My mother is not someone who wastes words or expresses much emotion as I said before.
When she sent a servant to say, "Bael-sama requests your presence," I assumed it was my father. Honestly, why does everyone use Japanese words in this place, it gets rather confusing due to it's lack of proper gender distinction.
When I arrived and found her instead, seated neatly on a sofa by the window of a private sitting room, it triggered a small internal adjustment.
She wore simple but elegant clothes, dark hair tied back, a book closed beside her on the table. Her aura, mid level high class, was refined and compact, like a well written spell circle.
"Sit," she said.
I sat.
Her eyes studied me in silence for a few seconds. There was a faint curve at the corner of her mouth that, for her, counted as a smile.
"You awakened it," she said.
Not a question.
"Yes," I replied. "The Astaroth trait. Absolute spell control."
Her gaze sharpened, interest flickering.
"Describe it," she said.
"Energy obeys more smoothly," I said. "Power of Destruction, demonic energy, Touki, they all respond with higher precision. My spells waste almost no power now. The awakening also caused a one time enhancement in my reserves. I have reached roughly the top of high class, maybe I can become an Ultimate."
Her fingers tightened slightly on her knee, then relaxed.
"Mid level high class," she said about herself. "High level high class already for you. And now with our bloodline awakened."
She fell silent for a few breaths, eyes turning toward the window, where the Underworld sky glowed dimly.
"When I was young," she began, "I was a branch member of the Astaroth clan. Far from the main line. My absolute control was decent, not outstanding. I studied, trained, worked to be noticed, but I did not have the talent of a main house genius."
She smiled faintly, without humor.
"Our world is simple. If you are strong enough, you sit on the throne. If you are less strong, you stand beside it. If you are weaker still, you are used as a gift."
Her gaze came back to me, calm.
"I was that gift."
I did not interrupt.
"The main house wished to curry favor with Bael," she said. "So they dressed me nicely, taught me the proper things to say, and sent me as a bride to strengthen ties with the Great King. Your father chose me for my magic, and for the contract attached to my hand."
There was no resentment in her tone. Only description.
"When Sairaorg did not manifest Power of Destruction," she continued, "my position was… unstable. I had failed to provide a worthy heir. Misla took most of that anger, being his mother, but I was not untouched."
Her eyes softened, just a fraction, as she looked at me.
"Then you were born," she said. "And for a while, you were a disappointment too. Spoiled, careless, drifting."
"Accurate," I said.
She ignored the comment.
"When you changed," she said, "I thought, perhaps, this is our chance. Mine, yours, our future line. You grew serious. You trained. You adapted. Now you have broken through to high class and awakened our trait."
She exhaled slowly.
"I am proud," she said simply.
For her, that was a heavy word.
"I am also afraid," she added.
"Of Sairaorg," I said.
She nodded.
"He has no Power of Destruction," she said. "No rare trait. Yet he trains like a madman. He is already a threat since he has reached high class too, albeit low level. If he catches up to you, if he surpasses you, everything we have now may vanish."
She folded her hands together on her lap.
"I will be honest, Magdaran," she said quietly. "I do not wish to be thrown aside again. I do not wish my son to be demoted, or killed, or turned into a pawn in someone else's game. So if I seem selfish when I say this, forgive me."
Her eyes met mine, steady.
"As devils, strength is what matters most," she said. "If you can become the clan head, if you can hold that position, it means betterment not only for you and me, but for every child and grandchild that comes after. It means stability. Security. Power. That is what I want."
There was no attempt to sugarcoat it.
"I am sorry," she repeated softly, "that I cannot give you more than my support and what magic knowledge I have. My strength stops at mid level high class. I cannot fight beside you against Maou or gods. But I can at least say that your current path is the right one."
"It is logical," I said. "If I lose the position of heir, we lose leverage. Sairaorg regains it, our line falls. In this society, that is equivalent to losing most future options."
I paused.
"And," I added, "I am not offended by your realism. It is what I expected."
She looked faintly relieved.
"For a moment I worried you might say something like, 'You are not obligated to pursue power for us,'" she said with the smallest hint of dry humor.
"I would not," I said. "I am obligated because I decided I am. I chose this path. And it is the most beneficial one."
She nodded once.
"Good," she said. "Then we agree."
She was quiet for a moment, then continued.
"You have surpassed me already in raw strength," she said. "That should make me feel small, perhaps. Instead, it makes me feel…"
She searched for the word.
"Justified," she decided. "I was sent here as a gift. Now I can say that gift bore fruit the main family cannot match."
There was a sharp little glint of Astaroth pride in her eyes.
"If you continue to grow," she said, "one day, when Ajuka looks around for someone who understands control as he does, he will find you. That would be amusing."
"That would be useful," I corrected.
Her lips twitched.
"Always practical," she said fondly.
We spoke for a while longer. About training regimes. About potential magic fields where Absolute Control could shine. About how much time I had before canon events started pressing, the names of threats that would one day emerge.
She listened, absorbing it. When I finished, she placed a hand briefly on my shoulder.
"Then keep going," she said. "Do not slow down. If Sairaorg runs, you sprint. If the world throws monsters at you, you dissect them. Let no one take what you have earned."
"Understood," I said.
"And," she added, "if you ever need advice on spell structures, you can still come to me. I am not useless yet."
"Noted," I said.
She let go, the contact brief but real.
"That is all," she said.
I rose, nodded slightly, and left.
Data point 1: Mother fully supports ruthless pursuit of power. Emotional stakes clarified. Personal pride strongly tied to my success. Offers magic guidance, accepts her own upper limit without resentment.
Outside, I sent an order for my peerage.
Kuroka, Shirone, and Akeno assembled at the Bael training grounds within minutes.
The training fields were wide, with layered barriers and reinforced terrain. Scorch marks, gouges, and cratered sections testified to daily use.
Kuroka sauntered in first, arms stretching over her head, tail flicking lazily. Her aura sat just under high class now, dense and flexible.
Shirone came next, quieter, in a simple training outfit, cat ears twitching, eyes sharp despite her small frame.
Akeno arrived last, composed as always, long hair tied back, aura calm but crackling faintly beneath the surface like distant thunder.
I stood at the center of the field.
"From today," I said, "we add regular team training to your routines."
Kuroka tilted her head.
"We already train every day nya," she said. "Those Bael instructors are brutal."
"Individual training," I said. "With specialists. That will continue. This is different, Coordination is a separate skill."
Akeno nodded slowly.
"Working as a unit," she said. "Covering each others' weaknesses."
"Exactly," I said. "You are not a collection of strong individuals. You are my peerage, and that implies synergy."
Shirone listened intently, hands clasped in front of her.
I looked at Kuroka first.
"Right now, you are the strongest among them in combat flexibility," I said. "Very close to high class. Skilled in Senjutsu and Youjutsu. That interests me."
"Oh?" she said, ears perking. "My Senjutsu caught the prince's eye."
"Specifically its healing aspect," I said.
Her expression shifted slightly.
"Most people only look at the destructive part," she said. "Or the control part. Not many care about the healing. You are strange in a good way."
"Healing is rare," I said. "It is a strategic resource. Senjutsu offers it through nature energy and life force manipulation."
She smiled.
"Yes," she said. "It can mend bodies, calm minds, suppress curses. It can also manipulate life force in nasty ways, but I suppose you want the kinder side."
"Both sides," I said. "But we will start with the useful one."
I stepped back, giving her space.
"Demonstrate," I said.
Kuroka nodded. Her demeanor shifted. The lazy cat flattened, and the Senjutsu user surfaced.
She closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, and let her demonic aura dim.
In its place, something else rose.
Nature.
The training field felt different. The air became heavier, but in a comforting way, like lying under a weighted blanket. I could feel tiny threads connecting Kuroka to the environment, to the ground, to the sky, to the faint artificial "nature" simulated by Bael wards.
Pale, gentle energy flowed around her, tinged with her own signature but carrying something older.
"This is Senjutsu," she said softly, eyes still closed. "Life force. Ki. Nature energy. Whatever you like to call it. I draw it in, mix it with my own, guide it."
She lifted a hand. A small cut appeared on her palm, drawn by her own claw.
She let Senjutsu flow into it.
The wound closed in seconds, skin knitting together without a mark.
"Self healing," she said. "I can do more for others, but it is harder."
I watched carefully.
Absolute spell control did not only apply to demonic spells. It was a framework for understanding energy interactions in general.
Senjutsu, at its core, was energy reading and manipulation. It was a cousin to what I already did, but using different input channels.
I extended my senses, not with Demonic energy or Touki, but with bare awareness.
There.
The threads were not invisible. Not if you knew how to look, They were simply fine and easily drowned out by raw demonic noise.
With control, you could separate them.
"Kuroka," I said. "Keep circulating at low intensity."
"Nyah?" she said, opening one eye. "What are you planning, Mag-chan?"
"Testing compatibility," I answered.
I mirrored her breathing pattern, dropping my own demonic aura to a bare whisper. Then I reached, not outward in brute force, but outward in a careful, Astaroth-edited way.
Senjutsu responded.
It was hesitant at first, like a wary animal, but it recognized the stability in my control. I did not grab. I invited.
A small current of nature energy flowed toward my hand, just enough to taste.
It felt different from demonic power. Softer, less volatile. It wanted to harmonize, not overwhelm.
I guided it through the control structures that Absolute Spell Control had manifested. It adapted quickly, finding its own lanes without conflicts.
I took a shallow cut on my forearm with a small summoned blade, then let the borrowed nature energy flow into it.
The wound closed, slower than Kuroka's but clearly beyond normal regeneration speed.
Kuroka's jaw dropped.
Shirone's eyes widened, pupils dilating.
Akeno blinked once, twice.
"You copied it," Kuroka said.
"No," I corrected. "I followed your demonstration and applied my existing control habits. Senjutsu is not mine yet. I only pulled a minimal thread and used it."
"On the first try," she said flatly.
"Your teaching was clear," I said.
Akeno smiled faintly.
"Even with you downplaying it," she said, "this is still terrifying."
Shirone nodded slowly.
"Onii-sama learns fast," she murmured.
Data point 2: Senjutsu compatible with my control systems. Integration potential high. Training investment recommended.
I dismissed the residual flow, careful not to overreach. Senjutsu came with risks. Overuse or improper intake could corrupt the body or mind. But with Absolute Control acting as a filter, my risk was lower.
"It seems," I said, "that Senjutsu is useful even at my current level. It does not rely primarily on internal reserves, but on external nature energy. With enough control, I can reinforce my body and attacks beyond high class and temporarily approach Ultimate class combat performance."
"Do not get addicted," Kuroka warned. "Senjutsu is strong, but if you push too far or mix it wrong, the backlash is terrible."
"I know," I said. "We will proceed carefully. Still, it is an excellent amplifier for now. Once I reach Satan class, its relative impact will diminish, but until then, it is an efficient force multiplier."
Kuroka eyed me for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"Fine," she said. "I will help you practice it. Just do not explode because you wanted to test a crazy theory."
"I will attempt to avoid explosion," I said.
"Attempt?" she echoed.
I let her decide whether that was a joke.
I turned my attention back to the group as a whole.
"Training structure," I said. "First, Kuroka."
She straightened, ears attentive.
"You will continue your Senjutsu and Youjutsu with the Bael instructors," I said. "In addition, I will personally train your Touki."
"Mine?" she asked, surprised. "I thought you wanted to obsess over your own."
"Touki is one of my specialties now," I said. "Or at least, one of my more developed fields. My method focuses on dense, efficient reinforcement without distortion. You are a Nekoshou. Your physical potential is already high. Upgrading your Touki application will scale well."
Her eyes brightened.
"Teaching me your secret techniques nya?" she said. "I feel honored."
"They are not secret techniques," I said. "They are efficient paths that others are too lazy to map."
"That is what secret techniques are," she said.
I did not argue.
"Shirone," I continued, turning to the younger sister.
She straightened, ears perked.
"You will follow Kuroka's routine scaled to your current body," I said. "Basic Senjutsu introduction under her supervision, light Touki, physical conditioning, weapons if you prefer. You will not copy my intensity yet."
Shirone nodded firmly.
"I will work hard," she said.
"Kuroka, you are responsible for her pacing," I added.
Kuroka saluted lazily.
"Of course," she said. "I will not let my little sister break."
Then I looked at Akeno.
"For you," I said, "the situation is different."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Because of my bloodline," she said.
"Yes," I said.
I looked at Kuroka and Shirone.
"Continue with the basic drills and sparring forms," I said. "Do not go full power, but push a bit. I will speak with Akeno separately."
Kuroka glanced between us, then smirked.
"Private talk," she said. "Naughty."
"It is about identity," I said.
"That can be naughty too," she replied, then laughed when I gave her a flat look.
Shirone tugged her sleeve.
"Onee-chan," she said. "Training."
"Yes, yes, I know," Kuroka said, ruffling her hair. "Come on, Shirone. Let us beat up some training dummies."
They moved off to another section of the field.
I gestured for Akeno to walk with me.
We left the training ground and headed back through the corridors to my room. Servants bowed as we passed, eyes flicking curiously to Akeno at my side.
Once inside, I closed the door gently.
The room was the same as always, shelves of books, a neat desk, a table with tea equipment, chairs by the window.
I took one chair, indicated the other.
Akeno sat gracefully, hands folded on her lap.
"You want to talk about my fallen side," she said quietly.
"Yes," I said. "More specifically, about your hatred of it."
Her smile was gentle on the surface, but her eyes sharpened.
"There is nothing to discuss," she said. "I hate it."
"Why?" I asked.
She laughed, soft and bitter.
"You know why," she said. "You know my story."
"I know the outline," I said. "I want to hear it from you."
She looked away, out the window, at the artificial night.
"My father is a fallen angel," she said. "Barakiel. A 'hero' in Grigori. Loyal soldier. He married my mother, a human priestess. They were attacked. She died."
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"He failed to protect her," she said. "That was his first failure."
Her voice grew colder.
"The second was leaving me," she said. "He says it was to protect me, to keep me away from his enemies, from the church, from devils. Whatever the reason, the result was the same. I was alone, on the streets, hunted, until I met you."
Her aura darkened subtly as she spoke, a faint crackle of holy lightning buzzing under the surface like contained static.
"When I look at my fallen wings in my mind," she said, "I see him. When I think of using the holy lightning, I hear his voice. I remember nights where I hated myself because half of me was his. So I decided that part is disgusting. A stain. I only use the devil side now. The rest is sealed away."
She lifted a hand, palm up, letting a tiny spark of ordinary lightning dance there. Pure demonic.
"The holy one stays locked," she said flatly. "Forever."
I watched the spark, then her face.
"It is reasonable to hate him," I said. "He failed as a husband, and from your perspective, as a father."
Her eyes flickered, surprised that I did not argue that point.
"But," I continued, "there is a difference between hating him and hating a part of yourself."
She said nothing.
"You said your fallen side is disgusting," I said. "That it is a stain. That it is his."
"Is that wrong?" she asked softly.
"Wrong is not the right word," I said. "But it is inefficient."
She blinked.
"In what way," she asked, a humorless little smile tugging at her mouth.
"In several," I said. "First, practical. Holy Lightning is part of your arsenal. It is extremely powerful. By refusing to use it, you lower your potential. Second, psychological. Every time you look at that power and call it disgusting, you are not just insulting him. You are insulting yourself."
I met her gaze directly.
"Hating him is one thing," I said. "Hating parts of yourself because they resemble him gives him power over you that he does not deserve."
Her fingers twitched.
"I am not giving him anything," she said sharply. "I cut him off. I want nothing to do with him."
"And yet," I said gently, "you are letting his actions decide which parts of you are allowed to exist."
Silence.
"If he had been a good father," I continued, "would you hate your fallen side?"
She hesitated.
"…Probably not," she admitted.
"Then your hatred of that part does not come from the power itself," I said. "It comes from him. You let his failure define the value of your own blood."
She looked down at her hands.
"I cannot forgive him," she murmured. "Not for leaving me. Not for watching from a distance and never coming."
"I am not asking you to," I said. "Forgiveness is optional. Self acceptance is not."
She snorted softly.
"You sound like some therapy manual," she said.
"I have read many," I said.
That got a tiny, reluctant smile out of her.
I leaned back slightly.
"Listen," I said. "Your father was a failure in that moment. He could not protect his family. Then he made a choice that, whatever the reasons, left his child alone. That is on him. But you are no longer that abandoned child in the street. You are my Bishop. You live in the Bael estate. You have food, training, power, choices."
I paused.
"You do not need him now," I said. "Not his protection, not his approval, not his excuses."
Her shoulders relaxed, just a little.
"Using Holy Lightning," I went on, "does not mean you accept him. It does not mean you forgive him. It means you accept yourself. You take something that could have been his legacy and turn it into yours."
Her eyes rose slowly to meet mine.
"If you master it," I said, "become stronger with it than he ever was, then his role in its existence becomes irrelevant. The lightning is no longer 'his gift' or 'God's tool'. It is Akeno Himejima's weapon."
Akeno's expression shifted.
"Nullifying the very reason it was given," she murmured.
"Exactly," I said. "God gave holy lightning to his system as a weapon for his agents. Your father was chosen as one of them. He failed at being father and protector, but the lightning remains. If you use it to build your own life, your own strength, then the original context loses meaning. You overwrite it."
She was very still.
"And if I do not," she said after a moment, voice quiet, "what then."
"Then you will always carry a locked door inside you," I said. "A sealed room with his shadow in it. One day, in a battle, or in some crisis, that room will crack open when you least want it. Power and trauma will mix, and you will lose control, instead of having decided on your terms."
She closed her eyes.
"A devil lecturing me on accepting my holy part," she said softly. "Strange."
"I am not human," I said. "I am not angel. I am a devil who, if people's words are to go by, is a strange brained genius. From my perspective, all energy types are just variables. They do not carry moral weight until someone assigns it."
She opened her eyes again.
"You are saying I should stop assigning my father to that part of me," she said.
"Yes," I said. "Assign yourself instead."
Akeno sat in silence for several seconds.
When she spoke again, her voice was a little unsteady.
"It is hard," she admitted. "When I feel the holy lightning, it burns in a different way. My body remembers being hurt by sacred things. My mind remembers church faces, whispers, stones. Being called a monster. Being told I should not exist."
Her hands tightened again.
"So I sealed it," she said. "If I never touched it, I did not have to feel that again."
"I understand," I said. "Avoidance is a common coping strategy."
She huffed out a short laugh.
"You really did read therapy manuals," she said.
"Many," I confirmed.
"So much effort just to lecture me?" She asked with a weird smile
"Perhaps." And she chuckled as I answered.
"But," I continued, "avoiding something that is trying to kill you is smart. Avoiding a part of yourself is like cutting off a limb because someone else said it was ugly."
"That is a dramatic image," she said.
"Effective," I replied.
She sighed.
"You want me to just flip a switch and accept it," she said. "It is not that easy."
"I do not expect that," I said. "I expect you to consider this: your father failed you. That is his sin. You hating your fallen side is you continuing his work for him. It is not worth it. You can hate him and still decide that every part of your power belongs to you, not him."
She looked at me for a long time, eyes searching.
"You are very good at this," she said finally. "For someone who claims to have no idea how to live."
"I am good at understanding how people break," I said. "Although I agree that I don't know how to truly live... it does not mean that I don't understand people. Now I am trying to help some of them not break in ways that harm my interests."
"Always so honest," she murmured, but her lips curved upwards.
We sat there in silence for a bit.
Outside, the Underworld sky glowed its false starlight.
"Will you force me?" she asked at last. "To use it?"
"No," I said. "That would be counterproductive. If you feel coerced, you will associate it with resentment and me, not with reclaiming anything."
She nodded slowly.
"Then what do you expect?" she asked.
"That you think about what I said," I replied. "That you consider, at your own pace, whether you want to remain chained to his shadow, or step past it."
I paused.
"And when you are ready," I added, "tell me. Then we will train it. Not as his legacy. As yours."
Her eyes softened.
"You mean it," she said.
"Yes," I said.
She looked down, then back up, something like resolve starting to form.
"I will try," she said quietly. "I cannot promise I will stop hating that part overnight. But I will try to hate him, not myself."
"That is a start," I said.
Her shoulders relaxed further.
"Thank you," she said. "For caring about this."
"It is logically beneficial for my Bishop to function at full capacity," I said.
She smiled, genuine this time.
"And emotionally?" she asked.
I considered.
"Emotionally," I said, "I dislike seeing my people aim hatred inward."
She blinked.
"Your people?" she repeated.
"You, Kuroka, Shirone," I said. "Rias. Mother. It is… unpleasant when they direct knives into their own hearts. The world has enough knives pointed at us already."
Akeno's eyes shimmered faintly, then cleared.
"You really are dangerous," she said softly. "In a good way."
"That combination seems to be popular," I said.
"It is," she agreed.
She stood up smoothly.
"I should go back to training," she said. "Or Kuroka will start rumors."
"She will start them regardless," I said.
Akeno laughed.
"True," she said.
At the door, she paused, hand on the handle.
"When the time comes," she said without turning, "when I say I am ready, you will help me not lose control, right?"
"Yes," I said.
She nodded once and left with a smile on her face.
The room went quiet again.
I sat there for a moment, processing the conversation.
Data point 3: Akeno's hatred is directed at her father but misapplied to her own fallen side. Reframing successful to some degree. Openness to gradual acceptance established. Holy Lightning training pipeline possible in future.