I got Reincarnated Into High School DxD But I Refuse to Be a Slave to Anime Tiddies Chapter 63

Chapter 63

POV: Serafall Leviathan

“From one rapist to another,” the son of Lucifer said sagely, “it’s always better to let them run, or better yet, give them a sliver of hope. It makes crushing it all the sweeter. My personal favorite method is to bring a servant along and have him attack your chosen victim first. Once he has her pinned to the ground and her clothes are torn - pay close attention to what comes next - this is the most important part. When she screams and screams, begging for someone - anyone - to save her, don’t rush in. Don’t get carried away by excitement and reveal yourself too soon.

“No. Let her continue to struggle. Let her fight. Let her cling desperately to the belief that rescue will come. Then let that hope die. Let her reach the point where she can no longer scream. Let her voice break. Let her stop fighting and simply lie there, silently weeping as she waits for the nightmare to end. That is when you make your entrance. Drive your servant away like some noble hero from a fairy tale. Rescue the poor maiden from her torment. By that point, she’ll have abandoned all expectations of salvation, which is precisely why your arrival will overwhelm her. Relief, gratitude, hope…emotions so intense they become almost intoxicating.

“And that’s when the fun part starts. When her eyes are shining with genuine happiness, when she looks upon you as her savior, when she believes she has been delivered from despair. That is when you reveal the truth. That’s when you become the monster she thought you had come to defeat. The look on their faces at that moment...” He shuddered in grotesque delight. “The instant hope turns to horror. The instant relief becomes betrayal. The instant they realize there was never any salvation coming at all. There is no sweeter expression in all of creation.”

Col Stolas, the current head of House Stolas, said as he listened with rapt attention to what he regarded as Rizevim’s indisputable wisdom. “So the point is to give them the illusion of safety before tearing that safety net away? Then would it heighten the satisfaction if, after revealing the truth to the poor whore, you invited your servant into the room so she could watch the two of you laugh at her together?”

“I don’t like sharing what’s mine, so I wouldn’t know,” Rizevim Livan Lucifer replied with complete indifference. “Though it isn’t a bad idea.”

Serafall Leviathan found herself wishing that some grotesque accident of fate would choose this very moment to erase everything within ten miles, reducing the room, its occupants, and herself among them to nothing more than drifting ash. Death was mercy compared to another hour spent listening to these creatures speak. 

Lord Stolas, who had murdered his own elder brother to inherit the position as head of House Stolas after Rizevim seized power, listened with shining eyes as though every syllable that left the Great Serpent’s lips carried divine revelation. 

Rizevim sat at the head of the table while his generals stretched outward to either side according to his favor, each seat measuring the worth of its occupant. Serafall herself was seated near the very end with only a single unfortunate soul placed even farther away. Her gaze drifted toward the tall, bespectacled woman with sun kissed skin, revealing clothing, and a permanent scowl carved into her features. Serafall almost laughed at the absurdity of realizing that she and Katerea Leviathan were apparently held in nearly equal regard by Rizevim, with Serafall somehow enjoying the marginally higher position.

On Rizevim’s right sat Euclid Lucifuge, a beautiful silver haired man whose resemblance to Grayfia was almost unsettling until one remembered they were twins. To Rizevim’s left sat Zaorama Nebiros, pale, hairless, and impossibly tall with a chilling grin permanently sitting on his face.

“…Wouldn’t you agree, Serafall?”

Rizevim Livan Lucifer’s voice cut cleanly through her thoughts, and Serafall started ever so slightly before forcing herself back into the present. His crimson eyes rested upon her with expectant amusement, waiting patiently for an answer that she had not heard the question for.

“I… Your Infernal Grace…” she began, unable to suppress the slight tremor in her voice.

She had made the amateur mistake of believing that remaining quiet would somehow make her invisible. She had not paid the slightest attention to the conversation, having been far too occupied trying to keep her own revulsion hidden beneath an expression of detached obedience.

“Are you deaf?” Rizevim asked with visible annoyance. “I let you keep the title of Leviathan because I expected you to be considerably more attentive than our dear Katerea. Did I overestimate you? I asked what you thought of Stolas’s observation.”

Serafall swallowed the dozen biting replies that immediately sprang to mind. Survival demanded humility, even when every instinct begged her to spit in his face.

“I believe Lord Stolas raises a fair point, Your Infernal Grace,” she said after a brief pause. “Most people cling to whatever hope they can find when they're trapped in a terrible situation. In the example you gave, the woman would probably convince herself that the man who saved her from the first attacker must be different somehow. She would tell herself that one is a monster while the other still has some shred of decency, simply because he arrived as her rescuer, even though both ultimately intend to do the same thing. When that illusion is stripped away and she discovers that both men were working together from the beginning, she loses the one thing that helped her endure the situation.”

Rizevim’s lips slowly curled upward. “Well said,” he murmured with genuine satisfaction. “You understand people better than I expected.”

Serafall inclined her head obediently. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

She felt physically ill at the praise. Her fingers curled ever so slightly behind her back. The things I do for love, she thought bitterly. 

She hated herself for it. Somewhere deep within her heart she knew how selfish she was. Others had abandoned everything to join the rebellion. Others had watched family members die because they refused to kneel. She had remained, clinging desperately to the hope that she could somehow save the person she loved most while preserving enough of herself to look into a mirror afterward.

Whenever the guilt threatened to overwhelm her, she reminded herself that remaining within Rizevim’s inner circle served a purpose beyond mere survival. Every meeting she attended, every order she overheard, every whispered conversation between the architects of this nightmare became another piece of information that might one day save lives. If she could continue feeding that knowledge to the rebels, then perhaps her silence had not been entirely worthless.

It was a frail consolation, though it was the only one she possessed.

Rizevim’s expression gradually became serious. “Alright, playtime is over. Let’s return to the tedious matters that unfortunately keep kingdoms running. Euclid, if you would be so kind.”

“With pleasure, my lord,” Euclid Lucifuge replied. “The collection of sentimental degenerates styling themselves as a rebellion launched an attack within House Astaroth’s territory, murdered loyal servants engaged in His Majesty’s sacred work, and spirited away nearly ten thousand false devils. Such blasphemous carrion, such shrieking apostles of mediocrity, cannot be permitted to continue fouling the soil of our kingdom. Their arrogance demands correction. ”

She felt a flicker of satisfaction. Her intelligence had helped make the rescue possible.

“Lord Astaroth,” Euclid continued, his gaze settling upon the current head of House Astaroth seated midway down the long chamber. “Permit me a simple question. Do you doubt the might of our Lord? Do you imagine that these self proclaimed revolutionaries possess even the faintest possibility of obstructing the glorious future His Majesty intends to bestow upon this world?”

“Never!” Lord Astaroth answered immediately, his composure cracking beneath the sudden scrutiny. “Never, Lord Euclid. These so-called rebels are little more than an inconvenience. A swarm of flies buzzing around a lion.”

“A nuisance,” Euclid repeated thoughtfully. “Yes. A nuisance. Then perhaps you would indulge my curiosity and explain how this nuisance infiltrated your territory, slew two of our commanders together with their accompanying forces, and liberated ten thousand false devils directly beneath your administration.”

Euclid had neither raised his voice nor released so much as a flicker of demonic power, but every noble present instinctively understood the danger of the moment. He was the right hand of Rizevim Lucifer himself. His displeasure was merely the visible expression of his master’s displeasure. To disappoint Euclid was to disappoint Rizevim. There existed few positions more precarious in the entire Underworld.

Lord Astaroth visibly swallowed. Serafall found herself experiencing a shamefully satisfying surge of schadenfreude at the man’s predicament. Lord Astaroth had eagerly embraced Rizevim’s regime and happily lent his support to dismantling the very system Ajuka had devoted centuries to building. Serafall found precious little sympathy within herself for such a man.

“I underestimated them, Lord Euclid,” Lord Astaroth admitted, lowering his head. “I believed Lord Egminas Paimon and Lord Bedez Abaddon, together with their peerages and my own son, would be sufficient to safeguard the convoy.”

Lord Astaroth suddenly cried out in agony, clutching at the side of his head as blood poured freely between his trembling fingers. Serafall’s eyes widened only slightly before she realized what had happened. She noticed the severed ear lying upon the polished floor beneath his chair. She realized that Euclid had sliced it cleanly away with nothing more than the idle flick of a finger, never moving so much as a single step from where he stood. Euclid showed no greater emotion than a man wiping rainwater from a window.

“I have no interest whatsoever in your excuses,” Euclid said, his voice retaining that same almost scholarly composure. “Excuses are the final refuge of mediocrity. You underestimated your enemy, you say, as though it were an unfortunate miscalculation. It was nothing of the sort. The privilege of underestimating one’s opponent belongs exclusively to those whose superiority has been proven beyond dispute. Remember this well. Pride unsupported by strength breeds incompetence. Incompetence breeds failure. Failure betrays His Majesty’s vision. Therefore incompetence is a sin.”

Euclid met every gaze in the chamber with serene confidence, silently inviting contradiction from any soul courageous enough to offer it. No one dared refute him. 

“We shall therefore rectify this embarrassment,” Euclid continued. “The anonymous little insect styling himself Zero has amused me for long enough. The existence of devils who refuse to bend the knee before His Majesty is intolerable to any rational mind. Accordingly, locating every rebel hideout and exterminating every last member of this self proclaimed revolution shall henceforth become one of our highest priorities. We have indulged these delusions long enough. It’s time their little fantasy reached its inevitable conclusion.”

Serafall felt a knot tighten within her stomach. Until now the rebellion had survived largely because Rizevim and his inner circle regarded it as little more than an inconvenience beneath their notice. That complacency had granted the rebels precious time to rescue prisoners, gather allies, and construct hidden networks throughout the Underworld. Those days had just come to an end. The rebellion had finally attracted the attention of the one man in Rizevim’s court whose patience was every bit as dangerous as his fanaticism.

“Are they truly important enough to warrant our personal attention?” Meron Naberius asked in his usual lazy drawl. “Forgive the impertinence, my lord, but from where I stand, these so-called rebels are little more than ants trying to bite a polar bear. Mildly amusing to watch, certainly, though hardly deserving of concern. Besides, isn’t there a certain comedy in watching a gathering of self-righteous fools convince themselves they’re heroes destined to thwart your designs?”

Serafall glanced sideways at Lord Naberius, unable to hide her surprise. It was not often someone openly questioned one of Euclid’s proposals in Lord Rizevim’s presence, even if he did so with impeccable courtesy. Meron was an enigma to her. There was a peculiar dissatisfaction about him, the look of a man who had spent centuries chasing something he believed would finally give his life meaning, only to discover that reality possessed far less splendor than the dream. It made her wonder what sort of relationship he had once shared with Haruki Yamashiro.

Lord Rizevim idly tapped a finger against the armrest of his throne, the soft rhythm echoing through the silent chamber before a broad smile slowly spread across his face.

“You are, of course, correct, Meron,” Rizevim replied pleasantly. “The rebels themselves are inconsequential. However, there exists one transgression above all others that I simply cannot abide. Pride, greed, wrath, envy, sloth, lust, gluttony… the seven cardinal sins have their uses. A world without vice would be dreadfully monotonous. Overreaching ignorance, however, that I cannot stand. To remain ignorant while believing oneself enlightened… to stand before the sovereign of Hell and imagine there exists another worthy of that title…That is unacceptable! Unforgivable!”

“As you will,” Meron Naberius replied with a shallow bow.

“Excellent,” Euclid said with evident satisfaction. “With that settled, we may proceed to the matter of eliminating the rebels and preparing for the invasion of the Fallen Angels.”

…huh?

An invasion?

Surely she had misheard. Her eyes instinctively swept across the chamber, searching the faces of the assembled nobles for some indication that her ears had deceived her. Instead she found the same bewilderment reflected in nearly every expression. Only Rizevim, Euclid, and the handful of devils closest to the throne remained perfectly composed, as though this declaration had been expected all along.

“Your pardon, my lord,” Lord Astaroth said cautiously, his confusion plainly visible. “What precisely do you mean by an invasion of the Fallen Angels?”

“It means exactly what it means,” Euclid replied, his irritation plainly audible. “Those feathered scavengers have lingered here for far too long, filling their empty heads with fantasies of parity and sovereignty. They suffer from the one sin His Infernal Majesty despises above all others, the sin of ignorance. They have no understanding of the order of creation, no comprehension of the immeasurable gulf separating devil from Fallen Angel, and no reverence for the throne before which every rational being ought to kneel. Such ignorance is contagious and it is our duty to cure them of that disease. Their race shall embrace submission with gratitude or embrace extinction through necessity. Those constitute the only conclusions worthy of devilkind, and His Infernal Majesty deserves nothing less than absolute dominion.”

“What true devil would have it any other way?” Zaoram Nebiros smiled pleasantly, the grease upon his lips glistening beneath the light. “Since we have arrived at the subject of cleansing impurities from our realm, I believe this is an appropriate moment to address the matter of the false devils…Certain sentimental minds have advanced the charming proposition that the labor these creatures presently perform for the war effort somehow purifies them of their ignoble origins, that sufficient toil in service to His Majesty washes away the stain of humanity and baptizes them into true devilhood.

“They imagine that once a human has been reshaped by those grotesque abominations known as Evil Pieces, once he adopts our customs, and professes loyalty to our race, he somehow crosses the threshold into becoming one of us. Simply absurd! A human remains a human. A youkai remains a youkai. Essence does not bend before desire, nor does blood surrender its nature because someone wishes otherwise. One may adorn a monkey with a crown and seat it upon a throne, though no kingdom shall mistake it for a king. 

“The populace continues entertaining the delightful rumor that once the Thirteen Great Mausoleums are completed, these false devils shall receive their freedom as a reward for faithful service. Such expectations are understandable. We permitted those fantasies to circulate without correction. Ambiguity, after all, has its uses. His Infernal Majesty has nevertheless concluded that clarity serves us better at this stage of our glorious undertaking. For that reason, His Infernal Majesty entrusted me with a singular honor. He commanded me to devise a permanent solution to the counterfeit race that has polluted the body of devilkind for far too long. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you Project Puritas Aeterna.”

…

…

…

Serafall left the meeting in a daze, her thoughts so tangled that even the familiar corridors of the Great Tower seemed strangely unfamiliar to her. It had been only a short while since Rizevim Livan Lucifer had seized the throne of Hell, but already he had begun steering the entire Underworld toward another Great War. 

She hated war.

She had seen enough of it to last several lifetimes. War meant children growing up without parents. She had spent centuries helping rebuild the Underworld after the last civil war, watching Sirzechs exhaust himself trying to drag devil society toward something resembling peace, and now one lunatic sitting upon a stolen throne intended to throw everything into the fire because his pride demanded another monument to his own greatness. 

She heard footsteps approaching from behind and turned her head just enough to recognize Katerea Leviathan. The former Leviathan’s face revealed absolutely nothing and merely made a small gesture for Serafall to follow before continuing down the corridor without slowing her pace or offering any explanation.

Curiosity eventually overcame caution, and Serafall quietly fell into step several paces behind her predecessor. Katerea walked briskly through the tower without explanation.  

I need to inform Falbium about the planned invasion and most importantly about Project Puritas Aeterna as quickly as possible, she thought. Azazel needed warning as well, although directly contacting the Governor General of the Fallen Angels from inside Rizevim’s headquarters sounded like an excellent way to discover just how creatively Euclid handled traitors. She had little doubt that every communication spell cast within these walls was being monitored by Zaorama Nebiros or some equally unpleasant genius. Falbium would receive her information first, and Falbium would know how to reach Azazel without exposing everyone involved.

Perhaps, she reflected with grim amusement, Rizevim’s own insanity might accidentally strengthen the alliance forming against him. Once he declared war upon the Fallen Angels, Azazel would have every reason imaginable to cooperate openly with the rebels. Which could be advantageous for us, she thought. If anyone could persuade the other pantheons that allowing Rizevim to continue breathing represented a threat to every civilization in existence, it would be that cigarette-smoking menace. 

Katerea eventually stopped before an ornate pair of doors that opened into her private chambers. She entered without hesitation, and Serafall followed a moment later. The instant both of them crossed the threshold, Katerea hurried back toward the entrance and carefully locked every seal protecting the room. The woman moved with small, hurried motions, constantly glancing over her shoulder as though expecting someone to emerge from empty air. Seeing the proud former Leviathan behaving like someone terrified of being overheard inside her own bedroom was unsettling to say the least.

Without saying a word, Katerea crossed the room toward an elegant writing desk and opened one of its hidden drawers. From within she carefully removed a crystal syringe filled with a shimmering golden liquid that immediately filled Serafall with a deep and instinctive unease. Every magical instinct she possessed screamed at her to keep as much distance from it as possible.

Katerea rolled up the sleeve of her arm and drove the needle into her flesh. Her body locked rigid. Veins bulged along her neck, and she bit through her lower lip as the pain wrung tears from her eyes. Several minutes passed before the trembling subsided and she released an exhausted breath.

She wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand before calmly opening the drawer again. Another identical syringe waited inside. Katerea withdrew it, walked toward Serafall, and silently reached for her hand.

By then Serafall had already guessed what the older woman intended. 

“…Katerea?”

The former Leviathan merely nodded once before pressing the needle into Serafall’s arm.

Pain exploded through Serafall’s body with such overwhelming violence that her vision immediately blurred. It felt as though molten metal had been poured directly into her veins, every heartbeat forcing another wave of unbearable heat through arteries that suddenly seemed far too small to contain it. The agony spread outward from the injection site until every fragment of her body felt as though invisible hands were tearing them apart. Her knees finally gave way beneath her. She dimly realized she had collapsed onto the polished floor, although even that awareness drifted in and out beneath the endless tide of suffering washing through her body. Time itself seemed to stretch unbearably while the inferno continued consuming her from within, until at last, as suddenly as it had begun, the agony simply vanished. Only then did she realize that Katerea was quietly holding her upright.

“Was that…?” Serafall asked between heavy breaths as she slowly disentangled herself from Katerea, her purple eyes still wide with disbelief.

“Holy light,” Katerea confirmed. “You know about Rizevim’s special ability, Prince of Lies. It can trap anyone weaker than him inside an illusion so perfect that, for all practical purposes, escape is impossible. Ever since I learned of it, I’ve been searching for a way to break the unbreakable, to find a countermeasure against an ability that should have none. That was when I remembered my mas… Haruki Yamashiro. When he shattered the illusion I was trapped in, he did it by introducing holy power directly into my bloodstream. Under normal circumstances, holy light coursing through a devil’s body would be excruciating, but his mastery was such that I barely felt any pain at all. It made me wonder whether the same principle could be replicated. Ever since then, I’ve been researching methods of introducing holy power into a devil’s body without immediately killing them through light poisoning.”

“Holy power can break His illusions?” Serafall asked, unable to hide the surprise in her voice. She had never expected Katerea to devise something this ingenious.

“Holy power is the antithesis of demonic power.” Katerea replied. “The instant holy energy enters a devil’s body, every instinct of our physiology reacts to it as a lethal foreign contaminant. Our demonic energy immediately becomes violent and unstable as it attempts to isolate, suppress, and expel the holy element before it can spread any further. An illusion like Rizevim’s requires a continuous foreign influence upon the victim’s mind. My hypothesis was that, during this violent purification response, our demonic energy would indiscriminately reject the demonic energy sustaining the illusion. Once that external influence is expelled, the illusion collapses on its own.”

“But that holy light wasn’t nearly as painful as it should have been,” Serafall observed, turning the syringe over in her hand. “It wasn’t anywhere near lethal.”

“I commissioned an alchemist to refine holy light into a stabilized liquid solution,” Katerea explained. “The purification process strips away as much of its destructive nature as possible while preserving enough of its holy properties to provoke the body’s defensive response. It’s still dangerous, but no longer instantly fatal for a devil to inject. Just enough to force the body to purge what doesn’t belong.”

“Why?” Serafall asked simply.

It made no sense. This was information that, if discovered, could easily earn Katerea a fate worse than death, yet she was entrusting it to Serafall of all people, her oldest and most bitter enemy.

“I believe you and I can help one another,” Katerea replied calmly. “In many ways, we’re the same. We’re both prisoners trapped within a cage neither of us truly wishes to remain in, though I will admit that mine was built by my own hands. It hardly matters anymore, however. I’ve seen the light. That’s all that matters now.”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Katerea,” Serafall said, deliberately feigning confusion. Rizevim’s court was a nest of knives wrapped in pleasant smiles, a place where one careless assumption could cost a person their life.

“You don’t need to be so guarded, Serafall,” Katerea said as she finally took a seat. “This room is protected by the highest-grade barriers I could devise. You may speak freely.”

“We’re hardly friends,” Serafall replied carefully. “If you have something to say, then say it plainly.”

“Very well.” Katerea met her gaze without hesitation. “I want to discuss treachery… and sabotage. Let us dispense with the charade, Serafall. You’re secretly working with the rebels.”

Serafall’s expression remained perfectly composed.

“I wouldn’t waste your breath denying it,” Katerea continued. “Your performance may have deceived lesser minds, but not mine. I can see straight through you.”

“Is that so?” Serafall said, rolling her eyes.

“I told you already. We’re alike.” A humorless chuckle escaped Katerea’s lips. “It takes one traitor to recognize another. I, too, have been working against Rizevim and the collection of warmongering fanatics he calls his court.”

For a fleeting moment, Serafall genuinely wondered whether she had misheard.

Katerea Leviathan. The woman who had led the Old Satan Faction. The same faction that had rejected the outcome of the Devil Civil War and devoted itself to destroying the government established by the New Satans. The woman whose hatred for Serafall, Sirzechs, Ajuka, and Falbium had become almost legendary, who had spent decades plotting their downfall while denouncing them as usurpers unworthy of carrying the names of the original Satans.

…And now that same woman was calmly admitting she intended to betray Rizevim.

“I don’t understand,” Serafall admitted, studying her carefully. “Shouldn’t you be happy? Everything you’ve spent your life fighting for has finally come to pass. I would’ve thought today would be the happiest day of your life…Or did seeing your dream become reality finally force you to confront just how monstrous it truly was? Perhaps you’re simply bitter that Rizevim chose to rule without you. Did you imagine that once the New Satans fell, you alone would inherit the mantle of the True Satan?”

Katerea remained silent. Serafall felt no guilt for the cruelty of her words. She could not forgive her. Whatever humiliation Katerea had suffered beneath Rizevim’s heel, whatever disillusionment had driven her to this point, none of it erased the countless lives she had ruined in pursuit of her ambitions. Their world had been plunged into chaos in no small part because of the choices Katerea herself had made. This was the harvest of seeds she had sown with her own hands.

“I made a mistake,” Katerea said simply, without the slightest trace of shame. “For centuries I believed that, if we were to prove ourselves worthy of bearing the names of the original Satans, we had to inherit their ambitions as well as their titles. I convinced myself that being the true heirs of Lucifer and Leviathan meant completing the world they had failed to create, or dying in the attempt. That was the cause I fought for during the Devil Civil War. That was the dream I devoted five hundred years of my life to. I wanted to overthrow Heaven, reshape creation in the image the original Satans envisioned, and I believed in that purpose with every fiber of my being.” She lowered her gaze. “I was wrong. I had mistaken nostalgia for conviction. I was so consumed by the need to honor their legacy, so terrified of disgracing the names I had inherited, that I stopped asking whether their dream was ever worth pursuing in the first place. For five centuries I wasted my life seething in impotent resentment instead of seeking the truth.”

The more Katerea spoke, the more bewildered Serafall became. She might as well have claimed that the Pope himself had descended into the Underworld to negotiate everlasting peace between devils and angels. Never, in all the centuries she had known Katerea Leviathan, had she imagined the woman would openly admit she had been wrong, much less expose such vulnerability before the person she had hated above all others.

“What changed?” Serafall asked quietly.

“My master opened my eyes.” Katerea smiled softly. “...the extraordinary being, whom it is impossible not to admire. He showed me that every conviction I held was nothing more than an excuse crafted by a coward too frightened to question the purpose she had inherited. He stripped away every illusion I had wrapped around myself until there was nothing left but the miserable creature beneath. I thought I had convictions. In truth, I possessed only chains. He broke them with a few words, as effortlessly as a shepherd guides a wandering sheep back onto the proper path.”

“Haruki?” Serafall frowned. “Didn’t he… abandon you?”

That, at least, would have explained everything. She remembered that day vividly. Haruki had approached the two of them to announce what, in hindsight, had been the beginning of the end. He had handed Millicas Gremory over to Serafall without the slightest hesitation before turning toward Katerea with nothing but contempt. She still remembered the look in his eyes as he dismantled everything Katerea believed about herself before walking away, leaving her standing there alone.

“He did not abandon me,” Katerea replied softly. “I was simply too blind to recognize mercy when it was shown to me. He deliberately freed me from Rizevim’s illusion. He even revealed the principle by which it could be broken. He had no reason to do either. He could have left me trapped within that illusion until the end of my days. He owed me nothing. Instead, he chose to show me where I had gone astray. He showed me that I had been manipulated long before I ever realized it. But I was so consumed by my own arrogance that I mistook his compassion for mockery and his guidance for cruelty. Such is the nature of an imperfect servant. We perceive only what our pride allows us to perceive. A shepherd sees the path long before his flock can even comprehend that one exists. I understand now. Every humiliation, every harsh word, every wound he dealt to my pride… each of them was an act of grace meant to awaken me.”

Serafall stared at her in complete disbelief. 

“You honestly believe,” she said slowly, struggling to process what she was hearing, “that Haruki ridiculed you, admitted you had been nothing more than a disposable pawn, boasted about deceiving you by pretending to be Lucifer, shattered everything you believed… because he was trying to save you?”

“Not only me,” Katerea answered with absolute certainty. “All of Devilkind. I believe he intended for me to stand here, within Rizevim’s court, precisely so I could witness the consequences of my own folly. Only now do I understand why he allowed events to unfold as they did. He wanted me to see what truly threatened our people. He wishes to save us, even if we are too blind to recognize the hand extended toward us.”

It was absurd.

She refused to believe for a single moment that Haruki cared about Katerea personally. If anything, he had likely viewed her as a useful piece on a chessboard, nothing more. But perhaps that was exactly why Katerea had embraced this interpretation with such desperation. Everything she had sacrificed, every betrayal she had justified, had culminated in utter failure. Accepting that reality meant admitting she had thrown away five centuries of her life for nothing. Her mind simply could not bear that conclusion. So it rewrote the narrative into something survivable. Every humiliation became a lesson just as cruelty became hidden compassion. If Haruki had merely discarded her, then her entire existence had been meaningless. If he had been shaping her all along, then her suffering possessed purpose. It was a far kinder lie than the truth, and perhaps, deep down, Katerea understood exactly what she was doing. But she clung to that belief with religious fervor because it was the only foundation upon which she could rebuild herself without collapsing beneath the weight of her own regret.

“And how,” Serafall asked carefully, choosing to indulge her for the moment, “do you believe that salvation will come?”

There is an opportunity here, she thought. Whether Katerea’s faith was delusion or genuine revelation hardly mattered. If Serafall could redirect that devotion toward undermining Rizevim, then it could become one of the greatest assets the rebellion could hope for. If Katerea wanted to believe she was fulfilling Haruki’s grand design, then Serafall had no intention of correcting her.

“I’m gathering allies from the shadows,” Katerea said. “I want you to contact the rebels on my behalf. Together we can unite those still willing to fight and overthrow Rizevim. Lord Haruki has already made his will known. If he wished Rizevim dead, he could have erased him himself. Instead, he has chosen not to intervene.

“A good shepherd does not carry his flock up every mountain. He teaches them to walk. I believe Rizevim is our trial, the one Lord Haruki has permitted so Devilkind may decide what it truly wishes to become. We may continue behaving as livestock, obediently following a mad king toward our own extinction, or we may rise above the purpose for which we were created. We were born as weapons, but we are not condemned to remain them. Lord Haruki has shown us that path. Whether we possess the courage to walk it is for us alone to decide.”

Serafall Leviathan burst into laughter.

AN: This chapter is mostly here to accelerate the plot in the Underworld. It's about time the rebels actually made a major move, and for Rizevim to finally face some meaningful opposition.

The chapter is largely dominated by a group of psychotic maniacs discussing topics such as systematic genocide and increasingly creative ways to make everyone's lives worse, I imagine it might be a somewhat difficult read at times.