POV: Katerea
"How goes that scheme of yours, Katerea?" said the proud voice of Shalba, her companion in exile and one of the last true Satans left in this polluted world.
She had called this meeting between the true heirs, and her companions had answered eagerly, for they too desired the success of her plan. They sat within a private chamber, perfectly warded so that no divination, spell, or intrusive trick could uncover what was discussed here.
The subject at hand was of the highest importance, a matter that would determine the future of their race. It would decide whether they were worthy enough to stand at the side of the Prince of Darkness.
The gravity of the moment demanded that only those deserving of knowledge be present. They took their seats around an oval-shaped table, each placed equally both in blood and birthright. To her right was Shalba Beelzebub, dressed in the elegant traditional garments of the underworld, the yellow and black colors of House Beelzebub marking him unmistakably. His bearing was regal, each movement a reminder of the royal lineage he embodied.
To her left sat Creuserey Asmodeus, dark haired and pale skinned, possessing a beauty and grace that surpassed any human aesthetic. Like Shalba, he wore the traditional clothing of his house, the stark black and white tones of Asmodeus. Both men were exemplary devils, the ideal in form and might, standing far above the common rabble as the royal blood of the true Satans.
Katerea could not help but reflect, however, that for all their beauty and power, neither could compare to the impossible perfection of Lucifer himself. Or as he preferred to be called, Haruki Yamashiro. There was an intensity and force of will that clung to him as naturally as breath, a constant reminder of why he was known as the mightiest Satan and the brightest angel before his rebellion.
"That is why I have asked you to come," Katerea said calmly. "To discuss the progress of the plan and decide how we proceed. You have no doubt heard of what is transpiring in the underworld."
"Indeed, we have answered your call," Shalba said, barely restrained delight in his voice. "My little puppets whisper of great chaos. A revolution on the horizon. Apes demanding freedom. Whispers of the great serpent's return."
House Beelzebub possessed the unique ability known as King of Flies, though that name hardly captured its true reach. The lineage commanded anything that behaved as a swarm: flies, insects, worms, bacteria, mold, spiritual parasites. They could accelerate rot, spread a royal plague, infest bodies and souls alike.
Anyone touched by Beelzebub's swarm became a subject of the king, a puppet bound to his will. Shalba has many such subjects scattered throughout the Ars Goetia, even among the lords, while the false Satans stumble about unaware.
"Preposterous," Creuserey growled, temper flaring as always. "It is not enough that these disgusting creatures have infected our race with their filth. Now they dare demand freedom, as if they were our equals. Surely even those bumbling idiots who stole our birthright can see the absurdity. Surely they would put these vermin back in their place."
"Ah, Creuserey," Shalba said with casual disdain. "You expect too much of Sirzechs and his ilk. They have done nothing but prove, time and time again, how incompetent they are."
Ordinarily, Katerea would have agreed wholeheartedly that reincarnated devils were filth that degraded their race. Yet after meeting Lucifer, she had begun to see a different angle. A more refined perspective if you will. They might not be true devils, but they could still serve a purpose, and to exterminate them entirely would be wasteful.
Perhaps pure blooded devils should even be encouraged to reincarnate more creatures, particularly humans. What greater insult could there be to the Great Tyrant than twisting his beloved apes into obedient playthings and expendable slaves?
It was a deliciously devious thought. Before, her disgust had prevented her from considering their utility. But when the great war inevitably resumed and they set out once again to conquer the heavens, they would need soldiers, expendable bodies to cover the fields of battle.
And should a few of them rise above their pathetic origins, proving themselves able to overcome their lesser nature, they might even earn honorary status. A few rights perhaps, enough to motivate their ambition. They could strive to become something close to devils, though never equal. No matter how they claw upward, they will never match pure blooded devils, much less the princes of hell. But usefulness did not require equality.
"You speak the truth, Shalba," Katerea said with a soft chuckle. "The so called Satans have done nothing to quell these rebels with delusions of grandeur. It is not surprising. Sirzechs has spent years groveling for the approval of these creatures, so of course he hesitates to crush the problem before it grows. His will is too soft. But we are not here to waste breath discussing the inadequacies of imposters. It would take years to list them all."
They chuckled, nodding in shared amusement.
"You are right. Then let us not waste time," Creuserey said, leaning forward with anticipation. "I assume there are new developments regarding the plan?"
"You would be correct," Katerea said, clearing her throat. "The first stage of the plan, which is causing public unrest and chaos, was completed perfectly. The weak-heartedness of the current satans and their aversion to a more permanent solution was exploited without difficulty. Their softness is a wound that festers, and we have pressed our claws into it. Those who remained loyal to us, those who still remember what it means to serve true rulers, have answered with enthusiasm."
Shalba and Creuserey nodded, pleased and eager, as they should be. When she approached them with her plan over two months ago, just after her meeting with lord Haruki, they were ecstatic to participate. There were many loyalists and many others who could be bribed with ease, for that is how they have undermined the false satans for years.
Yet this time their course was far more direct. Money was spent, bribes delivered, blackmail applied, manipulation woven through every corridor of power. The underworld was primed to erupt like a pent up release after years of celibacy.
Lord Haruki's statement had been political genius, accelerating their plans beyond anything she anticipated. She had been shocked by how easy it became, though that ease came from the fact that Lord Haruki had been directing her every step, telling her precisely what to do and how to do it. His cunning terrified her and amazed her in equal measure. Only now did she truly understand the depth of his schemes.
She began with the lower classes and the religious zealots, convincing them that their god had returned and calling them to answer his call. She urged them to purge the rot corrupting the underworld to make way for his true return. At the same time, she worked among the reincarnated devils. Initially she had not understood why they mattered in the larger plan, yet Lord Haruki's foresight once again dwarfed her own.
The rebellion among the reincarnated devils erupted with remarkable intensity. She had saved many stray devils while disguised, imbuing them with a small portion of Ophis's power and letting them run wild.
Many of them despised their slave-like conditions and their lack of rights, and she used that resentment skillfully, shaping them into unknowing pieces on the grand board.
There were unexpected developments in that area, such as the emergence of the figure known as Zero. His rhetoric was dangerous, and he was quickly becoming a rallying symbol. She had asked Lord Haruki whether they should assassinate this Zero, yet he had merely laughed. Their goal was chaos, he said, and true chaos could not exist if they removed every unforeseen element. It was better this way.
She trusted his judgment and largely ignored Zero, even helping him gain prominence by bypassing censors so that the underworld could hear him clearly.
Another component of the plan was igniting jealousy and paranoia among the lords of hell. Haruki had been very clear. It was not enough for the lower classes to burn. Chaos must reach every level. From the highest lords to the lowest filth, he said, chaos must be absolute. Carnage must be universal. So she set to work. And in this, her companions were indispensable, nudging the lords into conflict, deepening old grudges, planting new suspicions.
Most recently, the heir of House Barbatos had been assassinated in the territory of House Astaroth. House Barbatos accused House Astaroth, and House Astaroth denied everything. Tension was high. The two houses despised one another already, and with the slightest push, war was inevitable. Only fear of retaliation from the satans held them back, though that restraint would not last much longer.
"And they will be rewarded for that," Shalba said calmly.
"The second stage of the plan," she continued, nodding once in acknowledgment, "is the most important part, which I have named - Deicide."
Both men raised their eyebrows. "To kill a god? Would you care to elaborate?" Creuserey asked.
"Gladly," Katerea replied. "Let us dispense with the pleasantries. Both Sirzechs Gremory and Ajuka Astaroth are beyond us in power. I dislike admitting it, but it is the truth."
A surge of demonic energy filled the room, the two men bristling at the suggestion that anyone outclassed them. Katerea felt a flicker of annoyance. No wonder Lord Haruki had been disappointed in her. She too had been like them only months ago, clinging to delusions because reality displeased her.
"I do not mean to insult you," she said. "Yet those two are such aberrations that they might as well be considered their own category of existence. They have god-like power and stand as our greatest obstacles."
"Deicide, then," Shalba said, settling. "How do you propose we achieve it if they are as mighty as you say?"
"Simple," Katerea answered. "We must fight like devils. Our greatest mistake was confronting them head-on, imitating their methods rather than using our own strengths. We will not challenge them directly. We will plot and scheme. We will dismantle them piece by piece. First…"
She then explained the plan exactly as Haruki had revealed it to her. The more she spoke, the deeper their frowns became. Creuserey in particular looked displeased, but as the structure and inevitability of the plan unfolded, even he could not deny its brilliance. It was subtle, ruthless, and undeniably effective.
"I dislike it," Creuserey said at last, his voice thick with distaste. "It feels like we are creeping in the shadows like cowards hiding from a stronger foe."
"Be that as it may," Shalba replied, "I agree with the plan completely. The only thing that matters is victory and reclaiming our birthright. The manner of achieving it does not matter."
"Then do I have your full support?" Katerea asked.
"You have mine," Shalba said with certainty.
"Mine as well," Creuserey added. There was hesitation beneath his words, something she would have to address later.
"Perfect," she said, smiling. She rose from her seat and summoned the book Lord Haruki had given her, the one required for the plan to succeed.
"What is that?" asked Shalba curiously.
Katerea let the question hang for a heartbeat, then lifted the tome with deliberate grandeur. "This, my friends… is our ticket to godhood, to the zenith of our species. Let me ask you something. Why have neither of you accepted the ouroboros gifts?"
The answer was obvious, and the contempt curled beneath her tongue. That idiot god handed out her snakes freely to anyone in the organization who asked, believing her power a necessary tool for them to reach her goals. Yet none of the devils gathered here had ever touched her offerings.
"Because it is too dangerous," Shalba said, dismayed. "The dragon of infinity is a being of near infinite might. Compared to her, we are a drop of water in an ocean. Her gifts are the same. The moment we absorb a snake, the surge of power and the sudden influx of energy without a means to regulate it would mutate us or kill us outright."
"Well said," Katerea replied smoothly. "However, I present to you a solution. Here is a method, a ritual, to regulate the surge. Once we use this, reclaiming our rightful throne will be a piece of cake."
Disbelief carved itself across their faces. Awe. Fear. Hunger. The sight pleased her. Something of this magnitude should have arrived with trembling earth and burning skies, yet lord Haruki had handed it to her without fanafre, which only proved how brilliant and great he was.
"May I?" Shalba asked with poorly masked excitement. His hands trembled as he accepted the tome. He opened it, and wonder flooded his eyes.
"Is it true, Shalba?" Creuserey asked, a broad grin stretching across his face.
"It is... it is," Shalba repeated, laughing in raw ecstasy, like a drowning man who finally felt another hand grasp his own. "The formulas are ancient and sophisticated beyond measure. I cannot even begin to decipher them. Some principles resemble pre-flood sorcery… no, older still, from when the world was young and grand. Whoever created it must be even more skilled and knowledgeable than Ajuka Beelzebub. It is incredible. With this, we shall conquer the heavens and rape the angels, we shall spit in the faces of gods and Buddhas, we will recreate the world in our image and reign supreme."
Katerea understood their excitement. And she wondered how much greater their awe would be when they learned who created it. The current Lucifer was different from the cold figure of myth and history. She wondered how he would react to her companions in their feverish enthusiasm. She hoped they would not offend him in their hubris. She hoped she would not have to stand against them.
Yet she believed firmly that Lord Lucifer, in his infinite wisdom and magnanimity, would give them the chance to redeem themselves. He did not strike her as a creature of wanton cruelty.
They discussed the plan in detail, assigning tasks and calculating contingencies, until Shalba finally departed, eager to study and experiment with the profound knowledge now at his disposal. With him gone, her attention settled fully on the one who remained.
She had sensed his skepticism earlier. Crueserey had always been a touch cowardly beneath his temper, a flaw the son of Lucifer had once taken great pleasure in exposing and humiliating.
She crossed the room and placed a gentle hand on his head, fingers gliding through his hair.
"Something worrying you, my love?" she asked, her tone softening into a tender purr.
Centuries spent hiding together, and the shared reality that they were the last descendants of the three great royal houses, had shaped their bond into something complicated and uniquely theirs. Not marriage, not exactly, but a bond of deep love and mutual understanding. They suspected her sudden breadth of knowledge, of course, yet they trusted her absolutely. Enough to follow her into any abyss.
She had, after all, taken it upon herself to keep their triad intact and the resistance alive. As a result she knew their minds intimately. And when tension threatened to tear them apart, she used her body as balm, allowing them to seek relief in her whenever fear or doubt overwhelmed them.
"It is just… it is all happening too fast, don' you think?" Crueserey whispered. "I am beyond pleased at how well everything goes, but it also stirs suspicion in me. What if this is all a set-up?"
"It could be," she agreed softly. "Or not. Tell me, Crueserey, do you trust me?"
"With every beat that dares call itself my heart," he answered, the words spilling out with poetic devotion.
"Then trust me in this as you have in all things before," she murmured. "If we perform our roles properly, we will achieve all our dreams and more. This is not an empty boast. I have seen the script, so to speak. We are on the winning side."
He studied her, weighing her words.
"Ok, my love," he said at last. "I will. However… what will you do about him?"
There was no need to name the one he meant. The prince of hell had scarred all of them so deeply that even speaking his name felt like pressing a finger into an open wound.
"Nothing," she replied, with more confidence than she felt. "Our suffering is nearing its end. This I promise. We simply need to be patient and avoid drawing his attention. He seems to have fallen into one of his depressive states. Let us allow him to remain there."
The prince of hell was a wicked creature even by devil standards, yet for the last century he had been still. Silent. He sat upon his throne like a discarded doll, abandoned the moment the childish god who once played with him outgrew the game.
Crueserey nodded, his eyes filled with absolute trust. The sight touched her deeply, warming something buried beneath centuries of ice.
...
POV: Meron Naberius
"Since the founding of the Underworld's great order, since the Pillar Houses first forged their dominion, it has been the tireless aim of my house and my forebears to guard stability among the clans and to foster, in peace, the flourishing of our great domain. Yet there are those who begrudge us the strength that unity has given us. Open and hidden malice; from rival Houses, from scattered factions, from those who lurk beyond our borders. We have endured it calmly, conscious of our duty and our power. But now they seek to shame us.
"They expect us to fold our hands and look on as our enemies prepare their treachery. They cannot bear that we stand with unwavering loyalty beside House Barbatos, our ally, our kin in spirit, who now fights to defend its honor and its rightful place among the great Pillar Houses. And with their humiliation, our own power and dignity would fall as well. Therefore, let the blade and the will decide. In a time that should have been peaceful, the enemy strikes at us through cowardly murder.
"So rise! Arm yourselves! Any wavering, any hesitation now would be betrayal of our realm and all it stands for. This is a struggle over the very existence of our order. Over whether the Pillar Houses, those who rebuilt the Underworld from ashes, shall endure, or be broken by schemers who thrive on discord. It is a question of the survival of our power, our legacy, and our Luciferian spirit. We shall stand firm until the last spark of magic leaves our bodies. And we shall outlast this conflict even should a world of foes rise against us. Never has the Underworld fallen when its Houses stood united.
"Forward, with the blessings of the Great Darkness, which guided our forefathers and will guide us now."
With that final proclamation, Meron ended his speech, a declaration that all but guaranteed the war to come.
He cared nothing for the so-called friendship or alliance with House Barbatos; sentiment was a luxury for lesser beings. What mattered was utility, and Barbatos happened to be the perfect tinder for the blaze he intended to ignite.
With the way things were unfolding, despite the fact that he himself had orchestrated the assassination of the Barbatos heir on Astaroth soil, House Barbatos had precious few allies willing to stand with them if a true conflict against House Astaroth erupted.
Who would dare challenge the House that had produced the greatest mind in devil history, one of the three superdevils ever born?
Left alone, Lord Barbatos would seethe, grind his teeth, then swallow the humiliation. He would never dare act without another Pillar at his back. That was why Meron had intervened. His speech offered Barbatos exactly what he needed: a public, undeniable pledge of Pillar support.
A promise that House Naberius would stand with them even in war. Confidence breeds recklessness. Recklessness breeds escalation. Escalation breeds war.
He could feel it deep within his old veins, thrilling through him like a fever. The drumbeat. The gathering scent of smoke. The march. The blood. Fate's rhythm thickening like storm air. Everything was aligning, and he would allow no one to halt it this time.
"Can you hear it?" he asked the young devil standing beside him, grandson or great-grandson, it hardly mattered.
They had left the hall behind, abandoning the cluster of lesser lords sworn to House Naberius, along with the carefully selected media teams invited to carry his words to every corner of the Underworld. The child blinked, still too naive despite his few centuries of age.
"Hear what, my lord?"
"Why, the drums are beating," Meron said, inhaling as if savoring a distant incense. "The floor is being prepared. It needs only the final touch before the dance can begin."
"So it is as I suspected," his descendant murmured. "You declared support for Lord Barbatos even though you always looked down on him. You did it so there would be war."
Meron glanced at him, faintly pleased. Perhaps the boy was not entirely hopeless. A spark of cunning would be necessary in the days ahead.
The alliances among the Pillar Houses were ancient, tangled, and precarious; bound by marriages, blood pacts, and debts. All it took was a precise strike to make the entire structure shudder.
Already rumors spread of House Bael's supposed plan to eradicate the other Pillars and crown themselves sole rulers of Hell. Knowing Zekram, such ambition was hardly impossible. Yet Meron doubted the rumors. Zekram wanted to rule a strong Underworld, even if it meant sharing power, not a fractured ruin where he stood alone atop rubble. Devils had no shortage of vultures circling, waiting for any sign of weakness.
And all of this was unfolding because his lord had returned. Memoryless perhaps, but with his cunning and boldness intact, his greatest weapons. Meron still remembered the night lord Haruki approached him and unveiled part of his plan.
Not the full design, of course. No one living possessed the right to hold the entire vision, but enough that Meron had been transformed into an instrument willingly. How could he refuse the one thing he had awaited for centuries?
The Underworld would fracture beautifully. Pillar Houses at each other's throats, a rebellion of reincarnated devils under a powerful figure, scattered riots and assassinations; the Satans would be overburdened, distracted, overwhelmed. All Meron needed to do was add oil to the fire, ensuring it never dimmed.
"Call the banners," he said calmly. "I have a feeling we will need them soon."
A low cackle escaped him, uncontrollable, joyous. He reveled in the schemes, in the manipulation, in the intricate contest of wills that formed the anatomy of war.
He could only wait, eager and ravenous, for what his lord was planning next. Knowing him, it would be nothing less than world-changing.
AN: I hope the switch to third-person narration wasn't too jarring. I just find it much easier to write that way. That said, if you'd prefer first-person, I can absolutely go back to it. Also, the "loser trio" has to be one of the most pathetic and delusional groups I've ever written… and that's saying something.
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