning themselves with Zekram. It will only grow worse from here."
"Meruem," Morena said quietly, realization dawning on her. "I knew it would paint a target on our backs, but it had to be done."
So eager to defend her cub, he thought with a trace of amusement. A lioness through and through.
"I know. I don't blame Meruem for any of this. I agreed to your plan knowing the risks. Still, his rings will only intensify the harassment from those who covet them."
His brilliant son. His shining star. Even now, he struggled to fully comprehend it. Meruem had created the Rings of Power at the age of seventeen, an act worthy of a Satan.
The thought of what he might accomplish in the future filled him with equal parts wonder and dread.
The rings were both a blessing and curse. They would bring unimaginable wealth and influence, and enemies just as numerous. The lords of Hell would seek to uncover the secret of their creation and would not hesitate to unite in pressuring House Beleth to yield.
"What are we going to do?" Morena asked, meeting his eyes.
"If only I were healthy," he said quietly. "I would call the banners and march against these treacherous lords myself. I would show them the price of defiance. As things stand, I can't. A rebellion among my vassals is the last thing I need."
"You are suggesting we do nothing?"
"For now," he said. "We must plan carefully. We need to determine which vassals can still be trusted and which are already in Zekram's pockets. I won't leave Meruem a civil war with no allies to rely on."
"Would promising Meruem's hand in marriage to Lord Bael satisfy him?" Morena wondered aloud.
"That must never happen," he said sharply, fury flaring at the very idea. "He seeks influence over Meruem. He wants to turn him into a puppet, like Zeoctis. I will not allow House Beleth to serve another. None of my children will be bound to Bael, least of all my heir."
"I understand, my love," Morena said softly. "I was only considering the possibilities. Lord Zekram is a fearsome being."
"Then consider something else," he replied coldly. "We are the House of Kings. We will remain unbowed and unbroken. I would rather wage war than allow Zekram a foothold in my kingdom."
"The vassals of your kingdom are already consorting with him," Morena said bluntly.
She never hesitated to wound his pride or spare his feelings. It was one of the many reasons he loved her above all his other wives.
"They are," he admitted. "They believe us weak and isolated. They forget why Beleth was granted the title of king by Morningstar himself. We will remind them. In this game of life, we are defined by what we overcome."
We may be cast down and fall from the Satans' favor. We will rise again. Because we fall, the climb must be our destination.
POV: Sona Stiri
In the hands of incompetent, power brings nothing but ruin.
Sona had been fourteen the first time Serafall said it to her.
At the time, she had only nodded. Now, years later, the sentence still followed her through every corridor of the student council building, through every meeting, every quiet moment when she was left alone with her thoughts.
Power was everywhere in Kuoh Academy. It sat in the signatures on documents, in the schedules pinned to walls, in the polite way teachers listened when she spoke. It existed in the way students straightened when she entered a room. None of it was visible, yet all of it was real.
Or so people believed.
That was the part that troubled her the most. Power did not live in titles or in bloodlines. It lived in belief. It existed because people agreed it existed, at least in the human world where an individual can't overcome a group in their lonesome.
The moment that agreement faltered, the authority it supported became hollow.
Sona understood that better than anyone. Her position as student council president only worked because the teachers trusted her, the students followed her, and her peerage respected her judgment. If any of those pillars cracked, the structure would collapse.
And so she worked.
She studied until her eyes ached. She never arrived late. She never submitted incomplete work. She never asked of others what she would not do herself.
It was not pride that drove her. It was fear. Fear of being incompetent.
She had seen what incompetence looked like. Leaders who coasted on reputation. Devils who treated power as something owed to them rather than something entrusted to them. The damage they left behind was always explained away as inevitability, as the cost of ruling.
Serafall had taught her that this excuse was a lie.
Power was never the problem. The hands that held it were.
Sona folded another report and placed it in the appropriate folder, aligning the edges perfectly. She could already hear Serafall laughing at her seriousness, calling her stiff, telling her to relax. But she would not.
She could not.
If power was an illusion born of belief, then competence was the only thing that made it solid. And if she ever allowed herself to become careless, to become complacent, then she would become exactly what her sister had warned her about.
A king who brought ruin.
…
"Check," Sona said as she moved her piece.
"Oh, man. I just can't ever beat you," her opponent and best friend groaned, red hair swaying with the motion.
"You are getting better. You lasted longer this time."
"It's so infuriating when you say things like that," Rias said with a pout.
Sona had not meant to sound condescending. She was simply trying to praise a friend who tended to get discouraged after losing.
"It was genuine praise," she said calmly.
"I know. That's what makes it worse," Rias replied, caught between amusement and frustration.
Then she changed the subject. "Why are you here anyway? Weren't you going to look around the city to see if you can find anyone to recruit for your peerage?"
They had only recently come to Kuoh, becoming co rulers of the city. Neither of them was familiar with it yet, so they often wandered around, partly to learn their new territory and partly to spend time with their peerages.
"I was," Rias said. "But I found some interesting gossip on the devi-net."
"Gossip?" Sona asked, curious.
Rias held out her phone. The screen showed a picture of Sona dancing with Prince Meruem, a loud headline plastered across it. "The ice princess tamed by the prince of flames?!?"
That was the moniker the underworld press had given her because of her personality.
"Sona, you horndog," Rias said with an evil grin. "When were you going to tell me you had a boyfriend?"
Rias could be infuriatingly dramatic.
"I don't have a boyfriend," Sona said calmly. "You of all people should know the media will write anything to get a reaction."
"Then why is there a picture of you dancing with a prince?" Rias said with a smug smile. "Checkmate, ice princess."
"Stop calling me that," Sona said coolly. She hated the nickname. The tabloids twisted every word she said to make her look bad, which was why she refused to give them interviews.
"Or what? Is the ice princess going to freeze me?" Rias shot back.
From the side, Sona heard Akeno and Tsubaki giggle. She glared at them.
Sona exhaled. "Will you give it a rest? I only danced with him because he asked me."
Rias looked at her with open skepticism. "Really? You are telling me that Prince Meruem, Mr. I am too cool for this world, asked you for a dance?"
Sona did not like that tone. "Yes, he did. Are you jealous?"
Rias had gone through a phase where she was obsessed with bad boys, and she had once had a huge crush on Meruem Beleth.
She had even tried to get closer to him, only to be completely ignored, a humiliation Sona knew had still not fully faded.
"No way," Rias said with a fake scoff. "Why would I be? He is only the most notorious devil of our generation. And ridiculously hot."
"I thought you were past your bad boy phase?" Sona replied.
"I am. That doesn't change the fact that he is hot and famous. They are calling him the Lord of Rings now."
"Infamous," Sona said. "You forget he was exiled for killing another devil. He is as prideful as he is mad."
"So? That only proves he is a man of action."
Sona did not dignify that with a response. She simply stared at the redhead.
"But seriously though," Rias said, her tone turning more serious. "I heard you were the only girl he asked for a dance."
"So what?" Sona replied with a shrug. "It was only a dance."
Rias stared at her blankly. So did Akeno and Tsubaki.
"You can be unbelievably dense sometimes," Rias said with a smile. "Let me make it simple for your tiny brain. The prince has never asked anyone for a dance before. Ever. He wants you. And he is going to have you. Whether you like it or not."
"Why are you talking like I have no choice in this?" Sona shouted.
"Have you forgotten the ballad?" Rias said with amusement. "How does it go again? No vow can bar his silent claim/ No iron heart refuse his pull/ For wanting him and being his/ Are truths the same, inevitable."
Sona rolled her eyes. "How could I forget? You made it yourself. But he's not like that."
She did not know why she was defending the prince at all. She blamed Rias for dragging her into it.
Rias gave her a suggestive grin. "Ohhh. Different how?" she asked, eyes sparkling.
"He was…" Sona searched for the right word. "…nice."
Rias looked unimpressed. "We are talking about the same guy, right? The one they called the dark prince. The one who killed a noble because he felt like it. The one who bullied the teachers at the academy."
"I know," Sona said. "He seemed to have changed. Even Latia said he was unusually nice to her."
"As if Latia Astaroth is a reliable judge of character," Rias said with open disdain. "He could spit at her and that dumb cow would take it as a compliment."
"I know you hate Latia for some inane reason," Sona said calmly. "But I would appreciate it if you did not insult her in my presence. She is a good friend."
Rias, for reasons that probably had something to do with Diodora, hated Latia with a passion. Latia hated Rias just as much.
"I knew it," Rias shouted. "She is trying to steal you from me. Don't let her, So-tan. I am your best friend."
"Can you stop being overdramatic for one second?" Sona said, exhausted. "Latia is not trying to steal me from you. I'm not an object. It would be really nice if the two of you could talk without trying to tear each other apart."
Rias scoffed, looking as if she had just swallowed a lemon. "That is because you don't know her. She is a two faced scheming bitch."
Latia had said something similar about Rias. Sona thought their feud was pointless, especially since they had once been close friends back at the academy. She refused to lose one friend for the other, even though Rias remained her best friend.
"Lady Rias is correct about the prince though," Tsubaki said, speaking up for the first time. "He could hardly be called nice even on his best days. People don't change that easily."
"I know that," Sona replied calmly. "I'm not saying he turned into a saint overnight. He simply seemed nicer compared to before. And we never truly knew him back then anyway. You forget how charming and charismatic he used to be. He was the most popular devil of our generation, with countless friends and admirers."
Prince Meruem was one year older than them, so they had never interacted with him much. She doubted he even remembered their names. Yet everyone from their generation knew who he was. How could they not.
The most talented devil of their time. The sheer number of records he held at the academy and the mountain of awards he had earned made it impossible to ignore him.
He had been an object of love and envy in equal measure. Sona remembered the feeling of hopelessness that came with seeing his achievements.
"Look at you," Rias said, amused. "Already defending your future boyfriend, huh. Weren't you the one who called him a horrible person?"
"I did," Sona replied evenly. "And he was. He wouldn't have killed Malakh otherwise. And you know I'm not fond of him to begin with."
She did not like him. He made her feel inadequate without even trying. He had been pleasant to talk to at the banquet and she had even laughed with him. Still, charming did not mean kind.
"Oh yeah," Rias said as if she had just remembered. "You always preferred the broody one."
"Prince Belathriel is not broody," Sona said in his defense.
Prince Belathriel strangely reminded her of herself. Both had been born to older siblings whose talent they could never match. Serafall had always been a wonderful sister. The relationship between the Beleth siblings, on the other hand, was far from healthy.
"You can't have both, Sona," Rias said. "Don't be greedy. You are either with Meruem or with Belathriel. Everyone knows that."
"Dammit, Rias, we're not kids who fight about who we can ship ourselves with," Sona said.
Rias only kept teasing her and laughing, most likely as payback for losing the chess game. Honestly, the Gremory heiress could be such a sore loser.
AN: Chapters where no one is really plotting anything are fun to write. Anyway, I just find it a bit annoying that in canon all the girls are friends with each other, so I made Rias and Latia have a rocky relationship. They're teenagers, after all.
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