Waking up as Riser Phenex, arrogant, shirtless, and canonically useless, a reincarnated man realizes he's hit the jackpot... and also the trash heap of devil nobility. But why die as a footnote in someone else's story when you can rewrite the whole damn script? Armed with genre awareness, overpowered ambition, and zero patience for anime logic, Riser's done playing nice. He's recruiting monsters, stealing plot armor, and aiming to become something even the gods side-eye. Forget peace, forget canon, and definitely forget being defeated by teenagers again. This time, Riser's going full main character energy, with fire.
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DxD: Born Again in Flame (Riser si)
- Thread starter abel targayen
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User Total abel targayen 2
Prologue and plans
New
abel targayen
Making the rounds.
- Joined
- Jan 26, 2024
- Messages
- 44
- Likes received
- 98
Prologue: Ashes of the Phoenix
There was warmth, no, heat, pressing into his skin. A low crackle echoed through the room like a distant fire, steady and alive. He stirred.
The ceiling above was a mural of soaring phoenixes, feathers of gold and fire stitched into enchanted stone, the kind of craftsmanship that whispered old money and older magic. The bed beneath him was absurdly soft, the silken sheets smoother than anything he had touched in a lifetime. A nearby window let in amber-tinted sunlight through high gothic arches, illuminating velvet drapes, a mahogany desk, a chandelier of living flame.
Where the hell am I?
He sat up, the room tilting with unfamiliar weight. His body was different, taller, leaner, stronger. More refined. But what shocked him most was the aura. It rolled off him in waves, arrogance and power. It clung to the air like the scent of spice and brimstone.
He stumbled toward a tall mirror framed in phoenix feathers. The reflection wasn't his.
Blond hair, sharp features, crimson eyes that burned faintly with something inhuman. He looked maybe fifteen. His chest was bare, his skin too perfect, too flawless. No acne, no scars, just aristocratic beauty that felt as unnatural as it was magnetic.
He knew that face.
Riser Phenex.
"No…" His voice was unfamiliar, smooth and aristocratic. He stared at the reflection, trying to will it away, deny it. But then came the wave.
Like a dam breaking, memories flooded in, flashes of noble banquets in the Phenex estate, of tutors lecturing him on etiquette, combat, and devil politics. Flames erupting from his hands in training duels. Cold glances exchanged between elder devils at court. The smirk of a younger Rias Gremory across a table. The shame of a spare Heir. The taste of being irrelevant.
He sank to his knees, gasping.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
Eventually, the panic faded. In its place came thought. Cold, precise, analytical thought.
So this was it. Somehow, impossibly, he had ended up in the body of a minor villain. A speedbump on someone else's path to greatness. Riser Phenex, arrogant, petty, disposable.
But now?
A slow grin pulled at his lips.
Now he had a five-year head start, the mind of a man from another world, and a future to rewrite. His fate was no longer bound to the canon timeline, no longer shackled to some teenager's path to greatness.
He would not be someone else's stepping stone.
He would forge a peerage worthy of legend. No more weaklings. He'd find monsters, people with potential and power. Earn their loyalty. Take what he needed and reshape the Underworld if he had to
He opened a drawer in the desk, retrieving the ornate ebony box that pulsed with ancient magic. Inside, the remaining Evil Pieces shimmered, two Rooks, two Knights, two Bishops, eight Pawns.
The Queen slot was empty.
"Yubellana…" he murmured. The name came with a flicker of recognition, a capable but underwhelming choice, locked in before he awoke.
No matter. The rest could be salvaged.
He closed the box gently, reverently. Stood tall.
"A side character in someone else's pathetic little story?" he whispered. "No. I am the master of my fate."
He turned toward the balcony, flame-washed wind tugging at his hair, and stared into the horizon over the mansion, to the rest of Ars Goetia. His mind was already spinning.
Who would he recruit? Where could he find the strength to carve a new future? Could he bend the rules of the game, or break them entirely?
The pieces were on the board. He would decide how they moved.
----------------------------------------------
Peace.
It was intoxicating, in its own way. The scent of roses from enchanted gardens drifting through the open balcony. Servants who bowed their heads in silence. Endless days of leisure, luxury, and lukewarm expectations. No burdens. No pressure. No destiny.
And no meaning.
Riser lounged in an obsidian chair, a glass of expensive wine, fire-blood vintage from the Phenex vaults, glowing softly in his hand. Fifteen years old, devil nobility, born into a house with coffers so deep they could drown lesser houses. Third son. Spare of a spare. Aristocracy meant that unless he actively humiliated himself or exploded half the Underworld, his family would let him live however he pleased.
And the idea was tempting.
He had magic. Real, honest-to-hell magic. He could light up rooms with a flick of his fingers. Summon flames from the marrow of his soul. Live in decadence until the end of time. And the Underworld would applaud him for doing nothing more than existing.
But that... that was how losers thought.
"Peace?" he muttered, smirking. "Fuck peace."
He stood and walked to the window, flames flickering behind his irises. The horizon beyond the House of Phenex's territory shimmered with ley lines, devil cities carved into obsidian mountains, ancient forests, ruins of ancient wars. And beyond even that, the material world.
This world was real fantasy. Every pantheon, every myth is real. Angels soared above Heaven. Dragons slept in volcanoes. Gods sipped wine in hidden dimensions. And he had the chance to live among them, challenge them, surpass them.
"I'm a devil with a literal immortality pass and magic limited only by imagination," he whispered to himself. "Why the fuck would I settle for anything less than the top?"
Sirzechs Lucifer? A noble goal.
But even that was too low.
No. His eyes gleamed now. He would reach the pinnacle. Become a being beyond myth. A king of devils, not by birth, but by right. He wanted to stand on the edge of existence and look down on dragons, gods, angels alike.
To do that, he needed power. Unshakable, undeniable power. Magical, political, personal.
And he couldn't do it alone.
The Evil Piece set still sat on his desk. One Queen already spent. The rest gleamed with latent potential.
Time to fill his peerage. Not with sycophants or incompetent playthings like in canon. No. This time, he would build an elite force, loyal, lethal, cunning. Not a household. A dynasty.
What kind of people did he want?
First: Loyalty. Absolute. His back must be protected when he stepped into the fire.
Second: Capability. Not just raw magical power, though that helped. Intelligence, adaptability, ruthlessness. If they could kill gods or manipulate a situation, that worked too.
Third: No idealists. He wasn't building a charity. Morals were luxuries the strong could afford. In the Underworld, power ruled. Only fools pretended otherwise.
He began listing names:
Valerie Tepes.
A dhampir, held captive by her own family in the shadows of Eastern Europe. Wielder of the Sephiroth Graal, a Sacred Gear of unimaginable potential. Healing, resurrection, possibly capable of granting immunity to holy weaknesses. If he could turn her, not only would he gain a trump card, but possibly the means to make devils' racial weakness obsolete.
A beauty, too. But that was secondary.
Problem? She was a magnet for trouble. Evil dragons, the Fallen, and worst of all: the son of Lucifer would all want her.
"But I have five years," he muttered. "Plenty of time to prepare."
Gasper Vladi.
Childhood friend of Valerie. Wielder of Forbidden Balor View, an anti-time Sacred Gear that could stop time. A little unstable. A little naive. But potential.
If he timed it right, he could get them both.
The Nekomata Sisters.
Held by House Naberius. Abused and caged and used as experiment subjects. Kuroka, especially, would be dangerous, a Youkai of immense potential and deadly instinct.
It would require careful planning to recruit them without becoming a target. But worth it.
Rossweisse.
Valkyrie. Scholar. Talented. Criminally undervalued by her own pantheon.
With the right approach, he could offer her recognition and respect she never received from Odin.
Ingvild Leviathan.
Lost descendant of a Maou. Slumbering power. A High-tier Longinus, Sacred Gear with the ability to control dragons.
She was a slow-burn asset, but a potentially game-breaking one.
Meredith Ordinton.
One of the wielders of a Longinus. If he could find her and recruit her, she could be a useful ally.
These were pieces worth playing.
But peerage members meant nothing if he wasn't strong enough to protect them. Or worse, if he was strong enough to recruit them, but weak enough to lose them.
That meant power had to come first.
Devil magic was a start, but he'd need more.
Ancient tomes from the Phenex library. Elemental fusion beyond just fire. Rituals. Forbidden techniques. Sacred Gear research. Maybe even tapping into the Super-devil research.
No. Not maybe. Definitely.
His end goal wasn't to be some noble with a hobby. It was to reach the level where reality bent to his will. Where the Dragon of Dreams himself, Great Red, would take notice.
And from there?
Maybe even beyond.
He exhaled and sat back, flames curling gently at his fingertips. The window of time was open. He had years before Issei Hyoudou awakens the Boosted Gear. Years to gather power, influence, and allies.
But it had to start now.
"Step one," he muttered. "Push past my current limit. Master Phenex fire. Expand magic versatility. Hunt Sacred Gear wielders. Recruit. Manipulate. Grow."
He poured a second glass of fire-blood wine and toasted the horizon.
"To the top. No matter who stands in my way."
Author's Note: Alright, after whining about how everyone's stories refuse to follow my brilliant plans, I've finally mustered enough courage (and caffeine) to post something. Fingers crossed it doesn't crash and burn. I already have a plan for how it should go but, spoiler alert, only the first arc is locked in — the rest is just me winging it like a pro. Feel free to drop feedback, ideas, or even insults. Seriously, I can take it — bring on the roast!
There was warmth, no, heat, pressing into his skin. A low crackle echoed through the room like a distant fire, steady and alive. He stirred.
The ceiling above was a mural of soaring phoenixes, feathers of gold and fire stitched into enchanted stone, the kind of craftsmanship that whispered old money and older magic. The bed beneath him was absurdly soft, the silken sheets smoother than anything he had touched in a lifetime. A nearby window let in amber-tinted sunlight through high gothic arches, illuminating velvet drapes, a mahogany desk, a chandelier of living flame.
Where the hell am I?
He sat up, the room tilting with unfamiliar weight. His body was different, taller, leaner, stronger. More refined. But what shocked him most was the aura. It rolled off him in waves, arrogance and power. It clung to the air like the scent of spice and brimstone.
He stumbled toward a tall mirror framed in phoenix feathers. The reflection wasn't his.
Blond hair, sharp features, crimson eyes that burned faintly with something inhuman. He looked maybe fifteen. His chest was bare, his skin too perfect, too flawless. No acne, no scars, just aristocratic beauty that felt as unnatural as it was magnetic.
He knew that face.
Riser Phenex.
"No…" His voice was unfamiliar, smooth and aristocratic. He stared at the reflection, trying to will it away, deny it. But then came the wave.
Like a dam breaking, memories flooded in, flashes of noble banquets in the Phenex estate, of tutors lecturing him on etiquette, combat, and devil politics. Flames erupting from his hands in training duels. Cold glances exchanged between elder devils at court. The smirk of a younger Rias Gremory across a table. The shame of a spare Heir. The taste of being irrelevant.
He sank to his knees, gasping.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
Eventually, the panic faded. In its place came thought. Cold, precise, analytical thought.
So this was it. Somehow, impossibly, he had ended up in the body of a minor villain. A speedbump on someone else's path to greatness. Riser Phenex, arrogant, petty, disposable.
But now?
A slow grin pulled at his lips.
Now he had a five-year head start, the mind of a man from another world, and a future to rewrite. His fate was no longer bound to the canon timeline, no longer shackled to some teenager's path to greatness.
He would not be someone else's stepping stone.
He would forge a peerage worthy of legend. No more weaklings. He'd find monsters, people with potential and power. Earn their loyalty. Take what he needed and reshape the Underworld if he had to
He opened a drawer in the desk, retrieving the ornate ebony box that pulsed with ancient magic. Inside, the remaining Evil Pieces shimmered, two Rooks, two Knights, two Bishops, eight Pawns.
The Queen slot was empty.
"Yubellana…" he murmured. The name came with a flicker of recognition, a capable but underwhelming choice, locked in before he awoke.
No matter. The rest could be salvaged.
He closed the box gently, reverently. Stood tall.
"A side character in someone else's pathetic little story?" he whispered. "No. I am the master of my fate."
He turned toward the balcony, flame-washed wind tugging at his hair, and stared into the horizon over the mansion, to the rest of Ars Goetia. His mind was already spinning.
Who would he recruit? Where could he find the strength to carve a new future? Could he bend the rules of the game, or break them entirely?
The pieces were on the board. He would decide how they moved.
----------------------------------------------
Peace.
It was intoxicating, in its own way. The scent of roses from enchanted gardens drifting through the open balcony. Servants who bowed their heads in silence. Endless days of leisure, luxury, and lukewarm expectations. No burdens. No pressure. No destiny.
And no meaning.
Riser lounged in an obsidian chair, a glass of expensive wine, fire-blood vintage from the Phenex vaults, glowing softly in his hand. Fifteen years old, devil nobility, born into a house with coffers so deep they could drown lesser houses. Third son. Spare of a spare. Aristocracy meant that unless he actively humiliated himself or exploded half the Underworld, his family would let him live however he pleased.
And the idea was tempting.
He had magic. Real, honest-to-hell magic. He could light up rooms with a flick of his fingers. Summon flames from the marrow of his soul. Live in decadence until the end of time. And the Underworld would applaud him for doing nothing more than existing.
But that... that was how losers thought.
"Peace?" he muttered, smirking. "Fuck peace."
He stood and walked to the window, flames flickering behind his irises. The horizon beyond the House of Phenex's territory shimmered with ley lines, devil cities carved into obsidian mountains, ancient forests, ruins of ancient wars. And beyond even that, the material world.
This world was real fantasy. Every pantheon, every myth is real. Angels soared above Heaven. Dragons slept in volcanoes. Gods sipped wine in hidden dimensions. And he had the chance to live among them, challenge them, surpass them.
"I'm a devil with a literal immortality pass and magic limited only by imagination," he whispered to himself. "Why the fuck would I settle for anything less than the top?"
Sirzechs Lucifer? A noble goal.
But even that was too low.
No. His eyes gleamed now. He would reach the pinnacle. Become a being beyond myth. A king of devils, not by birth, but by right. He wanted to stand on the edge of existence and look down on dragons, gods, angels alike.
To do that, he needed power. Unshakable, undeniable power. Magical, political, personal.
And he couldn't do it alone.
The Evil Piece set still sat on his desk. One Queen already spent. The rest gleamed with latent potential.
Time to fill his peerage. Not with sycophants or incompetent playthings like in canon. No. This time, he would build an elite force, loyal, lethal, cunning. Not a household. A dynasty.
What kind of people did he want?
First: Loyalty. Absolute. His back must be protected when he stepped into the fire.
Second: Capability. Not just raw magical power, though that helped. Intelligence, adaptability, ruthlessness. If they could kill gods or manipulate a situation, that worked too.
Third: No idealists. He wasn't building a charity. Morals were luxuries the strong could afford. In the Underworld, power ruled. Only fools pretended otherwise.
He began listing names:
Valerie Tepes.
A dhampir, held captive by her own family in the shadows of Eastern Europe. Wielder of the Sephiroth Graal, a Sacred Gear of unimaginable potential. Healing, resurrection, possibly capable of granting immunity to holy weaknesses. If he could turn her, not only would he gain a trump card, but possibly the means to make devils' racial weakness obsolete.
A beauty, too. But that was secondary.
Problem? She was a magnet for trouble. Evil dragons, the Fallen, and worst of all: the son of Lucifer would all want her.
"But I have five years," he muttered. "Plenty of time to prepare."
Gasper Vladi.
Childhood friend of Valerie. Wielder of Forbidden Balor View, an anti-time Sacred Gear that could stop time. A little unstable. A little naive. But potential.
If he timed it right, he could get them both.
The Nekomata Sisters.
Held by House Naberius. Abused and caged and used as experiment subjects. Kuroka, especially, would be dangerous, a Youkai of immense potential and deadly instinct.
It would require careful planning to recruit them without becoming a target. But worth it.
Rossweisse.
Valkyrie. Scholar. Talented. Criminally undervalued by her own pantheon.
With the right approach, he could offer her recognition and respect she never received from Odin.
Ingvild Leviathan.
Lost descendant of a Maou. Slumbering power. A High-tier Longinus, Sacred Gear with the ability to control dragons.
She was a slow-burn asset, but a potentially game-breaking one.
Meredith Ordinton.
One of the wielders of a Longinus. If he could find her and recruit her, she could be a useful ally.
These were pieces worth playing.
But peerage members meant nothing if he wasn't strong enough to protect them. Or worse, if he was strong enough to recruit them, but weak enough to lose them.
That meant power had to come first.
Devil magic was a start, but he'd need more.
Ancient tomes from the Phenex library. Elemental fusion beyond just fire. Rituals. Forbidden techniques. Sacred Gear research. Maybe even tapping into the Super-devil research.
No. Not maybe. Definitely.
His end goal wasn't to be some noble with a hobby. It was to reach the level where reality bent to his will. Where the Dragon of Dreams himself, Great Red, would take notice.
And from there?
Maybe even beyond.
He exhaled and sat back, flames curling gently at his fingertips. The window of time was open. He had years before Issei Hyoudou awakens the Boosted Gear. Years to gather power, influence, and allies.
But it had to start now.
"Step one," he muttered. "Push past my current limit. Master Phenex fire. Expand magic versatility. Hunt Sacred Gear wielders. Recruit. Manipulate. Grow."
He poured a second glass of fire-blood wine and toasted the horizon.
"To the top. No matter who stands in my way."
Author's Note: Alright, after whining about how everyone's stories refuse to follow my brilliant plans, I've finally mustered enough courage (and caffeine) to post something. Fingers crossed it doesn't crash and burn. I already have a plan for how it should go but, spoiler alert, only the first arc is locked in — the rest is just me winging it like a pro. Feel free to drop feedback, ideas, or even insults. Seriously, I can take it — bring on the roast!
Chapter 1: Flames Beneath the Surface
New
abel targayen
Making the rounds.
- Joined
- Jan 26, 2024
- Messages
- 44
- Likes received
- 98
Yubellana had always loved the way he played.
The first few notes rang out through the manor's music room, rippling across air perfumed with fresh lilac and firewood. She stood in the doorway, caught, no, captivated, as his fingers danced with impossible grace over the ivory keys. Franz Liszt, she recognized. Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2.
It wasn't just performance. It was poetry. Every motion, every note, perfectly controlled, yet filled with passion. This was not the careless, smug noble devil she had served for a while—this was someone transformed.
Riser Phenex sat in the golden sunlight, his blond hair catching fire in the light, his eyes half-lidded, and entirely focused on the piano. He didn't look up, but he knew she was there. Of course he did.
"Ah, Yubellana, I love you," he said as the music swept into a playful crescendo, "when I am with you," he said.
Her lips curled into a small smile, cheeks already warming.
"I become what you call a... hipdevil. I am hip, to the jive. I am in the groove, darling."
She laughed softly, covering her mouth. "Riser, you sound like one of those human jazz phonographs trying to flirt."
The notes slowed, playfully exaggerated, as he turned just enough to cast her a look full of theatrical longing.
"And now," he sighed, letting the piano linger on a sweet, low harmony, "you set my soul on fire. It is not just a little spark. No, it is aflame! A great, roaring flame. I can feel it now, burning, Yubellana, burning."
"You're incorrigible," she murmured, stepping into the room with her hands folded. She tried to sound disapproving, but her voice trembled with a poorly hidden giggle.
He rose, letting the final note of the Rhapsody echo gently behind him like the closing breath of a storm. Then he walked to her, not with the lazy swagger she'd known before, but with the composed confidence of a man who had chosen every step.
She blushed as he took her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles.
"Your cheeks betray you," he said, eyes gleaming. "You wear crimson better than any noble banner."
"You are impossible," she whispered, heart racing.
"And yet here you are, enchanted all the same."
Their faces drew closer, her hand pressed lightly against his chest. He leaned in—
But she turned her face away, flustered. "Riser, wait, there's something you're forgetting."
He paused, expression caught between mock disappointment and amusement.
"You're due to visit your parents at the estate today," she said quickly. "You told Lord and Lady Phenex you would attend tonight's evening meal."
He sighed dramatically, resting his forehead against hers. "You wound me, Yubellana. Interrupted at the very height of passion—for family obligations."
"You're the one who made the appointment," she replied, smirking shyly.
He laughed, stepping back. "And that is why you're my Queen. A beautiful woman with an inconvenient memory for my own convenience."
She flushed again, but said nothing.
He turned away, retrieving his coat with practiced grace. His movements were purposeful, elegant. Everything about him lately had changed. It wasn't just charm, it was a kind of focus, a clarity that unsettled and thrilled her in equal measure.
Once, Riser had been all fire and laziness. A noble devil with too much power, too little ambition, and no direction but the bed and the banquet.
But now...
He gave the piano one last glance before they left the room. "You know, Yubellana," he said quietly, "music is what the soul would say if it were free from the body. When I play... it's as though I remember something I never learned."
She tilted her head, intrigued. "You sound like a wannabe philosopher. It seems you have been thinking a lot."
"I have," he said simply. "Something... cosmic. Like I've stumbled across the answer to a question older than my bloodline. And now I can't stop seeing it: truth, purpose, wonder. Even in the smallest things."
She watched him as they walked down the hall. He paused to admire a painting he'd ignored for years. Complimented a servant's stitching. Yesterday, she'd caught him smiling at the simple act of eating a slice of fresh-baked bread, as if it were a ritual worthy of reverence.
"You're different," she said softly. "Since last month. You carry yourself like a man who's found something or someone—that woke him up."
He glanced at her sidelong. "Maybe I did."
Her heart skipped. For a moment, she wanted to ask more, to pry even. But she was afraid the answer might pull her deeper than she already dared to fall.
They reached the teleportation room. A Phenex sigil shimmered on the obsidian floor.
He took her hand again and smiled, less like a flirt, more like a man.
"Don't wait up," he said. "If my father tries to assign me another engagement to some nobleman's daughter, I may flee the mansion entirely."
She chuckled. "I'm sure you'll manage."
"Of course. I'm a hipdevil, remember?"
The teleportation circle flared to life beneath him, firelight licking at his coat.
And then he was gone, off to the Phenex estate, where power slept beneath old stone and politics simmered in gilded cups.
Yubellana stood alone, hand to her chest, wondering.
He was changing.
She only hoped she would not be left behind.
------------------------------------------------
The Phenex Estate stood like a monument to arrogance and eternity.
Riser gazed upward as the teleportation circle faded beneath his feet, boots touching down on polished volcanic glass inscribed with ancient noble seals. Before him stretched the ancestral palace of House Phenex, a sprawling gothic marvel of obsidian towers, sunstone domes, and fiery wards that shimmered in the dusk like auroras. Miles of enchanted gardens surrounded the main hall, where flowers bloomed with demonic fire and songbirds sang in infernal tongues.
It was the kind of splendor that made human monarchies look like peasant circuses.
He adjusted the collar of his coat with quiet precision. He might be the third son, but he was no afterthought.
A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Lord Riser, welcome home."
The voice belonged to a dark-haired woman in a tightly fitted French maid uniform. Her presence was crisp, elegant, her features refined—likely a noble devil in service, as was often the custom in ancient houses.
She bowed. "The family is awaiting your arrival in the dining hall."
"Well, lead the way," Riser said smoothly, and followed her inside.
The dining hall was vast, vaulted ceilings of ruby glass, a table carved from firestone stretching the length of a cathedral nave. Fire-elemental chandeliers bathed everything in warm, flickering gold. The Phenex crest, a flaming bird wreathed in demonic script, burned gently on every wall.
Seated at the head of the table was Lord Aurelius Phenex, regal in flowing crimson robes. A man of classical devil nobility, with eyes like burning coal and an expression carved from obsidian.
To his right: Rionas Phenex, the second son and self-made media mogul—handsome, laid-back, already sipping wine with a bemused smirk.
To his left: Rahella Phenex, both wife and sister to Aurelius—refined, powerful, and poised with the ease of a woman used to commanding lesser devils with a glance.
And beside her sat the youngest Phenex: Ravel.
Twelve years old, dressed in a pristine blue gown with a golden sash, her expression desperately serious as she sat straight, trying to appear as proper as possible.
When Riser stepped into the light, all heads turned.
"Well," Rionas grinned, swirling his glass, "look what the wind and his vanity dragged in."
"Apologies," Riser replied as he moved with effortless grace to his seat. "I was busy being in the groove. You know, hipdevil business."
Rahella stifled a chuckle. Aurelius arched a brow. Rionas only laughed louder.
"You're getting poetic. Been spending too much time with your Queen, I take it?"
"She brings out the classical romantic in me," Riser said smoothly as he sat beside his brother. "And unlike some of us, I don't spend all day manufacturing scandals just to boost magazine sales."
"Scandal sells, little brother. Beauty is temporary. Profits are eternal."
"Tragic words from a man with hair that expensive."
Before Rionas could counter, a tiny voice piped up.
"Riser!"
He turned to his sister, smiling warmly.
"Ravel. Still trying to look like a grown-up, I see."
"I am a grown-up!" she pouted, puffing her cheeks. "And I should be your Bishop!"
Riser placed a hand on his heart dramatically. "Alas, my peerage accepts only beautiful women."
"I am beautiful!"
"You're eleven."
"I'm mature for my age!"
Rionas leaned in, stage-whispering to Riser, "That's exactly what an eleven-year-old says when they try to get into noble clubs with illusions."
"I heard that!" Ravel snapped, throwing a bread roll at her older brother.
Rahella reached over gently and adjusted her daughter's hair.
"My little Ravel will be the fairest maiden in the Underworld," she said with a soft, dangerous smile. "And frankly, Riser, it's not a terrible idea. She's talented, and the Bishop piece's demonic power boost would aid her development. She could learn much under your guidance."
The tone shifted. Rahella's suggestion wasn't just maternal—it was a sign of trust.
Riser tapped the table gently with his finger. He had to tread carefully here. Accepting his sister into his peerage could increase their bond—and future influence—but it would also mean giving up a precious piece. Still…
He turned to Ravel, grinning like a fox.
"Tell me, little sister. What year are you in at the Devil Academy?"
"Fourth!" she said proudly. "Already top of my class in Enchantments!"
"Very good," Riser nodded. "Then here's a challenge."
He leaned in, locking eyes with her.
"If you graduate with ten DAEMONs—and I mean ten, with the highest score in each subject—I'll give you my Bishop piece. No take-backs."
The room went silent. Even Aurelius looked faintly impressed.
Ravel blinked. "Ten…? But that's…"
"The record is seven," Rionas pointed out.
"I want to be more than a record!" Ravel declared, fists clenched.
"Then do it," Riser said, smiling. "And I'll welcome you to the team with open arms."
"Promise?"
"On my pride as a Phenex."
Ravel beamed, and Rahella gave a small nod of approval.
Dinner began, servants bringing in seared chimera steak, abyssal salad, and demonic nectar wine—flavors refined over centuries of tradition. As they ate, the conversation drifted to territories, noble gossip, and the upcoming Rating Games.
But Riser listened more than he spoke. His thoughts wandered—not with boredom, but with purpose.
Demonic Leyens.
That was the term. Ancient regions pulsing with raw, condensed demonic energy. Sacred land for devils. Living currency. From these leyens grew what devils called Infernal Crystals—stones that shimmered with chaotic energy, able to be absorbed to increase a devil's demonic power.
The Phenex family owned hundreds. Some low-class, many mid-class, dozens high-class—and more importantly, they had two ultimate-class leyens under their domain. That alone placed them among the richest families in the Underworld.
That wealth translated into power. The reason noble families stayed noble. The reason so many lower devils remained powerless.
Even a talentless devil could become mighty if fed enough Infernal Crystals.
And he had access.
He chewed slowly, savoring the wine. One day, he'd harvest their highest-grade leyens for himself. Not just for power, but for his ambition.
If he wanted to build a peerage that could stand against gods, he'd need it.
He glanced at Ravel, now happily sketching a study plan onto her napkin with one of the enchanted forks.
"Yes," he thought, amused. "She may just earn it."
But the greater game had already begun.
And Riser Phenex was no longer playing to lose.
----------------------------------------------------
After the last wineglass was drained and Ravel had proudly declared her study schedule with ten DAEMONs like a knight swearing an oath, the evening came to a gentle end.
Most of the family dispersed to their private wings, but Lord Aurelius Phenex gave his son a look—a subtle lift of his brow, nothing more. Riser understood.
He followed his father down the obsidian halls of the estate, their boots echoing like distant war drums. At the end of a corridor guarded by silent marble golems, they came to his sanctum.
The doors opened without a sound, yet they carried weight, a silence thick with generations of ambition.
The study of Lord Aurelius Phenex was not a room. It was a statement.
Oil paintings of long-dead ancestors, battles, phoenixes rising from infernal oceans—works so rare even the Louvre would weep blood to house just one. There were statues from the pre-Great War, enchanted glass bookshelves that whispered knowledge in ancient tongues, and a fireplace that burned with golden flame. At the center of it all sat a desk, not ornate, not gilded, but a flawless slab of Void Obsidian and Celestial Ore, mined during the Second Satanic Rebellion. Its value? Enough to bankrupt a human empire. And yet, in this room, it was as natural as air.
So was Aurelius Phenex.
The Lord of the House stood tall, with golden eyes like suns darkened by smoke. His presence filled the room without effort. He had no need to raise his voice. Power hung on him like an heirloom blade: well-worn, deadly, and absolute.
"Sit, Riser."
Riser obeyed.
Aurelius studied him for a long moment, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Then he spoke.
"You seem different."
Riser said nothing.
"Less dulled. Less trapped in the rhythms of idle hedonism. You carry yourself like a devil who has found his purpose."
Riser looked his father in the eye. "I was blind," he said dramatically, "and now I can see."
Aurelius didn't blink. Didn't smirk. But something in his gaze approved.
He stood, slowly circling his son, and then said:
"Tell me, Riser.
I hold no sword.
I build no wall.
Yet when I speak, gods pause and kings kneel.
What am I?"
Apparently, dramatics ran in the family.
Riser smiled. "Power."
The fire behind Aurelius flared, not with rage, but with recognition.
"Well answered," the old devil said. "Power is the first and last currency of our world. All else is inheritance."
He gestured to a map carved into the wall, a three-dimensional projection of the northernmost reaches of Phenex territory.
"Our high-class leyen field in the Varruk North is under siege. A wolf tide—massive beasts drawn by the leyen's pulse. They're devouring it faster than the ritual wards can regenerate."
Riser studied the region. "That's Uncle Ryzephar's domain."
Aurelius nodded. "He's doing what he can, but they're multiplying faster than expected. The leyen itself may be swelling beyond stability. Such things happen. The Underworld resents us, even if we are its children."
Riser gave a wry smile. "Even Hell wants us dead. It's oddly comforting."
His father let the corner of his lip twitch. "I want you to go. Aid Ryzephar. Fight. Burn. Learn."
Riser raised a brow. "No heir's paranoia? No concern for my tender youth?"
"You are a devil, not a flower. If you die to wolfspawn, you were unworthy of the name Phenex."
Riser exhaled through his nose, more pleased than anything. "And if I live?"
"Then you earn the right to claim something greater."
The two locked eyes. There was no need for dramatics. This was the devil way.
"I accept," Riser said. "I want to see the leyen. I want to test myself, and I want to know what it means to face a tribulation."
Aurelius gave a single nod. That was all the dismissal required.
The hallway beyond led to the Solar Garden Wing, where moonlight and firelight coexisted in an enchanted grove built into the estate's heart. There, in her private salon, sat Rahella Phenex.
His mother.
Tall. Glorious. Golden hair cascading down her back like woven sunlight. Emerald eyes that glittered with mirth, cruelty, and centuries of wisdom. Her curves were precisely sculpted by generations of superior bloodlines, refined magic, and perhaps the sheer will of perfection.
She was sipping something from a crystal flute. A swirling pink liquid that glimmered like stardust.
"Not of Earth," she said when she caught him looking. "The fruit only grows on the floating gardens of the Agares. Delicious and expensive."
She rose gracefully and pulled him into a hug, burying her face into his chest.
"My baby," she whispered. "My baby."
Riser stiffened for a moment, then melted slightly. She kissed his cheek, then his jaw, and then—lingering—his mouth.
Such things were not uncommon in noble devil circles. Hell had no god. Only power made sin.
"You've grown handsome," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "Too handsome. I may have to put a ward on your heart."
"You already have one on mine," he replied, half-serious.
She laughed. "Oh, how charming you've become. Tell me, darling, what did your father say?"
"He wants me to aid Uncle Ryzephar. There's a wolf tide threatening the leyen."
Her gaze sharpened instantly. "He's sending you?"
"He's testing me."
"He's gambling you."
He stepped away, hands tucked behind his back. "I accepted."
"You shouldn't have to—"
"I wanted to."
She blinked.
"I need to know what I'm made of, Mother. We devils live forever, but how many of us ever live?"
She looked at him strangely, and for a moment there was almost fear in her gaze. Not of death, but of change. Her little boy had left. Someone older had taken his place.
Still, she smiled, a devilish, perfect thing, and poured him a glass of the forbidden drink.
They talked for a while. Of gossip. Of scandal. Of which noble had recently been caught siphoning leyen power from another's territory. Rahella laughed like a queen at a play. And Riser, ever the gentleman, matched her wit with ease.
When the time came to leave, she pulled him into a final kiss—this one passionate. Her hands gripped his collar as her lips played on his own, whispering promises and half-spells in an ancient tongue.
"My beautiful boy," she said breathlessly. "Come back to me in one piece."
"I always return, Mother," he said with a smirk, brushing her cheek. "The world hasn't yet found a fire that can consume me."
And with that, he stepped through the teleportation portal, bound for his private mansion to prepare for the trials to come.
For the leyen.
For the wolves.
For power.
Authors Note: Alright folks, things are starting to pick up speed. Second chapter of the night, proudly brought to you by the two glorious likes I received — yes, two. Fame is a wild ride. This chapter includes a bit of family drama and some good old-fashioned demonic world-building. You'll also get your first taste of some spooky lore, because what's a story without mysterious ancient legends?
Oh, and quick fun fact: DAEMON is not just edgy branding. It actually stands for Demonic Arts, Evocation, Manipulation, Occultism & Nobility. Basically, it's the VIP class schedule for magical elites. Think potions, combat, and other fun ways to get expelled with style.
Anyway, this is the last chapter for tonight. I'll post more tomorrow if I don't get distracted by snacks or existential dread.
As always, feedback is welcome — praise, criticism, dad jokes, whatever. Also, if you've got peerage member suggestions (High School DxD universe only, no crossover madness), drop them in. This is my first story, so I'm keeping things chill and simple for now. Although, knowing me, that could change by next week.
The first few notes rang out through the manor's music room, rippling across air perfumed with fresh lilac and firewood. She stood in the doorway, caught, no, captivated, as his fingers danced with impossible grace over the ivory keys. Franz Liszt, she recognized. Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2.
It wasn't just performance. It was poetry. Every motion, every note, perfectly controlled, yet filled with passion. This was not the careless, smug noble devil she had served for a while—this was someone transformed.
Riser Phenex sat in the golden sunlight, his blond hair catching fire in the light, his eyes half-lidded, and entirely focused on the piano. He didn't look up, but he knew she was there. Of course he did.
"Ah, Yubellana, I love you," he said as the music swept into a playful crescendo, "when I am with you," he said.
Her lips curled into a small smile, cheeks already warming.
"I become what you call a... hipdevil. I am hip, to the jive. I am in the groove, darling."
She laughed softly, covering her mouth. "Riser, you sound like one of those human jazz phonographs trying to flirt."
The notes slowed, playfully exaggerated, as he turned just enough to cast her a look full of theatrical longing.
"And now," he sighed, letting the piano linger on a sweet, low harmony, "you set my soul on fire. It is not just a little spark. No, it is aflame! A great, roaring flame. I can feel it now, burning, Yubellana, burning."
"You're incorrigible," she murmured, stepping into the room with her hands folded. She tried to sound disapproving, but her voice trembled with a poorly hidden giggle.
He rose, letting the final note of the Rhapsody echo gently behind him like the closing breath of a storm. Then he walked to her, not with the lazy swagger she'd known before, but with the composed confidence of a man who had chosen every step.
She blushed as he took her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles.
"Your cheeks betray you," he said, eyes gleaming. "You wear crimson better than any noble banner."
"You are impossible," she whispered, heart racing.
"And yet here you are, enchanted all the same."
Their faces drew closer, her hand pressed lightly against his chest. He leaned in—
But she turned her face away, flustered. "Riser, wait, there's something you're forgetting."
He paused, expression caught between mock disappointment and amusement.
"You're due to visit your parents at the estate today," she said quickly. "You told Lord and Lady Phenex you would attend tonight's evening meal."
He sighed dramatically, resting his forehead against hers. "You wound me, Yubellana. Interrupted at the very height of passion—for family obligations."
"You're the one who made the appointment," she replied, smirking shyly.
He laughed, stepping back. "And that is why you're my Queen. A beautiful woman with an inconvenient memory for my own convenience."
She flushed again, but said nothing.
He turned away, retrieving his coat with practiced grace. His movements were purposeful, elegant. Everything about him lately had changed. It wasn't just charm, it was a kind of focus, a clarity that unsettled and thrilled her in equal measure.
Once, Riser had been all fire and laziness. A noble devil with too much power, too little ambition, and no direction but the bed and the banquet.
But now...
He gave the piano one last glance before they left the room. "You know, Yubellana," he said quietly, "music is what the soul would say if it were free from the body. When I play... it's as though I remember something I never learned."
She tilted her head, intrigued. "You sound like a wannabe philosopher. It seems you have been thinking a lot."
"I have," he said simply. "Something... cosmic. Like I've stumbled across the answer to a question older than my bloodline. And now I can't stop seeing it: truth, purpose, wonder. Even in the smallest things."
She watched him as they walked down the hall. He paused to admire a painting he'd ignored for years. Complimented a servant's stitching. Yesterday, she'd caught him smiling at the simple act of eating a slice of fresh-baked bread, as if it were a ritual worthy of reverence.
"You're different," she said softly. "Since last month. You carry yourself like a man who's found something or someone—that woke him up."
He glanced at her sidelong. "Maybe I did."
Her heart skipped. For a moment, she wanted to ask more, to pry even. But she was afraid the answer might pull her deeper than she already dared to fall.
They reached the teleportation room. A Phenex sigil shimmered on the obsidian floor.
He took her hand again and smiled, less like a flirt, more like a man.
"Don't wait up," he said. "If my father tries to assign me another engagement to some nobleman's daughter, I may flee the mansion entirely."
She chuckled. "I'm sure you'll manage."
"Of course. I'm a hipdevil, remember?"
The teleportation circle flared to life beneath him, firelight licking at his coat.
And then he was gone, off to the Phenex estate, where power slept beneath old stone and politics simmered in gilded cups.
Yubellana stood alone, hand to her chest, wondering.
He was changing.
She only hoped she would not be left behind.
------------------------------------------------
The Phenex Estate stood like a monument to arrogance and eternity.
Riser gazed upward as the teleportation circle faded beneath his feet, boots touching down on polished volcanic glass inscribed with ancient noble seals. Before him stretched the ancestral palace of House Phenex, a sprawling gothic marvel of obsidian towers, sunstone domes, and fiery wards that shimmered in the dusk like auroras. Miles of enchanted gardens surrounded the main hall, where flowers bloomed with demonic fire and songbirds sang in infernal tongues.
It was the kind of splendor that made human monarchies look like peasant circuses.
He adjusted the collar of his coat with quiet precision. He might be the third son, but he was no afterthought.
A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Lord Riser, welcome home."
The voice belonged to a dark-haired woman in a tightly fitted French maid uniform. Her presence was crisp, elegant, her features refined—likely a noble devil in service, as was often the custom in ancient houses.
She bowed. "The family is awaiting your arrival in the dining hall."
"Well, lead the way," Riser said smoothly, and followed her inside.
The dining hall was vast, vaulted ceilings of ruby glass, a table carved from firestone stretching the length of a cathedral nave. Fire-elemental chandeliers bathed everything in warm, flickering gold. The Phenex crest, a flaming bird wreathed in demonic script, burned gently on every wall.
Seated at the head of the table was Lord Aurelius Phenex, regal in flowing crimson robes. A man of classical devil nobility, with eyes like burning coal and an expression carved from obsidian.
To his right: Rionas Phenex, the second son and self-made media mogul—handsome, laid-back, already sipping wine with a bemused smirk.
To his left: Rahella Phenex, both wife and sister to Aurelius—refined, powerful, and poised with the ease of a woman used to commanding lesser devils with a glance.
And beside her sat the youngest Phenex: Ravel.
Twelve years old, dressed in a pristine blue gown with a golden sash, her expression desperately serious as she sat straight, trying to appear as proper as possible.
When Riser stepped into the light, all heads turned.
"Well," Rionas grinned, swirling his glass, "look what the wind and his vanity dragged in."
"Apologies," Riser replied as he moved with effortless grace to his seat. "I was busy being in the groove. You know, hipdevil business."
Rahella stifled a chuckle. Aurelius arched a brow. Rionas only laughed louder.
"You're getting poetic. Been spending too much time with your Queen, I take it?"
"She brings out the classical romantic in me," Riser said smoothly as he sat beside his brother. "And unlike some of us, I don't spend all day manufacturing scandals just to boost magazine sales."
"Scandal sells, little brother. Beauty is temporary. Profits are eternal."
"Tragic words from a man with hair that expensive."
Before Rionas could counter, a tiny voice piped up.
"Riser!"
He turned to his sister, smiling warmly.
"Ravel. Still trying to look like a grown-up, I see."
"I am a grown-up!" she pouted, puffing her cheeks. "And I should be your Bishop!"
Riser placed a hand on his heart dramatically. "Alas, my peerage accepts only beautiful women."
"I am beautiful!"
"You're eleven."
"I'm mature for my age!"
Rionas leaned in, stage-whispering to Riser, "That's exactly what an eleven-year-old says when they try to get into noble clubs with illusions."
"I heard that!" Ravel snapped, throwing a bread roll at her older brother.
Rahella reached over gently and adjusted her daughter's hair.
"My little Ravel will be the fairest maiden in the Underworld," she said with a soft, dangerous smile. "And frankly, Riser, it's not a terrible idea. She's talented, and the Bishop piece's demonic power boost would aid her development. She could learn much under your guidance."
The tone shifted. Rahella's suggestion wasn't just maternal—it was a sign of trust.
Riser tapped the table gently with his finger. He had to tread carefully here. Accepting his sister into his peerage could increase their bond—and future influence—but it would also mean giving up a precious piece. Still…
He turned to Ravel, grinning like a fox.
"Tell me, little sister. What year are you in at the Devil Academy?"
"Fourth!" she said proudly. "Already top of my class in Enchantments!"
"Very good," Riser nodded. "Then here's a challenge."
He leaned in, locking eyes with her.
"If you graduate with ten DAEMONs—and I mean ten, with the highest score in each subject—I'll give you my Bishop piece. No take-backs."
The room went silent. Even Aurelius looked faintly impressed.
Ravel blinked. "Ten…? But that's…"
"The record is seven," Rionas pointed out.
"I want to be more than a record!" Ravel declared, fists clenched.
"Then do it," Riser said, smiling. "And I'll welcome you to the team with open arms."
"Promise?"
"On my pride as a Phenex."
Ravel beamed, and Rahella gave a small nod of approval.
Dinner began, servants bringing in seared chimera steak, abyssal salad, and demonic nectar wine—flavors refined over centuries of tradition. As they ate, the conversation drifted to territories, noble gossip, and the upcoming Rating Games.
But Riser listened more than he spoke. His thoughts wandered—not with boredom, but with purpose.
Demonic Leyens.
That was the term. Ancient regions pulsing with raw, condensed demonic energy. Sacred land for devils. Living currency. From these leyens grew what devils called Infernal Crystals—stones that shimmered with chaotic energy, able to be absorbed to increase a devil's demonic power.
The Phenex family owned hundreds. Some low-class, many mid-class, dozens high-class—and more importantly, they had two ultimate-class leyens under their domain. That alone placed them among the richest families in the Underworld.
That wealth translated into power. The reason noble families stayed noble. The reason so many lower devils remained powerless.
Even a talentless devil could become mighty if fed enough Infernal Crystals.
And he had access.
He chewed slowly, savoring the wine. One day, he'd harvest their highest-grade leyens for himself. Not just for power, but for his ambition.
If he wanted to build a peerage that could stand against gods, he'd need it.
He glanced at Ravel, now happily sketching a study plan onto her napkin with one of the enchanted forks.
"Yes," he thought, amused. "She may just earn it."
But the greater game had already begun.
And Riser Phenex was no longer playing to lose.
----------------------------------------------------
After the last wineglass was drained and Ravel had proudly declared her study schedule with ten DAEMONs like a knight swearing an oath, the evening came to a gentle end.
Most of the family dispersed to their private wings, but Lord Aurelius Phenex gave his son a look—a subtle lift of his brow, nothing more. Riser understood.
He followed his father down the obsidian halls of the estate, their boots echoing like distant war drums. At the end of a corridor guarded by silent marble golems, they came to his sanctum.
The doors opened without a sound, yet they carried weight, a silence thick with generations of ambition.
The study of Lord Aurelius Phenex was not a room. It was a statement.
Oil paintings of long-dead ancestors, battles, phoenixes rising from infernal oceans—works so rare even the Louvre would weep blood to house just one. There were statues from the pre-Great War, enchanted glass bookshelves that whispered knowledge in ancient tongues, and a fireplace that burned with golden flame. At the center of it all sat a desk, not ornate, not gilded, but a flawless slab of Void Obsidian and Celestial Ore, mined during the Second Satanic Rebellion. Its value? Enough to bankrupt a human empire. And yet, in this room, it was as natural as air.
So was Aurelius Phenex.
The Lord of the House stood tall, with golden eyes like suns darkened by smoke. His presence filled the room without effort. He had no need to raise his voice. Power hung on him like an heirloom blade: well-worn, deadly, and absolute.
"Sit, Riser."
Riser obeyed.
Aurelius studied him for a long moment, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Then he spoke.
"You seem different."
Riser said nothing.
"Less dulled. Less trapped in the rhythms of idle hedonism. You carry yourself like a devil who has found his purpose."
Riser looked his father in the eye. "I was blind," he said dramatically, "and now I can see."
Aurelius didn't blink. Didn't smirk. But something in his gaze approved.
He stood, slowly circling his son, and then said:
"Tell me, Riser.
I hold no sword.
I build no wall.
Yet when I speak, gods pause and kings kneel.
What am I?"
Apparently, dramatics ran in the family.
Riser smiled. "Power."
The fire behind Aurelius flared, not with rage, but with recognition.
"Well answered," the old devil said. "Power is the first and last currency of our world. All else is inheritance."
He gestured to a map carved into the wall, a three-dimensional projection of the northernmost reaches of Phenex territory.
"Our high-class leyen field in the Varruk North is under siege. A wolf tide—massive beasts drawn by the leyen's pulse. They're devouring it faster than the ritual wards can regenerate."
Riser studied the region. "That's Uncle Ryzephar's domain."
Aurelius nodded. "He's doing what he can, but they're multiplying faster than expected. The leyen itself may be swelling beyond stability. Such things happen. The Underworld resents us, even if we are its children."
Riser gave a wry smile. "Even Hell wants us dead. It's oddly comforting."
His father let the corner of his lip twitch. "I want you to go. Aid Ryzephar. Fight. Burn. Learn."
Riser raised a brow. "No heir's paranoia? No concern for my tender youth?"
"You are a devil, not a flower. If you die to wolfspawn, you were unworthy of the name Phenex."
Riser exhaled through his nose, more pleased than anything. "And if I live?"
"Then you earn the right to claim something greater."
The two locked eyes. There was no need for dramatics. This was the devil way.
"I accept," Riser said. "I want to see the leyen. I want to test myself, and I want to know what it means to face a tribulation."
Aurelius gave a single nod. That was all the dismissal required.
The hallway beyond led to the Solar Garden Wing, where moonlight and firelight coexisted in an enchanted grove built into the estate's heart. There, in her private salon, sat Rahella Phenex.
His mother.
Tall. Glorious. Golden hair cascading down her back like woven sunlight. Emerald eyes that glittered with mirth, cruelty, and centuries of wisdom. Her curves were precisely sculpted by generations of superior bloodlines, refined magic, and perhaps the sheer will of perfection.
She was sipping something from a crystal flute. A swirling pink liquid that glimmered like stardust.
"Not of Earth," she said when she caught him looking. "The fruit only grows on the floating gardens of the Agares. Delicious and expensive."
She rose gracefully and pulled him into a hug, burying her face into his chest.
"My baby," she whispered. "My baby."
Riser stiffened for a moment, then melted slightly. She kissed his cheek, then his jaw, and then—lingering—his mouth.
Such things were not uncommon in noble devil circles. Hell had no god. Only power made sin.
"You've grown handsome," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "Too handsome. I may have to put a ward on your heart."
"You already have one on mine," he replied, half-serious.
She laughed. "Oh, how charming you've become. Tell me, darling, what did your father say?"
"He wants me to aid Uncle Ryzephar. There's a wolf tide threatening the leyen."
Her gaze sharpened instantly. "He's sending you?"
"He's testing me."
"He's gambling you."
He stepped away, hands tucked behind his back. "I accepted."
"You shouldn't have to—"
"I wanted to."
She blinked.
"I need to know what I'm made of, Mother. We devils live forever, but how many of us ever live?"
She looked at him strangely, and for a moment there was almost fear in her gaze. Not of death, but of change. Her little boy had left. Someone older had taken his place.
Still, she smiled, a devilish, perfect thing, and poured him a glass of the forbidden drink.
They talked for a while. Of gossip. Of scandal. Of which noble had recently been caught siphoning leyen power from another's territory. Rahella laughed like a queen at a play. And Riser, ever the gentleman, matched her wit with ease.
When the time came to leave, she pulled him into a final kiss—this one passionate. Her hands gripped his collar as her lips played on his own, whispering promises and half-spells in an ancient tongue.
"My beautiful boy," she said breathlessly. "Come back to me in one piece."
"I always return, Mother," he said with a smirk, brushing her cheek. "The world hasn't yet found a fire that can consume me."
And with that, he stepped through the teleportation portal, bound for his private mansion to prepare for the trials to come.
For the leyen.
For the wolves.
For power.
Authors Note: Alright folks, things are starting to pick up speed. Second chapter of the night, proudly brought to you by the two glorious likes I received — yes, two. Fame is a wild ride. This chapter includes a bit of family drama and some good old-fashioned demonic world-building. You'll also get your first taste of some spooky lore, because what's a story without mysterious ancient legends?
Oh, and quick fun fact: DAEMON is not just edgy branding. It actually stands for Demonic Arts, Evocation, Manipulation, Occultism & Nobility. Basically, it's the VIP class schedule for magical elites. Think potions, combat, and other fun ways to get expelled with style.
Anyway, this is the last chapter for tonight. I'll post more tomorrow if I don't get distracted by snacks or existential dread.
As always, feedback is welcome — praise, criticism, dad jokes, whatever. Also, if you've got peerage member suggestions (High School DxD universe only, no crossover madness), drop them in. This is my first story, so I'm keeping things chill and simple for now. Although, knowing me, that could change by next week.
mikocon
Know what you're doing yet?
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His family felt very devilish with an air of nobility, so that's nice. For the peerage, I guess you already said the best options. If the MC had something to mess with devil bloodlines, he could make Katerea useful.