The transition from a shackled existence as Shax Suzuki to the protected, yet demanding, life of Noir Sullivan was jarring. After the intense, late-night lesson with Opera on maintaining the **Duality's Balance**—the rigorous separation of his Primordial Demonic and Fallen Seraphim energies—Noir felt perpetually strained, as if wearing a suit of spiritual armor forged too tightly.
The next morning, the sky castle was a flurry of organized activity. Sullivan, in an immaculate, if slightly garish, suit, bounced with manic anticipation. Opera, ever the shadow, ensured Noir had the correct texts, the precisely measured uniform, and a healthy, albeit slightly monstrous, breakfast.
"Don't worry about a thing, my darling grandson!" Sullivan assured him, patting Noir's shoulder before gently tapping his visible obsidian horn. "Just be yourself! Though, perhaps a *slightly* less world-ending version of yourself, hm?"
"I'll maintain the balance, Grandpa," Noir replied, running his hand over the flawless, polished curve of the horn. Since his realization, the horn no longer felt like an affliction, but a fundamental part of his being—a conduit for the abyss.
They arrived at the vast, mountainous grounds of **Babyls Demon School** via a massive, ornate carriage drawn by winged beasts. The school was a breathtaking spectacle: towering structures carved directly into mountain peaks, connected by glowing aerial bridges, all humming with raw demonic mana.
"Ah, the smell of ambition and youthful delinquency!" Sullivan sighed contentedly, stepping out of the carriage. As one of the Three Greats of the Demon World, Sullivan commanded immediate, reverent attention.
Noir followed, his crimson eyes already absorbing the sight of thousands of demon students—from bat-winged youths to serpentine figures, all looking powerful, strange, and frankly, terrifyingly competitive.
The **Entrance Ceremony** was held in a colossal auditorium built into the mountain's core. Noir was ushered into a designated area for the new students, feeling intensely exposed. He was one of the only students with visibly *pure* human features—save for the elegant, dark crown of his horn.
The ceremony proceeded with customary demonic flair and casual chaos. Then, it was time for the main event: the **Oath of the New Students**.
The current acting student council president, a magnificent demon named Ameri Azazel, stood at the podium. Her presence was commanding, radiating discipline and immense power.
"Now, let us proceed to the pinnacle of the entrance ceremony—the Oath," Ameri announced, her voice ringing throughout the hall.
Noir watched as a massive, obsidian slab—the **Oath Stone**—was levitated onto the stage by magic. The Oath Stone was ancient, marked with countless runes that would, upon contact, extract a spiritual contract of fealty and honesty from the signer.
"Our new representative will now step forward," Ameri continued. "He is the highest scoring student on this year's entrance exam, and by tradition, he shall sign the Oath for all of you. Step forward, **Noir Sullivan**."
Noir froze. He was the highest scorer? *That must have been the system working overtime,* he surmised. The high scores were probably due to the sheer, raw *volume* of his hidden mana.
With a deep breath, Noir ascended the steps, the eyes of the entire school—students and faculty—fixed upon him. He walked past Ameri, who gave him an appreciative, curious nod, and stopped before the vast Oath Stone.
A polished, antique stylus floated toward him. This was the moment of binding.
Noir reached out and took the stylus.
He was acutely aware of Opera's lessons: *Control the flow. Balance the duality.* But as his hand neared the cold, rune-etched stone, a profound, primal urge surged through him. He was a **Primordial Demon**, and he was about to sign a contract demanding **Order and Submission**.
The Seraphim part of him—the golden, icy light—demanded immediate, precise obedience to the contract. *Sign the Oath. Commit to the order.*
But the Demon part—the black, viscous chaos—roared in rebellion. *Refuse. Defy. Demand submission, do not give it.*
This was not a moral battle; it was a fundamental spiritual conflict over the nature of his existence.
For a terrifying, fractional second, Noir allowed the **Duality's Balance** to slip. He deliberately choked the flow of the Seraphim's golden mana, shoving it deep into his core and sealing it with his utmost spiritual might.
But he did the exact opposite with the Abyssal energy.
The Primordial Demonic Aura, raw, hot, and crushing, exploded outward.
The effect was instantaneous and utterly devastating. It was not a blinding flash of mixed power, but a pure, unadulterated wave of **Abyssal Mana**.
A black, palpable force radiated from Noir, slamming into the audience like a supernova of pure gravity. Students across the auditorium gasped, some covering their heads, others instinctively flexing their own defensive mana. The massive Oath Stone on the stage began to visibly shake, the runes etched into its surface screaming as they were challenged by a force they were not meant to contain.
Noir's crimson eyes burned with a terrible, dark light. The single obsidian horn on his head pulsed violently, emitting a low, resonant hum that vibrated in everyone's chest. He did not grow wings, nor did his eyes swirl with gold; the Seraphim was bottled, leaving only the terrifying majesty of the Abyss fully unleashed.
The pure, concentrated **Demonic Aura** was not an oath of obedience; it was a declaration of existence. It was crushing, ancient, and demanded total, unquestioning submission.
He lifted the stylus, but instead of signing the contract, he slammed the stylus down, point first, onto the stone. He did not write the Oath; he **rewrote** it.
As his concentrated Demonic Mana flowed into the stone, the ancient runes of fealty and studenthood twisted, deformed, and reshaped themselves into something dark and absolute.
The new, corrupted oath glowed, displaying the text not only to the faculty but to the entire student body, who read in horrified awe:
***All things beneath Heaven and Abyss shall bow to my will.***
***All spirits and lesser creatures shall submit to the ancient gravity of my word.***
***Those who defy me shall know only oblivion.***
***I am the Lord of the Abyss.***
***I am the only King.***
***Let this school be my new domain.***
A collective, stunned silence fell over the auditorium, broken only by the crackle of overcharged mana discharging into the air. The Oath Stone, instead of glowing benignly, settled with a dark, satisfied thrum, having accepted the spiritual contract of the Primordial Demon.
Noir slowly lifted the stylus, the Abyss still boiling around him. He felt the terrifying, agonizing spiritual pain of holding back the golden Seraphim energy, but the sheer release of the Demonic power gave him a temporary, dark euphoria.
He had fulfilled the ceremony's requirement by signing, but he had twisted the spiritual intent into one of unparalleled demonic arrogance.
Ameri Azazel, standing mere feet away, gripped the podium so hard her knuckles turned white. Her magnificent red eyes were wide with a mixture of disbelief and a thrilling, terrifying excitement.
Behind the stage, the Demon Lord Sullivan, seated with the faculty, was visibly vibrating with uncontrolled glee, clutching his sides to keep from shouting.
"*Oh, my stars!*" Sullivan mouthed silently, tears streaming down his face. "*My perfect, magnificent, terrifying grandson! He didn't sign the oath, he subjugated the contract!*"
Noir, his mission accomplished, finally allowed the Demonic Mana to recede, sealing it carefully back into its internal channel. The pressure vanished, the hum died, and the only signs of the catastrophe were the stunned faces and the violently corrupted Oath Stone. His eyes faded back to a dark crimson, and he descended the steps, leaving the stylus floating over the abyss-marked Oath.
He walked past Ameri, who finally found her voice—a low, husky whisper.
"What… what was that?" she managed to ask, her composure utterly shattered.
Noir stopped, giving her a look that was part exhaustion, part inherent superiority. He gently touched the curve of his obsidian horn.
"That," Noir stated, his voice now calm but resonating with true, dark authority, "was my **enrollment application**."
He walked back to the new student section, leaving the bewildered Ameri to recover and the entire demon school to process the fact that their new representative was either the most audacious student in history, or a literal, ancient Demon King returning from the Void.
He sat down, adjusting his blazer. The internal struggle for **Duality's Balance** was now more painful than ever, but he had made a statement:
The Primordial Demon was here, and it was not a servant.