“He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.”

  My footsteps echoed through the dark, filthy catacomb as I forced myself onward. The air was thick, rough, and dusty, the damp walls enclosing me as I allowed myself to sink deeper and deeper into the deadly game.

  Behind me, five homunculi followed without thought, their existence reduced to one singular purpose. These hulking, lifeless beasts had been created solely to kill me. This chase was all the meaning their short lives would ever have. No matter how many I cut down, they wouldn’t think to retreat or protect themselves, their minds were consumed by their own bloodlust.

  But for all their strength and relentless drive, that was also their weakness—they were predictable.

  I took a sharp turn to get myself out of their vision, diving into the familiar twists and turns of these endless tunnels—my home, my battlefield. The maze opened up to my memory, and I found myself back where the battle had started.

  The main chamber was drenched in absolute darkness, a void so deep it filled my demonic eyes with joy, shielding them from all light. The space was ornate, a carefully crafted arena with polished stone walls and platforms that divided it into multiple levels and isolated spaces full of ambushes waiting to happen. The architect, whoever he had been, was clearly not only a master of his craft but also someone deeply acquainted with the dance of battle.

  And now, thanks to me, half the place was stained with rough splashes of blood.

  Those homunculi weren’t easy foes. That man had a way of constantly refining them—making them stronger, faster, more resentful. He hadn’t yet managed to give them true minds yet, but he compensated for that with their unnatural bodies—built to never tire or rest, so they could chase me to the end of the earth like rabid dogs.

  They would fight me to the death, and so there was death.

  I had slain three of them before I was forced to retreat—cutting them down in swift, lethal strikes, going from one ambush into another before the entire pack could turn on me. Five remained, but three was enough.

  Gripping my crimson scarf tightly, I closed my eyes, centering myself. My heartbeat reverberated in the silence, and I felt it—their blood, pooling in the cracks on the stone, still warm. It surged to my call, rushing through the air in the form of thick mist, responding to my will. It coalesced at my hand, shifting into the shape I projected so clearly in my mind.

  A weapon I knew intimately, something of my very own design.

  A jagged crimson spear, an elongated, spiraling lance of crystallized power, formed in my grasp.

  By the time the five remaining homunculi appeared, their hulking forms squeezing through the tunnel I had just fled, it was already too late. Their twisted faces twitched as they caught my scent, their blank eyes wild with hunger even as my red aura dawned upon them.

  “Secret Hardblood Art — La Sangre.”

  I launched forward, spear in hand, and with a single, fluid motion, I carved through them. Flesh tore. Stone shattered.

  It was warm.

  My body dropped to one knee, the exhaustion catching up to me in a rush. My breath came in ragged gasps, the weight of the battle settling over me. But before I could recover, slow, deliberate applause echoed through the chamber. I stiffened, every muscle tensing as I recognized the sound, and the measured rhythm of his steps.

  Ajuka Beelzebub.

  The man who created me.

  “I see you’re pushing yourself as hard as ever, Nyx,” he said, his voice carrying an almost affectionate amusement.

  ?

  I still remember the first time I opened my eyes in this world. It wasn’t that I’d never been conscious before, but my memories felt distant, covered in fog. Like a dream I could barely remember. As the tank that held me drained, I felt the cold air kiss my skin for the first time. My body—weak, fragile—trembled under its own weight. I dragged myself forward, gasping as my lungs filled with breath, and looked up at the Devil who had brought me back from the darkest pit.

  “Can you hear me?” Beelzebub’s voice was calm, always calm.

  I tried to speak, but my throat was raw, my tongue heavy, forcing me to cough. Instead, I nodded weakly.

  “Good.” He crouched before me, his eyes studying me with clinical detachment. “Do you know who I am?”

  Somehow, I did. Despite the haze in my mind, I nodded again.

  “Then I will make this brief,” he continued. “My name is Ajuka Beelzebub. You were dead, but as part of my research into reincarnation, I have brought your soul back from the abyss. I apologize for the lack of consent, as such things are impossible in death. I can only imagine how painful it must have been, and hope that you consider it worth it.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  The rebirth had been agonizing, far worse than death itself. The sensation of being yanked from the void, torn from oblivion, still burned in my memory. I remembered the desperation of it—the blind, clawing grasp that had pulled my soul back just as it began to fade into nothingness, ripping me away from reality and across the Dimensional Gap.

  I hadn’t been ready to die.

  But I wasn’t sure if I was ready to live again, either.

  “If you so desire, I can put you back to rest this very moment,” Beelzebub continued. “I won’t keep you here against your will. However...” He reached into his coat and produced a burning-red chess piece. A jagged, broken king. “If you choose to stay here with me and help me document the reach of this little experiment... well, I can promise you one fair chance. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  His eyes shined, cold and calculating. There was no deception in his words, no hidden malice. He was completely serious. If I chose it, he would snuff out my life in an instant and return me to the peaceful slumber where my soul had rightfully belonged.

  But something inside me refused.

  I couldn’t return to death’s cold embrace—not after remembering the sensation of air filling my lungs, the chill of stone beneath my feet. These simple, physical sensations that I had never realized I would miss... They reminded me that I was alive, as I enjoyed them like never before.

  Despite the trembling of my frail, crumbling body, I reached forward and grasped the blood-red chess piece.

  The instant I touched it, a surge of power overwhelmed me, dragging me into unconsciousness. But, in that moment, it also nursed me back to health. That jagged kingpiece fed into me, multiplying the feeble strength left after my sloppy resurrection, until my frail form was replaced by something new—something stronger. A body not entirely my own—

  A demonic body.

  I was not particularly powerful, not by the standards of this world, but it was a body. A healthy body. More than I could have asked for after barely clawing my way back into hell.

  The years passed quickly after that, and as I’d promised, my focus narrowed down on helping the Satan explore the limits of my resurrected soul. This second life—my life—was now a continuous cycle of training, both magical and physical. Day after day, I would go through endless drills, honing my abilities and pushing myself further, always chasing the next power up, the next level of myself. The work was grueling, repetitive, but it became my bread and butter, and I honestly learned to enjoy it.

  In truth, I was the student more often than not. Most of what I gained came from observing and learning. After all, standing beside one of the most ingenious Devils in existence afforded me countless opportunities to witness the unimaginable. The way Ajuka's mind worked, his relentless drive to unravel the mysteries of existence, was a marvel. But it was his research into the soul—its essence, its nature, its origin—that caught my attention the most.

  There was something both awe-inspiring and unsettling about it. The idea that a concept so sacred could be dissected, analyzed, and perhaps even manipulated... It was no longer just an abstract idea. Souls were real, we had become aware, and were now taking the first steps into taking control of that reality.

  Through my teenage years, I also awakened my Sacred Gear: Crimson Oath.

  It was a vitric scarf, normally of a soft, feeble white, wrapped snugly around my neck. But despite its fragile appearance, it became the vessel of my new power. The scarf allowed me to harvest, store, and manipulate blood as my primary source of energy. My affinity for it was immediate, more instinctual than any other magic I had tried to master. It responded to me, to my will, more naturally than the elements ever could.

  And so, I embraced the power—unashamedly, unapologetically.

  Unlike vampires, I didn’t need to rely on others’ blood for sustenance. I could choose to consume just about anything, and then sacrifice a portion of myself to feed the Crimson Oath. Sometimes it was an arm, sometimes a leg. It craved pure, potent blood, growing longer and more vibrant with each drop I offered, unfurling like the wings of a great crimson bird. The more I nourished it, the stronger the bond between us grew.

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  And with that bond, my body began to change.

  My once-brown eyes gradually shifted, stained drop by drop with an unholy scarlet hue that couldn’t be hidden. My teeth sharpened—fangs extending just enough to unsettle anyone who looked a little too closely. My regenerative abilities grew stronger, reaching absurd levels of resilience. As long as I had blood stored within my Sacred Gear, I could heal from nearly any wound.

  Even on the brink of death—when my body was broken and bloodied beyond recognition—I could be restored in mere minutes. A few drops of blood placed on my shattered form would be enough to reform me, to stitch flesh and bone back together.

  I had become something... other—

  A bloodfiend.

  And yet, despite the evolution of my power, I was never certain whether my creator valued my existence. His experiment, in the technical sense, had been a success. With the help of a mutate piece, Ajuka Beelzebub had managed to resurrect a human soul from another world, transforming me into a proper Devil. But even as my abilities grew, when compared to the likes of Sairaorg Bael or the Super Devils, my existence felt painfully insignificant.

  In the grand scheme of things, there was little someone like me could offer to one of the Satans. That truth gnawed at me constantly, a quiet reminder that I might become nothing more than a footnote in Ajuka’s endless experiments. What reason would he have to keep a failed subject around? Any Devil in his position would cut their losses, eliminate loose ends. I couldn’t afford to assume otherwise.

  All I could do was push myself—to exceed my limits, to prove that my life still held some small sliver of potential. Without that… how much longer could I expect to survive in this borrowed time?

  ?

  “I see you’re pushing yourself as hard as ever, Nyx,” he said, his voice carrying an almost affectionate amusement.

  I spat onto my sleeve, the taste of homunculi blood still clinging to my tongue. It was worse than the blood of a diseased animal—foul, acrid, almost unbearable, barely blood at all.

  “Lord Beelzebub.” I bowed respectfully, ignoring the bitterness in my mouth. “It’s the least I can do if I am to become a High-Class Devil.”

  His lips curved slightly. “We’ve had this conversation before, Nyx. Even if you lack overwhelming power, your physical capabilities already qualify you as a High-Class Devil.” He paused, then turned on his heel. “Follow me. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  With a quiet sigh, I activated my Sacred Gear, pulling the last remnants of blood from my clothes. The low-quality essence of the homunculi offered little nourishment or value, if any at all—evidenced by how my spear had shattered after only a single attack. Still, I didn’t want to leave a mess on the pristine floors of the manor. Being a Devil isn’t the same thing as being an asshole.

  As one would expect, the Beelzebub estate extended like a colossal city, a network of districts so vast they rivaled the size of a small country. It was easy to imagine a human spending their entire life here, never once stepping foot outside these lush, carefully maintained lands. The streets were wide, bordered by immaculate greenery, and each turn seemed more ornate than the last as all buildings and businesses maintained a certain air of geometrical architecture and detail, making it feel like they belong together.

  Many families of Devils were gathered under the banner of Beelzebub, most of them long-time supporters, dating back to before the Great War. Meanwhile, others had incorporated more recently, choosing to swear their allegiance to the new lord of hell while he was still coursing the first years of his mandate. After all, with Evil pieces defining the new structure of demonic society, it was hardly a surprise that more and more houses would decide to try and organize themselves around the mastermind behind it all.

  And although a few houses had withdrawn from Beelzebub’s protection in recent years, they were vastly outnumbered by those eager to join. In my short life, I had already witnessed several innovations and reforms aimed at accommodating the ever-growing number of residents. After all, High-Class Devils were no longer the overwhelming majority, and not every newly reincarnated Devil could rely on their peerage’s personal teleport circle.

  To address this, Ajuka had overseen the creation of a highly efficient infrastructure—flying rail stations and a public teleport network connecting different sectors of the estate. With a simple gate in place, two once-distant industrial districts could now function as one, entirely negating geographical concerns. It was a near-flawless system, one that had swiftly positioned the Beelzebub estate as the beating heart of engineering and manufacturing in the Underworld—a dreamland for inventors from all houses and standings.

  And at the heart of it all stood the residence of the Blue Satan.

  Calling it a manor seemed like an understatement, though it was the closest comparison one could make. Unlike the Gremory’s fortress of polished stone, Beelzebub’s residence was not a castle. It was a manor in the truest sense—twelve floors high, stretching for miles in every direction, an unfathomable fortress rumored to have been carved from the wood of a single colossal tree by the Old Satan himself. This explained its peculiar appearance—grand yet weathered, like a hollow stump. Despite its enormity, it managed to evoke a strange sense of decay, as if nature itself had claimed it over the centuries. And just like bees, hundreds of maids moved with tireless precision to keep the place immaculate, barely pausing to offer polite nods as we passed. Their smiles were fleeting, mere gestures of courtesy, as they continued their work without expecting acknowledgment—content with the privilege of crossing paths with their master.

  I had long since given up trying to map the manor, and knew only the first two floors by heart. Whatever secrets lay hidden within those hellish corridors, they were unlikely to be worth the effort it would take to find them.

  Oddly enough, the tunnels beneath the house, originally built to confuse and trap enemies in times of war, were far easier for me to navigate than the structure above. Perhaps it was because they were designed with a clear purpose, or perhaps I had simply spent too much time in them, as the luxury and opulence of this house never failed to make me feel out of place.

  This time, however, I could tell exactly where we were headed.

  Ajuka led me to one of his private studies, the one on the ground floor where he typically received emissaries from other families. The room was spacious and bathed in natural light, with curtains of white silk threaded with gold and a desk that could easily double as a banquet table.

  “Do you know why I’ve called you here, Nyx?” His tone was relaxed, informal, as though we were old friends rather than lord and subordinate.

  I hesitated for a moment, then took my seat. “I can’t say I do, sir.”

  “Be at ease. I actually hoped to share a small celebration.” Beelzebub smiled as he pulled a crystal bottle from a desk drawer, the liquid inside dark and heavy. “After all, your part of our agreement has been fulfilled.”

  “Has it?” I blinked, uncertain, as he poured our drinks. “Does that mean—”

  “It means I no longer have any use for you.”

  The words hit me like a blow. My breath almost caught in my throat as my blood turned cold. I stared at the glass he’d poured for me. I wasn’t one for drinking, but when sitting across from a Satan, what choice did I have?

  “So,” he continued, his tone unchanged, “what will you do now?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Now, sir?”

  “Of course.” He swirled his drink. “Or do you think I’ve forgotten my promise? I told you I’d give you a fair chance in this world. I’m curious—what’s on your mind?”

  I tried to suppress the sigh of relief threatening to escape, but in the end, I placed my elbows on my knees and exhaled slowly. “Was that… some kind of joke, Lord Beelzebub?”

  He chuckled softly. “Maybe, I wanted to see how you’d react. You’re too hard on yourself, Nyx. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell what’s going on in that head of yours. I may not be the most available of Devils, but after all these years, I had hoped you’d have learned to trust me a bit more.”

  “I apologize.” I bowed my head again. “After dying once… I’ve learned not to take anything for granted. And with my… condition, it’s better that I remain… mindful of myself.”

  “Ah, yes. Your condition.” His expression grew thoughtful. “Are you still struggling with the… impulses?”

  “It’s getting better,” I admitted, my voice low. “But there are moments… moments when it’s just as bad as it was in the beginning.”

  The resurrection hadn’t come without its costs. At times, an uncontrollable surge of obsession would overtake me, pulling my thoughts in strange and irrational directions. In battle, it often manifested as an insatiable craving for violence, a need to obliterate a particular opponent. But outside of combat, it was worse—a compulsive hunger for insignificant things. It could be a glint of shiny metal or a bauble in a market stall. More than once, I’d found myself gripping my own wrist to stop from pocketing some worthless trinket, even biting my hand to keep the desire at bay. It was the kind of mindless greed you’d expect from a lowly imp who’d never seen wealth before. For someone like me, who had been offered luxury and opulence, the urge for such petty theft felt absurd… humiliating.

  Yet, somehow, I sensed it intrigued him.

  “Hmmm…” Ajuka mused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And what about your little secret experiment?”

  I tensed, my fingers tightening around my glass. “Secret experiment?”

  “The one you’ve kept hidden away,” he muttered calmly. “Not in the laboratory I built for you, of course. No, I’m talking about that little project that led you to construct a sanctuary of your own.”

  Caught, I downed the rest of my drink in silence.

  “Why do you persist in pretending to be human, Nyx?” He sighed, exasperated but patient. “We are Devils. Our urges, our desires… they are woven into our very existence.”

  I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly. “I suppose… it’s because if I fully embrace what I’ve become, then there’s no going back. I can barely control myself as it is. If I let go…”

  “If you let go, you might actually find a way to be happy,” he said, his voice softening with unexpected fondness. His eyes studied me, unblinking. “Come now. I wasn’t joking. I do intend to see what you’ve been hiding from me.”

  Ajuka flicked his hand, and in the blink of an eye, we stood inside the hollow I had carved beneath the catacombs. The space was small and rough, barely enough to fit the equipment I’d managed to drag down from the manor above. It wasn’t much, but it served its purpose—at least for now. In truth, I had never expected to hide this place from him for long. On these grounds, everything felt like it was within his reach, as if the manor itself was an extension of his soul.

  "I hope your ambitions are a little grander than your hiding spot suggests," he quipped.

  I ignored the jab and snapped my fingers, lighting the candles scattered around the chamber. The flickering flames drew long shadows against the jagged stone walls, and with their light came the sound of chains scraping against the ground. From the deeper recesses of the cavern, low, guttural grunts echoed back at us.

  "What in the Underworld…?"

  Lifting one of the candles, I brought it closer to the source of the noise—a homunculus, bound and unmoving, held in place by crimson chains that pulsed faintly in the glow of the candlelight. The creature rested within an intricate magical circle, its markings precise and calculated, weeks of effort finally culminating in my first working prototype.

  Ajuka’s gaze sharpened as he turned to face me, his amusement gone. "When did you—"

  "It wasn’t hard, once I realized how their biology works," I interrupted. "They’re dangerous, yes, but if you take enough blood, they fall into a deep sleep. Just like us. After that, they practically heal themselves, as long as you keep them alive."

  "And this circle..." He stepped closer, eyes narrowing in recognition. He reached out toward the homunculus, fingers hovering over the glowing runes. "You've been... dissecting my magic?"

  I let the silence hang for a moment, considering how much to reveal. Then, gripping my scarf, I summoned a small fragment of stored power. In response, a massive, marble-white finger materialized, hovering ominously in the air between us.

  "When you summoned my soul into this world, you used a homunculus like this one, didn’t you?" I asked, watching his expression closely.

  Ajuka hesitated, then nodded. "Not exactly like this one. But... close enough."

  "I thought," I continued, my voice quieter now, "that studying their biology might help me understand my own regeneration. Maybe even allow me to create a secondary body in case something happened to this one." I paused, feeling the weight of my next words. "But that was just a convenient excuse, in case you ever found this place."

  His brow furrowed. "You mean—"

  I activated the lower layer of enchantment, and the magical circle beneath the homunculus flared to life. The ground trembled, and a section of the floor before us crumbled away, revealing a hidden passage leading deeper underground.

  Grabbing a candle, I stepped forward, gesturing for him to follow. "This is the real laboratory I’ve been working on.”

  For a moment, Ajuka simply stood there, staring at the newly revealed path. Then, to my surprise, he let out a soft chuckle. "And people call me paranoid.”

  The room below was far more spacious, and the magical circle etched into the floor reflected that—its intricate designs stretched up the walls, swirling into the stone curves, leaving barely enough room for a desk cluttered with instruments. It was both incredibly similar and nothing alike the once placed above, a complete reimagination of the concept based on my past failures.

  Ajuka’s gaze swept over the chamber. "What could you possibly hope to achieve in a place like this?"

  I hesitated, then admitted, "I’ve been... trying to understand the Kankara Formula."

  The Kankara Formula—Ajuka’s legendary magic. It was a miracle, one of the greatest known to the Underworld, and a testament to the unmatched mind of the Blue Satan himself. By dissecting and altering the mathematical properties of his opponent’s spells, Ajuka had gained a fearsome reputation. Reality itself bent to his will. Once he understood the mechanics of your magic, resistance became a futile struggle. He could twist the very laws of the universe against you in the most unfair of ways, and there was very little to be done about it.

  I didn’t possess the brilliance to mirror his mastery in real time, especially not in the chaos of combat. Calculating complex equations on the fly was beyond me. But here, in this controlled space, I could recreate a single instance—one precise, isolated scenario—and bend the probabilities around it to suit my needs, much like my creator did so casually on a daily basis.

  “You’re... trying to pull souls from beyond the Dimensional Gap?” It took Ajuka only a moment to grasp the nature of my work. “Nyx, this isn’t something you can just experiment with! That’s why… why I abandoned this research.” His voice dropped, shadowed with regret. “I made too many attempts, too many sacrifices. Even now, with all I’ve learned, I can only save one in twenty souls I bring back. The others... they’re tortured for nothing—just to die again”

  I allowed myself a small smile, one laced with quiet defiance. “And what if I found a way to stabilize the Dimensional Gap?” I asked softly, my voice a low murmur. “Just long enough for a soul to travel safely across the rift.”

  "How…? Did you really…?"

  I nodded, though a part of me still questioned if this was truly the right path.

  In all honesty, Ajuka Beelzebub had never given me cause to doubt him. His mercy and guidance had been unwavering, his kindness freely offered. Yet I had never accepted it without suspicion, never taken his generosity for granted. Perhaps it was a residue of my past life—fragments of which I barely remembered—but I had always assumed that my existence hinged on my usefulness, that the moment I had nothing left to offer, my time would end.

  But today, I chose to trust. Despite the risks, despite my doubts, I chose to believe in the possibility of something more.

  I reached for the homunculus finger I had crafted earlier, feeling the weight of it in my hand. With a flicker of intent, I willed it to transform into pure blood. Manipulating it was second nature, after all, there was hardly any difference between their flesh and mine. Finally, I placed the shimmering blood at the center of the room, directly within the heart of the circle, and activated my true spell.

  The air around us shuddered. Cracks splintered through the space, just as they had before, but this time the rupture extended beyond the physical. The Dimensional Gap opened willingly, a tunnel of void between realities, its depths swirling as it siphoned the essence I had sacrificed. The rift was stable, controlled.

  Foreign elements, I had discovered, were automatically detected and expelled by the natural defenses of the Gap. A built-in safeguard of sorts, one designed to prevent cross contamination between worlds, or so it seemed to me. But there was the opportunity, right in front of us—the perfect opening to slip something through without resistance, to call upon any dying soul and give them a new body.

  Ajuka watched, his expression caught between awe and disbelief. For the first time since I’d known him, the unshakable Blue Satan seemed genuinely baffled. A small flicker of satisfaction stirred within me.

  "Did that manage to meet your expectations, Lord Beelzebub?" I asked, my voice even, though the subtle challenge was unmistakable.