Serafall's POV
Inside the grand halls of Lucifer Castle, chaos reigned.
The clan heads screamed over one another, their voices echoing off marble walls like clashing swords. Blame flew like daggers—desperate, frantic, useless. Each noble scrambled to escape responsibility for the devastating loss we had suffered in the war. Pride, fear, and desperation bled from their voices.
Pathetic.
Only two devils remained composed beside me.
Ajuka—Beelzebub—the genius and the only other Super Devil aside from Sirzechs, stood with his usual quiet elegance. I respected him. More than that, I trusted him. In these bleak times, he was one of the few I could count on.
And then there was Zekram Bael.
The mere sight of him soured my mood. Cold, calculating, utterly devoid of empathy—he saw people as tools, pawns on a board he believed he owned. His silence was more damning than the accusations thrown about the room.
Let them yell. Let them blame. Let them tear each other apart.
I stood in silence, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold. The same recycled arguments spilled over again and again—pride, ego, fear. They were drowning in it.
Then a voice cut through it all.
"Are you all done?" Ajuka asked, calm and emotionless.
He hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't unleashed even a flicker of demonic power.
But the effect was instant.
Silence.
Every head turned. Every noble shut their mouth. Even the boldest froze mid-motion—not out of intimidation, but something deeper.
Respect.
Fear.
Ajuka didn't need to command the room with noise. Everyone knew the truth, though few dared speak it aloud.
He was the most dangerous devil alive.
Even Zekram, ever the serpent, lost his smirk. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He knew better than to test Ajuka.
We tell the younger generation that Sirzechs is the strongest devil. And that's not a lie. If we're speaking of raw power—of sheer, apocalyptic might—Sirzechs wears that crown.
But if they ever truly fought, no restraints, no limits?
Sirzechs would lose.
Every. Single. Time.
Because where Sirzechs is a force of nature, Ajuka is the mind that bends nature to his will.
The only reason Sirzechs became Lucifer and Ajuka took Beelzebub's title was because Ajuka had no interest in politics. He would rather vanish into his labs, surrounded by forbidden knowledge, than waste time in rooms like this—filled with posturing and pride.
"We made a mistake," he said, voice still calm. "That mistake was joining this war. All of you insisted we take part—not out of duty, not out of strategy—but for greed. You wanted a share of the spoils after the destruction of the Hindu pantheon."
His gaze swept the room, cold and precise.
"And now you want to point fingers. To blame one another. Some of you even have the audacity to blame the Satans for agreeing to it."
No shift in tone. No rise in power. And yet the temperature in the hall dropped sharply.
Ajuka was furious.
He stepped forward, his voice quiet but carrying with the weight of judgment. "If you want to act like children, then by all means—do so. But never forget, these seats are not meant for children."
His words hung in the air like blades.
No one dared to speak. Some nobles looked away, shamed. Others clenched their jaws, pride clashing with fear. The arrogance in the room had withered, choked by Ajuka's truth.
I broke the silence, voice sharp.
"If everyone is done posturing, can we focus on what truly matters? The peace summit—and what we're willing to offer the Hindu pantheon."
A murmur swept through the chamber.
"We could offer some of our territories," one clan lord suggested, voice uncertain. "In both the Underworld and the human realm."
I didn't bother to hide my disdain. Another voice, colder, followed.
"Land won't be enough. They'll demand more—grimoires, magical armories, even relics from the Age of Genesis."
The air grew heavy. Grimoires and relics weren't just resources—they were pride, legacy, the very soul of devil society. To offer them up was near sacrilege.
But loss changes the rules.
Ajuka watched in silence. Not judging. Calculating.
"They'll want more than relics," I said. "They'll want guarantees. Leverage. Concessions that break us in front of the world, to remind everyone what happens when you oppose them."
Zekram spoke then, his tone like frost. "They'll want names. Scapegoats. Devils to offer up as a symbol of justice. They'll want humiliation."
I felt their gazes shift—subtle, but sharp—toward us, the Satans.
Let them look.
"They won't get a Satan," I snapped. "Not one of us. We've bled too much for this realm. But lords who pushed hardest for war? Who profited from it while others died? Yes. They may be offered."
Fear crept in. Some nobles paled. Others looked at one another in growing dread.
Ajuka finally spoke. "They'll move to dismantle our military strength. Sever our ties to the Grigori. Break what few alliances we have left. Their goal will be to ensure we never rise again."
"And if we refuse?" someone asked, voice brittle.
"Then they'll finish what they started," I said flatly. "And this time, we'll face them alone."
A pause.
Then Ajuka, ever the tactician, added, "We offer just enough—territory, obsolete relics, a few expendable nobles. But under no condition do we surrender our core infrastructure."
Zekram narrowed his eyes. "And who leads this negotiation? You, Beelzebub?"
Ajuka turned to me.
"No," I said, stepping forward. "I will. The Hindu pantheon respects strength, but they also understand diplomacy. I've dealt with their kind. I know how they think."
No one objected aloud—but I felt the weight of skepticism.
Let them doubt.
Ajuka met my gaze. He was waiting.
"And I will not attend this summit alone," I said clearly.
Confusion rippled through the hall.
"The Ars Goetia will accompany me. All of them. Not as diplomats. As a message. Let every pantheon see—though we may have lost the battle, the Devil Kings still hold power that can shake the heavens."
Shock. Murmurs. Even Zekram arched a brow in interest.
"Lady Leviathan," a noblewoman asked hesitantly, "is it wise to involve… them?"
I didn't blame her for the hesitation. Even now, the name Ars Goetia stirred unease.
If We called them the True Satans, or the 72 Pillars—but that was a lie we told ourselves. Because they were not devils.
The Ars Goetia—those beings summoned and bound by Solomon—were something else entirely. They bore no connection to Lucifer, no allegiance to our kind. In truth, they were a scar carved deep into the heart of devil society.
A cruel reminder.
Lucifer, in his pride, had crafted the 72 Pillars with Lilith's aid—a grand structure, a legacy of noble houses, power, and purpose. A foundation for devil kind. And then came Solomon, the human king who defied all reason. With but a whisper, a gesture, a snap of his fingers, he forged his own "72"—not with blood or lineage, but with sheer will and divine authority.
The Ars Goetia were a mirror. No—a mockery. A declaration that even our proudest creation could be imitated, surpassed, and made irrelevant by a mortal chosen by the God of the bible. Their existence shamed the original Four Satans. And their silence since that era? A louder condemnation than any word ever spoken.
My train of thought was abruptly cut off as Zekram Bael's voice pierced the quiet.
"Why would they help us?" he asked coldly. "Even during the Great War—when we stood against Heaven, God, His angels, and the Fallen—they did nothing. They didn't care then, and they don't care now."
The hall fell still again, the weight of his words undeniable.
"You would be right, Great Ancestor Zekram," I said smoothly, my gaze unwavering. "The Ars Goetia do not move for gods or devils. They answer to one person—and one person alone. Solomon."
Murmurs stirred in the room again, but I silenced them with a grin—slow, deliberate, and far too pleased.
"But…" I continued, my voice laced with amusement, "we have something the Ars Goetia want."
One of the lords leaned forward, suspicion and curiosity mixing on his face. "And what would that be, Lady Leviathan?"
I turned to him, letting my smile widen, almost serpentine. "We have the Rings."
The words struck like thunder.
Silence descended, absolute and suffocating. Eyes widened. Jaws slackened. Disbelief was etched into every noble's face.
They couldn't believe it.
I didn't blame them.
After all, aside from myself and the other three Satans, no one knew the truth. No one knew that the Rings of Solomon—the ancient seals of dominion over the Ars Goetia—were no longer lost.
Zekram's eyes narrowed sharply. "Leviathan," he said slowly, each syllable heavy with suspicion, "how do you have the Rings?"
I didn't flinch. "We began searching for them not long after we assumed the mantle of Satans. We understood that forming an alliance with the Ars Goetia might someday become a necessity… especially if the tides of war turned against us."
I glanced toward Ajuka, and he gave the faintest nod.
"With Beelzebub's help, we developed a device—an artifact—that could trace remnants of Solomon's divine signature. It took years… decades. But eventually, we found them."
Gasps echoed through the chamber. Some nobles looked ready to speak, others afraid to breathe.
"And now," I finished, my voice cold with certainty, "we hold the key to bringing the Ars Goetia to our side."
The words hadn't even fully settled when Zekram's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Leviathan," he growled, his eyes darkening, "I don't think you understand the game you're playing."
I turned to face him fully, my expression hardening. "What do you mean, Zekram?" I asked, my tone sharp, challenging him outright.
He rose slightly from his seat, the weight of centuries behind his gaze. "The moment you give them the Rings… the moment they feel that power in their grasp… they will try to resurrect him."
A chill rippled through the room.
Zekram's voice dropped lower, his words laced with quiet fury. "And we all know who Solomon is."
The name hung unspoken between us, heavier than any curse. Even the bravest among the nobles dared not speak. Everyone knew the truth buried beneath legend—Solomon was not merely a magician or king. He was something far more terrifying.
A conqueror of devils.
A man who walked into the Underworld uninvited and subdued its greatest monsters… and mocked Lucifer's legacy by creating his own imitation of the 72 Pillars.
A scar upon devilkind's history.
Ajuka stepped forward, his voice calm but carrying the weight of finality.
"If Solomon does return," he said, "then there's nothing any of us can do. And even if he does come back, you're forgetting something, Zekram—Solomon never cared about our faction. Not then, and certainly not now."
His emerald eyes swept across the chamber, silencing any whispers before they could rise.
"We're not bringing the Ars Goetia in just for the Hindu pantheon," Ajuka continued. "We'll need them for what's coming next… the faction war."
Murmurs rose, but no one interrupted. Everyone in this room had heard the rumors, felt the tension simmering beneath the surface of the supernatural world.
"That cold war will ignite in fifty, maybe sixty years," he said. "And for beings like us… that's a heartbeat."
The hall grew heavy with silence once more, the weight of Ajuka's words settling over them like an omen. No one wanted to admit it, but they all knew he was right.
The next great storm was already on the horizon.
"If none of you have anything more to offer," Ajuka said coldly, "then you may leave—everyone except for Zekram."
The command left no room for debate.
One by one, the lords and ladies of the council stood, casting final glances toward me, Ajuka, and Zekram as they filed out. Some eyes held doubt, others resentment. Most were simply afraid. I met their stares with silence.
As the last noble exited, the change was immediate.
In less than a second, the room sealed itself. A surge of power swept through the chamber—wards flaring, sigils locking into place. It happened so fast that even I, Serafall Leviathan, and Zekram Bael couldn't react in time.
Ajuka turned to Zekram, his expression unreadable. "Why did you support the war against the Hindu pantheon?"
Zekram's eyes narrowed, but his voice was calm, composed, laced with venom. "Why should I answer you, Ajuka? Yes, you may be the most dangerous devil in existence. But you won't touch me. You can't."
He stepped forward, folding his arms behind his back.
"If anything were to happen to me, suspicion would fall squarely on the four Satans. People would whisper that you're becoming like the old Satan faction. And you know what happens when that kind of fear takes root."
He wasn't wrong.
Zekram Bael was one of the pillars of our political structure. If he were harmed—or worse—finger-pointing wouldn't stop at Ajuka. It would spread like wildfire. Accusations. Conspiracies. A spark that the old Satan loyalists could easily twist into justification for another civil war.
We'd barely survived the last one.
Ajuka remained still, but the pressure in the air thickened, subtle and suffocating. He didn't need to say it—but I knew he was weighing the risk. Every word, every move, calculated.
Finally, Ajuka spoke—his voice calm, yet chilling.
"You speak as if I can't simply erase your existence from every devil's memory," he said softly. "Or kill you and replace you with a puppet who thinks exactly like you."
The words hung in the air like a blade, sharp and undeniable.
I froze. I couldn't believe what I was hearing—from Ajuka of all people. But Zekram… Zekram didn't flinch. If anything, he looked amused.
"If you could do that," Zekram said with a quiet scoff, "you would've done it long ago."
Ajuka smiled then. It wasn't warm. It wasn't reassuring. It was the smile of a man who knew secrets that could bring down empires.
"Zekram," he said slowly, "do you remember the original Astaroth? Your brother?"
The question hit like a thunderclap.
I blinked, confused at first—until the weight of it sank in. I turned to Zekram, watching realization dawn in his eyes the same moment it struck me.
His expression twisted.
"What… what did you do?" Zekram growled, voice low and trembling. "I… I can't remember him."
Ajuka's smile remained unchanged.
And that was more terrifying than any threat he could have spoken aloud.
Now, as I focus on recalling the original Astaroth, it becomes increasingly difficult to remember him. This should not be the case; after all, he was one of the original devils who survived the Great War and was heavily involved in the intricate politics of the underworld, much like Zekram.
The thought that someone like him could be erased from everyone's memories sends shivers down my spine.
Ajuka turned towards me, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "Don't look at me like that, Serafall," he said, his voice steady yet somber. "We've all done terrible things in the name of peace."
"Zekram, it looks like you need some time to process everything," Ajuka said, his expression unwavering. "So you should leave now. But remember this: I want my answer."
Zekram appeared as though his entire world had been shaken as he stood there, a man grappling with the weight of revelation. I couldn't fault him for his reaction.
Once he left, I turned to Ajuka, my brow furrowed. "Was that necessary? You're already considered one of the most dangerous devils, but what you just revealed makes you even more terrifying."
Ajuka met my gaze, his eyes steady. "Serafall, Zekram needs to understand that he is not untouchable. There are consequences to his actions that he must face. If I had given in and not revealed that, he would most likely have asked for a favor or sought answers to questions we simply couldn't provide."
"You're right," I conceded with a heavy sigh. "Let's head to the Ars Goetia now."
"It's quite ironic, isn't it?" I continued, attempting to lighten the mood. "We received the rings from Ophis to fight against the Hindu pantheon, and now we're using them to navigate the aftermath."
Ajuka's expression remained solemn as he replied, "You're correct. I never expected we would actually lose the war. I anticipated we'd suffer severe losses, but I didn't believe the alliance would collapse like this."
As we made our way to the meeting place, a single thought consumed my mind.
We will weather the storm that lies ahead.