POV: Meruem
When he awoke one morning, he found himself in the body of a devil, lying in a bed that was not his own, in a room that felt far too grand for the life he remembered living.
Shortly after waking, a sudden flood of memories followed, memories of a life he had never lived. There was a deep sense of dissonance, where his mind insisted that these experiences were his, that he had lived them fully and continuously, while the ego carried over from another world knew with certainty that this was false.
The memories fit too well, yet they did not belong to him.
He did not have bat-like wings, nor the ability to use magic. He was not the heir to one of the great houses of Hell. He did not have an older sister, nor siblings at all. He had been an only child.
He did not command servants at a whim, nor did he possess wealth that eclipsed entire human nations. His family did not command legions, and most importantly, he was not a devil, nor did he live in Hell.
He had never been exiled for killing the heir of a Pillar House, nor for threatening a younger brother.
Stranger still were the memories of interacting with people who should not exist. He remembered conversations with a red haired girl named Rias Gremory, with a dark haired one named Sona Sitri, and with a boy called Diodora Astaroth.
He was certain he had never met any of them. It was impossible. They were characters from a light novel he had once read. Fiction. One could not interact with fictional people. And yet his memories insisted otherwise, complete and coherent, carrying emotional weight that could not be dismissed.
He knew the human mind was capable of fabricating memories, of perceiving things that did not exist, as seen in schizophrenia and other mental illnesses. Yet he was equally certain that he did not suffer from any such condition.
It was only when his mother, or rather the mother of the body he now occupied, burst into his room in a panic over why he was still asleep that morning, that the last doubts fell away. This was not a hallucination. It was not a dream.
He had been transmigrated into another world. A world he had once read and watched as fiction, the world of High School DxD. He had laughed for several minutes upon realizing the sheer absurdity of it, to the visible confusion of his new mother.
That had been two years ago.
The return from exile had worried him more than he cared to admit. Meruem did not know what he had expected upon returning to Sheol, but it certainly was not being cheered through the streets.
Flowers were thrown beneath the hooves of their mounts. He found himself smiling at the sheer adoration directed at him. It was still a remarkable feeling, being loved so intensely simply for existing, simply for being present.
Is this what famous celebrities feel like?
Now he found himself at a celebration held in honor of his return to a city he had never truly known. He had never attended a gathering of this scale, not even close, far surpassing the most extravagant weddings of the obscenely wealthy he had only ever seen online. There were musicians of great renown, dancers, and more food and drink than seemed reasonable.
In his previous life, Meruem had been an introvert, and the sheer magnitude of the celebration left him understandably overwhelmed. Nobles approached him constantly, some offering congratulations, others thinly veiling their attempts to curry favor.
He had never experienced this degree of attention. Girls both his age and older (though most appeared in their early twenties thanks to devil magic) were scarcely subtle in their interest.
He knew most of it was not genuine, that many were motivated by ambition rather than affection, yet the experience remained intoxicating all the same.
Still, the celebration dragged on, with no end in sight, and Meruem could feel his social endurance wearing thin. He had prepared himself, rehearsed his expressions and responses, but patience had limits. Several hours had already passed since the festivities began.
When will this end? I just want a warm shower and go to bed.
Unfortunately, his mother and father seemed determined to deny him that small mercy. Leaving early from a celebration held in his honor would be considered rude, or so he had been told. Something about social obligation and etiquette.
He should probably have been paying attention to the figure speaking before him. The hall, enormous even by devilish standards, had fallen silent, and the host of the celebration, his father, King Adrameleth Beleth, was addressing the gathered nobility.
Meruem had tuned out most of the speech, but it was clearly drawing to a close now. His younger brother, Belathriel, was staring at him, his expression neutral, posture rigidly formal. He was preparing to speak. There was a coldness to Belathriel's face, a visible lack of joy at the event.
Nevertheless, he met Meruem's gaze evenly and held out his hand. "As I promised," he said. "I set you free. I will hold no grievance against you."
His eyes, cold as frost, told a different story. It was obvious that Belathriel had been forced into this reconciliation, almost certainly by their father. Meruem knew this well.
Belathriel was blameless. The Meruem of the past had been nothing more than an arrogant wretch who believed himself above consequence and restraint.
After a brief pause, Meruem took his hand in silence.
"We may be half-brothers by blood," Belathriel declared, his voice carrying clearly through the hall, "but I will stand as your full brother in heart. You will lead, and I will follow. Let nothing come between us."
"I hear you," Meruem said. "So be it."
He meant it. From what he had seen in the memories he had inherited, Belathriel was genuinely decent, unfortunate only in having had a spoiled elder brother.
Meruem could have been more humble, perhaps more gracious, but his patience was already wearing thin and he wanted the ordeal finished as quickly as possible. He also could not bring himself to feel responsible for the actions of the original Meruem. They were not the same person, even if they shared a body and memories.
With the reconciliation complete, his father's booming voice rang out once more, declaring the feast resumed in earnest. Meruem resigned himself to at least another hour of this pointlessly long celebration.
He already missed talking to Rossweisse, his beloved queen. She would have ensured he was not bored, and would have provided genuinely interesting company. Unfortunately, the feast was restricted to nobility.
And so began his least favorite part. Socializing.
It was not that he was bad at talking to people, nor did he suffer from anxiety around others. In his previous life, he had many friends and enjoyed conversation well enough. The problem lay in the company and the sheer length of the event.
He thought of himself like a phone battery. In the morning, fully rested, he started at one hundred percent. Each interaction drained him a little, and by evening the battery was nearly empty, leaving him with no energy for further conversation and a strong need to be alone.
Some interactions barely drained him at all. With people he felt comfortable around, people who shared his interests, he could talk for hours without feeling tired. Unfortunately, there was a severe shortage of such people here.
Imagine the most vain and narcissistic individuals imaginable, those who cared only for mocking others or passing judgment on clothing, posture, and hairstyles. Multiply that by ten, and one had the nobility of the Underworld. Meruem could tolerate them for three minutes at most, and even that was pushing it.
He was speaking with some noble whose name he genuinely could not recall when he noticed his mother approaching.
She was tall, raven-haired, her pale skin untouched by age, her bright purple eyes always alight with a mirth that never quite faded. At least in appearance, he had taken after her.
There was genuine delight in her gaze when she saw him, and Meruem did not doubt it for a moment. Queen Morena Beleth was many things. Manipulative and ruthless, proud and unyielding, impulsive and passionate when it suited her, endlessly scheming and hungry for power. Yet she loved her son more fiercely than anything else in existence.
Of that, Meruem had never harbored the slightest doubt, and so he endured her nagging with practiced patience.
"My love," his mother said, her hands rising to cradle his cheeks. "It is time. Show them what you are made of. Show them that no grievance can endure in the face of your talent."
She really is dramatic.
Meruem merely nodded and made his way calmly toward the center of the great hall. He lifted his glass and tapped it gently. The murmur of conversation faltered, softened, then died away entirely as attendants and nobles alike turned toward him. The hush spread outward until every eye in the hall rested upon him.
He waited a few moments longer, meeting their gazes one by one, until even the last whisper had vanished and the Lords of Hell watched him in expectant silence.
"May I take a bit of your attention?" he said, slowly looking at them. "In the time I spent away from our great civilization, I came to a … sobering realization. We devils like to believe we rule the Underworld, that this realm is our dominion by right and by strength, yet in truth we understand very little of the land beneath our feet or the forces that shape it. We do not decide where our cities flourish or where our fields grow. We settle where the demonic energy is weakest, where the ground is least hostile to life, and we call that choice sovereignty, though in reality it is merely a concession."
He clasped his hands loosely behind his back as he spoke, his tone almost reflective, just as he had practised it.
"The laws of nature do not bend to us," he said. "The crude demonic energy that flows through the Underworld governs us far more than we govern it. It poisons our soil, twists ecosystems, and drives the beasts that plague our borders toward our domains in search of Gehenna nodes. We know frighteningly little about the very world we call our own, and we live according to its rules rather than bending it to our will."
He let that sink in before continuing.
"In truth," Meruem said, his voice tinged with sadness. "We are merely another kind of denizen of the Underworld, elevated above demonic beasts by intellect and magic, yet no more sovereign than they are. The laws of nature remain untouched by our pride, and existence follows its own order whether we acknowledge it or not."
A murmur rippled through the audience, quickly silenced by his raised hand.
"The truth of the world," Meruem continued, his voice passionate, " is that its order is far greater than what we inherit or observe. We see patterns only because we impose them, because without them we would be lost, and so we mistake those patterns for truth. Yet more exists beyond our knowledge than within it, and the demonic energy beneath our cities moves according to principles we have never sought to understand, much less command. Who can say that what has been for thousands of years must also remain so?"
He let the silence stretch.
"What if I told you it does not have to be this way anymore," he said. "What if I told you that we can redirect the very flow of crude demonic energy that saturates the ground beneath our feet. That fertile land need no longer be rare, nor cities constrained to barren regions at the mercy of hostile terrain. That we need not wait for beast tides to descend upon us, but could determine where and when such concentrations arise, and prepare accordingly."
A murmur rippled through the hall.
"With such control, we could create fertile land where we desire it, drawing away excess demonic energy and restoring balance to soil long thought unusable. We would no longer need to scour the far reaches of the Underworld for arable ground, nor suffer endless incursions from beasts drawn by unmanaged Gehenna flows."
He raised his hand, and a servant stepped forward, presenting a small velvet case.
"I present to you the Rings of Power," Meruem said calmly. "Artifacts of my own creation. Through them, the aspects of nature itself can be influenced. With them, one may draw rain to nourish the land, redirect demonic energy beneath the ground to cultivate fertile soil, manipulate concentrations to anticipate and control beast tides, and govern one's territory with true authority rather than mere force."
His gaze swept across the assembled nobility.
"With these rings, you can become the true master of your domains."
Loud applause and cheers broke out the moment he finished his speech. Meruem felt a bit like a shady salesman pitching a miracle cure, and he was fairly sure he had messed up at least parts of the delivery he had practiced obsessively, much to Rosie's amusement. Still, he meant every word. He wanted to live this life to its fullest.
He would become great. He would become unforgettable. He had already wasted one life, and he had no intention of doing so again.
"And as a sign of new beginnings," Meruem continued, his voice softer now, "and of my desire to set right the wrongs of my past, I present this ring to House Furfur, whom I grievously wronged in my youth. No artifact can repay a life taken, nor erase the pain I caused. I do not offer this as compensation, but as acknowledgment of my guilt and as a gesture of responsibility. I can only hope it will stand as a small step toward restitution, however inadequate it may be."
He had killed the heir of House Furfur. No gift could undo that. This was the closest thing he could offer to an apology.
"That was well done, my son," his father said once he joined them amid the crowd.
Around them, nobles buzzed with excitement and thinly veiled greed, voices overlapping as they discussed the implications of what they had just witnessed. All eyes remained on him.
He caught sight of his mother basking in the attention like a peacock, her eyes shining with pride and avarice in equal measure. She was already calculating how best to exploit the other Lords of Hell, and by how much.
"Thank you, Father," Meruem replied with a small smile. "There are matters I need to mend, consequences born of my past recklessness. I thought it fitting to begin there."
"You had no obligation to do so," his father said. "Still, I am glad to see you have grown wiser."
It was precisely this kind of indulgence that had turned the previous Meruem into an arrogant, spoiled mess. His father either did not see it or did not care.
"That was incredible," his elder sister Athaliah said, clearly impressed. "I did not know you had any interest in smithing, let alone passion for it."
"Well," Meruem said casually, "exile leaves one with a great deal of time. I decided I might as well make use of it."
"You created something this revolutionary because…" his youngest brother Hermon started, staring at him. "… you were bored?"
"What can I say?" Meruem replied with a smug smile. "I am gifted."
That was not entirely true.
The reality was that the rings were not wholly his invention. This world differed in subtle but important ways from the one he had known as fiction. Certain concepts had never been mentioned in the source material, or perhaps had not existed there at all. Gehenna nodes were one such difference.
Another lay in the legacy of the original Satans. They had scattered countless treasures throughout the Underworld for reasons long forgotten. It was believed that their research, wealth, and knowledge were hidden within these inheritance sites.
Some even claimed that one might uncover methods capable of elevating a low class devil to high class power. Beyond that, the magical artifacts and insights left behind by the original Satans were treasures beyond measure.
These inheritance sites were notoriously difficult to locate. Many devils spent centuries searching for even a single clue, driven by the hope of transforming their lives.
The original Meruem had been obsessed with locating one of these places and had burned through enormous sums of wealth chasing rumors and fragments of information.
After years of searching, he had finally uncovered a promising lead. He was overtaken by him before he could investigate it himself.
Meruem chose to pursue it himself. He did not want the original Meruem's efforts to go to waste, and he was genuinely curious about what he might find.
The journey was anything but easy. He fought numerous low and mid class devils for the chance to proceed and endured a series of trials designed by the original Satans themselves. In the end, he succeeded and uncovered the inheritance of Satan Beelzebub.
There, he found extensive research and experiments focused on the nature of the Underworld itself. Beelzebub had been working on a solution to create fertile land capable of sustaining vast armies during the war against Heaven. Through countless experiments, he had designed the concept of the Rings of Power and detailed the methods required to create them.
The work had remained theoretical. Beelzebub never lived long enough to bring it to fruition.
Meruem found those research notes along with a meticulous manual and Beelzebub's recorded thought process. It took him a long time to fully understand the material, and even longer to replicate the process on his own. In the end, he succeeded however.
The Rings of Power were real now.
And he was going to profit immensely from them.
The rest of the evening dragged on, with an endless procession of lords and ladies vying for his attention, and his patience steadily wearing thin. For that, he had to credit his mother and her fellow queens.
Noticing the shortening of his temper, she had taken it upon herself to intercept the lesser lords, keeping them occupied elsewhere and allowing only the great lords to approach him directly. It helped, marginally.
Unfortunately, the great lords were twice as arrogant as the lesser houses, which made the experience only slightly more tolerable.
It was then that he noticed a green haired man in his late twenties making his way toward him. At his side walked Diodora Astaroth, and beside him a beautiful girl with almond shaped eyes, long blond hair tipped in blue, and a voluptuous figure with a generous bust, a trait shared by the overwhelming majority of devil women.
Devils were not humans. They were human in shape, yet there was something subtly off about them. Their features were too perfect, their movements too graceful, an uncanny quality that immediately betrayed their inhuman nature.
"Half brother," Hermon said quietly at his side. "The green haired man approaching us is Duke Astaroth. Beside him are his heir, Diodora, and Lady Latia from one of their branch houses."
Meruem had asked Hermon to stay close precisely for this reason. He simply did not know the names of most of the guests.
"Just brother is fine," Meruem replied absently. The original Meruem's insistence on being addressed as half brother, born from the belief that his siblings were unworthy of being considered his equals, grated on him more than he liked to admit.
"Just brother," Hermon repeated calmly. "The green haired man approaching us is Duke Astaroth. Beside him are his heir, Diodora, and Lady Latia from the branch house."
So that is Latia Astaroth, Meruem thought. She is beautiful.
"Aren't you a cheeky one," Meruem said, chuckling despite himself. "But why bring a branch member along?"
Hermon shrugged. He clearly had no idea.
"Prince Meruem," Duke Astaroth said as he reached them, inclining his head. "Allow me to congratulate you on your return to your rightful home. I was always outspoken in my opposition to your exile. It was unjust, all the more so for having been decreed by a Satan. Matters concerning the Pillar Houses should remain within the Pillars themselves. Rank notwithstanding, Sirzechs Lucifer had no authority to pass such judgment. That right belonged solely to your father."
Despite Satan Beelzebub's origins in House Astaroth, the house itself remained fiercely traditionalist.
"And for that, you shall always have my gratitude, my lord," Meruem replied, bowing respectfully.
"Aye," Astaroth said. "You are already acquainted with my son and heir, Diodora. Allow me to introduce Lady Latia Astaroth, one of our lesser branch members."
"A pleasure to see you back, Meruem," Diodora said, that infuriating smile permanently etched onto his face. "The Underworld has been dreadfully dull without you."
"It is good to be back," Meruem replied politely. "I missed it greatly. And it is a delight to see you again, Lady Latia. I see you have grown your hair. It suits you beautifully."
Why yes, he thought dryly, I do not like Diodora. How could you tell?
If Diodora felt slighted by the casual dismissal, he gave no sign. Even the former Meruem had tolerated him only out of convenience, finding his brand of cruelty tedious rather than impressive.
"T-thank you, my prince," Latia stammered, bowing deeply. "You… you remembered me."
"Of course," Meruem replied. "I always remember people with talent. Your aptitude for rune magic was impressive back at the academy."
Latia looked genuinely surprised. That was hardly unexpected. The old Meruem had dismissed most of his peers entirely, save for the rare few he deemed worthy of acknowledgement. Even so, Latia's skill had left an impression.
"Indeed," Lord Astaroth said. "Lady Latia is quite the talented devil. I hear your talents in rune magic are exceptional as well, my prince, among many other disciplines."
"Runes were always one of my favorite studies," Meruem said calmly. "There is something uniquely satisfying about enchanting artifacts with runic inscriptions and watching them come alive."
"Is that the secret behind your Rings of Power then?" Diodora asked with feigned curiosity.
"Who knows?" Meruem replied lightly. "Trade secrets. I am sure you understand, my dear Diodora."
"Mysterious as ever, I see," Diodora said with amusement.
Do not speak as if we are close, you bastard, Meruem thought irritably.
"Mystery keeps people on their toes," Meruem replied curtly.
"Indeed it does," Diodora agreed. "There is a lesson in sticking one's nose where it does not belong. A pity Malakh learned that lesson too late."
Meruem decided, firmly, that Diodora was the most irritating devil he had ever encountered.
"Mind your manners, Dio," Lord Astaroth said sharply.
"Of course, Father," Diodora replied with an exaggerated show of remorse. "That was uncalled for. We should not mock those who seek forgiveness and try to better themselves. That is what Christ preached, after all. Let bygones be bygones."
He is brave, Meruem admitted privately. Using Christ's teachings as mockery, how cliche.
"See that it stays that way, Diodora," his father said sternly. He then turned back to Meruem. "My prince, perhaps you might visit my domain sometime. I am certain Lady Latia has many runic projects that would benefit from your insight. Is that not so, Latia?"
"Yes, my prince," Latia said, her voice carefully composed. "I would be honored to receive your thoughts on my current work."
Meruem doubted she had any such projects at the moment. That hardly mattered though. Duke Astaroth would simply gather the finest runic experts available and prepare suitable work for her to present, all to bind Meruem closer to House Astaroth.
"I would be glad to do so, my lady," Meruem replied pleasantly. "If time allows, I shall visit."
"The Ring of Power I purchased is functioning brilliantly, by the way," Duke Astaroth added. "Many great lords still visit my domain to witness your rings in action."
"I am glad to hear that," Meruem said evenly, revealing nothing.
They spoke for a while longer, touching on recent developments throughout the Underworld, from politics to fashion and the arts. Eventually, the Astaroths excused themselves and departed, leaving Meruem alone with Hermon.
"You would think a lord of his stature would be more subtle," Meruem remarked.
"Not surprised at all," Hermon replied with open disdain. "The Lords of Hell lose any sense of reason or subtlety when profit and power are involved."
"Tragic," Meruem said, though privately he was pleased to see his younger brother growing more comfortable expressing his opinions.
He had chosen Hermon deliberately. Of all his siblings, he despised him the least. Hermon had been largely unremarkable, which meant the previous Meruem had mostly ignored him rather than actively tormenting him.
Meruem hoped that by repairing his relationship with Hermon first, he might eventually reach the others through him.
"I do not see anyone from House Gremory," Meruem said suddenly, realizing he had not spotted Rias Gremory at all. He was certain he would have recognized her instantly.
"They did not send anyone," Hermon replied. "Our houses were never on good terms to begin with. And since Lord Lucifer disapproves of your return, they are likely signaling their support for his stance."
His mother had worked tirelessly behind the scenes to convince Lucifer to lift the exile. Meruem still wondered how she had managed it.
"So it is a message," he said lightly. "They do not acknowledge my return. A pity."
"Were you hoping they would attend?" Hermon asked.
"Not particularly," Meruem said with a shrug.
It might have been interesting to meet some of the main characters of the story, yet he did not truly care. Rias was absent, but her closest friend was not. He noticed Sona Sitri approaching with both her parents at her side.
And he had to admit, she was beautiful as well. He was beginning to sound like a broken record. Sona was a bespectacled young woman with a slim figure, short black hair cut into a neat bob, and striking violet eyes. He realized he had been staring a moment longer than politeness allowed.
I like short haired women with a serious attitude, fight me.
AN: If you're wondering why Meruem's father has so many children despite devils being largely infertile, he made a deal with a fertility goddess in the past, in exchange for a favor.
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