Chapter 28
POV: Meruem
“I wouldn’t move if I were you. It’ll just make the chains tighter.”
Meruem watched the giant kneeling before him, which was a rather funny sight when he still towered over him by well over a dozen feet even in that position, his enormous frame wrapped in glowing divine chains that dug through flesh and spirit alike with every futile twitch.
The nephilim had seen better days. Compared to the monstrous figure who had beaten him to death five days ago, Naburazad now looked like the corpse of his former self wearing the remnants of its own skin. His once impossibly muscular frame had withered with alarming speed, the flesh hanging loosely from his bones while deep wrinkles carved themselves across his face, his skin sagging as though decades were passing with every heartbeat. Gray spread through his hair like frost creeping across a battlefield at dawn, and strands fell away one by one whenever he moved.
The nephilim ignored the warning and flexed one of his four arms. The chains immediately constricted with enough force to crack stone, sinking deeper into his flesh as divine runes flared across their surface, and a low grunt escaped him before he relaxed once more.
“You don’t look surprised to see me again.” Meruem slowly circled his prisoner, studying the body that remained overwhelmingly powerful even after the effects of Kuroka’s curse had ravaged it.
Maybe I should get four arms too, Meruem mused. After personally experiencing just how obnoxious they were to fight against, he could confidently say the advantage they gave in close combat couldn’t be overstated. Twice the arms meant twice the options. Having two hearts wouldn’t hurt either. Or being twenty feet tall, for that matter.
Though… he wasn’t exactly a vain person, but permanently walking around as a four-armed giant the size of a house wasn’t particularly appealing either. Maybe I should just make some kind of battle transformation instead. Like a Super Saiyan? The thought amused him. The possibility of suddenly running into someone completely out of your league was never zero, something he had now learned the hard way, and having a transformation that boosted his combat power severalfold for those rare occasions seemed like a genuinely sensible investment. The only thing he didn’t like about the idea was that, by nature, Meruem had always disliked temporary power ups.
“I figured the Sephiroth Graal user would resurrect you,” Naburazad said calmly.
“You even managed to figure out her exact Sacred Gear?” Meruem asked with genuine admiration.
Naburazad fixed his six eyes back toward Meruem. “How did you acquire chains of this caliber? I would have torn through them like wet paper had it been only your demonic energy powering it.”
“A trade secret, I’m afraid.” Meruem smiled faintly. He had to admit, it stung his pride that the Nephilim could speak with such casual arrogance while remaining entirely correct.
The final piece of his plan, namely imprisoning the Nephilim with the very same magical chains Rossweisse had once used against him during one of their sparring sessions, rested entirely upon a single problem. Meruem had to forge chains powerful enough to restrain a creature whose raw strength eclipsed his own several times over. Under ordinary circumstances, that would have been impossible.
Ars Vinculum, a name Rossweisse had coined with all the imagination of a brick, was perhaps the simplest binding spell in existence. If the caster’s magical reserves exceeded those of the target, the chains became inescapable restraints. If the target proved stronger, however, they could simply overwhelm the spell through brute force, just as Meruem himself had done when Rossweisse had attempted to bind him during training.
The only reason those chains now held Naburazad at all was because of the [King Piece]. Its unique ability was the amplification of power, magnifying whatever it was applied to by a staggering degree. By weaving that amplification directly into Ars Vinculum, Meruem transformed what would ordinarily have been little more than an inconvenience for the Nephilim into divine shackles capable of restraining even a monster of his caliber.
“Is this the part where you gloat about your miraculous victory?” Naburazad asked, his eyes settling upon him once again while another handful of gray hairs drifted silently from his scalp.
“Somehow I can’t bring myself to celebrate such a farcical victory. I am not so delusional as to believe I could have defeated you on my own. My peerage defeated you, not me.”
“Your peerage is an extension of your will,” Naburazad replied. “A king does not cease to be victorious because another swings the sword. The battle was decided the moment your design proved superior to mine. I lost. That is all there is to it.”
“Are you simply going to accept that everything you’ve worked for ends here?” Meruem asked quietly.
“I?” Naburazad smiled faintly. “I am but one traveler walking a road countless others walked before me and countless more shall walk after I am gone. I am a single cog within a machine so vast that even the gods cannot perceive its entirety. Whether I witness the culmination of our purpose with my own eyes has never mattered. I planted my seed knowing another would enjoy its fruit. If my death advances our cause by even a single step, then I embrace it gladly. The purpose was always greater than the man.”
Meruem regarded him silently before inclining his head with genuine respect. “What would you say to becoming part of my peerage?”
It was hardly a bad idea, in his opinion. If Meruem could persuade someone as powerful as Naburazad to join his peerage, the influence and soft power he would gain would be immense, and if there was one thing Meruem excelled at, it was never letting an opportunity go to waste.
“You truly are a Beleth,” Naburazad said, genuine amusement coloring his voice. “Only one born of that house would have the audacity to utter such a proposal with a straight face. You ask me, the War Prince of Babel, to become your servant? I stood upon the walls of the First City when its towers still sought to rival the heavens. Kingdoms that imagined themselves eternal vanished beneath my banners, and the blood of kings watered the earth wherever my armies marched. I have traded blows with gods whose names have long since faded from the tongues of mortals. And now a young devil, scarcely old enough to shave, asks that I become another piece upon his board.”
“I could give you the justice Satanael promised you,” Meruem said casually. “Frankly, I think the gods have had their turn. They’ve been sitting at the top for long enough, don’t you think? It’s about time someone knocked them off their thrones. Join me and we’ll drag those self-appointed custodians of creation from their pedestals and rebuild the world in our image.”
After dying for the second time, Meruem Beleth arrived at a rather humbling conclusion. There was always a bigger fish. One could reign supreme within the comfortable confines of a little pond, feared by every creature unfortunate enough to share its waters, only to be carried by the current into a river where the old hierarchy ceased to matter, and from there into an ocean vast enough that one’s former supremacy became almost quaint. Strength, it turned out, was an exceedingly local phenomenon.
Seen from that perspective, his ambition of becoming Emperor of Hell suddenly felt… oddly provincial.
Hell was only a single corner of an immeasurably larger cosmos, one realm among countless others stitched together into the tapestry of creation. Even the Super Devils, monsters whose very existence inspired awe throughout the Underworld, stood upon no unrivaled peak. Across the various pantheons existed gods capable of contending with them. True, they were hardly ordinary deities, but they existed all the same.
Then there were the Dragon Gods…
Meruem had died twice and returned twice, and both experiences had reinforced the same preference. Living agreed with him far more than the alternative. Better still was ensuring he would never again come so uncomfortably close to testing which state he preferred. That left only one reasonable course of action - aim to the peak.
He would simply become stronger than everything else. Great Red. Ophis. Gods. Devils. It hardly mattered who presently occupied the summit. If there remained even a single being capable of threatening him, then his sovereignty would forever be conditional. And a sovereign whose reign depended upon another’s restraint was not truly sovereign at all.
This changes very little about my dream, he mused. Only the scope of it.
“I would rather die standing than live kneeling,” Naburazad declared.
Meruem sighed almost regretfully. “As you wish.”
He crossed the distance in an instant and, with a single motion, ripped the True Nephilim’s head from his shoulders. The massive body stood for a heartbeat before a torrent of blood erupted from the ragged neck, staining the frozen earth crimson. It swayed once, then collapsed with a thunderous crash, the illusory chains binding it dissolving into countless motes of light as life finally abandoned the ancient giant.
Meruem looked upon the fallen giant for a long while. No matter the height from which one looked down upon the world, every road eventually descended toward the same grave. Man and devil, angel and god, prince and pauper, all were gathered by the same patient hand that neither hurried nor delayed.
He remembered an old parable of a rich man clothed in purple and a beggar clothed in rags, both lowered into the earth until wealth and misery alike became food for worms, and he found himself smiling faintly at the thought. Death possessed no reverence for pedigree. Even a True Nephilim, born to wage war against the heavens themselves, had proved no exception. The gears by which life and death turned had no favorites, and the wheel ground alike the mighty cedar and the smallest blade of grass until both became dust awaiting the breath of another dawn.
Meruem finally turned his attention away from Naburazad’s corpse and surveyed the battlefield. The landscape had become an unrecognizable wasteland of fractured ice and shattered earth. One after another, familiar magical circles blossomed across the ruined plain as the members of his peerage emerged, Lavinia arriving alongside them.
“How was death?” he asked Kuroka with a grin.
“One out of ten,” Kuroka replied without missing a beat. “Terrible experience. Wouldn’t recommend it to anyone!”
Meruem chuckled, though the smile in her voice did little to hide the lingering shock behind her golden eyes.
The soul poison Kuroka had created with Valerie’s help had been the linchpin of the plan and it came with one rather unfortunate requirement. Kuroka actually had to die before it activated. Only then would the poison be able to affect a True Nephilim. The gap between her and Naburazad was simply too absurd. A normal soul poison, no matter how ingenious, wouldn’t have done anything to him.
Once the condition of Kuroka’s death was fulfilled, it became something even Naburazad couldn’t simply shrug off. It was a steep price, but fortunately one they could afford. Valerie could just bring Kuroka back with the [Sephiroth Graal] afterward. Even so, Meruem decided this wasn’t something he wanted to make a habit of. The Graal was said to exact a terrible price from those who relied on it too often, slowly eroding the user’s sanity. He had no desire to work his obedient bishop into madness just because resurrection happened to be an option.
“Was death a big-titted goth MILF?” Leonardo asked, posing what was undoubtedly the most important question.
Meruem doubted there even was a humanoid personification of death, or any anthropomorphic incarnation of it for that matter. He could speak with some authority on the subject, having died twice himself, and neither experience had involved meeting a big-titted goth, or indeed anything at all.
“Not that I can recall…?” Kuroka replied, sounding more confused than anything else. “From my perspective, I just fell asleep, had no dreams, and then suddenly woke up again. I don’t remember anything beyond that.”
“Boring,” Leonardo declared, thoroughly unimpressed and Meruem found himself in complete agreement.
If there truly was no personification of death, then Meruem supposed he would simply have to settle for one of the many goddesses of death scattered across the various pagan pantheons. Hel seemed the obvious choice. As the daughter of Loki and queen of the Norse underworld, she almost certainly possessed the sort of gothic aesthetic one would expect from someone who ruled over the dead. Perhaps he should simply add her to his harem. As for Loki, every father deserved a proper bridal gift, and Meruem could think of few more fitting than Ragnarok itself. It was, admittedly, an expensive wedding present, but one ought not be stingy with one’s future father-in-law.
Meruem turned his attention to the others. “Alright, playtime’s over. Rossweisse and Tobio should be attacking the other hideout by now to rescue the students. Everyone except Valerie is heading there to reinforce them. Valerie and I still have some business to finish here.”
No one questioned the order. Leonardo unfurled his wings first, Kuroka and Natsume following close behind as the three of them took to the sky. Lavinia lingered for a brief moment, her sapphire eyes meeting his for a moment, before she too drifted after the others atop her floating magic.
Once they had disappeared beyond the horizon, Meruem turned back toward the enormous corpse of the True Nephilim. Even in death, Naburazad radiated an oppressive grandeur that refused to diminish. With a series of practiced incantations, Meruem layered preservation spells over the body before opening a teleportation circle beneath it. The giant corpse vanished into crimson light, sent to a place only he could access. A True Nephilim’s body was far too precious a resource to waste. He was certain he’d find a use for it eventually.
Without pause, he conjured another magic circle. Unlike the previous one, this circle glowed a deep crimson, a horned goat’s skull resting within the heart of a pentagram, the unmistakable sigil of the Dark Prince. From it emerged his zealot priestess, Meredith Ordinton, still clad in the rather risqué vestments of the High Priestess of his cult.
Meredith bowed deeply before him. “Beloved Master… this servant’s heart knows no greater joy than being summoned to your side once more. Every day without your presence is an age of longing and to behold you once more is a grace this servant shall cherish for all eternity.”
“Who is she, master?” Vslerie asked, looking confused at the kneeling girl.
He preferred to keep his identity as King Meruem separate from his persona as the Dark Prince. Blurring the two served little purpose beyond inviting unnecessary scrutiny, and secret cults tended to survive far longer when they remained, well, secret. The older members of his peerage had naturally become aware of Meredith and the organization surrounding her over the years, but Valerie had only recently earned enough of his trust to be entrusted with that particular corner of his affairs.
Meredith finally lifted her head, regarding Valerie with the gentle pity of a missionary meeting one who had yet to discover salvation.
“I am Meredith Ordinton, the High Priestess of His infernal Majesty’s sacred congregation,” she said with unmistakable pride. “It is my greatest honor to spread the truth of my lord’s majesty, to guide wandering souls toward his divine wisdom, and to devote every breath of my existence to his glorious will. To serve at his feet is the highest blessing this world can bestow, and I pray that one day you, too, shall come to understand the immeasurable grace of standing in his light.”
Valerie blinked, her curiosity thoroughly piqued. “A… sacred congregation?”
Meredith’s expression brightened at once, as though she had just been invited to speak of her favorite subject in the world.
“Indeed.” She folded her hands reverently over her chest. “It is a fellowship of extraordinary individuals united beneath the benevolent guidance of His Infernal Majesty. Those who seek more from life than quiet mediocrity. Those who refuse to let the small minds of the world dictate the limits of their ambition.”
Valerie leaned forward ever so slightly, listening with complete attention. Meredith naturally interpreted the gesture as genuine interest.
“Walk the path of our Lord and every longing of your heart shall find its proper harvest.” She continued with serene conviction, “The greedy shall discover fortunes beyond imagination, for the world overflows with wealth waiting only for those bold enough to claim it. The lustful shall drink deeply from every pleasure their hearts have ever yearned for, free from the shackles of shame imposed by lesser creeds. The proud shall ascend to heights where their names inspire admiration and envy in equal measure.
“The wrathful shall find righteous purpose for their fury, until every grievance is answered and every enemy brought low. The slothful shall be delivered from the burdens that steal the joy of living, leaving them free to savor every comfort existence has to offer. The envious shall transform longing into achievement, taking for themselves the greatness they once admired only from afar. Even the gluttonous shall indulge without restraint, tasting every abundance this world has hidden from ordinary men. Every disciple walks the path most suited to their own heart, for His Majesty alone understands that no two souls desire the same paradise.”
Meruem watched the exchange unfold in silence. At first, he found it rather entertaining. Meredith had an almost supernatural ability to turn every conversation into a sermon, and seeing Valerie politely endure it had its own charm. That amusement began to fade, however, when he noticed the genuine concentration on Valerie’s face as she listened with rapt attention. In hindsight, introducing a fanatical zealot like Meredith to someone as earnest and impressionable as Valerie might not have been one of his more inspired decisions. He appeared to have accidentally created the perfect conditions for missionary work.
“Of course,” Meredith continued with growing enthusiasm, “great blessings demand worthy resolve. Every member pledges themselves to the pursuit of excellence, to the relentless cultivation of the aspirations that define them. Such is the boundless wisdom of our beloved Lord, who alone possesses the courage to free mankind from the prison of its own self-imposed limitations.”
Valerie’s crimson eyes seemed to shine a little brighter with every sentence.
“Your lord sounds…” She hesitated, searching for the proper word. “…magnificent.”
Meredith’s smile became almost dreamy. “He is, my lady. One cannot adequately describe His Majesty with mere language. To stand in his presence is to understand that all earthly crowns are cheap imitations of true sovereignty. Every kindness he bestows is an act of profound infernal grace. Every contract he offers is an opportunity to ascend beyond the ordinary. There exists no dream too grand for his wisdom, no ambition too lofty for his guidance, no soul too lost to flourish beneath his benevolent gaze.”
At this rate, the High Priestess would have Valerie reciting liturgy and enthusiastically recruiting others before the afternoon was over.
“Meredith,” Meruem said with a weary sigh. “This is Valerie Tepes, my bishop. It isn’t necessary to regale her with tales of my… magnificence.”
“It’s always necessary to spread tales of your greatness, my lord,” Meredith replied without a hint of irony. “Every soul that learns of your glory is another step toward the salvation of this fallen world. But if it is your wish that I postpone today’s sermon, then I shall refrain… for now.”
Meredith then turned her attention to Valerie, slowly appraising her from head to toe with the critical eye of someone judging whether another deserved the privilege of standing beside her lord. For the briefest of moments, Meruem could have sworn he caught a distinctly murderous glint pass through her eyes before it disappeared behind her usual expression of serene devotion.
“My lord,” Meredith asked, her gaze finally leaving Valerie as she surveyed the frozen wasteland around them. “Where are we, if I may be permitted to ask?”
“We’re inside a pocket dimension belonging to an organization that displeased me,” Meruem answered simply.
He found himself slipping rather effortlessly into the role of an inscrutable sovereign. That, he supposed, was simply good management. One of the first principles of cultivating a cult of personality was never to contradict the legends your followers eagerly invented on your behalf. It was a far better investment to allow the faithful to imagine omnipotence than to burden them with mundane details.
“Blasphemy!” Meredith’s voice rang across the frozen plain with startling force. “What wretched fools dared incur your displeasure, my lord? What manner of madness possessed them to raise their hands against the one destined to shepherd this world? Speak but a single word and I shall summon your faithful. We shall march beneath your banner, purge the unbelievers with fire and steel, and leave no trace of those who dared profane your sacred name. Command us, my lord. We exist for no higher purpose.”
A crusade in his name. Meruem had to admit, that appealed to his vanity in all the right ways.
Meruemus Vult. It had a rather pleasing ring to it.
“That won’t be necessary,” Meruem said. “They’ve already been dealt with.”
“As you will it,” Meredith replied, bowing her head. “So shall it be.”
Meruem activated another teleportation circle, its crimson light swallowing the three of them before carrying them to a destination only he knew. The familiar chamber greeted them moments later, dominated by the immense spiraling vortex doorway. Meredith’s eyes widened ever so slightly as she beheld it, though wisely kept her questions to herself.
Without hesitation, Meruem pushed open the colossal gate and stepped inside the vast chamber beyond.
“Hello, Azrael. We meet again.” The majestic Angel of Death remained exactly where he had left her, blindfolded, bound in countless chains, yet somehow retaining an almost unbearable dignity despite her captivity.
“So we do, Meruem of House Beleth,” Azrael replied, inclining her head ever so slightly. “And thou hast brought new company.”
“I have a proposition for you. A simple one.” Meruem clasped his hands behind his back. “It concerns your freedom… and a common enemy.”
“A common enemy?” Azrael repeated.
“Naburazad is dead by my hand,” Meruem said simply. “Before long I’ll erase everything the Utsusemi Agency built here. By the time I’m finished here, centuries of Satanael’s work will have been reduced to rubble. Needless to say, I doubt he’ll take that well. At present, I’d rather not add him to the list of enemies actively trying to kill me. So here’s my offer. Become my servant. Be the blade I keep hidden should Satanael seek revenge, and I’ll give you your freedom.”
Recruiting Azrael had been part of his plan from the moment he learned of her existence and decided the Utsusemi Agency had to be destroyed. His battle with Naburazad had served as an uncomfortably vivid reminder of his own mortality, and Meruem had no intention of gambling with his life so carelessly again.
The problem, of course, was that the nature of his ambition all but guaranteed he would continue challenging opponents stronger than himself. Until the day he reached the summit, he would always be punching above his weight. That made Azrael invaluable. She would be the hidden card no one expected, his insurance against the inevitable day another monster decided to stand in his way, at least until he grew strong enough to meet every challenge head on himself.
“I must respectfully decline thy offer,” Azrael answered, bowing her head. “For I am a servant of the Most High, fashioned by His hand and sustained by His grace. Unto Him alone have I pledged mine heart, mine strength, and mine eternal obedience. Neither suffering nor bondage hath loosened that sacred covenant, nor shall the passing of ages diminish it. I would sooner let these chains become my grave than willingly bind myself unto the adversary of my Lord. Such a betrayal shall never pass my lips, nor take root within my soul.”
“God is dead!” Meruem said coldly. “He has been dead since the end of the Great War, but Heaven continues to stagger forward on the inertia of an age that has already ended. It’s time you angels accepted reality instead of clinging to memories and empty hope. He isn’t coming back, Azrael. No one is coming to save you. Whatever faith you still place in His return is nothing more than a delusion. I am the only one standing before you with both the will and the power to break your chains. Put your faith in me instead.”
“May the Lord rebuke thee, Accuser!” Azrael answered bitterly. “Though this prison endure another thousand years, yea, another ten thousand, still shall my answer remain unchanged. My chains are lighter than treachery, and my torment sweeter than faithlessness. The Lord is the beginning of my being and the end toward which my soul forever journeys. No darkness shall eclipse His light within me, no promise purchase that which already belongs to Him, and no crown tempt me to forsake the hand that first gave me life. My heart was His before the foundations of the world were laid, and His it shall remain until the last star falls silent. I shall serve no other.”
“Pity,” Meruem said, unsurprised by the rejection. “It would have been far simpler if you had chosen to serve me of your own free will, but I suppose expecting an angel to embrace the obvious was asking a bit much.”
“My answer shall remain the same in a thousand years as it is today,” Azrael replied without hesitation. “A million years would not change it. If thy purpose here is merely to tempt me, then spare us both the time and strike me down, fiend.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain,” Meruem said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he turned toward his priestess. “Meredith, my dear, this angel refuses to abandon her heathen faith. She’s still waiting for salvation from a dead God.” He sighed theatrically. “It’s rather sad, don’t you think?”
Meredith’s eyes narrowed with profound disappointment as she regarded the bound seraph.
“It grieves me to behold a soul so radiant choosing to dwell in darkness. You kneel before an empty throne while living divinity stands before you in flesh and blood.”
She raised a single hand. Three black iron nails, each radiating an unmistakably holy aura, rose into the air around her before drifting toward the imprisoned Angel of Death with slow, dreadful purpose.
“Hearken, lost lamb, unto the First Revelation of His Infernal Majesty. Blessed are they who forsake the sepulchers of dead gods, for they shall inherit the age to come. Woe unto those who kneel before silent heavens and cling to empty thrones, for they bind themselves with chains heavier than iron and call their bondage virtue.”
For the second time since Meruem had met her, terror crossed Azrael’s face. Her empty eye sockets widened as the holy nails drew nearer.
“N-no…” she whispered, panic breaking through her composure. “Th-the Alphecca Tyrant… Merciful Lord, no…” Her voice trembled. “I beseech thee… have mercy upon me. Please… anything but this. I beg thee, do not rob me of my will.”
Her pleas fell upon deaf ears. Meruem merely watched, though he caught Valerie trembling beside him, her expression twisted with horror as she struggled to endure the sight of the angel’s despair.
“I do not condemn thee, Lady Azrael.” Meredith said sorrowfully. “Thou art but a wandering lamb, abandoned by a shepherd who shall never return to gather his flock. Long hast thou cried unto deaf heavens, and long hast thou mistaken silence for mercy. Thy faith hath become thy prison, thy hope thy fetters, and thy devotion the veil that blindeth thine eyes from the living majesty that standeth before thee.”
A serene, almost maternal smile graced Meredith’s lips. Then the first nail, the very instrument that had once fastened Christ to the Cross, drove through Azrael’s left hand. The second pierced her right. The third buried itself deep within her forehead.
“Cast aside the covenant of a forgotten age.” Meredith spoke thus. “Let the dust of dead creeds be washed from thy soul. Open thine heart unto His Infernal Grace, whose mercy is not found in hollow promises, but in gifts bestowed, dreams fulfilled, and purpose made manifest. Lay down the burden of waiting, and embrace the sovereign who answereth when called.”
Her hand remained outstretched. “Come home, little lamb. The Shepherd of thy former days hath forsaken thee. His Infernal Majesty calleth thee now as one of His own flock. Receive the grace of thy true King, and be made whole.”
[Alphecca Tyrant] originally possessed two abilities. The first was the creation of nails forged from holy aura. The second was the ability to brainwash its victims once certain conditions had been fulfilled. Meredith’s [Alphecca Tyrant], however, had evolved into a subspecies. While it retained the holy nails, its second ability had become something altogether more terrifying. Those struck by the nails could have the very concepts that defined them rewritten.
It was a thoroughly absurd ability. Which was precisely why Meruem had brought Meredith with him.
He had known from the very beginning that Azrael would refuse. An angel of her stature was never going to abandon God simply because a devil made a persuasive offer. Nor was Meruem about to free her and allow her to return to Heaven. There was no advantage in doing so, especially when Satanael would soon discover that Meruem had destroyed centuries of his work. If he was going to make an enemy of someone like Satanael, he intended to get something worthwhile in return.
Azrael’s unwavering loyalty to God simply needed… a slight adjustment.
A familiar tug echoed through the House of Beleth’s communication circle. Meruem accepted the connection, mildly curious. Rossweisse couldn’t possibly have finished rescuing the students already.
“Master,” Rossweisse said. “Vali Lucifer is here.”
AN: This chapter got pretty dark toward the end, but unless you've been giving Meruem an extremely charitable interpretation, it probably shouldn't come as too much of a surprise.
He could have brainwashed Naburazad as well. I'll leave the exact reason why he didn't up to interpretation for now. Maybe it was out of respect for the first person who ever defeated him so thoroughly. Or maybe he simply decided that keeping a true Nephilim as a servant was far too dangerous, especially since it would likely make him the enemy of every major pantheon the moment it became public knowledge.