Leaning against his desk with his arms crossed and his face etched into a deep scowl, Ichigo gazed down at the all too familiar red hair attached to the entirely unfamiliar form of Sirzechs’ grandmother.
And already he could sense the growing headache at the back of his skull.
The Fifty-Sixth Pillar was an odd creature even by Demon standards. Especially by Demon standards. As depraved, decadent and hedonistic as the rest of the Demons of the Old Empire, Gremory, nonetheless, had an odd and near obsessive fixation with the concept of family.
If Ichigo remembered correctly, Grayfia-nee had once compared the Gremory progenitor to a dedicated collector obsessing over its prized hoard.
A trait it had definitely passed down to Sirzechs.
The current Sin of Pride adored his family to the point of obsession. Woe be to anyone who dared stand in the way of Sirzechs and his son or his precious ‘Ria-tan.’ Speaking of the latter, Ichigo had noted a similar, but far healthier, possessiveness in the teenage girl. Rias had a very strong attachment to her peerage and showered them in her own brand of affection. Luckily for him, the cast down heiress was no where near as annoying as her older brother, though she was a touch too naïve.
But all that being considered… why had Gremory sent an avatar knocking on his door?
Per the old ways, when before a more powerful Demon, one did not speak unless spoken to. But that tradition had long since died out in the modern Empire. Yet the ancient Demon kneeled perfectly still, and Ichigo could sense no anger nor irritation from within the facsimile of the beautiful creature despite the fact he had refused to acknowledge her presence for several minutes now.
Quite the opposite, his eyes homed in on the faintest uplifting of the corner of her red painted lips. While the Demon was doing its best to keep its emotions hidden, he could still faintly sense a feeling of… giddiness? Anticipation?
Weird.
Nonetheless, Ichigo pushed past all his thoughts and finally spoke to the unmoving Demon before him. “Gremory,” he acknowledged firmly.
And slowly, near unnaturally, she raised her head, strands of red hair falling and framing an unnaturally pale face. And her eyes, with their sclera of black and haunting emerald irises, carried an eerie glow. His mouth twisted sourly as he looked at the near maniacal fire burning within, that touch of mad depravity that all the Old Demons carried.
“My Prince,” Gremory breathed, almost pleasant, almost endearing. But not quite. She was just a touch shy away from being genuine and convincing, and the inherent empathy most living beings had simply did not exist in her. And part of Ichigo wondered if that was deliberate on the Demon’s part - was she trying to showcase her own unnaturalness?
“Innumerable pardons for daring to take your time, my Lord, but enough days have passed since my awakening that I deemed it prudent to finally present myself to you.”
Ichigo gave her a flat look. “Uh-huh. What do you want?”
Gremory looked up at him, the curves of her face morphing gentle and soft. “To offer my allegiance and loyalty to the newest of the Crown Princes, as I did so long ago when my Father Lucifer first fashioned Demonkind anew. As I did so again when my child, Sirzechs, took that fell mantle upon himself. I am at your disposal, my Lord Wrath.”
Ichigo rolled his eyes; he’d have to be a complete moron to believe any of that whatsoever.
As if Gremory, or any of the old Demons, were even capable of such a thing as loyalty. He read enough about the Old Empire to know that the first Pillars plotted against the original Crown Princes as much as they obeyed them. Gremory, in particular, jumped from bed to bed of the original Seven, selling their secrets to one another, even as she harvested advantages over the other Seventy-Two Pillars via the treachery she sowed.
Nodding to himself, Ichigo unfolded his arms and picked up a pen from his desk. Rolling it between his fingers, he said lightly, “Right… here’s the thing, for years I’ve repeatedly punched Sirzechs in the face, very recently I’ve magically scarred Zeoticus on his face, and I’ve spent the last few months physically and mentally tormenting Rias: nobody in the Underworld is better than me when it comes to beating the crap out of you Gremorys. So cut the bullshit and let’s try this again: what do you want?”
And in an instant, whatever pleasantness was in the Demon’s expression melted away, leaving a cold and neutral look so devoid of emotion that no semblance or mimicry of humanity could even be seen. And past her sculpted flesh, Ichigo sensed a flicker of malice, irritated embers glimmering with murderous intent.
In one smooth motion, Gremory rose to her full height and the black fabrics of her dress rippled with a silken sheen. And as she continued to stare at him with an alien and blank look, Ichigo merely raised a single eyebrow expectantly.
At last, Gremory’s lips curved and she wrung her hands behind her back, almost girlishly. “It is curious, is not, my Prince? How closely entwined you have become with my House?”
“Given how I entered the Underworld, and your idiot grandson’s inability to let go of anything, no - not really,” Ichigo said wryly.
“But it is true though,” she said, her lips still curved dangerous. “Of all the Pillars, you are unquestionably closest to House Gremory. Why, one would almost consider you family, sire.”
“Now that’s a politically charged statement,” he said, putting his hands on the edge of his desk and as he leaned back comfortably. “But sure. I like Millicas and Grayfia-nee. I sometimes like Rias, and I tolerate Sirzechs at best. Not too sold on your son though, he’s a bit of an arrogant ass.”
Gremory dipped her head in acknowledgement even as she carefully folded her hands below her navel. “With Sirzechs’ ascent, Zeoticus fell into the folly of being coddled. He has become accustomed to being nestled in his son’s power. Too accustomed.”
“Is that what this is?” Ichigo asked curiously. “From what I heard, you’re pretty protective of your kids. You here to address the ass kicking I gave him?”
She flicked her fingers dismissively before folding her hands again. “A trifle thing, Zeoticus is a grown boy, he can handle a scar and ache for a meagre one hundred years. No, my Prince, my interest solely lies in you and you alone.”
Nodding to himself, Ichigo was about to direct her towards the sitting lounge on the other side of his office, but then he thought better of it. He’d rather not get comfortable around a creature like Gremory, best he keep his mind sharp and his guard up.
“Okay, let’s hear it,” he said.
“The old ways are dead,” Gremory said simply. “Gone are the days where my kind openly walked across the surface of the Underworld, our armies of vassals and slaves at our backs. You and your siblings are hostile to any Demon and Lord that do not bend knee and give oaths of allegiance. And even those that do, you would prefer we keep our heads bowed and our words silent. The traditions of Lucifer are dead.”
“And you don’t like that?” He asked.
“Hardly,” she scoffed. “What Demon cares for canon and dogma? The edified mind knows that tradition is but a substitution for law, and laws are meant to control and restrict. We tell our lessers it is for their own good and protection, and for that every leader is a peddler of lies. No, let the old ways rot for all I care. What is of import to me, and always shall be, is our bond with Hell.”
And Ichigo’s face fell grim.
Out of all the aspects and attributes of the Devil Empire’s culture and society, none was more absolute than the looming shadow of Hell imprinted upon every Devil and Demon’s soul. And of them all, it burned strongest in Ichigo, ever since that fateful day the First Flame had imbued him with its powers when he went to go rescue Yuzu all those years ago.
As such, he looked coldly as Gremory continued.
“Seventy-Two answered when the Morningstar gave infernal invitation,” she said, her voice warping and echoing within itself. “Of them were the Fallen, spirits of the mortal plane, and even sundered divinity. And in puissant malevolence we become the firstborn Demons. Came anon Mephistopheles, Abraxas, Nebiros and scores of others. All in diametric opposition to the Heavenly Father’s Host.”
“And practically all of you are now dead,” Ichigo said firmly.
She nodded, “Less than two dozen now remain, hidden and dreaming, clinging desperately to what embers of our still fading glory. But from those embers have new Crown Princes emerged. And though our numbers are but a meager fraction, you and your siblings are rising to heights even greater than we of old. There is a future in all of you, a powerful one.”
Ichigo gave a rueful smile as he shook his head. “And all Demons seek power.”
“As is our want,” Gremory agreed. “Power for the sake of power; such is the nature of Demonkind.”
He let out a snort at the familiar phrase he had often heard from Sirzechs. So, it had been a lesson his former King had learned from his ancestor.
Ichigo idly reached up with a hand and rubbed his jaw, there was one thing though, that was still bothering him.
“Why me?” He asked. “You already have Sirzechs.”
Gremory let out a dark chuckle, the odd sound causing the shadows in the room to warp and jump. “Have, my Prince? You, better than anyone, would know that the Sin of Pride would never allow any being to ‘have’ him. In Sirzechs’ eyes, I am as much an enemy as I am family. Had I not woven my existence into the fabric of the Underworld, he would have destroyed me long ago.”
Yet, despite her words, Ichigo could sense a touch of warmth in them. Dare he say, even affection? As if Sirzechs' callous disregard for his own grandmother spawned some sort of endearment in her.
“I guess it’s true what they say,” Ichigo said with some mirth, “the Demon Gremory can actually feel love.”
Gremory gave him a surprised look, before those red painted lips smiled wide. “But of course. Though is it so surprising, sire? You, who are orders of magnitude more baleful than I, have such a deep abiding love in your heart for others. Is it so strange that another Demon feel similar things?”
Ichigo gave her a pointed look. “I’m something of a new breed, nothing like you relics.”
Gremory gave a slight bow as she placed a hand over her heart. “Of we two, most would deem you the greater monster.”
Ichigo snorted but didn’t argue the point. She wasn’t exactly wrong, after all.
“Love is a multifaceted thing, taking shape in many forms. Humans have one telling of it, we Demons another. Sirzechs is my child, and I will ever care for him, in my own fashion, and nestle him to my bosom - even as he sincerely wishes for my demise.”
“And hate him all the same for not being an obedient little boy,” he added, a touch of irony in his voice.
Gremory only smiled wider.
Ichigo let out a small sigh. He wasn’t even surprised really. Yeah, he was a bigger Demon than Gremory (metaphysically speaking) he knew how their infernal natures worked all too well. They were beings of extremes with little to no middle ground. They loved and hated with all their might. Luckily, Ichigo had a near obsessive compulsion to instill upon himself an iron sense of self-control.
Which was mostly Zangetsu’s fault – but it was those battles with his soul-sword for control which gave him the experience and willpower to keep those darker urges and insane emotions in check. It was the same for the other Satans and Grayfia as well. They all had an unshakable sense of self-discipline.
Which was the opposite for the old Demons who reveled in all their extremities. And, of course, the single greatest extremity of any Demon was the pursuit of power.
“Alright, so you want to attach yourself to my power. Question is, why should I let you?”
Gremory smile became positively predatory. “Malebolge.”
Ichigo blinked twice before scowling fiercely. “How the Hell do you know about that!?”
It had only been a few scant hours since he had spoken with Sirzechs and Ajuka about it! There was no way such an intricate matter would have leaked!
Gremory bowed lower in deference, though her red painted lips curved a touch more, much to his annoyance. “Despite my removal from the political theater of the greater Empire, there are many who still swear allegiance or hold debt to me. Some of whom yet find themselves in the employ of Lord Leviathan and the Ministry of Intelligence. The finer matters of the accord struck with the Angels and Fallen is well known to me, including your requested access to Malebolge.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Of fucking course. I need to send Sera a note to get a head start on that internal purge.
At the same time though, he sent Gremory a suspicious look. “I get the feeling that’s not all.”
“Very wise, my Prince.” The corner of his eye twitched in annoyance at the slight patronizing ring in her voice. “Of my many sorcerous gifts, the art of scrying is one I take considerable pride in. Beneath the siege of divinity, few are my equal in arcane foresight.”
“You scried me?” Ichigo asked with a hint of shock. Generally speaking, when it came to peering into the future, the more formidable the figure or pivotal the event being divined was, the more magical power the caster would need. To foresee Ichigo, to foresee Satan, whose metaphysical weight far outstripped virtually everyone not in the Fourth Dimension, was a remarkable achievement. And also very unsettling…
“Not quite, my Lord,” Gremory admitted, a touch of mirth echoing in her voice. “The shadow you cast distorts the future; my foresight is limited in regard to you and the other Sins. But of myself, I can see quite clearly.”
Ichigo paused for a second and then said slowly, “You saw yourself in Malebolge?”
“Quite, my Prince. With the added knowledge I gleaned from Lord Leviathan’s servants, it was not difficult to – what is it that the children say? Put pieces of the puzzle together?”
Ichigo let out a sigh. “Okay, so that’s one secret out the window. But that still doesn’t explain why I should allow you into my powerbase.”
Gremory gingerly stepped forward, a bare leg treading out beyond the slit of black silk, revealing a delicate and pale leg. And as Ichigo’s eyes bounced back to her green ones, he realized in that single step, she had crossed the distance between them. And even as he still leaned back onto his desk, she leaned forward, just until their chests were mere inches apart.
“Malebolge was once ours,” she said, her echoing voice dropping into a low husk. “Ere the Great War, our forces paraded proud, ferrying souls undisclosed from the Dead Realms.”
Ichigo’s eyes narrowed at the revelation. That would certainly explain the abundance of Sinners that were hidden away there.
“I know Azazel well,” she continued, though she leaned forward an inch more, her green eyes glowing near mesmerizing. “He has no interest in the dead, the Fallen would be content to let the land fester under its own wretchedness. It would be unknown to them. But it remains fresh in my memories. I would be a guide to you.”
And her voice dipped into a soft coo, and her eyes grew wider, filling with a jade light as she continued to try and sway him. “Nay, I would be more than a guide. I would show you the ancient secrets hidden and lay them bare at your feet. And beyond your efforts in that forgotten land, I would serve you even then. Even ‘gainst the ambitions of old Ba’al and the coming conflict. My services, yours to dispose. My aid, yours to render. My everything… yours.”
Ichigo stared into her eyes – the naked and wavering emotion he found within and the sheer earnest, servile desire. She was inviting him into herself, to let him immerse himself in her mind and show him all of herself laid bare. A blanket invitation into the being of Gremory
And she reached out, a pale hand with long fingers and soft alabaster skin, a hair’s breadth from caressing his cheeks.
Crack!
Ichigo swiftly grabbed the outreached limb and crushed it in his grip, pulverizing the bones within her hand. Gremory blinked at him in surprise as the moment was broken, and Ichigo’s eyes irises burned red.
“Didn’t I tell you to cut the bullshit?”
As he squeezed harder, and her flesh ripped apart and blood dripped onto the floor, Gremory’s gaze wordless turned towards her ruined hand. Slowly, the corner of her lips rose, and she gave an unnatural tilt of the head. “Your predecessor was also fond of hurting me. He once claimed I was one of his favorite victims to brutalize.”
Ichigo snorted, and with a brief twist of demonic energy, he healed her hand completely and let go. “For the record, if you try something like that again, I’ll feed you to my dragon. And Underworld tied immortality or not, I’m sure she’d find a way to make your existence as miserable as possible.”
Gremory deftly stepped back and gave another reverent bow. “And my request to accompany you into Malebolge, my Prince?”
Ichigo brought power into his eyes and peered beyond the simulacrum of flesh, he looked beyond the folds of time and distance and into the pulsing, writhing mass of demonic energies that was the Demon Gremory sitting beneath its own territory. And it stared at him back.
Ichigo held back a bark of laughter as he got the distinct impression that the eldritch creature was giving him a cheeky wave.
“I’ll get back to you on that. Now, fuck off Gremory.”
And with one last bow and low laugh, the Demon dissolved into a red haze.
Ichigo didn’t even pause as he called for Meril, his secretary immediately materializing from her magical circle. She gave a tentative look around his office, no doubt sensing the latent demonic energies Gremory had purposefully left behind which Ichigo was certain just to annoy him.
“Get that report from Gobdad as soon as possible, Meril,” he said briskly. “I have a feeling Rias and her peerage will be coming and going from Iravex a little more often than originally planned.”
“Of course, sir,” Meril responded immediately. “Ah… would you like for me to call the janitorial service, my Lord?”
Ichigo gave her a confused look. “What? Why?”
In answer, Meril pointedly looked down and Ichigo followed her gaze to just beside his feet, where Gremory’s blood had fallen and eaten away at the carpet and floor, leaving a coiling, mess of dissolved stone.
Great, Ichigo rolled his eyes in frustration. His floor, like everything in his office, was specially enchanted to withstand a certain extent of his demonic pressure, it would take more than a snap of his fingers to magically restore it properly. Of course, direct contact with corrosive blood from a Demon as powerful as Gremory was another matter.
“Yes, please. Thank you, Meril,” he said with a quiet huff.
“Of course, my Lord,” she said with a smile.
As Meril departed, Ichigo reached out to the more soothing and pleasant half of his mind, and he was instantly filled with the comforting presence of cool water.
‘Enjoying playing the part of tyrant, beloved?’ Tiamat’s laughter immediately chimed in his mind.
‘Yeah, right,’ he mentally scoffed. ‘There seems to be a never-ending number of things for me to do.’
‘Pray tell then, should you not be focused on those never-ending things?’ And it was the amusement in her voice that was the balm to all the vexations that had been piling in his mind.
‘Nope, I need a break.’
‘Oh?’
‘Say beautiful, wanna go on a date?’
=======
The street outside the small café was alive with motion.
A grizzled Worgen padded past with baskets hanging from their claws, his tails swaying lazily as he chatted with a pair of Light Elves whose hair shimmered like spun moonlight. A lamia merchant coiled beside a stall of glowing fruits while two young Devils argued over the price of spell-scrolls. Children of a dozen species darted between legs, laughter carrying above the steady hum of magic that permeated the district.
The buildings of Grevex leaned comfortably into one another, timber frames woven with brick and living bark, vines flowering along balconies where lanterns glowed in soft amber. Farther down the avenue, the skyline rose into something far more wonderous: colossal spires grown from crystal and chitin, others woven from feathered arches, and titanic trees whose roots gripped floating crystals dotted across the sky. All of them drifting on magical currents, their silhouettes haloed by the blue-violet glow of celestial glow streaking across the Infernity sky like lantern constellations.
It was a beautiful thing to behold.
And, unsurprisingly, said beauty went completely unheeded as, across from him, sat the mightiest Dragon King – utterly consumed with methodically annihilating a slice of chocolate cake.
Tiamat held her fork with the solemn focus of someone performing the most sacred of rituals. Each bite was deliberate, efficient, and demanding of sheer focus of will. Then there was the milkshake beside her: like clockwork, Tiamat would consume three soft mouthfuls of cake and then wash down her bites with a delicate sip.
Ichigo watched it all with a quiet and fond chuckle.
Lucifer, she was so cute.
Without thinking, he leaned forward and brushed a light kiss across the back of her hand where it rested in his. She didn’t even look up, only hummed softly in approval as she continued her assault on the dessert.
At the same time, another corner of his kind was deep in conversation.
‘She approached you personally?’ Sirzechs’ voice carried faint surprise through their link. ‘That’s unusual, grandmother has rarely left the family territory after the Great War. Even in sending an avatar, she only ever appears in the Underworld when summoned by one of the Satans. Which is usually for when the Parliament congregates in Yfel.’
‘Yeah well, there were no summons on my part,’ Ichigo replied mentally, even as he watched Tiamat scoop another forkful. ‘After a whole lot of posturing and bullshitting, she asked to accompany me into Malebolge.’
Sirzechs was silent for a beat. ‘How does she even know of that?’
Ichigo quickly pushed the memory of that conversation through his psychic link with Sirzechs, and the older Satan went silent for several minutes as she pondered upon the information.
‘How very curious,’ Sirzechs replied at last. ‘What do you plan on doing?’
Ichigo shrugged slightly, the physical motion bleeding into the mental exchange. ‘Not sure. Part of me wants to say yes just to see what the Hell will happen’.
‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ Sirzechs said dryly.
‘Good thing I’m not a cat,” Ichigo answered back impishly.
Sirzechs’ laughter rang in his mind. ‘No, that you are not. Do be careful though. If grandmother desires passage into Malebolge, I can only surmise that there is something there of import to her.’
Ichigo’s gaze drifted briefly toward the floating skyline.
‘Yeah. I figured as much.’
He paused for a moment, reaching up with his other hand to wipe away stray crumbs from Tiamat's mouth with his thumb.
‘Also,’ Ichigo added, ‘I don’t think I appreciate your grandmother, or anyone’s grandmother really, having spies in our government.’
Sirzechs words came rueful. ‘An unfortunate reality we are forced to deal with. We’ve already begun a systemic purge in our ministries; I’ll have Sera double down with what you’ve shared. I hear you’re doing the same in Infernity?’
‘Yeah,’ Ichigo replied absently. ‘I think one giant display of force is what it takes to remind everyone not to fuck with me.’
‘Well said. Ah, but I must be off. Duty calls.’
And with that, the mental connection faded, leaving only the café’s gentle background noise and the soft clink of Tiamat’s fork against porcelain.
Ichigo blinked, attention settling fully back into the physical world… and immediately he noticed the entirely new chocolate cake now occupying the plate in front of her.
He glanced at the empty dish beside it.
“…how did you finish it so fast? I looked away for like one minute!”
Tiamat finally looked up, eyes bright, cheeks faintly dusted with cocoa and deigned to say nothing in response. Ichigo sighed quietly, shaking his head. Even after years of being with her, he still couldn’t understand how she ate so much, so quickly and quietly. She was like a silent vacuum, gobbling up large quantities of food without anyone noticing. Unless she was in dragon form, then it was just a gruesome mess.
With one more resigned sigh, Ichigo gave another kiss to the back of her hand and his gaze drifted past her shoulder toward the window.
And his expression froze.
The street outside was no longer simply bustling, it was full. Hundreds had gathered along the pavement, filling the lane in a widening semicircle. Robed, hooded, or simply trembling where they stood, every single one of them was facing the café, facing him.
One by one, they lowered themselves to their knees and began to kowtow, and it took all of five seconds before the incessant chanting began. “Hail Satan! Hail Satan! Hail Satan!”
“…I swear to Hell,” he muttered, voice flat with exhausted disbelief, “every time I go out in public, this crap happens. I should just ban religion at this point!”
Across from him, Tiamat tilted her head, completely unconcerned with the adoring cultist shouting his name, and returned to her cake. Ichigo quickly realized that this was a scene she was far too used to seeing in her ancient life.
He then sighed into his palm, and ran a tired hand through his hair. At the same time, somewhere, in the back of his mind, another thought surfaced.
I wonder how Ecayd and Furia are doing.
=======
Sir Farkas Valdros had always believed himself a practical man.
He had not risen from a middling reincarnated Devil line to the titled status of Knight through bravery or brilliance, but through something far more reliable: pragmatism.
The practical instinct to bend before stronger powers, to attach himself to the right patron, to invest in ventures that would yield steady returns rather than risk it all for one big prize. That practicality had served him well for the eighty-three years he had lived as a reincarnated Devil.
It had been that same critical insight that had guided him to Infernity little more than a year ago, when the Crown Prince of Wrath began reshaping his own personal realm into something frighteningly efficient and modern. And where others saw danger and a challenge to the status quo, Valdros saw opportunity.
The Vallakian Highlands within Infernity had the perfect soil which proved ideal for imported mortal coffee strains, and the plantation he had acquired flourished quickly. Within months he had servants, revenue to splurge on his peerage, a comfortable estate, and enough profit flowing to line his pockets with treasures.
Infernity was near perfect for a practical Devil like Farkas Valdros… near perfect, because it had one lone flaw. It was nigh-impossible to garner the attention of the Lord Wrath. The monstrous Demon Lord rightfully viewed everyone beneath his notice, as such, it was unthinkable to curry any favor with the liege lord of the land. One could only silently plow away at what they had been given.
A rather dry state of affairs for the ambitious sort.
And ultimately, it was what had led him to quietly answer Zekram Bael’s offer.
A minor report here, a shipment manifest there, the occasional note about patrol rotations or the political leanings of neighboring nobles: nothing treasonous enough to risk exposure, he had told himself, merely prudent insurance should a new opportunity arise elsewhere. A noble Knight with curried favor was a noble Knight who could seek profit.
Sadly, that same practical instinct now screamed at him that he had miscalculated beyond recovery.
When the Crown Prince’s summons had arrived, he knew his life was forfeit if he stayed any longer in Infernity. He had gotten what he wanted, the attention of a Satan, alas, it had come in all the wrong ways.
And he could not escape through the teleportation or through any of the main commercial portals, the space-time of the realm was securely locked by will of its Sovereign Prince. No, he’d have to escape through the jungles of the north and reach the underground tunnels that ran through the entirety of the Underworld.
Which is why now the dense and humid air tore at his lungs as he ran through the forested path, breath burning in his throat while the sounds behind him rose in wet, tearing crescendos. Sounds that did not belong in any civilized world. One of his peerage members shrieked somewhere in the darkness, a sound that was cut short with a violent crunch that reverberated through the ground.
Valdros did not look back. He had done so once before at the start of this treacherous trek, and his shoulder still burned and bled because of it.
When the Crown Prince’s monster first descended upon his camp, all Hell had broken loose.
Everyone in Infernity knew of the Reavers, the Sin of Wrath’s creations and personal army, brutal savages that could only destroy upon their dread master’s commands.
But the one that descended upon him and his family was unlike any he had seen patrolling through the realm. It had been armored in jagged black that seemed less forged than grown, its surface veined with dull crimson light like the glow of coals beneath ash. Where its face should have been, there had only been a skull-like helm with eyes that burned like furnaces. The thing had moved with dreadful patience, as though time itself bent around its steps. Behind it, other shapes followed, lesser Reavers though still powerful in their own right.
More than a match for single low-class Devil like himself. How regret ate at him bitter!
The Reavers had not shouted demands, nor had they announced themselves. They had simply slaughtered everything in their way.
Valdros’ harem had been the first to die. One moment they had gathered around the campfire they had set up, confused and shouting over one another, and in the next, a single sweep of a black-plated arm had taken three of them at once. Their bodies had not fallen so much as burst apart, scattering in red arcs of gore that spattered the ground.
His Bishop had attempted a barrier spell, voice cracking as he forced the incantation through his teeth. The nearest monster had walked through it without even slowing, its claw closing around the man’s torso and lifting him from the ground before the scream had fully formed.
By the time the rest of Valdros’ peerage had drawn their weapons, the camp had already looked like a slaughterhouse.
He had run then. Pride, title, ambitions - none of it mattered in the presence of those things. He fled through the endless jungles, past walls of broken ruins from bygone eras, past servants and children screaming his name in their death throes.
And now the forest closed in around him, branches clawing at his coat while the undergrowth tore at his boots. Somewhere behind him, the trees snapped like dry twigs beneath enormous weight. The ground trembled again, and he stumbled, catching himself against a trunk slick with moss and fear.
He risked another glance back.
The darkness between the trees thickened, and then one of the monsters stepped into view. Up close it seemed even larger, its shoulders nearly brushing the lower branches. Crimson light pulsed through the seams of its armor with each slow, deliberate step, as if something alive burned inside it. The other shapes emerged a moment later, their silhouettes broader, horns curving like broken scythes against the night sky.
They did not hurry.
That was what finally broke him. They did not need to.
Valdros screamed as he turned and ran harder, panic dissolving whatever composure he had left. His lungs shrieked and his mid reeled, but still he ran like a man possessed. He tried to form a teleportation circle, but the sigil collapsed the instant he traced it, the magic shredding apart under the suffocating pressure that filled the air. Even his demonic magic recoiled from it, as though the very concept of escape was being denied.
A scream burst from him when a massive claw tore through the trees ahead, blocking the path he had not even realized he was taking. Then, a titanic and winged monster fell from the sky right before him, it’s maw blasting him with a furnace’s heat as it roared. Its towering form rose high from the shadows, like nightmare given flesh. It watched him with those blazing eyes, silent and patient, as though waiting for him to understand.
Valdros sank to his knees, breath hitching, hands raised in trembling surrender.
“I can pay,” he rasped, voice breaking. “Bloodstones! Land! Information! Please! Any-”
The Reaver moved.
It simply stepped forward and reached out, one colossal hand closing around his head and lifted him as easily as one might an egg. The pressure alone forced his eyes to bulge out of his sockets. He then felt his skull crack and the world tilted as he lost all sense of balance as warm blood filled his ears. The other monster loomed beside it, watching with a stillness.
For a fleeting, absurd moment, Valdros thought of his coffee fields in the highlands. Of the scent of roasted beans drifting through the estate. Of the careful ledgers he had kept, every profit recorded in tidy script.
All of it seemed impossibly small now.
The hand tightened, and he had one last errant thought.
Betraying a Crown Prince of Hell hadn’t been very practical, now had it?
And then pain exploded through him, white and blinding, and his scream dissolved into a wet, crushing silence as the forest swallowed the last echo of Sir Farkas Valdros.
=======
Belinda Belicose had never pretended loyalty had noble connotations. Loyalty was a tool, a thing to be offered with empty promises to feed one’s ambitions and desires. Loyalty was only ever for the self and for the immediate household, never for those on the outside.
Her ancestors of ages past had been the Lords of the Orobas family, one of the Seventy-Two Pillars. But when the pretenders announced their rebellion, the Orobas had rightfully stood by the descendants of the Satans, the true lords and masters of the Devil race. They had been loyal.
And their loyalty had been rewarded with a crushing defeat. After the conclusion of the Civil War, after the sham of a Parliament had deemed their line extinct, the surviving branch families had banded together and followed the descendants of the true Satans in exile.
And so she hid, biding her time under the eyes of this paltry echo of her once glorious home. Taking on a new name and identity, playing the part of a scion of some newfound lesser Patrician of this hollow land.
But she never forgot who she was. Distant and diluted now that it was, the Orobas blood in her veins was just strong enough that she remembered what Devils used to be - ruthless, ambitious, and without shame in the pursuit of power. Not this new Empire of so-called Satans smiling and performing cheap theatrics for the masses on TV. Not the tidy reforms that sought friendship and stability with the same enemies that had slaughtered their kind by the billions. Not this suffocating order wrapped in the lie of peace.
So, when her noble cousins had reached from their home in exile and had offered her a role to aid in striking a blow against the pretenders, she had gladly taken it!
Two years she had spent in the city of Fellgrand, two years she had taken note of everyone and everything that had come and gone from the city. She struck up friendships, partnerships, took measures and directed sympathetic ears and hands towards their just glorious cause. She ensured the right people disappeared and the lower races that no one would notice fell into slave traffic. She and her family worked tirelessly for the sake of the Old Ways!
All the while, the arrogant child that had the audacity to call himself Satan remained ignorant as they worked under his very nose. No, he was far too lost in indulging his craze for dragon and fox flesh, dirtying his demonic status with whores of other races to notice them.
And yet… the Abraxas wench had delivered a startling ultimatum from the false Satan. And immediately she knew her part to play for the Orobas family was over; she had no time left in Infernity. So she fled, gathering her house, her lovers and children, and they absconded into the night towards an escape she had long since planned.
So why…?
Why was she standing in the open field within the forest, soaked with the blood of her own household?
The first Reaver had glided through the trees, searing its way through the forest. Its black, layered bulk glowing faintly with inner heat. Another dropped from above, wings tearing branches loose as it landed among her defenders. Her retainers tried to hold formation, but the moment the monsters reached them the fight ceased to resemble a battle at all.
One of her lovers went down first, lifted from the ground and snapped apart before he even finished his spell. A servant tried to drag one of her daughters back, only to be swatted aside hard enough to leave a smear across a tree trunk. The magical barrier Belinda herself forced into place flickered once and collapsed as if the creatures’ mere presence poisoned the magic holding it together.
She tasted bile as she screamed orders she knew wouldn’t matter.
“Hold the line! Stay with me!”
No one held anything.
The Reavers advanced with frenzy, dozens of them falling from the sky and brutalizing her family like a pack of hyeneas upon defenseless lambs. One seized her youngest child mid-run, and the sound that followed - the small, choking cry cut off in an instant - hollowed something out inside her chest.
Belinda staggered forward, fury burning hotter than fear as she forced another spell into existence. Violet light lashed outward, scorching bark and earth alike, but when the smoke cleared the monster stood exactly where it had before, unmoved, unimpressed… and its eyes narrowed with focused rage.
Her laugh came out ragged and wet.
“So this is your Empire,” she screamed into the sky, fury mounting even as her family were torn asunder around her. “Devils true and pure slaughtered while mindless monsters roam free?!”
The Reaver growled low as it stomped towards her, the ground cracking beneath its towering figure. Belinda dragged in one last breath and pulled what remained of her power inward. If she was going to die, she wouldn’t die begging.
“Damn you,” she whispered, voice trembling with sorrowful rage. “Damn all of you!”
The spell burst outward in a final, reckless surge that scorched the ground around her.
But when the light faded, the monster was still there… all of the monsters were still there. They surrounded her, standing upon the desecrated corpses of her lovers and children. And as she beheld the sight of her family’s blood and gore coloring the ground, she let out a humorless, near mad laugh.
This was not so different than the conclusion of the Civil War, when her Orobas ancestors were slaughtered by the pretenders. And even then, she realized, the Satans had not shown their faces. Instead, their servants had killed her ancestors even as they were going to kill her now.
For all that she did, for all that they did… was it not enough to warrant her enemy’s acknowledgement? Would they still not show their faces? Must she die to these brutes alone? Surely, she deserved better? Surely, she deserved to be cursed and reviled for the thorn she had been?
But no… the false Wrath was not coming. He had never truly put her in his sight. But if even he hadn’t noticed her, if she were ignored by even her greatest enemy who she had sworn defeat… what of those who had tasked her to hinder him? Did she fail them? Did she fail her family? Did she fail to prove her loyalty?
Belinda slowly looked back down, and she saw the horrified and twisted expression of her daughter’s severed head.
Oh…
Right…
And as the monstrous Reaver finally raised its claw over her, Belinda remembered the truth… loyalty was just a tool.
=======
Ichigo was halfway through dragging his straw through the last stubborn ribbon of melted chocolate when a distant pulse brushed against his thoughts. He perked up slightly as he realized it was the seething and brutal mental touch of his Imperators reporting the completion on their assigned tasks. Given that they had no actual language of their own and relied purely on psychic impressions, they assailed Ichigo with flashes of bloodied earth and the grim satisfaction of a successful hunt.
Though he was completely unsurprised: sending two Ultimate-class Imperators, six semi-Ultimate-class Titans and dozens of High-class Lords for two families that didn’t even touch upon the thresholds of High-class was the definition of overkill. Nevertheless, Ichigo sent back a casual flicker of acknowledgement, the mental equivalent of a thumbs-up, before letting the connection fade.
For all their violent and savage ways, his Reavers were surprisingly light on the upkeep. A simple ‘good job’ would keep their metaphorical tails wagging for weeks.
Across the table, Tiamat was already halfway through her third slice of cake, and Ichigo’s attention drifted back to the way her brow softened in concentration.
However, Ichigo’s attention was suddenly taken from Tiamat and her cake when a series of sharp, indignant shrieks broke through the easy murmur of the street. He glanced up in time to see a cluster of overdressed Devils forcing their way through the crowd, boots kicking aside the kneeling cultists as though they were inconveniently placed furniture. Between them floated a lavish palanquin, its curtains drawn back to reveal a Devil so extravagantly fat he seemed to sag into the cushions.
The procession halted before the café, and it took two attendants and a great deal of strained grunting to pull their charge onto his feet. The overweight Devil waddled hastily forward and, were it not for Grevex so used to large species that required enhanced doors, Ichigo doubted he would have fit through otherwise. Sweat was already pearling along his temples as he worriedly trudged over, before dropping into an awkward kneel at Ichigo’s table.
“My Prince!” he gushed breathlessly. “Glint Gaurum, humble Baronet and loyal mayor of Grevex, at your service!”
Ichigo looked down at the sweating Devil kneeling beside his table and felt a familiar, dull pressure build behind his eyes. Baronet. Mayor. Every single time Ichigo had the misfortune of meeting this incredibly fat oaf, he would repeat his titles at first chance. As if by consistently stating them they might somehow sound more impressive in front of the literal Demon King of Infernity.
Glint Gaurum was, by every moral metric Ichigo possessed, a walking disaster: greedy, shamelessly corrupt, and perfectly willing to squeeze a coin out of anything that breathed if he could get away with it. Unfortunately, the avaricious bastard also ran Grevex like a machine. Streets stayed clean, trade moved smoothly, crime stayed low, the numerous magic guilds and towers kept quiet, and the city’s coffers were always comfortably full. Results were results. Ergo, Ichigo turned a blind eye to some of the minor embezzlement and corruption the mayor frequently partook in.
“Why are you even here?” Ichigo grouched.
Completely oblivious to his irritation, Gaurum unleashed a master class of brown nosing. “My Prince! My liege! My sovereign Demon Lord! When I heard – nay! When I felt your august evil flood impressively through the city – my city of Grevex – how could I not come and humble myself before your sublime and sinful self! I kneel before your feet, I worship the very ground you grace! I-”And Ichigo quickly closed his eyes with a silent sigh as he began tuning out the sycophantic words. Wait… did this asshole just imply he had no control of his power and flooded his own city?
But then, as Gaurum was mid-sentence, a shrill voice cut through the street’s murmur and Ichigo beheld a small green figure literally jump on the heads of the cultists still worshipping him.
“Boss! I comes!”
Ichigo blinked in confusion. “Gobdad?”
As the small goblin landed beside Gaurum, comically highlighting just how ridiculously fat the latter was, Gobdad gave a sharp salute. “Kos! Missy Meril says Boss be wanting update on doo-doo house! I arrives!”
About to ask the goblin how it even found him, Ichigo was unceremoniously cut off when Gaurum let out an exclamation and pointed furiously at the new arrival. “Gah! Gobdad! My old enemy! How dare you show your face around my city?”
For his part, Gobdad just scratched his bald head. “Eh? Gobdad no know fat man.”
Gaurum went bright red. “How dare you, you green menace! I am a Baronet of the Empire and Lord Mayor of Grevex, under the rightful decree of His Highness Ichigo, the one, true Crown Prince of Wrath!”
Ichigo was mildly impressed that Gaurum managed to prop himself up and grovel in the same sentence.
Gobdad narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “Geh? Eh? Ah! Fatty Glint!? You even fatter! Wow-wow! Rumor true? You have hippo mom?”
“You!” And Ichigo had to hide his laughter behind his hand as Gaurum’s jowls shook and quaked in his rage. “Hmph! I suppose I should expect such uncouth behavior from the lowest goblin on the totem! I hear even your kin in the Lowlands have been pushed out of their territory by a more respectable tribe!”
Gobdad made some odd scratchy sound from the back of his throat and Ichigo watched curiously as he jumped twice in the same spot. “Fatty Glint want bring up Gobdad kin-den? Gobdad tell Boss about mutant imports!”
As Ichigo raised a curious brow, Gaurum began sweating again and gave him a nervous look. “Nonsense! I did no such thing, my Prince! There were illegal contrabands being snuck into the city and I lawfully confiscated them!”
“Hah!” Gobdad scoffed. “Me tell Boss the truth! Me hear from old friend that contra-whatits go missing from office!”
“You dare impugn my honor! My Prince, I can ass-”
The entire city shook fiercely as lightning cracked the sky and tore through the ambient magicks. And Ichigo turned slowly to see a snarling Tiamat, her lips pulled back and teeth bared into sharpening fangs. “Enough! I shall be disturbed no more! Beloved, remove your impertinent servants from mine gaze lest I devour them for their impudence!”
Chuckling to himself – Tiamat did not enjoy having her chocolate time interrupted – Ichigo leaned over and kissed her on her cheek. And at the same time, he rubbed soothing circles along the back of her hand. “Sorry, beautiful. I just need to take care of some quick business, and we’ll get back to our date. Is that okay?”
She glared at him heatedly for a moment, but then sniffed imperiously and said, “We will be getting ice-cream?”
“Whatever your heart desires, beautiful.”
And as he turned around, he saw Gaurum had fallen onto his backside, trembling wild-eyed in terror. And Gobdad…? Ichigo frowned as he looked around the café and through the startled and terrified customers, yet he couldn’t see the diminutive goblin anywhere. But then, after a second glance, he saw a pair of pointed green ears begin to stick out from behind Gaurum. And with a laugh, he realized the clever goblin had hidden himself behind the obese Devil.
“Right,” he said with a small laugh still quivering in his voice, “since you’re both here, I have this idea for a certain pair of ladies and their peerages in Grevex…”
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A/N: Uhh, not much to say here. Slowly, people in the Empire are starting to feel the consequences of what happens when Ichigo actually decides to be Satan. Not very fun for most people, heck not fun for Ichigo. Dude just wants to have milkshakes with his dragon waifu, a nice Japanese dinner with his fox-girl waifu, and then get on his playstation and game.
Gremory is an interesting character though. Notice some of the parallels with her and Ophis from a few chapters before? Divine Dragons and thier distorted view of all-time. Scary, scary.