Chapter 17: Yer a devil, Serling.
Rigal PhenexPhoenix Roost, NJ, USA
I stood in the middle of one of the many training rooms in the Phoenix Roost. It used to be a private garage beneath the auction house, for VIPs and the Dealer’s vintage car collection. Seeing how the cars were about as useful to a flying, teleporting devil as a pork roast at a Bat Mitzvah, I gave them away to my men in a random lottery. It was good for loyalty, or something.
I spent some spare time over the past few months imbuing the concrete walls and columns with various spell matrices. Mostly durability, but there were a few more esoteric ones meant to prevent scrying, keep magical signatures from escaping the premises, and repair itself when damaged by drawing on the local ley lines.
The enchantments wouldn’t hold up to me going all out, or Max’s brute strength for that matter. It was why the two of us preferred to spar out at sea. The reason I made this place had finally come to pass: Serling Roquette had agreed to join my peerage.
She’d been annoyed over the whole thing. When she learned that my evil pieces had their chess-equivalent point values, she complained because she was worth just a single Pawn piece. After all, she was a revolutionary scientist. Her mind was just as good as a mage’s innate magical potential, she argued. She deserved to be worth at least as much as a Bishop. Alas, that just wasn’t how things worked.
Her annoyance aside, it’d been a rather underwhelming event. I took a Pawn, pressed it into her chest, and that was that. The demonic power in the evil piece took a bit to integrate with a person’s soul, but it was more or less a done deal. The lack of pageantry left the spectators, Victor and Nora, somewhat disappointed.
Now, a week later, I was here with Serling. My cute, blonde nerd had some time to acclimate herself to her new body, which meant it was time for her first training session.
“Come on, Serling!” I shouted, arms spread out in a T-pose. “Hit me!”
“I will! Just… Just give me a minute!” she yelled back. In her hand was a kitchen knife.
“You said that ten minutes ago! Just stab me, you coward!”
“I’ve never–Normal people can’t just stab people!”
“You know I’ll be fine,” I said gently.
This was the rub. She knew that she’d have to learn to fight if she became a devil, but it had remained a distant, academic sort of knowledge.
Until now. Now, I was trying to coax her into committing violence, a great deal of it. The reason most people didn’t make for great reincarnation targets wasn’t just their lack of magical potential. It was this, their hesitance towards life-threatening combat.
Serling was not a soldier, assassin, or any other kind of person who saw bloodshed regularly. She wasn’t even a doctor, at least, not the kind that usually opened people up, Abra notwithstanding. She saw her share of fighting back when I first found her, but she’d been the VIP who needed to be protected. She was having trouble crossing the line from “spectator” to “combatant.”
“Do we have to do this now?” she asked, voice shaking despite her best efforts.
I nodded. “We do. You’re stronger as a devil, but far from invincible. Being a researcher in a peerage like mine just makes you a target. Come on, you know this won’t really hurt me. Just come slit my throat.”
“I know, it’s just… You’re human-shaped. I feel like I’ll be crossing a line.”
“You will.”
“Real comforting, Rigal.”
“I said I wouldn’t lie to you. You will, but it’s a necessary line. You need to be able and willing to take a life. Freezing up at the sight of lethal injury is unacceptable.”
“I… Fine.” She stepped up to me and held the knife against my jugular. She tried to psych herself up under her breath. “I can do this. It’s just one cut. Quick and easy.”
“Would it make this easier if I insult you?” I asked.
“It might…”
“You’re ugly.”
“Compared to you, I’m pretty sure all humans are ugly. And you said my body will slowly change to match my subconscious desires.”
“Your parents don’t love you.”
“They don’t. That’s what ‘estranged’ means. You’re not making me want to kill you.”
I considered my options. Punching her might work, but it was more likely to make her withdraw and run from this, not confront me. I wasn’t quite willing to make her fear for her life, either.
Then, I got an idea. There was only one thing Serling truly loved above all else, the thing that she abandoned her humanity for. “Your research is trash and won’t amount to anything.”
“It’s literally revolutionary.”
“The premise might be, but you’re not. You’re the weak link,” I said with my best, smarmiest smirk. “If you were smarter, you wouldn’t have had the Fog stolen out from under you. You’re a hack, Serli–Grk!”
Serling stared at her hand in mute horror. She backed away as the knife clattered to the floor. “Oh my go–Ow!”
I chuckled wetly as she tried to take the Presence’s name in vain. It was one weakness that my version of devilkind had that the devils of this reality did not.
Fire licked at my throat, closing the wound as if it’d never been there. Gently, I took her hand in mine and brought it to my neck.
“See? All better. You won’t hurt me with that little thing, Serling,” I said as I cupped her face. “I’m sorry for saying that; you’re not a hack.”
“Aren’t I?” she laughed weakly, eyes misty. “I knew what kind of world I live in. I live in a world of aliens and superpowers and I was too arrogant to take precautions.”
“I don’t recruit frauds, Serling. You’re brilliant.”
“I… Am I? I did mess up, though. I wasn’t careful enough and almost hurt a lot of people. What you said… it’s nothing I haven’t told myself before.”
“And? You’re here because I think you can learn from your mistakes. You’re here because I want you, never forget that.”
“Thanks, Rigal.”
“Better?” At her nod, I picked up the knife and pressed it into her hand again. “Good. Now, let’s try that again. No freezing up this time. No backing away, either. Commit. Keep stabbing me.”
She looked at me, then down at the knife in disbelief. She took a deep breath and shuddered. “I’m not going to like this training thing, am I?”
“No, no you are not. But you must. Consider this your king’s command.”
“My king is an asshole.”
“Because I love you, Serling.”
X
At Max’s suggestion, I brought a couch down from one of our sitting rooms. And a coffee table. On it were two bags of popcorn. It was a comfy setup sheltered by a layer of defensive wards. Not that we needed the wards at the moment.
We snacked and watched as Serling did her best to fight off Ivan Markell, Victor’s right hand in terms of conventional on-site security. Just to be nice, I’d even brought in several of those wrestling mats that were so common in high school gyms.
My new Pawn was in her best approximation of combat wear, which meant she wore a sports bra and basketball shorts. I told her we’d be working on her hand-to-hand skills today and this was what she chose to show up in. It was adorable, and hilarious. I could already tell; I was going to have so much fun teaching her.
In contrast, Ivan had been the Dealer’s head of security and looked the part. According to Victor’s files, he was a marine vet who joined a PMC after his deployment. A few years of traveling the world later, Ivan returned stateside and joined the Dealer for easy, relatively stable paychecks.
I kept him around because the man was reasonably competent with a gun and had the discipline to manage boots on the ground. Most importantly, he didn’t believe in his old boss’ “religion of evil” nonsense. So long as he got a fat paycheck, he didn’t much care who his boss was, which worked nicely in my favor.
Ivan towered over Serling by almost two whole heads. He was a tall, broad-shouldered German man who kept his dirty-blonde hair in a close, military crop even now. He wore a wifebeater, showing off his well-muscled arms and the various scars that lined them. Judging by those, he either favored knife-fighting, or had been soundly discouraged from the art.
I stuffed a handful of popcorn in my mouth as Ivan made the first move. I’d told him not to hold back, to spar against her as if he was sparring against a fellow of his size and skill. And, whether because he feared me or because he’d knew better, he did not hesitate against a small, attractive woman.
A swift jab rocked Serling’s dome back like a bobblehead. Right cross. Left upper. The textbook boxing combination flowed into a sharp elbow to her temple, sending her to the floor in an ungainly heap.
“This is kinda fucked up, you know,” Max said through a mouthful of popcorn. “It’s like that eagle, right?”
“The analogy is that mother eagles will throw their chicks off cliffs so they learn to fly, yes,” I hummed. Wasabi-parmasean, because Max wanted to try something new. The spicy-savory flavor profile worked surprisingly well together, though it wasn’t my favorite.
“I could teach her.”
“You barely know what you’re doing. Your technique is an eyesore.”
“Hey, it works for me.”
“You’re a kryptonian. It works for you because so few people are stronger than you. Besides, do you think you can hold back enough to not hurt a complete novice? Remember, even aside from being a kryptonian, you’re my mutated Rook. Wait ‘til I make you a kryptonite-based limiter.”
“Fair enough. Why not you? You taught her to hurt people a few days ago, right? You’re not just here to watch her suffer, are you?”
“Of course not.” He eyed our setup pointedly and I coughed. “Okay, not entirely. Really, this is about building Serling’s confidence.”
My Pawn curled into a ball, arms shielding her head. Ivan looked at me like a nervous pitbull. He reminded me of a child saying, “I swear this isn’t my fault.” Smiling indulgently, I motioned for him to continue.
Shrugging, he rolled her onto her back and straddled her chest in a classic mount. After a quick warning to guard her head, he tossed a halfhearted punch down. Then, when I didn’t call for him to stop, a second and third. Former criminal mercenary or not, he at least wasn’t deriving any joy out of beating a defenseless woman.
“I don’t get it. How’s she supposed to build her confidence if you get a guy three times her size to beat on her? You didn’t even teach her any forms or techniques,” Max pointed out.
“Just watch,” I reassured him. “It should kick in right about… now.”
I could see the moment she realized the truth: It didn’t hurt, not really. It probably felt like a child swinging around a boxing glove on a rope. She blinked owlishly. The light came back on behind her crystal-blue eyes. Her clever brain, paralyzed by fear, finally connected the dots.
It didn’t hurt. A punch from a man like Ivan Markell should have given a woman like her an instant concussion. The followup strikes should have broken her jaw at minimum.
But it didn’t hurt. Because she was a devil.
She caught the third punch. I’d savor that look on her face for a long time. She looked even more surprised than Ivan. And when Ivan tried to pull his hand back but failed, a slow, sharklike smile spread across her face.
We watched as Serling finally came into her own. Or at least, figured out that I wasn’t lying about reincarnated humans getting a big boost to their physical abilities. She pried Ivan’s arms apart and bucked her hip, tossing him off her chest. She then hugged him from behind, lifting him into the air like a plush toy.
It was hilarious. She was trying for a suplex, not because she knew how, but because she’d seen the move on TV at some point. Her form was atrocious. She stuck out her ass like she expected to be spanked and lifted with her arms, not her legs.
And yet, up he went. A devil’s strength made the technique surprisingly forgiving. She sent him thumping onto the mat like a sack of potatoes. Rather than follow through, she stared at her hands, marveling at herself.
“Am… Am I strong?” she muttered, then looked at Max. It said a lot about how used to me she was that she didn’t even look twice at the popcorn. “Is this how you feel? But all the time? Because I could get used to this.”
“You are. On average, reincarnated humans are about ten times stronger than they were, based on their personality and natural inclination towards exercise. Devil magic is highly shaped by desires, remember?” I lectured. “For you, that number is probably a bit lower. But even then, a seven or eightfold increase to your base parameters is far beyond what most people can overcome.”
“Wait, why am I weaker than I should be?”
“Because you didn’t want it. Devil magic is, at its core, the magic of desire. We want to look a certain way so our appearances are shaped by our subconscious ideals. We are physically strong because that strength is something we value.”
“So… You’re saying that I lived a life that didn’t value physical exercise, and the evil piece that turned me into a devil took that into account?”
“Basically, yes. It’s a lot more complicated than that, but physical potential is also something you cultivate. There’s nothing wrong with the way you are now. I didn’t recruit you for your hand-to-hand abilities.”
Ivan raised his hand. There was something distinctly awkward about a grown man behaving like he was in a classroom. “Uh, boss? Any chance I can get that? I’d be way stronger, right?”
“Right, but no. Serling was recruited for her brains, because she genuinely is among the best nanorobotics engineers in the world. You’d have to show me that you’re the best in your profession, or close to it. As a pure combatant…”
“You’re spoiled for choice. People like me are a dime a dozen,” he said, a little bitterly.
“Pretty much. Just enjoy the perfect healthcare and millions of dollars I pay you.”
“Yeah, fair enough. But, out of curiosity…”
“Deathstroke the Terminator,” I answered his unasked question. “That is the man I consider to be the best mercenary or soldier in the world. That said, his personality would clash terribly with mine so I’ve ruled him out as well.”
He snorted. Standing, he dusted himself off. “Yeah, most people consider him the best around. Is there a skill floor? Because I’m pretty sure Deathstroke is a meta, or some kind of super-soldier.”
“He is. Cheshire, who is currently working with the League of Assassins. I wouldn’t be opposed to offering her a position as a Pawn, and she’s about as low-skilled as I’m willing to accept.”
“Someone from those nutjobs? You have high standards.”
“I do.”
Serling coughed insistently. “I would be opposed. Very much so! She tried to kill me!”
“Fine, no Cheshire. I’m not seriously considering her, don’t worry,” I said placatingly. “I’m just saying, she’s a good benchmark.”
“Well, not that I don’t see why this was necessary, but when can I learn magic?”
“Right now. Ivan, you’re dismissed. Serling, hit the showers and join me in my lounge. Oh, and starting tomorrow, I’ll be teaching you to actually use that increased strength.”
X
Magic training wasn’t nearly as exciting as physical training. Usually, one might expect it to be the reverse, but such was the case here. If anything, as a novice, excitement was typically a bad thing.
Now that I thought about it, “magic training” was a bit of a misnomer. Serling had a lot to learn, and a lot of it wasn’t magic-related. I arrived in this world by choice, expecting to hunt for artifacts and recruit people into my peerage.
To the latter end, I’d also brought along a small but curated collection of tomes. A few books covered the history of my world’s devilkind, the rise of the New Satan Faction, and the First and Second Devil Civil Wars. Another described our race as a whole and the differences between us and humans.
As a former human, that last one was especially important. She had no powers before, and no frame of reference for the world of superhumans she’d entered. It also acted as a primer for magic, providing a general overview of how magic worked for devils and how most devils chose to utilize said magic.
Serling was not Max, who was more interested in exploring life rather than devil-hood. Serling was a scholar at her core. She devoured these tomes like Max soaked up sunlight. She treated this new information like mana from heaven and built for herself a foundation I knew she’d actually use in the future.
Then came the rest of the books in my library. I had primers on just about every magical discipline known to devils. Even discounting Spellcrafting for Dummies, and Assorted Works, authored by Aunt Rossweisse to assist in my mastery of Planar Shift, my collection was thorough. It was here to guide my prospective Bishops from novice to practical competence in multiple disciplines.
Serling relaxed in an armchair, a book on arithmantic formalcraft in her lap. She had a mug of hot chocolate next to her, dusted with cinnamon and loaded with a cloud of fluffy marshmallow foam. It even had a coco-wafer straw lodged in the cloud.
I sat across from her with a much more modest mug of Irish coffee. Right now, I was doing a bit of studying of my own. The book “Uncle Luci” gave me, On Mana and Creation, was an interesting read, not because I didn’t understand the subject matter, but because I did.
Enochian was weird at the best of times. It wasn’t a language meant to be perceived with human senses. Seeing it made humans go a bit loopy. Hearing it whispered cosmic truths mortal brains weren’t meant to process. There was a reason “Be not afraid,” was angelic standard for, “Hi, nice to meet you,” and not all of it had to do with their number of eyes.
This book was written in Enochian, but it was written in DC’s Enochian. I understood it, as was the prerogative of devils everywhere, but it was like being exposed to an entirely different dialect. The truths it whispered were real and familiar, yet subtly different in ways I couldn’t quite explain.
I smiled. It was fascinating. This book was revealing aspects of magic that I hadn’t considered or fully internalized before. I felt like an amateur whom a master had taken in hand. The basic lessons and principles I thought I understood fully were now being expanded in greater detail and depth.
This wouldn’t make me stronger, not directly. Much of this was purely academic, with only limited applications. The biggest takeaway for me was a better understanding of the differences and similarities between holy and demonic power.
Simply put, the two were two sides of the same coin. To be holy was “to be set apart.” Holy energy was, therefore, a form of energy that could not be compared to anything that existed in the world.
Light, and all its conceptual implications, was its closest analog. It illuminated mysteries and hidden things, but was not itself that thing. In a similar manner, “holiness” was simultaneously something that illuminated all mundane existence, yet stood distinct from said existence.
Demonic power was the exact opposite. It was, in a word, desire. This desire for mundane things, whether it be wealth or power or lust, was what fueled devils and our magic. Our magic fundamentally sought to be integrated into the world. This inevitably influenced the world, which some angels and mages called demonic corruption, or taint.
The two were diametrically opposed. Mixing them was like mixing oil and water, which was why people like Uncle Kiba were such anomalies. He wasn’t especially powerful in the grand scheme of things, not when compared to the true juggernauts of the world. He was impressive for an entirely separate reason: his balance breaker, which allowed the creation of swords imbued with holy and demonic power simultaneously.
Both he and my old man proved mixing the two was possible. Oil and water could mix. When it did, it was called an emulsion, the integration of tiny oil particulates done so evenly that the mixture became shelf-stable. In fact, mixing the two made some of the tastiest sauces in existence. Like mayonnaise.
“I must become mayonnaise,” I muttered.
I heard a snort of laughter. Raising my head, I saw Serling staring back at me with amusement. “‘I must become mayonnaise,’ really? Do I even want to know what that book says?”
“It makes sense in context,” I said defensively.
“Of course. I’m not ready for such cosmic truths.”
“That’s right… Was there a question you wanted to ask?”
“I was waiting for you to reach a stopping place, then you said something silly and made me laugh.”
“Yeah, well, it may sound silly to you, but I’ve taken a step closer to enlightenment,” I said with my best sagely nod.
“Right…” she trailed off with a skeptical smirk. She held up her book on magic numbers. “Anyway, why did you give me this? Not that I don’t find it interesting, but you said devil magic is based on imagination and desire. What’s the point of making me study this stuff?”
I reached out and poked her nose. “You. You’re the point. You don’t even know what you want to eat. When I asked you if you wanted Thai, Chinese, or pizza today, you said you didn’t know.”
“Yeah, so? What does that have to do with this?”
“My point is that ‘desire’ is actually pretty hard to conceptualize for people. Most people can’t even describe their immediate cravings. Even when they can, it’s usually a pretty nebulous idea, not a concrete image.”
“That’s where imagination comes in, then? Should I learn to paint or something?”
“No, you should keep reading books on human magic systems. You’re an engineer, Serling, so think like one. Desire might be what powers your magic, but image is what gives it shape. Treat that book like an introduction to a new programming language. Basically, I want you to be Ajuka-lite.”
“Ajuka?”
“Ajuka Beelzebub, formerly Astaroth. He is a hero of the First Devil Civil War who became Satan Beelzebub afterwards and sealed Trihexa.”
“Ah, I read about him. He made the evil pieces.”
“He did. That’s what he’s best known for, but his personal combat magic was something called the Kankara Formula. Are you aware of a thought experiment called the Laplace’s Demon?”
“Yes, of course. It says that if you know every variable, you can theoretically have perfect knowledge of the future. Is… Is that what he did?”
“Not quite, but close enough,” I shrugged. “Ajuka was the only Satan who didn’t leave to fight Trihexa. He basically weaponized math and I think you can too, if not quite to the same extent.”
She looked thoughtfully down at her book. Then, she glanced at her laptop with a curious hum. “I think I see what you mean. Thanks, Rigal.”
I stood. That was enough studying for today. “No problem. Oh, and you’ll be starting combat training against Max tomorrow.”
“What? He’s a Rook! And a kryptonian!”
“He is. I finished making bracelets with kryptonite shards socketed in them. He should be roughly comparable to the average low-class devil with them on.”
“But… But I don’t want to…”
“Tough. Welcome to devil school; PE is mandatory.”
Author’s Note
Ended up being a Serling-heavy chapter. Not mad, though. She’s fun to write and provides a very “normie” perspective as she’s introduced to her devil powers.
Animal Fact: Baby elephants suck on their trunks for comfort in the same way baby humans suck on their thumbs. They do it for the same reason, too: Namely, it mimics the sensation of suckling on their mothers. I can’t remember if I used this one before.