[Melchivor POV]
"Phhheeewww... Focus, focus, not too—f*cking damn it!!"
I couldn't help but exclaim as the crown-like object in my hands broke into many small pieces.
It's been about two years since I learned the basic methods of casting spells (at least in regards to the spirit archives). The spells I've mostly learned were the tier 5 or lower spells. Of course, I also dabbled in other spells besides the D&D ones, increasing the versatility of my spell arsenal—though none of them are truly considered that powerful down here in Hell, yet.
Exactly what am I doing, you ask? Well...
"Why is rune-crafting so goddamn hard!!"
You see, after I was done with the basic spells, I headed straight into learning the basics of runes. In the spirit archives, the way it can be done is in two ways. The first is the rune spells that follow a four-step process that was actually quite easy to learn—I was able to master it in less than two months. While the versatility is immense, it doesn't have that potency for damage.
The second version, however, is the complete opposite. It is a seven-step, agonizing process that needs to be completed to perfection; anything less would mean automatic failure. But in turn, it can create magical and wondrous items with permanent effects.
The seven steps are: intent mapping, material selection, attunement, carving, charging, linking, and sealing.
The first two steps are easy—I just need to make a diagram of what I plan to make, and then prepare the appropriate materials needed for the item I wish to create. The third step is tedious, as I need to "connect" to the item so my magic can influence it, preventing it from shattering when I activate the runes on the item.
Carving is writing or carving the runes of my making. It also needs to be from the same language, as trying to write or carve runes from different languages on the same item makes it drastically more difficult. Though apparently, if you're successful, it in turn becomes drastically stronger—something I'll look into later if I can ever make a basic-ass item first.
Charging is channeling a measured flow of essence (a.k.a. magic/mana), either from my own reserves or an external source (crystals, ley energy, soul residue). The energy settles into the engraved lines like current through a circuit. This step will also show if you failed the previous step (carving) by instantly destroying it—forcing you to f*cking redo the entire process from step one...
The last two steps are linking and sealing. Linking is just connecting runes into a single array, which is apparently simple, and sealing is just placing a final mark on the array, which will cause it to disappear and "soak" into the item.
Unfortunately, even after more than a year and a half, I've only ever made it to the charging step. Honestly, I don't know what exactly I'm doing wrong.
Then I had an idea—perhaps I'm biting off more than I can chew—so I decided to look into both the spirit archives and Melchivor's movie-like memories.
Lo and behold, there were notes and scenes of Melchivor doing various forms of craftsmanship, like blacksmithing or sculpting. Though not fully detailed, maybe if I followed the same path, it could prove helpful to me in learning runes...
"Brother Mel! It's a travesty!"
Before I could ruminate on the thought, Stolas came barging into my room in his PJs while holding two sets of clothes around his size.
"Stolas? What are yo—"
"You must help me—I can't decide what to wear for our birthday in three days!"
"Seriously... haaah. Stolas, I don't mean to sound rude, but I don't think anyone will care—or should I say, dare—to speak on your appearance tomorrow."
"Also, it won't be a public birthday. We won't be doing that until we're eight years old, so the people who could say anything wouldn't be there to begin with. It'll just be me, you, and the rest of this mansion's servants," I said as I picked up the metal scraps lying on the floor.
"Of course it's different! Did you forget? Because I'll remind you—our father, KING of the Goetia, our father will be coming!"
"Not only that, but we'll also be receiving our Grimoires, making us official members of the Goetia—items of both status and responsibility! It's—"
"Alright! Alright! I get it, I'll help you out. No need for the rant."
Before Stolas could react, I immediately picked him up with one of my tails again.
"Yay—ah! M-Meeel! Again with the tail!?"
"Sorry, Stolas. Earlier, before you came barging in, I was working on something that broke into a few pieces on the floor, and I'd rather you not cut your feet," I said as I placed him outside my room at the door.
"Just let me clean up first, and then I can help you, okay?"
"Mmmmm, and you'll let me help you dress too?"
"Pft—sure, you can help me too."
"Then deal!"
Once making the deal, Stolas ran back to his room while I went back to mine to clean up.
☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆●☆
[Melchivor POV]
~3 Days Later
The day of our birthday felt like the mansion had been cleaned down to its bones. Servants moved like a quiet tide — polishing, arranging, and whispering logistics.
Beside me, Stolas bounced from one foot to the other, clutching his little plushie at his side like it was an anchor. He was wearing one of the new outfits the servants had fussed over, star-stitched velvet that made him grin like he'd swallowed a lit candle. He did that thing with his feathers where they ruffle whenever he was nervous-excited. I could see him trying not to fidget, but failing.
"I still can't believe Father's actually coming," he kept whispering. "Arn't you also excited Mel!"
I gave a short, even laugh. "As excited as a tumbleweed rolling through the deserts." I said nonchalantly, afterall I have never been a fan of parties, Stolas just chuckled at my answer before shaking his head, still carrying that excited expression.
He'd been hyping this up since breakfast, constantly talking about grimoires, and official status. Truth be told it a little annoying after a bit of time.
Eventually we made our way to the front of the mansion where we waited for a about thirty minutes.
"a gold, red, and black carriage made from the highest quality materials and inlaid with jewels, arrived with a little parade that somehow managed to be both understated and dramatic. One carriage rolled up, a long velvet carpet rolled out, and the King of Goetia had stepped out with slow deliberation. He wore a suit that looked like a coronation stitched to a tuxedo; he had that smooth, practiced smile as if everything he did was part of a stage.
"My sons," he said, voice honeyed and wide, carrying through the space. "How good to see you both on this most delightful of days." He reached out to Stolas and ruffled a feather with exaggerated fondness. "Stovas, my owl. And you must be—ah—Melnoir. Yes. The other one. Charming." Paimon said as if certain he said our names correctly, despite not being the case at all.
I blinked twice. Stolas didn't even correct him; he just laughed nervously, feathers puffing from embarrassment.
"Ahem* Your majesty I believe their names are Stolas and Melchivor." An older looking Imp in a bulter suite with a white mustache that followed Paimon whispered in his ear.
Paimon blinked, then dramatically gasped and waved a hand as if dismissing a scandal. "Oh! Of course! Stolas, my radiant little comet! Forgive your father, I've been buried in endless reports and ritual paperwork — my mind's like a stage flooded with actors all talking at once!"
He turned to me next, eyes narrowing slightly before a warm, too-practiced smile returned. "And Melchivor! Ah yes, I do recall — my more reserved son. You carry yourself like an oracle and scowl like a tax collector. How utterly Goetian of you."
I exhaled slowly through my nose. "Thank you… I think." I whispered the second half.
Paimon only chuckled, brushing invisible dust off his jeweled cuffs. "Don't thank me, boy. The compliment was free, but the meaning is expensive."
I could feel Stolas vibrating with excitement beside me. "Father, are we really—are we actually getting our Grimoires today?" he asked. His voice pitched somewhere between awe and panic.
"Why, of course, my darling starling! Though we should proceed with the ceremony within the mansion than staying out here with the rabble." Paimon along with the few servants he brought with him passed us and headed inside as I and Stolas followed behind.
Now in the main hall that had been decorated within an inch of its life. The chandeliers shimmered like frozen sunlight; every surface gleamed. You could practically smell the servants' fear of imperfection.
Paimon strutted ahead as if he were walking down the runway of a celestial opera, cape trailing like liquid gold. Every few steps, he'd adjust his cuffs or flick his hair back with that same deliberate rhythm — the one that said Yes, I know you're all watching me.
He stopped near the grand hearth, turning to face us with arms outstretched. "Now then, my beloved progeny! The stars themselves commemorate your day of ascension!" he announced, loud enough to rattle the chandeliers. "And though the universe spins ever onward, it still pauses — just for us."
The servants clapped politely. Stolas beamed like the sun.
I mostly stared, wondering how long this was going to drag out.
"Before the gifting of the Grimoires," Paimon continued, pacing theatrically, "I must impart to you both something of immeasurable worth... fatherly wisdom."
He said it with a straight face, as though the phrase didn't sound like a joke coming from him.
"Stolas," he said, gesturing with flourish, "my shimmering heir of the stars. Remember, perception is power. A Goetia's grace is not in what he does, but in how others believe he does it. You could trip over your own cape and if you own the stumble, the court will call it choreography."
Stolas nodded enthusiastically, as though being told to fake confidence was divine instruction.
Paimon then turned toward me. His smile lingered a moment too long — polished, weighty, almost evaluative.
"And you, Melchivor... the quiet one. I've heard whispers that you bury yourself in the archives, tinkering, crafting, studying. Admirable in theory, but…" He leaned forward just enough for his tone to turn honey-coated venom.
"But remember, my boy—Hell doesn't reward the quiet. It applauds the performance, so don't mistake diligence for divinity, in our world, it only remembers the spectacle, not the scholar."
"I'm not sure if it was how he said it or simply the words themselves, but the moment he said those and fury bad lit up inside me, causing me clenched my fists to prevent myself from punching this f*cking b*stard straight in the face.
He straightened again, chuckling, already done with me before I could even form a response. "But chin up! It's your birthday, not a eulogy. Let's not wilt in sentiment."
The Imp servant from earlier, shuffled forward with a velvet tray. Two slim, ornate tomes rested upon it, bound in black leather that shimmered faintly with infernal sigils.
"Your Grimoires," Paimon declared. "Family-bound, sealed by blood, catalogued by lineage. And, naturally, proof of your Goetian prestige."
He held them up one by one, presenting them like awards at a royal gala rather than sacred tools of inheritance.
Stolas gasped, taking his with trembling hands. "They're beautiful!"
"Yes, yes," Paimon said absently, waving a jeweled hand. "Just don't get tears on it — it's very expensive binding."
When my turn came, he didn't even look directly at me as he handed mine over. His attention drifted to the room, inspecting the drapes, the symmetry of the candlelight. I took the book anyway.
It pulsed faintly in my hands, its cover shifting with runic threads that reminded me of all my failed attempts. I wondered if Paimon even realized the irony.
"Father," Stolas said after a moment, "will you be staying for dinner?"
Paimon blinked, as if the concept genuinely surprised him. "Dinner? Oh, my little star, I'd love to, but alas — governance calls! A king's schedule is never his own, and my subjects grow terribly restless when deprived of my brilliance for too long." He said it with zero shame, straightening his cuffs again.
"But perhaps," he added with a thin smile, "if you two become remarkable enough, I might make the next birthday an affair worth postponing my duties for."
I couldn't help it — I muttered, "How generous."
His gaze flicked toward me, sharp and glinting. For half a heartbeat, I thought he might actually address the sarcasm. Instead, he just smiled wider, all teeth and no warmth.
"That's the spirit, Melchivor. A tongue with bite. Keep it sharpened — just make sure it's never pointed at me."
He turned on his heel, cape sweeping behind him as he made for the exit, the servants scrambling to follow.
The great double doors closed with an echoing boom.
Stolas stared after him for a long time, feathers deflating. "He remembered my name this time," he said softly, trying to sound happy.
"Yeah," I murmured, clutching the Grimoire tighter, "he did."
+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+×+
Author Note:
I made this chapter extra long since trying to split this into two chapters didn't make sense, so enjoy the extra long chapter and early days release.
I also want to inform you that I have decided that Melchivor harem will be limited to four members(Female) only, also note that that this harem is more of a polyamorous relationship meaning I "might" write "very few" and "very short" scenes involving Yuri, which I know some of you might not like, so I thought I let you know now than later on.
Another thing is that Melchivor will have kids, with these unamed lovers which will be 9 in total. Already made with their physical appearances and personalities, of course I'm open to characters Ideas you guys may give, and I honestly wouldn't mind altering them a bit, maybe changing them entirely.
5 are males, and 4 are females, they're all mainly Anthropomorphic Owls like the Goetia in Helluva Boss, but you can add on.
Example; an anthropomorphic owl-shark that possess the domain of water, shadow and fears, his personality is in fact though gentle and sweet.
So if you got an idea, then please share.