POV: Ajuka
"I see, so that was his plan," Ajuka Beelzebub murmured softly as he observed Haruki's ascension, the Agaraes island collapsing and dissolving into raw divinity before his eyes. "I didn't expect him to go that far. Yet, looking back, it was the logical conclusion."
Haruki's true motivation had always been deceptively simple. He wished to end the existence of the evil pieces, or at the very least prevent their further creation, and thus he had gone straight for the source of the problem itself. In hindsight, it was an obvious solution, one that bypassed countless secondary conflicts and political struggles.
All the chaos he had caused, every provocation and disruption across the Underworld, had been a carefully constructed diversion meant to keep the Satans occupied and divided while he prepared his ascension uninterrupted.
Ajuka traced the origin of this plan back to Haruki's return after his three month disappearance, realizing with a quiet sense of awe that this had been the moment everything had truly begun. Even now, the sheer ingenuity behind it all made his breath hitch.
He played us all like a fiddle, Ajuka thought, goosebumps spreading across his skin. It was a strange sensation, one he was unaccustomed to.
He had never been so thoroughly outmaneuvered, never so completely defeated on an intellectual level, and rather than frustration or bitterness, he felt something dangerously close to exhilaration.
Understanding emotions had never been his greatest strength, that had always been Sirzechs and Serafall's domain, yet even he could recognize the sharp thrill stirring within him now. With the benefit of hindsight, as he analyzed the chaos that had engulfed the Underworld piece by piece, he realized that the signs had been there all along.
He should have seen it coming. Yet he did not. He had been completely misled.
He had gravely underestimated Haruki Yamashiro. This was not a person operating on the same level as the rest of them, nor one bound by the same assumptions and limitations. Haruki had been willing to create chaos on a scale so vast that even he himself could not predict the outcome, and that willingness had been his greatest weapon.
He had nothing to lose, while they had everything to protect, and that disparity had led to their miscalculation. They had assumed Haruki would think as they did, act as they would, and that assumption had cost them dearly.
There was no point lamenting what had already come to pass. The evil pieces remained Ajuka's second greatest achievement, and he would find a way to recreate them if necessary. The loss of the special crystal was a devastating setback, one that might force him to spend centuries developing an alternative method, yet the thought did not discourage him.
He was Ajuka Beelzebub, after all, and perseverance in the face of impossibility was one of his defining traits.
Yet something had changed.
For the first time in his long existence, Ajuka felt a genuine sense of rivalry. Until now, there had been no equal to challenge him intellectually, no mind that could truly stand alongside his own. Others admired his genius, relied upon it, deferred to it, yet none had ever forced him to confront the limits of his own foresight.
Haruki Yamashiro had done exactly that. The admiration Ajuka felt was methodical and unemotional in nature and rooted solely in recognition of competence, creativity, and audacity on a scale he had never encountered before.
Alongside that admiration bloomed a fierce competitiveness, a desire to test himself against this newly ascended being, to refine his own intellect further and surpass what he once believed was already his peak.
At last, he had found a rival. An equal.
Ajuka returned his focus to the others present, who were likewise captivated by the birth of a new god unfolding before them.
Cain wore a gentle smile of relief, the expression of a father who had finally seen his son succeed after a long and perilous journey.
Thor, by contrast, appeared stunned, his normally boisterous demeanor subdued as he stared at the phenomenon with barely concealed disbelief.
"He is truly a wonder," Thor said at last, his voice filled with reverence. "To think he would do something like that. The Allfather was right to place his trust in him."
"Yes, he's wonderful," Cain replied, a note of fondness in his tone that one might reserve for family, "and reckless in equal measure."
The momentary lull that followed Haruki's ascension was brief and tense. When beings of their caliber were involved, even a pause carried the weight of impending violence, and the battle that had been interrupted by the birth of a god was far from over.
He is preparing to cast a spell, Ajuka thought as he observed the son of Adam.
The realization struck Ajuka Beelzebub instantly, his thoughts accelerating as his Kankara Formula began racing to calculate the precise nature, structure, and intent of the spell being prepared by the son of Adam.
Countless variables unfolded within his technique, equations stacking upon equations in an ever expanding lattice of logic, yet the process proved far more difficult than anticipated as the god of thunder relentlessly assaulted him with a continuous barrage of attacks.
Thor proved himself a truly formidable warrior, far from a mindless brawler. He had instantly grasped that conventional attacks were meaningless in the face of the Kanakara Formula, that brute force alone would never breach Ajuka's defenses, and so he altered his approach with remarkable speed.
Instead of relying on raw lightning or straightforward physical blows, the god of thunder chose to wield only his divine authority in conjunction with his legendary weapon, Mjolnir, shaping his offense around concepts rather than mere power.
Thor moved first.
Space itself folded as Mjolnir vanished from sight, the fabric of reality bending under divine command before the hammer reappeared directly above Ajuka's skull, its mass multiplied many times over through divine acceleration.
Ajuka's Kankara Formula responded immediately. Invincible symbols unfolded in the air around him, endlessly shifting and rearranging themselves as they analyzed the attack in real time. The vector was measured, the constants extracted, the limits were broken down in an instant.
Force = Mass × Acceleration.
Acceleration: Undefined.
Solution: Normalize.
Mjolnir's velocity collapsed instantly. The divine acceleration was stripped away as the equation asserted dominance over the phenomenon, forcing the hammer to obey mundane physical law. It continued downward under ordinary gravity alone, striking Ajuka's shoulder with no more force than a dropped feather before bouncing harmlessly away.
Thor laughed, a booming sound filled with battle lust, and the heavens themselves seemed to laugh with him. Hundreds of bolts of lightning, each powerful enough to vaporize mountains, tore down from the sky.
The strikes overlapped in an increasingly recursive pattern, forming a vast storm lattice that assaulted everything below in a desperate attempt to overwhelm the Kanakara Formula through sheer volume and density.
Ajuka stood unmoved beneath the storm, untouched as lightning crashed all around him. Rather than intercepting each individual bolt, he chose a more efficient solution, his calculations shifting toward the underlying phenomenon itself.
Electrical Discharge: Directional variable.
Ownership: Unassigned.
The lightning ceased to obey Thor's will and instead bent to Ajuka's equation. The bolts curved unnaturally through the air as Ajuka compressed them, their density skyrocketing beyond natural limits before collapsing inward upon themselves.
The storm condensed into a single white hot sphere, blazing like a miniature sun suspended in midair. Ajuka adjusted one constant.
The miniature sun vanished and reappeared directly in front of Thor before detonating.
Thor reacted instantly, transforming his body into a raging current of storm and colliding head on with the attack. The resulting explosion tore through the sky, divine thunder and raw energy colliding in a violent eruption that threatened to tear the heavens apart.
Ajuka swiftly adjusted his Kankara Formula to contain the blast, shaping its boundaries with meticulous precision as he had no intention of allowing the lands below to be destroyed as collateral damage.
Redirecting the remaining energy, he manipulated the explosion itself, aiming its condensed rays towards Cain, who still stood unmoving, his focus entirely devoted to completing his spell.
Cain opened his eyes.
"Outward expression of magic is prohibited," Cain declared calmly.
Instantly, the rays of concentrated destruction dissipated into nothingness, vanishing as though they had never existed.
What is this? A conceptual ability that imposed rules upon the world itself?
"I possess two abilities," Cain explained evenly. "Chaos and order. The authority of order allows me to impose laws upon the world, and those laws are obeyed. You, being a super devil, required extensive preparation and Thor's agreement for it to even take effect, but you will no longer be able to use your Kanakara Formula outwardly."
Annoying, Ajuka thought, irritation flickering through his otherwise controlled demeanor. There would undoubtedly be a limit to how long Cain could sustain such a rule.
His gaze shifted upward toward the sky, which was currently being held together by a spell of his own design, its collapse only temporarily delayed.
He would need to overcome the imposed rule and complete his spell before it expired.
Adjusting instantly, Ajuka redirected his Kanakara Formula inward. While it was never intended for such a purpose, he could still use it to augment his physical abilities, and he would certainly need that enhancement against both the god of strength and the kinslayer.
"The rule you imposed affects you as well," Ajuka observed with genuine interest.
One of the weaknesses of the Kankara Formula lay in the time required to analyze divine authorities and conceptual abilities, and an authority capable of imposing laws upon the physical world could only be described as divine in nature.
Yet Cain was not a god, and still he wielded power that surpassed most of them.
Then again, it made sense. Cain predated the devil race itself and had existed since the dawn of humanity.
"Yes, that was one of the limitations I placed on it for it to even affect you," Cain replied with a shrug. "The difference in power between us is too great otherwise."
Cain suddenly shifted into an unfamiliar stance as his body became enveloped in a pure white glow, a pristine aura radiating from him with quiet intensity.
Touki? This is proving to be troublesome.
Suddenly both of them rushed toward him, Cain closing in from his left while Thor surged in from his right, their movements perfectly synchronized.
Ajuka responded instantly, summoning a demonic sword from pocket space as his mind calculated trajectories and outcomes in parallel, and he angled the blade toward Thor, identifying the god of thunder as the greater immediate physical threat.
Thor reacted just as swiftly, bringing Mjolnir around to deflect Ajuka's strike with overwhelming force, the divine hammer ringing through the air as Cain used the opening to sweep in low with a powerful kick aimed at Ajuka's legs.
Thanks to the Kankara Formula enhancing his perception, reaction speed, and sensory awareness to superhuman levels, Ajuka anticipated the attack a fraction of a second before it fully manifested.
He leapt upward, narrowly clearing Cain's kick while simultaneously maintaining his sword engagement with Thor, his mind splitting its focus effortlessly. While still airborne, Ajuka altered the structure of his weapon, transforming the demonic sword into a compact sphere that suddenly unfolded into a mass of extending spikes.
Cain and Thor evaded and parried the attack, breaking the spikes apart. Ajuka immediately regretted deploying such a broad technique, as the momentary overextension gave his opponents an opening.
As the last of the spikes were destroyed, both Cain and Thor shifted their stances and prepared a devastating combined blow.
Ajuka analyzed the situation in real time and came to a swift conclusion. While Cain possessed tremendous strength, Ajuka still outclassed him in raw physical capability when properly reinforced.
He chose to take Cain's incoming punch deliberately, using the impact to slip through the narrow gap created between the two attackers.
He managed to create distance for a brief moment, yet before he could capitalize on it, Thor descended from above with terrifying speed and brought Mjolnir crashing down toward Ajuka's head.
Ajuka raised his hand and blocked the strike, the impact sending shockwaves through his entire body as the force threatened to shatter him outright. Before he could recover, Cain appeared behind him in a flash, his fists already poised to strike.
Ajuka reacted instantly, confident in his ability to counter Cain's attack, yet his calculation failed to account for Thor's timing. Thor drove a brutal right hook into Ajuka's side, the blow landing with crushing force, and Cain followed immediately, smashing his fist into Ajuka's face and sending him flying through the air.
He had no time to catch his breath as he was constantly assaulted by a barrage of attacks from the duo, leaving him no choice but to go on the defensive.
Forced entirely onto the defensive, Ajuka relied on the Kankara Formula to continuously adjust the flow of demonic energy throughout his body, allocating power with efficiency to whichever area was about to be struck.
Thor, as the god of thunder, possessed superior physical strength, and Ajuka was forced to divert a significant portion of his energy to withstand Thor's blows, each of which could be fatal.
This redistribution, however, left him vulnerable to Cain, whose attacks were enhanced by Touki and centuries of accumulated martial techniques, every strike landing and drawing blood.
Their battle tore across the skies of the underworld, moving at speeds imperceptible to all but the most powerful beings. To any observer below, they would appear only as flashes of light and thunder streaking across the heavens, leaving behind trails of destruction that carved through the sky itself.
Ajuka calculated his remaining options and reached the conclusion that Cain needed to be removed from the fight.
He feigned an attack toward Thor, drawing the god's attention, and just as Thor moved to block, Ajuka slipped through with a narrow feint and redirected his momentum.
He struck Cain's surprised face with a three hit combination, a right cross, a left cross, followed by a double palm strike that sent the human reeling backward through the air.
The maneuver succeeded, yet it left Ajuka exposed for a single fatal instant. Thor wasted no time. Mjolnir crashed into Ajuka with overwhelming force. Ajuka tried to block with his left arm, but the divine weapon obliterated it completely and sent him flying.
Ajuka steadied himself midair and looked down at the bleeding shoulder where his arm had once been. He exhaled slowly and coiled his demonic energy around the wound, minimizing blood loss and initiating accelerated regeneration.
With the Kanakara Formula applied inwardly, he maximized the efficiency of his demonic energy, regenerating tissue in a manner similar to phoenix regeneration, though far less potent.
"You can use that foul energy to heal, impressive!" Thor's voice boomed as the god approached once more.
Ajuka observed his opponents carefully. Cain was bleeding and clutching his chest where Ajuka's enhanced strikes had landed, his breathing slightly labored, while Thor appeared entirely unharmed, his expression calm yet wary. Both of them regarded Ajuka with renewed caution.
Then Ajuka felt it.
The rule imposed by Cain began to wane, its influence weakening rapidly before being forcefully shattered by an external power. Freedom surged through him as the restriction was lifted, and Ajuka immediately attempted to activate his Kanakara Formula outwardly once more.
Nothing happened. He tried to call upon his demonic energy, only to find it completely unresponsive.
A chill ran through him.
Ajuka lowered his head and saw a massive wooden cross firmly embedded in the ground beneath him. The immense structure had impaled him from behind, piercing straight through his body and anchoring him to the earth.
It towered over him, unmistakably cross shaped, its form evoking the ancient instrument used to crucify Christ.
What is this?
For the first time in his life, Ajuka felt genuine unease. He had never before lost his ability to manipulate demonic energy. Forcing his mind to remain calm, he began to analyze the artifact impaling him despite the pain and suppression.
The moment the cross had pierced him, he had been reduced to a bound state, his powers sealed entirely. From that alone, he arrived at a single conclusion regarding its true nature.
Lignum Aeternum.
The Eternal Timber, the True Cross used to crucify Christ, an artifact capable of subduing and sealing even gods. The realization sent a heavy weight through his thoughts.
Such a relic should have been heavily guarded within the Vatican, its existence kept under constant protection.
He had heard no reports of its theft, though the church would undoubtedly conceal the loss of such a sacred and dangerous artifact at all costs.
"I thought you would go to Sirzechs first," Cain said calmly, his voice steady despite the devastation surrounding them.
"I thought so too," said a new voice, deep and immensely satisfying, carrying a divine resonance that seemed to caress the air itself, layered with an ethereal allure that drew the ear closer even as it inspired instinctive awe. The voice possessed a seductive gravity, smooth and transcendent, as though each syllable had been refined beyond mortal sound. "But there have been unexpected developments."
Ajuka turned his head with effort and looked to his side, and what he saw made even his disciplined mind falter. The being standing there was something he could scarcely accept as real, a figure of such overwhelming perfection that language itself felt insufficient. If he were forced to describe it, he would say it resembled demonic energy given flawless form, equally seductive and terrifying, beautiful in a way that evoked the forbidden and dangerous in equal measure. Every detail of the figure seemed deliberate, every presence radiating absolute authority restrained by calm control.
When the figure turned and met Ajuka's gaze directly, a profound sensation washed over him, a deep, almost instinctive reverence that urged him to kneel, to prostrate himself and beg for the privilege of service. For a fleeting moment, Ajuka wondered if this was how mortals felt when they beheld gods, confronted by a perfection that made resistance feel both foolish and blasphemous.
"You are Haruki Yamashiro," Ajuka said slowly, his voice carrying genuine wonder and disbelief as he compared the being before him to the Haruki of the past. The difference was staggering, as though an entirely new existence had overwritten the old. He was not alone in his shock, as even Thor stood visibly stunned, his expression betraying astonishment at the presence before them.
The cross does not seem to hinder speech, Ajuka noted distantly, his analytical instincts asserting themselves even now.
"We meet again, Beelzebub," Haruki said, his ethereal voice resonating gently. He then turned toward Thor and addressed him with composed authority. "Thank you for your assistance in this matter, Thor. I will fulfill my end of the bargain at the appropriate time."
"My pleasure, Lord Haruki," Thor replied, his tone uncharacteristically respectful, bordering on reverent. "I take it our presence here is no longer required?"
"Not anymore. You have done your part admirably," Haruki said politely, his expression serene.
"Farewell then. I would wish you luck in your future endeavors, but that seems unnecessary," Thor said with a faint smile. He inclined his head toward Cain and Ajuka before vanishing in a bolt of lightning that split the sky and was gone in an instant.
"What developments?" Cain asked once Thor had departed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Haruki.
"It appears Katerea has either intentionally or unintentionally betrayed me," Haruki replied calmly.
"What makes you say that?" Cain asked, genuine curiosity threading through his voice.
"The son of Lucifer is involved in our plans," Haruki said evenly. "I would not have known had it not been for my newly acquired divination abilities."
"Rizevim?" Cain asked, surprise flickering across his features. "That complicates matters immensely. Still, with your newfound powers, you should be able to deal with him easily. Though dangerous, he should not be at your level."
"He's not," Haruki agreed without hesitation.
"Then I assume you foresaw an unfavorable outcome should you confront him now?" Cain asked, rubbing his temple as though an old headache had returned.
Haruki nodded once. "There will be a minor change of plans. Ajuka Beelzebub shall be sealed. He has a role to fulfill in the distant future."
"Did you see that in your divination as well?" Ajuka asked dryly, irritation seeping through at how casually his fate was being discussed.
"No," Haruki replied calmly. "I will plan for it."
The certainty in his tone grated on Ajuka, yet the absolute confidence with which he spoke left no room for doubt or argument.
"Will you handle this?" Haruki asked, turning his gaze to Cain. "I have somewhere else to be."
He did not wait for a response and simply vanished, his presence disappearing as though it had never been there.
"You allow yourself to be commanded by a child?" Ajuka said, attempting to provoke Cain.
Cain looked at him with mild amusement. "Come now, Ajuka. We both know provocation is not your specialty. It must be frustrating to be so completely outplayed by someone so young," he said with a faint smile.
"It's irrelevant how I feel," Ajuka replied evenly. "My pride has no bearing on the evidence at hand. I have no trouble admitting when I fail at something."
"Then you are wiser than most," Cain said gently, as though consoling a repentant soul. "In that case, you should complete your trials relatively quickly."
"Trials?" Ajuka asked, frowning.
"Do you know how the sealing ability of the Lignum Aeternum functions?" Cain asked instead.
Ajuka shook his head. The inner workings of the True Cross were fiercely guarded by the Church, their ultimate safeguard against gods themselves.
"That's understandable. You are young, after all," Cain said calmly. "The artifact possesses four abilities. The first you have already experienced, magic nullification. Then once impaled by the cross, the target is forcibly transported into a sealed subspace where time flows symbolically rather than naturally. Within that space, you will be subjected to a trial, and you cannot leave until it is completed. I must warn you, there is no deceiving the trial. It requires genuine repentance and true change to succeed. Within that subspace, escape through death, reincarnation, or similar means is impossible."
"So I can't be freed unless I become a devout Christian?" Ajuka asked dryly. "That hardly sounds like free will."
"Not that sort of redemption," Cain said with a soft chuckle. "The trial will be uniquely tailored to you, and that decision is made by the cross itself."
Ajuka suddenly felt a strange sensation, as though he were being pulled from somewhere far away, his awareness stretching thin.
"It seems the time has come," Cain said, his expression serene and faintly melancholic. "For what it is worth, I believe you will do well."
The last thing Ajuka saw before being forcefully drawn away was Cain's distant, thoughtful gaze, heavy with quiet contemplation.
POV: Sirzechs
He breathed out heavily, the sound rough and uneven, his lungs burning from the strain he had forced both body and mind to endure over the past several hours. He had never used his true form like this before, never sustained it for so long.
There had never been a reason to do so. Any opponent he had unleashed it against in the past had been erased within moments, powerless before him, leaving him no need to test the limits of what he truly was.
The truth, he realized now, was that Sirzechs Lucifer had never needed to push himself. He had always stood at a height where effort was optional, where victory was assured before a battle even began.
Being driven this far, for this long, for the very first time in his life, he had made a discovery about his true form that chilled him far more than the wounds carved into his body.
He had always known that he could never fully restrain the power of destruction while in his true form, that it leaked from him uncontrollably and annihilated everything in its vicinity. That was why he avoided using it, fearing the collateral damage it would inflict upon allies and innocents alike.
Now, however, he understood the deeper truth behind that lack of control.
It was because he was destruction incarnate.
The realization felt painfully obvious in hindsight. Once his true form was released, it did what destruction was meant to do. It destroyed everything around it, beginning with the restraints placed upon itself.
Those internal inhibitions that allowed Sirzechs to think, judge, and control were the first things to erode, and the longer he remained in that state, the more thoroughly it turned inward and began to destroy him as well.
Destruction was indiscriminate by nature, incapable of discernment or restraint. His best friend had once warned him that if a day ever came when Sirzechs lost control of his true form, he would destroy everything and then himself.
How painfully accurate those words had been. What Ajuka had not known was that the process was gradual, that with every passing moment spent in his true form, Sirzechs was erasing pieces of himself, making the complete loss of control an inevitability.
He exhaled again and steadied himself against the fractured ground, his vision swimming as he took in the devastation that surrounded him. The second circle had been reduced to a wasteland of annihilated matter and warped space, and he found himself genuinely surprised that it had not collapsed entirely.
There was no doubt in his mind that this was Ajuka's doing, the only reason the structure of reality itself had not yet given way. He should buy that guy a booze. He deserved it for standing by his side for so long.
He lifted his gaze to the two opponents who still stood before him, both of them in far better condition than he was. The three headed dragon Azi Dahaka regarded him with unmistakable amusement, even though one of his massive wings had been torn away.
The loss did not seem to trouble the dragon in the slightest as he observed Sirzechs with the detached interest one might reserve for a fascinating experiment.
Beside him, the Primal Eclipse Dragon, Apophis, now manifested in the form of an enormous black dragon whose presence warped the very light around him, looked upon Sirzechs with something that resembled respect, a silent acknowledgment of the battle they had fought.
Sirzechs himself had lost his right hand and his left foot, his balance precarious as he struggled to remain standing. He had erased the concept of bleeding from his body to prevent himself from dying immediately, though the act did nothing to alleviate the ruin his body had become. Pain, exhaustion, and the creeping erosion of his own existence pressed in from every side.
"It seems you have reached your limit, Sirzechs Lucifer," one of Azi Dahaka's heads spoke, its voice carrying a tone that could almost be mistaken for lament.
"It would appear that his destruction form exacts a severe toll on his energy reserves and his control over them," the second head added calmly, analyzing him with clinical detachment, as scientist might on an intriguing specimen.
"What a tragedy that you must die now," the third head boomed with boisterous enthusiasm. "You fought well, Sirzechs Lucifer, truly worthy of the title of the strongest devil. Had you been born an evil dragon, you would resurrect even after death, and we could have battled for eons beyond count. Alas, you must die now as has been decided. I will remember you for as long as I live."
Come on, Sirzechs, get up, he pleaded with himself, his thoughts frantic and desperate. Only two more. Just two more.
He was so close to victory. He had already slain Nidhogg, Ladon, Grendel, Cruersery, and the others who had barred his path. Now only three remained, and his greatest obstacles stood before him in the form of the two great dragons who could wound him even in his true form.
Shalba was still somewhere beyond his reach, lurking in the shadows like the coward he was.
"You could let me go, you know," Sirzechs said, forcing a strained attempt at levity that rang hollow even to his own ears. "I hold no quarrel with either of you. I only wish to save my son."
"Die like a warrior, Lord of Devils," Apophis spoke for the first time, his voice resonating like the tolling of funeral bells, each word heavy with inevitability. The sound conjured images of tears falling upon a mausoleum, cold and endless, and Sirzechs found himself momentarily transfixed by it. "Don't stain this beautiful moment with pathetic pleas and whining. It's unfitting for one of your stature."
"He speaks the truth," one of Azi Dahaka's heads intoned, its voice thick with menace and cruel anticipation. "Stand proud and accept thy fate. These wonderful gifts you have given us, we shall repay in full measure."
What had he been thinking, trying to reason with evil dragons at all. Attempting to bargain with them was like standing in an airport and waiting for a train to arrive. These beings were the most vicious and unrestrained of an already unreasonable race, creatures whose existence rejected logic, restraint, and empathy in equal measure.
There were no rules they respected, no boundaries they acknowledged, no taboo that would give them pause. They would not flinch at acts so depraved that even lesser demons would recoil, and they would slaughter an entire race without hesitation if it suited their mood or curiosity.
They did not seek meaning, justice, or even domination in the way other tyrants did. Their madness was purer than that. They destroyed because destruction amused them, because suffering was an interesting sound to listen to, because watching the world burn gave texture to eternity.
There was no ideal to appeal to, no fear to exploit, no promise that could sway them. Evil dragons were insanity given flesh and power, and standing before them, Sirzechs knew that every word he had spoken had been nothing more than a futile gesture.
Desperation gnawed at him all the same. He knew, with absolute clarity, that he could not defeat these two. Not after being so weakened.
Yet desperation had a way of stripping pride and reason bare. He needed to save his son at any cost, and there was nothing he would not do for that. He would kneel in the dirt and press his forehead into the ground and lick it if they demanded it, he would beg until his voice broke and his dignity turned to dust, he would mutilate himself, shatter his own soul, consign his name to eternal disgrace if that would buy Milcas even a single chance at survival.
He would sell his soul without hesitation if it meant his child could live.
Yet even that path was closed to him, for asking such creatures for mercy would only amuse them, and they would slit his son's throat simply to savor the despair such a request would bring.
There was only one thing left.
Sirzechs gathered every fragment of demonic energy he had left, every fragment he could wrench from his own soul, tearing loose power that his body could no longer sustain. He compressed it, refined it, forced it into coherence through sheer will, gambling everything on one final strike.
It would be enough to wound them, perhaps grievously, enough that they would be forced to retreat and recover. There would be little of him left afterward, perhaps nothing at all, but he would be damned before he allowed his son to die without exhausting every possibility.
The two dragons sensed the shift immediately. Their expressions changed, amusement giving way to focus as the air around Sirzechs began to tremble with gathering destruction. They prepared to strike him down the instant he moved.
Then, just as he was about to unleash his power, a voice cut through him and froze his body in place.
"Papa!"
His heart seized.
"Milcas?"
He turned his head slowly, dread flooding through him before his eyes even confirmed what his instincts already knew. There stood Shalba Beelzebub, one hand gripping his son, the other holding a dagger pressed lightly against Milcas's throat. The sight hollowed him out completely, and the energy he had gathered wavered as despair surged through him.
"Papa, don't let them use me against you," Milcas cried, tears streaking down his face though his voice did not waver. "I'm not afraid of dying, father!"
Sirzechs felt something break inside him at those words, a mixture of pride, horror, and shame twisting together until he could scarcely breathe. What kind of world forced a child to speak like this?
What kind of justice allowed a son to offer his life so his father might live. He had failed him, utterly and completely, by allowing such a choice to exist at all.
"Why, Sirzechs Gremory," Shalba sneered, his lips curling as he tightened his grip. "You look like someone just walked over your grave."
"Shalba, I beg of you," Sirzechs pleaded, his voice cracking despite his efforts to steady it. "Don't harm my son. He's innocent of any wrongdoing. It's me you are after. Take me instead."
He knew he could not reach them in time, not in his current state, not before Shalba could end Milcas's life with a simple motion.
Shalba laughed, the sound sharp and full of venom. "How pathetic," he spat. "Begging me of all people for mercy ... after everything you have done to me? After you destroyed my life, and now that I am about to do the same to you, you… kneel and beg!? You are disgusting!"
"Shalba, I know you hate me," Sirzechs said desperately. "Shalba, I know you hate me. Please, he is but a child. I will do anything you ask of me. Let him go, I beg of you."
"Hate?" Shalba repeated slowly, as though testing the taste of the word on his tongue, then he laughed, a sound empty of humor. "Let me tell you what hate is, Sirzechs. There are one hundred trillion stars in this galaxy alone. If the word hate were carved into every single one of them, burned into their cores and etched across their light, it still would not equal one billionth of the hatred I feel for you and your entire line in this single, fleeting moment."
The sheer intensity of his loathing was suffocating, and even Sirzechs recoiled from the naked malice in Shalba's eyes. Still, he forced himself to endure it, to listen, to keep him talking, because every word bought him a fraction of a second.
Behind him, the presence of the two dragons loomed like executioners waiting for the signal to strike.
"You say your son is innocent. You say he has done nothing wrong. You are wrong! He is guilty of being your son! His existence is an extension of you, of your blood, of everything you have ruined. You have no right to stand there and beg for mercy after you destroyed everything I held sacred.
"I had a family once. I had a future. I had a purpose, a world that mattered to me more than you could ever comprehend, more than your so-called peace. And you took it from me. You buried it beneath your ideals, beneath your righteousness, beneath your belief that you knew better than anyone else what this world should be.
"You dare to ask me to spare him. You dare to kneel before me now, after standing above me all those years, after deciding who deserved to live and who deserved to die. This is the consequence of your own hubris. This is the price of believing yourself above your betters, above fate itself. Do not speak to me of innocence! Your bloodline forfeited that word the moment you destroyed my world."
Sirzechs had never expected mercy from the children of the Satans, least of all from Shalba Beelzebub, whose hatred burned hotter than a thousand suns. To hope otherwise would have been naive.
Yet that narrow window of time bought by Shalba's tirade was enough.
He had gathered every energy he had. If he timed it perfectly, he could erase the concept of "distance" between himself and Shalba, then erase the concept of "holding" to free Milcas from his grip.
The problem was whether he could do all of that before the dragons reached him the instant he moved. It was a gamble with impossible odds, but with his son's life at stake, Sirzechs Lucifer would stake everything he had left on winning it.
If he failed, his son would die.
And he would follow.
That split second it took for Shalba to blink was all the time he had been given. That infinitesimal pause stood as the boundary between salvation and ruin, between his son's life and his failure as a father, and Sirzechs committed himself fully to that moment with no space left for hesitation or doubt.
He gathered himself to strike, shutting out the world with brutal focus. The roar of dragons, the pressure of hostile auras, the ache of his ruined body all faded into irrelevance as he narrowed his awareness to a single point of existence.
His son.
Everything depended on perfect concentration, on flawless execution, on willing reality itself to bend for a heartbeat.
"Gh…!"
The sound tore from his throat before he even understood what had happened. The shock was so profound that his mind lagged behind his body, unable to immediately process the violation. His vision warped and twisted as though the world had suddenly lost its shape, and for a fleeting instant his consciousness was drowned beneath an overwhelming foreign presence.
Then the pain arrived.
It surged through him like liquid fire, flooding every vein, every nerve, every fragment of his being with an agony that felt fundamentally wrong, as though his existence itself was being rejected. His cells screamed, his bones felt as though they were being ground into ash from within, and his soul convulsed under the assault.
The sensation was so intense that his consciousness fractured, and for a brief, terrifying moment, everything went dark.
He did not know how long he had been unconscious when awareness returned, only that he clawed his way back into himself through sheer will. His body trembled violently, refusing to obey him, and his senses reeled like reality itself had been tilted off its axis.
He looked down.
A spear jutted from his chest, impaled directly through his heart, its surface crawling with malignant energy that writhed and pulsed like a living thing. Sirzechs could only stare at it in stunned incomprehension, unable to reconcile how it had appeared there at all.
Blood surged up his throat, and he coughed violently, crimson spilling from his lips as his knees threatened to buckle. Yet he remained rooted in place, frozen as the spear began to consume him from the inside, gnawing at his body and soul alike with merciless hunger.
"~You shouldn't let your guard down so carelessly, Sirzechs~"
The voice reached him through the haze of pain and disbelief, smooth and mocking, carrying with it a familiarity that chilled him more deeply than death itself.
He recognized that voice instantly. How could he not?
It had haunted his nightmares for centuries, echoing with derision and amusement at his struggles. It belonged to the one being who could unravel everything he had built with casual cruelty, the one shadow that had always loomed over his reign.
The very reason he had constructed his peerage around primary non sacred gear wielders, the reason he had treated the old Satan faction with such caution, the reason he had pursued compromise and restraint instead of confrontation for so long.
All out of fear of provoking him.
He bore many names, whispered and cursed across the underworld. Mentor of deceit. Bringer of the apocalypse. Perpetual blatherer. Monarch of filth. Yet one title eclipsed all others, capturing the totality of his existence in a single blasphemous declaration.
The Antichrist.
The mad son of Lucifer, who had vowed to become the absolute antithesis of Christ and had committed countless acts of depravity in devotion to that ideal.
"Rizevim," Sirzechs forced out, the name scraping his throat raw.
"Did sitting behind a desk all day make you lose your edge Zechy, hmm?" Rizevim asked, his grin wide and delighted, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "~Tell me, hehehe. Tell me~"
The joy etched into his expression was profoundly unsettling, made worse by the predatory intelligence behind his gaze. "I warned you that ruling would be difficult, and yet you went and made it even harder for yourself for the sake of your precious morals. You refused to listen to your elders, choosing compassion and rules instead."
Sirzechs felt the spear burrow deeper, its influence accelerating as though savoring his weakening resistance. It devoured him relentlessly, stripping away what little strength he had left, and he could feel death closing in with horrifying certainty.
He could not die here. He must not die here. He could not leave his son in the hands of such a depraved monster. Death itself would have been preferable to entrusting Milcas to Rizevim's mercy.
Yet his body would not respond. He could do nothing but struggle internally, desperately resisting the spear's consumption, clawing for a few more seconds of existence through sheer stubbornness.
"If the rules you followed led you to this end," Rizevim continued, his tone almost conversational, "then of what use were those rules? You should have reduced everything you desired to cinders without a second thought. You should not have cared about identity, legacy, or the future. Destruction - that was your true destiny. But you kept denying yourself."
Hopelessness settled over Sirzechs like a suffocating shroud. There was nothing he could do now. He had failed, catastrophically, and the one person he cherished above all else would pay the price for that failure. As the certainty of his imminent death crystallized, an unexpected clarity followed, his mind unshackled by desperation at last.
His life unfurled before him.
Five hundred and seventy years of memories cascaded through his thoughts in relentless succession. He saw himself as a youth, earnest and idealistic, believing that strength could be tempered by kindness and that power carried an obligation to protect. He relived the moment he accepted the burden of leadership, vowing to steer the underworld away from endless bloodshed.
He remembered every compromise, every law written in the hope of preventing future wars, every enemy spared in the belief that mercy might one day bear fruit.
He saw Ajuka at his side, sharing dreams of reform and coexistence, and the countless nights spent poring over treaties and policies. He remembered the warnings he had dismissed, the threats he had underestimated, the dangers he had believed reason could tame.
He saw each decision branch outward, paths untaken glowing faintly with possibilities of harsher choices, bloodier choices, choices that might have prevented this moment.
He remembered the day Milcas was born, the overwhelming joy that had eclipsed every other concern, and the quiet promise he had made to create a world where his son would never need to witness the horrors he himself had endured.
That promise echoed now like a cruel joke.
Every step that had led him here replayed itself in merciless detail, showing him precisely where he might have chosen differently, where he might have embraced ruthlessness over restraint. And as the spear continued to consume him, Sirzechs Lucifer was forced to confront the unbearable truth that his ideals, however noble, had brought him to the brink of losing everything that mattered most.
He looked down at the spear as it continued to eat through his flesh and soul, and in that strange, distant clarity that sometimes comes just before the end, his thoughts drifted toward its function and nature rather than the agony consuming him.
He did not know why his mind clung to such details, though he suspected it was a final, futile attempt to distance himself from the certainty of his impending death.
"It's the Ame-no-Nuboko," Rizevim said calmly, his tone almost instructional. "Yes, that very same spear wielded by Izanagi and Izanami to raise the first island, Onogoro-shima. A divine weapon, though a rather dull one if you ask me. It was never meant for killing or destruction. It exists for creation and stabilization, utterly tedious concepts. The Oracle of Delphi once prophesied that this weapon would be the one to slay me, you know."
The prince of Hell spoke as though he were delivering a lecture, and Sirzechs could not help but wonder how such a legendary divine relic had ended up in the hands of a creature so irredeemably depraved.
"So I stole this little trinket from the Shinto to see what made it so unique," Rizevim continued, his voice brimming with unmistakable delight as though he were recounting a fond memory. "I examined it from every possible angle, peeled back every layer of meaning, and in the end I discovered something truly astounding. The only remarkable thing about it was that it could not be used to take life or destroy anything at all.
"Can you imagine that? Me, destined to be killed by something incapable of killing or destroying. What a profound insult that was. I felt utterly cheated by fate itself, as though the universe had played a cruel joke at my expense. My mood plummeted, and for a time I was genuinely depressed by the sheer absurdity of it."
He laughed softly, the sound carrying a warped sense of amusement. "And then I received the most delightful news. A grand scheme was unfolding, a plan to kill the very embodiment of destruction itself. You know the saying, after the fiercest storm comes the brightest sky. That revelation was my bright day after enduring such a harsh storm. It was my opportunity to spit directly in the face of fate, to mock the inevitability it tried to impose on me.
"You see, the true nature of the spear is that of creation. Destruction is anathema to it. It unravels destruction itself, peeling it apart, negating it at the most fundamental level. So I began to wonder, what would happen if I were to pierce the embodiment of destruction with such a weapon. What would become of a being composed solely of that concept once its own nature was turned against it. I hardly need to explain the outcome to someone of your intellect. An instrument of creation twisted into its most perverse reflection. Isn't that awesome?"
Horror coiled tightly around Sirzechs' heart as he listened, his mind struggling to process the sheer madness of what he was hearing. He could not comprehend Rizevim's obsessive fascination with ruining the beautiful, with defiling the sacred, with taking concepts meant to uphold existence and corrupting them into tools of suffering.
There was something profoundly wrong in the way Rizevim found joy in desecration itself, in dragging everything that possessed meaning or grace down into filth, as though nothing was too pure or too significant to be reduced into a cruel joke for his amusement.
"You know, killing you is strangely cathartic," Rizevim said with a grin. "Not for any particular reason, mind you. It was not really my place to kill you, but I wanted to make a good first impression. A special person will come here, you see. First impressions are very important. They can decide whether you get the job or not."
"That was ill done, Prince Rizevim," Apophis said sorrowfully. "He didn't deserve to die in such a cowardly manner. He should have fallen in blazing glory, as befits a warrior of his stature."
"That was not honorable," Azi Dahaka added solemnly, though he made no move to intervene.
"Cowardly? Not honorable?" Rizevim echoed incredulously. "What are you, angels now? Have the legendary evil dragons suddenly grown tender hearts? How unsightly. I will pretend I did not hear that, for your sake."
He turned back toward Sirzechs, shaking his head with exaggerated exasperation. "Can you believe these two?" he said conversationally, as though Sirzechs were an old acquaintance rather than the man he was actively murdering.
"You brought the mood down, you party poopers," Rizevim said, shaking his head again. "Now I need to lift the atmosphere somehow. But how?"
He placed a finger on his chin in exaggerated thought, then snapped his fingers. "Oooh! I know, I know exactly how! How about in Sirzechs' final moments, we skin his son alive and then feed the remains to the wolves. Isn't that wonderful? The look on your face as your precious son is skinned and eaten by wolves will be priceless, am I right?"
Sirzechs felt something inside him fracture at those words, a horror so profound that it eclipsed even the agony of the spear. He could not comprehend how a being could be so utterly cruel, so gleefully monstrous, especially toward a child. He tried to move, to scream, to do anything at all, but his body refused to respond.
"You may do as you wish," Apophis said quietly. "I will have no part in this."
"Boooring!" Rizevim replied dismissively.
"Master," another familiar voice said. "That boy carries the blood of Sirzechs and that of my traitorous sister. Perhaps he could be shaped into a weapon against our enemies."
"Yeah, I thought about that too," Rizevim replied casually. "~But trust me, this will be much funnier~"
"Please," Sirzechs begged with the last of his strength. "No….please….spa–"
"You can still speak?" Rizevim said in impressed delight. "You really are amazing. And I interrupted you, did I not? ~silly me~ You said spa-, but you didn't finish. Let me guess, Were you asking me to spank your son? What else starts with a spa? Hmmm… No, It must be spanking! weird thing to ask, has your son been naughty lately? But who am I to refuse a dying man's request?"
It is hopeless, Sirzechs thought in despair. Rizevim would make his final moments as miserable as possible.
Sirzechs looked at his son, still held captive by Shalba with a blade pressed to his throat, and imagined all the things he wished he could say. He wanted to apologize for everything, to tell him that he was proud, to hold him and promise that it would all be alright. The knowledge that he could do none of those things hollowed him out.
What a cruel joke it all was. The strongest devil in history, unable to save his own child.
There was still some essence left within him before the spear finished unraveling his existence entirely, a faint remnant of what he once was, flickering stubbornly against the inevitable end. It would not amount to much, he knew that with grim clarity, yet he refused to grant that bastard the satisfaction of watching him die on his own terms.
If this was to be his end, then it would be shaped by his own will, however fleeting that will had become.
He understood what he could do. He could let go of everything, every restraint, every boundary that held together the being known as destruction incarnate, releasing it in its entirety and annihilating himself in the process. It would be a final act of self-erasure, a deliberate collapse into nothingness.
Even so, if that act could harm Rizevim even slightly, if it could scar him in any way, then it would be a death he could accept, a death earned in defiance. He thought of it as a final seppuku, an act of resolve born from despair and love, a last attempt to extract a fragment of revenge for his son's future suffering.
As he gathered what remained of his resolve and prepared to carry out that final decision, he felt something shift, a faint disturbance brushing against his fading awareness.
Then he saw a silhouette form behind Shalba, and Sirzechs' eyes widened in astonishment. A being of immense presence stood there, dark-haired and composed, radiating power so refined and overwhelming that it hurt to perceive.
The face was familiar, though transformed, taller and more beautiful in a way that felt almost divine. Yet that expression was unmistakable.
In a single fluid motion, the newcomer snapped Shalba's neck before he could react and gently took Milcas into his arms. With a snap of his fingers, Shalba's lifeless body erupted in brilliant flames, maggots spilling from it as the fire consumed and purified what remained.
Sirzechs did not understand how this figure had become so powerful, nor the full extent of the presence he exuded, but an overwhelming relief washed through him regardless. He smiled softly at the sight, too weak to speak as the spear finally completed its consumption of his body.
He remembered something Serafall had once told him. She had said that there is always hope, that beyond the light there is darkness, and beneath that darkness there exists a light so deep and unfathomable that despair itself cannot smother it.
It was a quiet, stubborn hope, the kind that endures even when reason has long since surrendered, a fragile certainty that even at the edge of annihilation, something still waits to be found.
I leave it all to you, Haruki, were his final thoughts.
And thus ended the Crimson Satan, whose deeds and power would echo through history long after his passing, remembered as the greatest of his kind, a being fated to be destruction itself who instead chose love and peace, and paid the ultimate price for that choice.
AN: One of the things that constantly amazes me about High School DxD fanfics is how allergic they seem to be to actually changing the status quo. A new character shows up, OC or SI doesn't matter, and somehow the universe bends over backwards to remain exactly the same. No meaningful consequences, no real ripple effects. Despite there being thousands of fics, they're all terrified of letting the MC make an unpopular decision or be unlikable. And those that do, they never finish.
Sure, villains die and waifus get collected like Pokémon, but only the bad guys, and usually the same ones that die in canon anyway, just a bit faster this time. Nothing ever really happens to the good canon characters, the protagonists. Which is a shame, because fanfiction is literally meant to change things and explore new ideas. I get it. Killing popular canon characters is a great way to lose readers. But I firmly believe a lot of people actually want to see something new instead of the same story recycled for the thousandth time.
So here's my approach. I don't know if I pulled it off perfectly (or anything close to well tbh), but at the very least things do change. Sirzechs is dead. Ajuka is sealed for who-knows-how-long. Agreas Island is gone, meaning no more Evil Pieces. The underworld now has to stumble into a new age without two Super Devils holding everyone's hand and protecting them from consequences. And just to reassure everyone: I'm a romantic at heart. I don't like purely depressing endings, so there will be a happy end for this fic. it's just going to be a long, painful, but hopefully beautiful road to get there.
Also, I hope you enjoyed the small section of Ajuka's fight. I could've dragged it out for several chapters, but this arc really needed to end. No point in overstaying its welcome.
On a completely unrelated note: Ajuka is so ridiculously overpowered it's not even funny. Seriously, what was the author thinking when he created this man?
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