The cavernous hall, once vibrating with the low thrum of devil aristocracy and simmering political tension, had plunged into an **eerie, suffocating quiet**. The abrupt cessation of sound felt less like silence and more like the vacuum preceding an explosion. At the epicenter of this stillness stood Lord Bael, a tempest of barely contained fury incarnate. As the current patriarch of the mighty Bael lineage and grandson of the legendary Zekrum Bael, the perceived slight against his family's honor was an intolerable poison coursing through his veins. He was beyond incensed, a volcano on the verge of catastrophic eruption. Muscles coiled like steel springs beneath his formal attire, he surged to his feet, his very posture radiating lethal intent. Raw, destructive power – the terrifying signature of the Bael clan, a force synonymous with annihilation – visibly crackled around his clenched fists, coalescing with the singular purpose of **engulfing Kael Phoenix**, the audacious youth whose actions had delivered such profound **humiliation** to their ancient house.
Yet, the space between intent and execution became an uncrossable chasm. Before the devastating wave of power could fully manifest, **Hawkeye Miwak moved**. It wasn't merely speed; it was a negation of intervening space. The rasp of steel leaving its scabbard was a chilling punctuation to the silence – **Yoru**, one of the fabled Twelve Supreme Blades, bared its cold, unforgiving edge. In the infinitesimal **blink of an eye**, Hawkeye was no longer a subordinate figure at Kael's periphery. He had **materialized** directly before the towering Lord Bael, the impossibly sharp point of Yoru resting with deceptive lightness against the patriarch's exposed **throat**. The lethal contact was absolute, undeniable.
"**Don't move.**" The words, spoken by Hawkeye, were delivered with a chilling, almost conversational **casualness**, yet they slammed into the assembled devils with the force of a physical blow. They were not a request, but an immutable command forged in ice and honed steel. Those two syllables acted like **invisible hands**, instantly constricting not just Lord Bael's breath, but the collective respiration of the entire chamber. The hall, merely silent a moment before, now plunged into an **eerie silence** so profound it seemed to absorb sound itself. This was the silence of **impending war**, thick with the ozone tang of violence barely averted.
Attacking and killing a mere servant was, within the brutal hierarchy of devil society, a regrettable but ultimately minor transgression. To **attack a Lord of a Great Clan**, however – especially the head of the preeminent Bael clan – was tantamount to signing one's own **death sentence**. It was an act that invited annihilation, not just for the perpetrator, but potentially for their entire lineage. Yet, the universe had tilted on its axis. The figure delivering this ultimate threat, holding the patriarch of the Bael clan at literal sword-point, was **a servant**. The sheer, unthinkable **humiliation** of it burned through Lord Bael's aristocratic composure like acid. His eyes, wide with disbelief and volcanic rage, became **bloodshot**, the whites vanishing under a tide of furious crimson. Raw, primal fury screamed within him, a tempest demanding release, but the cold, unwavering reality of Yoru's kiss against his jugular held him in agonizing stasis. **What could he do?** He was utterly **pinned**, a lion trapped by a viper's strike.
**Tobirama's** keen gaze, sharp as the blade Hawkeye wielded, **flickered** almost imperceptibly towards Lord Phoenix, Kael's ostensible patriarch. The emotion that flashed within Tobirama's usually impassive eyes wasn't surprise, but profound **disappointment**. It was a confirmation of what Kael had long suspected, what Tobirama himself had meticulously observed. Lord Phoenix was no different from the circling vultures in the room. He saw Kael not as a true heir, but as a potent **tool**, a weapon to be leveraged for his own clan's advancement, his own personal power. Kael had **long figured him out**. The position of heir was a gilded cage, a **nominal** title masking Lord Phoenix's true desire: a puppet, another **Riser Phenex** – pliable, controllable, devoid of inconvenient ambition. While the Bael clan's overt aggression provided a convenient smokescreen, Kael understood the deeper game. **Lord Phoenix was the real mastermind**, maneuvering behind the scenes, his ultimate goal being Kael's removal from the line of succession, likely through disgrace or destruction disguised as misfortune. This intricate web of betrayal, however, was a matter for another time, a puzzle to be solved later. Right **now**, in this pressure-cooker of a council chamber, another immediate threat required Tobirama's vigilant **attention**.
His analytical eyes, sharp and assessing, **fixed** unwaveringly on Grefiya . Kael's earlier instructions had been explicit, echoing in Tobirama's mind: *'Strike if you see anyone as a threat.'* The subtle shift in Grefiya's posture, the minute tensing of muscles, the focus radiating from her – it signaled clear readiness to **interfere**. Yet, assessing the delicate balance, Tobirama calculated the risk. Hawkeye had the Bael lord contained. Zekrum's intervention was imminent. **It was not necessary**... yet. His hand remained near his own concealed weapon, a silent promise held in reserve.
"Haha!" The sound, rich with ancient amusement and undeniable authority, shattered the taut silence like a stone thrown through glass. "**Young people nowadays possess quite the temper! My apologies, Kael-san.**" The voice belonged to **Zekrum Bael**, the **Great King** himself, a figure whose very name resonated with millennia of power and conquest. His intervention wasn't arbitrary politeness; it was a strategic masterstroke born of profound perception. He hadn't interfered merely to prevent bloodshed within the council, though that was a factor. No, he had seen something in **that child's eyes** – Kael's eyes – as he faced down his grandson's wrath. There was **no fear**. Not the barest flicker. Every high-ranking devil inherently represented one of the cardinal sins. Zekrum's was **Pride**. Not the petty arrogance of the newly powerful, but the deep, unshakeable **pride** of a being who had earned his dominion through eons of unmatched strength and cunning. And this youth, this eighteen-year-old devil radiating power at the **Ultimate-class**? Zekrum acknowledged he had **every right to arrogance**. How did Zekrum know Kael's true rank? Lord Phoenix himself had boastfully revealed it earlier, hoping to elevate the Phoenix clan's standing by association. But Zekrum saw past the clan banner. He saw **Kael** – a singular, incandescent force, a rising star whose brilliance eclipsed the fading light of his supposed house. A lord without spine, without vision, like Lord Phoenix, did not deserve to stand *beside* such potential. Such a lord should **kneel**. The thought was fleeting but absolute. His head, Zekrum decided internally, should be **bowed** in recognition of true power.
"**I should be the one apologizing, Zekrum-sama,**" Kael replied, his voice calm, resonant, cutting cleanly through the lingering tension. "**My peerage acted rashly.**" His words were a carefully measured counterpoint to Zekrum's geniality. The gathered devils, nobles, clan heads, and even the impassive Satans, had been profoundly **stunned** by Zekrum's unexpected apology. Kael's response, deferential yet devoid of groveling, deepened the shockwaves. But the true tremor, the moment that seemed to fracture the reality of the chamber, came next. **Kael bowed.** It was a movement executed with impeccable precision: **not too low** to imply submission or weakness, **not too high** to convey disrespect or defiance. It was **perfect**. A calculated gesture of acknowledgement to power, retaining his own formidable dignity.
Zekrum, the ancient king, was momentarily **taken aback**, a flicker of surprise crossing his weathered features. But his eyes, sharp and all-seeing, instantly deciphered the subtext. Kael wasn't bowing out of fear or obligation; he was **giving him face**, acknowledging Zekrum's authority in this space, offering a graceful exit from the confrontation his grandson had instigated. The insight was profound. A person who possessed immense **power** but lacked the **brains** to wield it strategically was ultimately doomed, destined to fall prey to stronger predators or their own hubris. But a devil who possessed **both** power and intellect? Such a being could navigate the treacherous currents of their world and **live long**, perhaps even ascend to its very pinnacle. Zekrum gave a slow, deliberate **nod**, an unspoken acceptance of Kael's gesture and the dangerous potential it represented.
"**Very well, Kael-san,**" Zekrum's voice rumbled, the geniality returning, now laced with unmistakable interest. "**But I find myself… quite intrigued by you. It would be a distinct pleasure if you would join me for dinner tomorrow evening.**" The invitation hung in the air, heavy with implication. Dinner with Zekrum Bael wasn't a social call; it was an audience, a potential alliance, a test.
"**Thank you for the generous invitation, Zekrum-sama,**" Kael responded smoothly, his expression unreadable. "**I would be honored to attend… on Friday. Tomorrow, as you may be aware, is occupied by my scheduled Rating Game match against Sona Sitri.**" The casual mention of the match, the polite deferral – it landed like another subtle shock. The **onlookers**, still reeling from the near-death experience of a clan lord, the intervention of the Great King, and Kael's unnerving composure, exchanged bewildered glances. How had the trajectory of this gathering veered so wildly from **imminent lethal combat** to a **dinner invitation**? And Kael's calm acceptance, his effortless rearrangement of the legendary devil's schedule? The sheer, audacious normalcy of it was staggering.
The **Satans**, seated in their positions of supreme authority, radiated palpable **displeasure**. Sirzechs Lucifer's crimson eyes were thoughtful, assessing. Ajuka Beelzebub's expression was inscrutable, but his fingers steepled with unusual tension. Serafall Leviathan's usual playful demeanor was notably absent, replaced by a sharp watchfulness. They were not fools. They saw precisely what Zekrum saw: **potential**. Not just Ultimate-class potential, but the nascent flicker of something far greater – the raw makings of a **Satan-class devil**. Zekrum Bael, the ancient king, was making his opening move, subtly extending his influence, attempting to **recruit** this unpredictable, powerful young phoenix before he could become a threat or fall into another faction's orbit.
A brief, almost ritualistic exchange of courtesies followed between Kael and Zekrum, a verbal dance masking immense strategic calculations. Then, with a subtle, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, Kael **signaled** to Hawkeye. The silent command was instantly obeyed. With the same lethal grace with which he had drawn it, Hawkeye **removed** Yoru from Lord Bael's throat, the blade vanishing back into its sheath in a seamless motion. Released from the blade's immediate threat, Lord Bael drew a sharp, ragged breath, his face contorting with renewed fury and humiliation. He opened his mouth, doubtless to unleash a torrent of threats or curses, but a single, piercing **look** from Zekrum – a look that carried the weight of millennia and unquestioned authority – **silenced him** instantly. The words died unspoken, choked by the greater power in the room. The **servant** whose life Kael had extinguished earlier, the initial spark for this conflagration, was already an afterthought. His **corpse** had been efficiently **cleared out** during the confrontation, his existence **forgotten** as completely as yesterday's dust. Power, as always, dictated memory.
"**Now that *that* rather unfortunate matter is settled,**" Sirzechs Lucifer's calm, melodious voice flowed into the void left by the tension, effortlessly commanding attention once more, "**let us return to the primary purpose that convened us: the formal discussion regarding the cancellation of the arranged marriage contract between Kael Phoenix and Sona Sitri.**"
"**Before we proceed further on that point,**" Lord Sitri interjected smoothly, rising to his feet. His demeanor was composed, almost urbane, belying the undercurrents swirling beneath. "**I feel compelled to offer clarification. The initial rejection of the arrangement, I must stress, was a decision made by impetuous youth, swept up in momentary passions. I have since taken the liberty to discuss the matter thoroughly with my daughter, Sona, imparting the necessary perspective. I am pleased to inform the assembly that she has seen reason and no longer harbors any opposition to the union.**" His words were delivered with practiced diplomacy.
The statement wasn't met with gasps, but rather with a ripple of grim understanding that passed through the assembled nobility. **Greed** was as fundamental to devil nature as blood and magic. Lord Sitri had witnessed the raw **power** Kael commanded – power confirmed not just as Ultimate-class, but demonstrated at the very **peak of High-class** during the earlier confrontation. He had also seen the terrifying efficiency of his peerage and the chilling, calculated intellect behind Kael's actions. This was no longer merely about an alliance; it was about securing a **dynastic asset** of immense, unpredictable value. Lord Sitri, ever the pragmatist, saw Kael not as a troublesome youth, but as the **perfect opportunity** suddenly fallen back into his lap. **Zekrum** subtly **swirled** the wine in his untouched glass, his ancient eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. His own nascent plans for Kael, his desire to draw the young devil into the Bael sphere, were being directly challenged. **Lord Bael**, observing the interplay, noted his grandfather's reaction but wisely held his tongue, the sting of Hawkeye's blade still fresh in his mind.
**Kael's** gaze, cool and analytical, found **Tobirama's**. A silent communication passed between King and Bishop, a language forged in shared battles and unwavering loyalty. Kael didn't need to speak. Tobirama understood the unspoken command. With a fluid motion, the Bishop reached into the folds of his attire and produced a small, intricately inscribed **memory scroll** – a potent magical artifact capable of capturing and replaying events with perfect fidelity. Activating it with a pulse of demonic energy, Tobirama projected its contents upwards. A shimmering **holographic projection** materialized above the center of the chamber, large enough for all to witness. The scene was unmistakable: a previous gathering, perhaps days prior. Within the luminous image, **Lord Sitri's** own voice, clear and resonant, rang out through the present silence: *"I give my solemn word to honor the arrangement between Sona and Kael. The Sitri clan stands by this commitment."*
The silence that followed was absolute, thicker than before. For a devil, especially a Lord of a Great Clan, **reputation** and **sworn word** were currencies more valuable than territory or treasure. To be caught in such a blatant contradiction, exposed before the assembled might of the Underworld's leadership, was a devastating blow to credibility. The holographic evidence was irrefutable. **Lord Sitri** didn't speak another word. The color drained slightly from his face as he slowly, deliberately, **sat down**, his earlier composure fractured. He offered no defense, no explanation. There was none to give.
"**Kael-kun,**" **Serafall Leviathan** began, her voice attempting its usual lilting quality but edged with a sharpness that betrayed her agitation. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze fixed on Kael. "**The power displayed by your peerage… it's undeniable. Forcing Sona to face you under normal Rating Game rules seems… excessively harsh. Surely, victory for you is a foregone conclusion…**" Her tone was ostensibly conciliatory, masking an attempt to manipulate the terms.
"**Then she should save herself the inevitable humiliation and concede the match outright.**" Kael's interruption was swift, cold, and devoid of compromise. He met Serafall's gaze directly, his expression impassive.
Serafall's carefully constructed mask **shattered**. Her eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed into slits, her expression **curdling** into one of pure, icy **rage**. The Leviathan power within her seemed to roil, causing the ambient light to flicker subtly. Before she could unleash her fury, **Ajuka Beelzebub**, the genius Satan, smoothly interjected, his voice calm and logical. "**Perhaps, then, we might consider imposing specific conditions upon the match to ensure a more… balanced and informative contest? Restrictions on peerage deployment, perhaps? Limitations on certain abilities?**" His suggestion hung in the air, a seemingly reasonable proposal.
Kael's **eyes narrowed** to dangerous slits, his gaze shifting from Serafall to Ajuka. He saw the gambit immediately. "**Fine,**" he stated, the single word dripping with icy contempt. "**I accept conditions. I, Kael Phoenix, and Tobirama, my Bishop, shall fight Sona Sitri and her *entire* peerage. Just the two of us against her full force.**" He paused, letting the sheer audacity of the proposal sink in. His voice hardened further, becoming a blade. "**If you now seek to layer *more* conditions upon this… if you demand further handicaps… then it reveals your true intent. You wish not for fairness, but to persuade me – or force me – to deliberately lose. You seek to orchestrate my defeat solely to preserve your sister's fragile ego, Serafall Sitri.**" The deliberate omission of her Satan title, *Leviathan*, and the pointed emphasis on *'Sitri'* was a masterstroke. It hung in the air like a physical accusation, painting her intervention not as a Satan ensuring fair play, but as **Serafall Sitri** acting solely in her *clan's* interest, leveraging her position for familial gain. The calculated insult struck home. **Rage** mottled Serafall's face, a visible tide of crimson rising from her neck. Her knuckles whitened where she gripped the armrests of her chair, the air around her crackling with barely contained Leviathan power. She looked ready to unleash hell itself upon Kael.
Before the volatile Satan could erupt, before the fragile peace could shatter entirely, a voice cut through the thickening miasma of anger. It was calm, serene, yet carrying the undeniable weight of ultimate authority. "**Tomorrow,**" **Sirzechs Lucifer** declared, his voice resonating with finality, "**the Rating Game match between Sona Sitri and Kael Phoenix will proceed as agreed. I expect a contest worthy of the occasion. I wish both competitors the finest of luck.**" His pronouncement was a command, a line drawn in the sand. It acknowledged Kael's terms while shutting down further debate.
**Kael** acknowledged Sirzechs with a single, curt **nod**. The matter was closed. Without another word, without waiting for further discussion or dismissal, he turned sharply on his heel. His peerage – Hawkeye a silent shadow, Tobirama falling into step beside him – moved as one. But just before he crossed the threshold, exiting the chamber heavy with intrigue and hostility, Kael paused. His head turned slightly, not towards the furious Serafall or the calculating Ajuka, not towards the humiliated Lords Sitri or Bael, but towards the ancient figure seated in quiet observation. His gaze, sharp and inscrutable, **lingered for a heartbeat on Zekrum Bael**. It was a look devoid of deference, yet heavy with unspoken recognition – the acknowledgment of a predator recognizing another, the understanding that their game had only just begun. Then, he was gone, striding into the corridor beyond, leaving behind the echoing silence and the weight of promises made, challenges issued, and battles yet to come. The path to tomorrow's match, and whatever lay beyond Zekrum's dinner invitation, stretched before him, fraught with peril and possibility. The Underworld held its breath.
__________________________________________________________________________________
i know i lot of you be thinking why i rewrite chapter 7 you see i received a lot of comments saying that the chapter could be a lot better i was also given a lot of ideas so i rewrote the chapter i hope you like it
__________________________________________________________________________________