Most of the residents there were high-ranking devils.
But none, save for a select handful, held the honor of guarding Lucifer Castle.
High walls greeted any visitor, with a watchtower every hundred meters, each equipped with magical crossbows and a detachment of soldiers guarding every inch of that wall.
"No one enters, no one leaves" — that was the express order of the Maou Lucifer, and they, loyal unto death, would carry it out without so much as blinking.
At the center of the wall stood an exaggeratedly massive gate, one which, at this very moment, a tall man was passing through. His hair was black as night, cropped just past his neck, his build powerful, proportioned exactly to match his rank and power. He wore black armor, smooth and unblemished, as if a burning axe had swept across it and somehow left not a single flaw behind. Light as a feather, yet tougher than a dragon's own scales — every step he took rang out sharply, and nothing else. As if all sound around that armor had simply vanished, leaving only the armor itself able to bring it back to life. Across his back hung a fine cape, black silk on the outside, blood-red on the inside, concealing a sword sheathed at his belt. That sword was pouring out an enormous amount of demonic aura.
It was a bastard sword, its hilt black as eternal night, set with a red gem at its center that stretched down a third of the blade's length. A small blue sapphire adorned the lower end of the hilt, and the grip was shaped to be wielded with either one hand or two. But none of that was what truly caught the eye. Its blade gleamed a brilliant silver, etched with ancient runes — anyone could tell at a glance that this sword had been forged for one purpose: to win.
It was a sword worthy of a King.
But we'll get into the significance of this sword later — for now, let's focus on what we actually came to see.
The soldiers dropped to their knees the moment they spotted him, throwing the gate open before he'd even fully arrived.
Some of them trembled with fear.
Even though he wasn't in combat, his aura alone was enough to make his cape billow — despite there being no wind at all.
You didn't need to be a genius to know that if this man ever decided to attack, they wouldn't just be defeated — they'd be wiped out. No — ANNIHILATED.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this man was my father.
Satan, the Original Demon King.
He entered the Castle and found a gravel path leading him to its inner gate.
Lined with multicolored flowers, the path led him to an oak door, which two servants swung wide open.
He stepped into the entrance hall.
The floor was white marble, and flowerpots overflowing with blooms decorated the way toward the sitting room.
Those flowers were almost certainly one of Lilith's — Lucifer's wife's — little indulgences from back when she'd been pregnant with the very child he was now about to visit.
Rizevim Livan Lucifer.
Lucifer's first and only son.
My father still remembered the look on his great friend and most loyal general's face the day he'd learned he was going to be a father.
He'd nearly leveled an entire region of the Underworld in his frenzy of happiness...
And fear.
They'd been at war, and the fallen angels had, at that point, intensified their assassination attempts against the infernal leaders.
His wife — and even more critically, his son — were in danger.
He'd needed to protect the most precious thing in his life.
In under an hour, he'd built the most secure Castle in the entire Underworld.
In record time...
An impenetrable fortress.
The Demon King was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice he'd already reached the sitting room.
It was a spacious room, with large windows looking out over the back garden. Comfortable armchairs were arranged centrally around a table already piled high with snacks.
Another one of Lilith's little indulgences, no doubt.
The room was furnished with wood from the demoniaxus archimalus, a strange tree of the willow family that grew only in the city of Agreas, in the territory of House Agares.
Getting that wood had been an absolute nightmare.
Not because the wood itself was expensive, but because the tree in question was alive...
And had no intention of letting itself be cut down easily.
(Picture the Whomping Willow from Harry Potter for reference.)
In short, the room in question was thoroughly luxurious.
The moment he stepped inside, a man rose from one of the armchairs.
Around thirty-five years old, tall, lean, with white hair combed back at the sides, fine features, and gray eyes. He wore a gray cloth suit with gold detailing, dark blue trousers, black leather boots, and white gloves.
(Picture the Seraph Michael from High School DxD, but with white hair.)
The man was none other than Lucifer, Satan's right hand and Supreme General of the infernal legions.
"Father, what a pleasure to have you visit!" Lucifer exclaimed, pulling the new arrival into a warm, brotherly embrace.
"Lucifer, my son, it does my heart good to see you!" Satan said, returning the embrace.
"How's life treating you?" Satan asked, taking a seat beside Lucifer at his invitation, across from a woman of around twenty-six, with jet-black hair that fell to her thighs, lively dark eyes, a slender figure, D-cup breasts, well-toned legs, a shapely rear. In short — in her own way, an absolute beauty.
"Good, Father, though ever since God declared war on us, I feel like I've aged a few hundred years," Lucifer said dryly, pouring the tea and handing a cup to the small child seated beside the woman.
It was a boy of about eleven years old, with unruly white hair that reached his neck and gray eyes just like his father's. He wore a navy blue outfit, the kind worn by children of high-class families. The boy watched the new arrival with open curiosity.
"So this is the little Livan you won't stop talking about in every war council?" Satan asked, pouring himself a cup of tea. "You must be so proud of your son, Lilith," he added.
The woman broke into a smile.
"Indeed I am, Satan-sama. My son is my greatest pride," the woman — now identified as Lilith — answered proudly. "Son, introduce yourself properly," she ordered sternly.
The boy stood with resolve and gave a bow.
"I am Rizevim Livan Lucifer. A pleasure to meet you, Satan-sama," little Rizevim said.
"Hahahahahaha, no need for formalities with me unless we're out in public, Rizevim-chan. Besides, don't forget — I'm your grandfather," Satan said, gesturing for him to stand at ease.
"Then would it be alright if I called you Satan-sama?" he asked shyly.
"Fine by me," Satan said.
The boy sat back down and the conversation continued.
Trivial topics — family, friends, Lucifer's son's various adventures (much to Rizevim's embarrassment)...
And the deaths of Amon, Mammon, and Belphegor.
Satan and Lucifer were devastated.
Lucifer, for his part, was grieving — the deceased had practically been his brothers. They'd spent most of their lives together, and he'd watched them grow up with his own eyes.
He'd even helped Belphegor take his very first steps!
He was simply devastated.
As for my father, "devastated" barely scratched the surface of what he actually felt.
He'd watched them be born, with his own eyes.
He'd taught them everything they knew, with his own hands.
He'd fed them, given them water, back when they were nothing but infants.
And now...
They were gone.
Not even their bodies remained to give them a proper burial.
They had been his youngest sons.
................
And my older brothers...
How I wish I'd gotten the chance to know them...
................