POV: Meruem
Is there such a thing as aiming too high?
Is there a point at which ambition ceases to be strength and becomes excess, something reckless, something deserving of caution?
Most would answer that question without hesitation. They would speak of limits, of knowing one's place, of the wisdom in abstemiousness. There was a story, one often told as a warning. The tale of Icarus, a boy flew too close to the sun and paid the price for his hubris. The lesson, as it was commonly understood, was one of humility.
Don't reach too high. Don't exceed what is given. Know your place, and remain within it.
Meruem found that laughable. Icarus had fallen, yes. His wings had melted, and the sea had claimed him. That much was undeniable. Yet what was never questioned was why the story condemned the act of reaching rather than the failure of preparation.
The flaw had never been that he flew toward the sun. The flaw was that he did so with wings that could not endure the journey. The lesson in the tale, as he understood it, was that weakness was.
To look upon the sky and choose not to ascend, simply because one feared falling, was a far greater failure than any plunge into the sea. At least Icarus had dared to test the limits of his existence.
Meruem did not fear the sun nor did he seek to avoid the fate of Icarus. He sought to surpass it. Ambition, in its purest form, is recognizing that the world is not fixed, that it can be shaped, redefined, expanded by those willing to impose their will upon it. Those who fear ambition do so because they understand, on some level, that it disrupts the order they rely on. It challenges the structures that keep them secure.
Is there danger in reaching too far? Of course there is. Failure exists, just like Icarus fell from the heavens. The higher one aims, the greater the cost of falling short.
But that is the nature of anything worth pursuing. The only sin is the willingness to accept less than what could be taken.
Unfortunately for Meruem, the consequence of that ambition came in the form of destruction personified.
"Let me be clear from the beginning, Lord Lucifer," Meruem began calmly. "I find your visit both irritating and unwelcome."
He looked at the crimson-haired Satan who had come into his palace unannounced and had forced him to change his plans and dismiss the war council he had been on the verge of convening.
The interruption alone would have been enough to sour his temper. The identity of the man responsible made it intolerable.
Sirzechs Lucifer stood across from him in the private meeting chamber with the same composed ease he seemed to carry into every room. He had come alone, not even his wife was with him.
The room itself was splendid and elegant, built in black stone veined with deep red crystal that caught the low firelight and held it like trapped blood. There was no one else in the room beside the two of them.
Meruem had insisted on that the moment he learned who had arrived. If Lucifer meant to speak, then he would speak without witnesses to soften him.
"I expected as much." Sirzechs inclined his head slightly.
"Did you?" Meruem's purple eyes narrowed. "Then perhaps your next expected thing should be my refusal to indulge whatever sermon you brought with you."
"A sermon would be a waste of both our time."
"That would make it your first meaningful act regarding this matter," Meruem replied dryly.
While it wouldn't be considered wise to be so hostile to a devil who could erase him with little more than a sneeze, but knowing the reason why Sirzechs had chosen to appear now of all times, Meruem could not bring himself to care.
And it was not like Sirzechs would ever do anything to him directly even though he very much could. Sirzechs was too much of a coward for that, too dependent upon preserving the image of the benevolent Satan who ruled through diplomacy rather than naked force. He has deluded himself that a race created to wage an eternal war could be made docile.
Meruem also had the distinct impression that Sirzechs already disliked him for reasons that remained a mystery, though he could hazard a very educated guess.
"I came because you declared war on House Bael," Sirzechs said, showing no visible reaction to the provocation.
"No," Meruem said, reclining slightly on his seat. "You came because I declared war on House Bael openly. That distinction matters rather a great deal to men of your profession."
"I came anyway because the matter is grave."
"Grave for whom?" Meruem raised an eyebrow.
"For the Underworld." Sirzechs' gaze remained steady. "It's my duty as a Satan to make sure that the system doesn't fall."
Meruem let out a short, humorless laugh. "The system that was so admirably impotent when House Bael was attempting to take my throne through a counterfeit queen, and so animated by responsibility the instant I decided to reply in the only language they understand."
"This is not about House Bael being favored."
"No?" Meruem asked. "Then explain to me why the same law that could not protect me now requires me to be restrained for the common good."
"Dimora made her claim as Beleth," Sirzechs answered without haste. "However fraudulent the backing may have been, the conflict itself was a succession dispute inside your House. That severely limited the grounds for external intervention."
"Limited," Meruem sneered. "Your people adore that word. It has the courtesy of sounding regretful while accomplishing nothing."
Meruem leaned forward, resting one arm upon the side of his seat. He was beginning to understand why Maerach disliked the Satans so deeply. To be denied his glorious war after they had stood idle throughout the whole Dimora affair was deeply aggravating.
"Let's not beat around the bush, lord Lucifer," Meruem said. "Bael raised a woman with enough diluted Beleth blood to make a legal fiction possible. They armed her. They financed her and sent her into a venture they expected to deny if it failed. When it failed, they discarded her name, disowned her initiative, and invited the whole Underworld to pretend not to smell them on the shit.
"Everyone with a functioning brain knew whose hand moved that puppet. And yet the Satans discovered themselves helpless. Now I announce that Beleth will reclaim the lands Bael stole generations ago, and suddenly you arrive in person. Tell me honestly, should I feel corrected or insulted?"
Sirzechs stared at him in silence for a long moment. A faint trace of surprise crossed his face. As the strongest devil to ever live, he was unaccustomed to being addressed in such a manner.
By all rights, no one should have been able to speak to him so casually, much less a child like Meruem, who to Sirzechs was the equivalent of a chihuahua standing before a tiger when it comes to raw power.
Meruem doubted the old Satan faction would have tolerated such insolence from an upstart Pillar lord for even a breath. They would have reduced him to ash for less.
But this was Sirzechs' world now, shaped by his ideals, his reforms, and the system he had carefully cultivated for centuries. It was a world that allowed voices to exist where they once would have been crushed, a structure that permitted even the weak to stand and speak, at least in theory. That was his strength as a leader, but also, undeniably, his weakness.
The system he had created allowed room for men like Meruem to speak plainly, though most would never dare to take advantage of it because of the sheer terror inspired by the living embodiment of destruction. Meruem, however, cared very little for that terror.
"You should feel angry. You are angry with reason," Sirzechs said after a while. "And yet, being justified in anger doesn't make every course of action wise."
"Ah! There it is," Meruem smiled faintly. "I'm angry, therefore I must be irrational, eh?"
"I didn't say irrational."
"You implied it."
"I implied," Sirzechs said softly, "that retaliation and justice are not the same thing."
Meruem did not like Sirzechs' tone. It carried the smug assumption that Meruem was some foolish child in need of correction from his so-called betters.
"Don't patronize me lord Lucifer," he said. "I know very well what I'm doing. I'm not flying into rage nor acting irrationally. Bael tested whether House Beleth could be undermined through deception without consequence. If I do nothing substantial, then the answer to that test becomes yes."
"You have already defeated Dimora."
"And do you imagine that satisfies me?" Meruem asked. "Do you think I should thank Bael for trying to murder my legitimacy only through proxies? Should I be grateful for the sophistication of the insult?"
"No."
"Then don't speak to me as if the battlefield ended with her death and defeat."
Sirzechs met his gaze evenly. "I'm speaking to you as someone responsible for what happens after you widen the field."
"Do recall, if you would, Lord Lucifer, that it was not I who started this," Meruem said darkly. "House Bael murdered my father and attempted to usurp my throne."
"You cannot prove that in a form that gives me authority to act retroactively," Sirzechs answered softly. "I could not intervene on inference alone."
"Could not," Meruem repeated softly. "There is a species of man who uses that phrase the way a priest uses prayer. It absolves him of the unpleasantness of choosing."
"And there is a species of ruler who mistakes fury for clarity." Sirzechs replied evenly.
"Don't flatter yourself," Meruem laughed coldly. "My fury is merely the correct emotional response to treachery. My clarity is separate."
"Clarity can still lead to ruin, Your Majesty," Sirzechs said calmly. "And I think you know that as well as I."
"You know what I think?" Meruem asked. "I think you despise me."
It had been troubling Meruem ever since Sirzechs arrived at his palace and requested an audience, because there had been an unmistakable note of distaste in Sirzechs' demeanor from the very beginning.
Meruem could not recall doing anything that should have earned the mighty Satan's personal hatred. Certainly, House Beleth and House Bael despised one another, and since the Gremorys were Bael's dogs in everything but name, there was old bitterness there as well.
He had not forgotten that House Gremory had refused to attend the celebration of his return from exile. That absence had been a clear declaration of where they stood regarding him and his house.
Sirzechs' expression barely shifted. "That is a dramatic reading," Sirzechs said with a pleasant smile.
"Am I wrong?"
Sirzechs did not answer immediately, which was an answer in itself. So there was something you have against me, Meruem thought with amusement.
The only act of the previous Meruem that might have left a lasting stain in Sirzechs' mind would have been the exile itself. Yet he had the distinct feeling it went deeper than that.
There was a clear discomfort in the way Sirzechs looked at him, as though Meruem's very presence summoned something unpleasant from memory.
"There it is," Meruem said with a low laugh. "You need not say it. I can see it well enough. To you, I'm an echo of something ancient and unpleasant. A vulgar reminder that devils were not always trying to cosplay as civilized canaille."
"Your contempt for restraint is well known," Sirzechs said, meeting his gaze steadily.
"My contempt is for cowardice masquerading as restraint," Meruem replied, wholly unoffended by the insult.
"And my concern is for madness masquerading as strength," Sirzechs said, his voice losing a degree of softness for the first time.
"Finally abandoned your precious subtlety," Meruem said with a grin.
Sirzechs continued ignoring his tone. "I do think you represent a tendency in devil society that many of us have spent centuries trying to move past. The glorification of domination. Cruelty for the sake of it. Power treated as a moral argument in itself. Yes. I find that dangerous."
"I did my duty as a king and administered justice upon the murderer of my father," Meruem replied with annoyance.
He did not appreciate being judged for his actions, especially not by Sirzechs of all people.
"You call that justice?" Sirzechs said with a short snort. "Some would call that theater for primitive appetites."
"Some would," Meruem admitted, his eyes glinting. "Usually those who mistake ugliness for moral inferiority. Power has never been clean, Lord Lucifer. Your generation merely perfumes it and congratulates itself for the fragrance."
A pulse of pressure filled the chamber for a single instant before vanishing. Meruem's heart throbbed painfully in his chest from that brief and intentional lapse in Sirzechs' control.
It seemed he had struck a nerve when he mocked the work Sirzechs and his companions had spent centuries building.
"What you call perfume, others call discipline," Sirzechs said carefully.
"Your discipline looks like paralysis to me," Meruem countered. "The story weak men tell themselves for not doing anything."
Sirzechs regarded him sternly. Meruem met his gaze without flinching, though inwardly he was panicking. Still, however powerful the fear in his heart may be, this was the man he intended to surpass, and he would not reveal weakness before him.
"You're not the only ruler in the Underworld who has been provoked like this," Sirzechs said at last.
"Yes," Meruem said with a thin smile. "But I may be one of the few with enough spine to choke on it in public."
"You have a unique way of seeing things, King Meruem," Sirzechs said, narrowing his eyes.
"Unique," Meruem repeated with distaste. "How sterile a word for what you mean."
"It is accurate."
"No," Meruem said. "What you mean is barbaric. Savage. An offense to your grand project of enlightenment."
"Some things should remain in the past," Sirzechs said quietly, his eyes momentarily distant, as though he had wandered into old memories. He did not, however, deny Meruem's accusation.
Meruem's smile widened a fraction. "And yet your Underworld roared with approval when I took my throne. Did it displease you, that spectacle? The blood? The screams? The enthusiasm from all the hoi polloi who suddenly remembered what they were?"
A faint shadow crossed Sirzechs' face. "I admit, It worried me a bit."
"Yes, I imagine it did," Meruem said. "All those younger devils you have been raising to believe they are comrades and companions first, masters second, perhaps not masters at all. All that effort. All that polishing. And then a single ascent reminds them that power, naked power, still thrills their blood. And they will flock to me like moths to a flame."
"You are very proud of being an exception that flatters the worst instincts of the crowd."
Meruem's gaze did not waver. "I'm proud of being honest about what those instincts are."
"I'm aware," Sirzechs answered dryly. "That's why I am trying to ensure they do not govern the future of our race. Those instincts built eras of horror that nearly destroyed us all. I think your ascent has awakened ugly admiration in precisely the kind of devils who miss a past that was never glorious."
"There it is," Meruem said mockingly. "The reformer speaks. You think making Bael pay for their transgression might fracture your fragile system and many would follow me. You object to what I signify. You Satan's are truly nothing more than Zekram's lapdogs!"
"I object to the consequences of what you choose," Sirzechs answered with a sigh. If the insult offended him, he did not show it.
In truth, he seemed mildly amused by Meruem, as though indulging an unruly child. It infuriated Meruem to no end.
"And if what I choose happens to humiliate Bael in the process, is that merely an unfortunate overlap?"
"If you march now," Sirzechs answered coolly. "Bael may end up less humiliated than you imagine."
That caught Meruem's attention. His expression sharpened into something colder and more analytical.
"What do you mean?" Meruem asked curiously.
"At this moment, privately, many suspect what Bael did. Publicly, they can still hide behind denial and technicality." Sirzechs clasped his hands behind his back. "They attempted a covert scheme and failed. That leaves them somewhat compromised, but not yet condemned. If you now launch an open campaign under the banner of reclaiming lost territories, you simplify their narrative for them. They will say House Beleth has always intended to reopen borders through war. They will say Bael was guarding stability against a revanchist king who cloaks appetite in inheritance."
Meruem's eyes narrowed. As laughable as it was, he could easily imagine many nobles siding with Bael simply because Bael possessed more allies, more wealth, and greater influence.
When profit was involved, the lords of Hell developed very short memories.
"I think," Sirzechs continued. "your war rescues them from a failed scheme and hands them cleaner ground."
"That's a neat argument," Meruem said. "But it depends on the assumption that I should care how cowards explain themselves."
"You should care how the rest of the Underworld responds to those explanations."
"I care about power."
"Power includes narrative whether you respect it or not."
Meruem folded his arms. "Spoken like a true bureaucrat."
"The great game is the game of subtleties, Meruem," Sirzechs said wearily. "I understand your aversion to it. It requires a great deal of competence to master after all. Not everyone can be a great player."
The insult was mild by devilish standards, but it hit just enough to get a reaction. Meruem could never admit that he would not play the great game. Such an admission would make him a laughingstock and Sirzechs knew that as well.
The great game was a battle for dominance, as long as you seek more power then you're already playing it. Meruem would be lying to himself if he claimed he had no interest in it. Whether he liked it or not, he was already part of it. He let the remark hang, then smiled faintly.
Sirzechs studied him. "House Bael didn't move as openly as you because they understood something you are too proud to admit. In this system, appearances shape the law. Law shapes legitimacy. Legitimacy shapes who may be struck, by whom, and with how much support. They gambled on that process. If you answer by discarding it entirely, then you move from aggrieved ruler to destabilizing aggressor in a single stroke."
"Let us not waste each other's time, Lord Lucifer," Meruem said, his voice cooling further. "Say what you mean."
"If your armies march on Bael under current conditions," Sirzechs' eyes remained fixed on him. "I will be obligated to intervene."
The temperature of the room seemed to drop. Several flames in the braziers guttered lower, reacting to the pressure that swept the chamber.
"Obligated," Meruem said, all playfulness gone from his face. "You do admire that word, don't you?"
"That is precisely within my authority," Sirzechs explained. "If you insist on direct military reclamation, then it will become an Inter-house conflict which forces me to intervene. There will be no ambiguity."
"And there was ambiguity when they sent Dimora."
"Yes."
"A useful kind, apparently," Meruem said sarcastically.
"A real kind," Sirzechs said. "Don't confuse how much we suspect with what the law allows."
"You enjoy reciting the law when it shelters your inaction," Meruem said, baring a hint of fang.
"The law exists for a reason."
"To excuse your preference."
"To constrain preference," Sirzechs said.
"No. To disguise it," Meruem sneered. "Don't stand in my domain and pretend all this architecture of rules and regulations doesn't protect those who are already powerful enough, and connected enough to exploit every seam in it."
Sirzechs did not flinch at the accusation. "It also prevents Satans from dragging the entire Underworld into madness because our pride was wounded."
"And there speaks the heir to a guilt older than himself." Meruem's lip curled slightly in mockery.
He could see it now, the nature of the man regarded as the strongest devil to ever live, and what he saw stirred revulsion in him. Sirzechs was a man shaped so deeply by war that every instinct within him bent toward preventing its return. The scars of that age had become doctrine inside him.
They informed his policies, governed his judgments, and softened his hand whenever force might have resolved what patience only prolonged. Meruem saw in him a ruler who feared victory purchased through blood more than he feared the slow decay born of hesitation. He saw a man who had mistaken trauma for wisdom and caution for virtue, and then raised an entire generation beneath that creed.
Sirzechs' expression tightened by a degree.
"You inherited a throne built on the memory of catastrophe," Meruem said. "So now you worship restraint the way zealots worship relics. Anything that resembles decisive force alarms you because you fear becoming what came before."
"Yes," sirzechs admitted freely. "I do. I have no shame in admitting it. I watched cities burn until the horizon itself glowed red for days. I saw children raised among ruins who learned the names of massacres before they learned the names of flowers. I buried comrades whose only crime was being born early enough to inherit their fathers' hatred. I watched proud houses spend generations avenging insults no one alive could remember. I saw victories celebrated atop fields where nothing remained worth ruling.
"I tell you, there is no glory in war," Sirzechs continued. "There is noise, smoke, hunger, graves, and men convincing themselves that necessity has made them noble. There are mothers who receive titles in place of sons, and children who only inherit their fathers' hatred. There are rulers who call ruin a price worth paying because they will never personally pay enough of it.
"I don't want the younger generation to live through what I did. I don't want them to believe cruelty is strength or that bloodshed is proof of bravery. If restraint spares them even a fraction of that inheritance, then I will bear every accusation of cowardice you care to make. War is madness!"
"For you, perhaps."
"For all of us," Sirzechs said, and now there was iron in his voice. "You may romanticize the older age because you were not tasked with making sure it never returns."
Meruem laughed once, soft and sharp. "Romanticize? Hardly. I simply refuse to confuse poltroonery with progress."
"It's fortunate, then, that I didn't come here to ask you to be craven."
"Then what did you come to ask for?"
"A halt," Sirzechs said calmly.
"Denied."
"Will you not at least hear me out?" Sirzechs asked with an exasperated sigh.
"I have heard enough already."
A pressure descended upon the room, crushing the space itself beneath its weight. Sirzechs did not rise, did not raise his voice, did not allow so much as a crease to form upon his face.
Meruem did not move. He could not. Every muscle locked at once. Breath caught in his throat like prey snagged in wire. His spine turned rigid, his limbs heavy, his instincts screaming like a lamb standing before a butcher.
Meruem had known killing intent before. He had felt murderous auras, predatory malice, the oppressive weight of superior beings asserting dominance. This was nothing like those things. Those still belonged to life. They were expressions of hunger, rage, ambition, cruelty - anything that proves that they are at the end of the day living beings.
What emanated from Sirzechs felt older and emptier than any of that. It felt like standing before oblivion.
Meruem looked into Sirzechs' eyes and for a single dreadful instant thought he understood how mortals must feel when staring into the certainty of death. There was no hatred in that gaze, no excitement, no fury to negotiate with. There was only the cold implication that anything before him could be unmade without effort.
The table standing between them simply ceased to exist. There was no explosion, no splintering wood, no scattering fragments. One moment the carved stone slab rested proudly upon the polished floor, and in the next it was gone so completely that even dust seemed denied permission to remain. The air where it had stood looked strangely clean, as though reality itself had been scrubbed.
Meruem's heart hammered against his ribs with painful rythm.
The easygoing manner Sirzechs had worn throughout their conversation had dulled Meruem's caution. He had allowed himself to speak too freely, to posture, to prod, to imagine this was merely an argument between rulers.
He had forgotten that before him stood the strongest being in Hell.
Sirzechs' tone remained level. "You will hear this."
Meruem stared at him for a long moment. Then, with exaggerated generosity that poorly disguised the fear still clawing through him, he opened one hand.
"Very well," he said. "I suppose I can grant at least that much."
Sirzechs continued as though nothing at all had occurred. "I can convene a formal inter-house review under my authority or you can demand a formal tribunal of the Pillars. Not of your succession itself. That matter is settled. Of the material support behind Dimora's claim, the movements that preceded her attack, and the responsibilities of House Bael if external interference can be shown. Force the matter into collective scrutiny and corner house Bael politically."
Meruem stared at him, then laughed with open disbelief. "A tribunal?"
"Yes."
"You came into my palace, after Bael sent a false queen with real armies, and your answer is a tribunal?!" Meruem said through gritted teeth.
"You're not dealing with fools," Sirzechs replied calmly. "Bael will lose the mask of innocence only in private circles that already trust them. They're expert players of the great game. Publicly, they will gain the oldest shield in politics. They will become the party under open attack. Their covert failure becomes irrelevant in the face of overt retaliation. What I'm offering you is a way to turn that failure into leverage and extract influence from it."
"You are asking me to trust process after process has already been used against me."
"I'm asking you to use the system that constrained me and turn it into a weapon of your own."
Meruem looked at him. "Weapon?"
"Yes." Sirzechs met his eyes. "Do you imagine I enjoy telling you that law has limits? Do you imagine I am blind to how offensive that sounds to the victim? I know what Bael did, or near enough. What I didn't possess was a lawful opening broad enough to act without tearing at the same restraints that keep Satans from becoming what they once were.
"You, however, possess an opening now, and I'm advising you to use it in a manner that secures something lasting. You can make an accusation backed by recent provocation and public demand. If you choose war, you remove all uncertainty and allow them to frame the narrative in their favor. If you force inquiry first, you preserve ambiguity where it harms them, and every day that uncertainty remains becomes another day their allies grow less comfortable standing beside them."
"And if they refuse?"
"They can be sanctioned and publicly isolated."
Meruem's laugh this time was colder. "Sanctioned? Do you think any pillar house cares about that?"
"Some do," Sirzechs shrugged. "More importantly, if they refuse to comply with my authority, then they forfeit my protection. It's as simple as that."
"Not enough," Meruem said flatly.
"Perhaps not," Sirzechs said. "But more than war will gain you immediately."
Meruem looked away for a moment, toward the seven-pointed star of Beleth hanging above the pillars. He turned Sirzechs' words over in his mind. The talk of sanctions and political isolation he dismissed almost immediately. In his view, those were laughable remedies, the kind of polished nonsense politicians offered when they lacked the will to do anything real.
The only part of Sirzechs' proposal that carried any actual weight was the warning that House Bael would lose Sirzechs' protection if they refused to comply.
The truth of the matter was that House Bael could posture all it liked, carrying itself with the arrogance of a house that believed itself untouchable, but they could not afford to lose Sirzechs' backing. The remnants of the Old Satan faction were practically waiting outside the door for any sign of weakness.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that Zekram Bael had been one of the principal architects of the civil war, and there were many among the sidelined old guard who would gladly repay that debt with interest.
The real question was whether Sirzechs would actually follow through on the threat.
Meruem did not believe he would. The reason was simple, however bitter it was to admit. House Beleth was not as important, influential, or powerful to the current Underworld as House Bael.
If forced to choose between preserving Beleth's pride or maintaining Bael's utility, Meruem had little faith that Sirzechs would choose him.
"Let me tell you what your offer sounds like to me," Merume said with a sneer. "It sounds like this: swallow the insult like the impotent recreant you are. Trust the institutions that failed to protect you. Then, when you finally conclude that your own hands are the only honest instruments left, submit once more because now and only now the guardians of peace have discovered their courage. It sounds like being told to trust the same fence after watching wolves pass through it."
"So you would rather set the whole underworld aflame," Sirzechs answered more sharply now. "because you cannot bear that your enemies used cunning more effectively than you did."
Meruem's eyes fixed furiously upon the crimson king, having no choice but to swallow the insult.
"You think me crude." Meruem said at last.
"I think you are smart enough to prefer brute force because it flatters you."
"And I think," Meruem said softly, "that you are smart enough to know Bael is guilty and too compromised by your own precious order to say it plainly."
Sirzechs said nothing, because they both knew he was right.
"Look at us," Meruem spread his hands. "Two men of rank, both quite aware of the truth, both unable to speak it in the only language that would satisfy the room. That's your civilization."
For a long moment neither moved.
"What do you actually want?" Sirzechs asked suddenly.
"Excuse me?" Meruem blinked, surprised by his directness.
"Enough with the theatrics," Sirzechs said. "Strip away the pleasure of insulting me, which I grant you have earned some right to enjoy. What do you want?"
"You know what I want," Meruem said, regarding him carefully.
"You want war," Sirzechs said curtly. "I know that is merely a means to an end. The disputed lands are also only a means to an end. I'm asking what satisfies you."
"I want house Bael broken."
"In what form?"
"They attempted to remove me," Meruem said calmly. "Their punishment should be loud and clear. I want the disputed territories returned. I want Bael made to understand that trying for my throne was not a free wager. I want the Underworld to understand that House Beleth is not something to be tested and then spoken to of moderation."
Sirzechs nodded slowly. "So territory, punishment, and public lesson."
"Yes."
"You don't want the council to decide the matter."
"I would sooner ask vultures to referee a corpse."
"You refuse territorial arbitration."
"I refuse to let men with diluted interests and inherited cowardice tell me what already belongs to my House."
Sirzechs' eyes narrowed slightly. "Then you are not asking for justice."
"And what exactly did Bael ask for when it manufactured Dimora? Dialogue?" Meruem's gaze flashed. "Do you know what truly angers me, lord Lucifer? It's not that Bael schemed. That was expected. It's that they schemed under the assumption that the Satans would do exactly what they did. Nothing. Or rather, nothing useful. They counted on your system being useless as usual. They trusted you more than they feared me."
Sirzechs answered from behind him. "Then prove them wrong rationally."
"By doing what. Writing a strongly worded letter?" Meruem said with a snort.
Sirzechs exhaled softly, as if discarding one path of argument and turning to another.
"Then let me propose something different."
"I'm sure this will satisfy me as thoroughly as your previous suggestions," Meruem said dryly.
"A rating game tournament." Sirzechs said calmly. "House Bael and House Beleth each select nine high-class champions each with a peerage. A series of official rating games. The winning House receives the terms agreed in advance. The winning House would receive those terms by lawful settlement witnessed before the Underworld, and the losing House would be compelled to honor them without recourse to claims of coercion or private grievance."
Meruem stared at him in silence for several seconds. "So," he said softly, "the hands that were tied have discovered fingers."
"I can do that now," Sirzechs said, ignoring the tone. "because you have created a visible crisis point. That changes what can be justified."
"How convenient."
"Yes," Sirzechs said bluntly. "It is convenient. Politics often is. Use that instead of pretending you are above it."
"You really did come prepared to insult me." Meruem said with a quiet chuckle.
"I came prepared to keep you from making a grave mistake."
"My mistake may simply be that I was not born into House Bael. I wouldn't have to deal with Satan so eager to defend his masters otherwise."
"Mockery is beneath you."
"Is it wrong?"
"Categorically," Sirzechs said. "House Bael benefits from their long lists of alliances and the inertia of old legitimacy. I won't lie to you and say that the Satans aren't indebted to house bael. They are harder to corner than lesser Houses, but not impossible. That's precisely why I am offering you the rating game."
"That," Meruem said, "is the first good offer you have made since entering my hall. But it's also unfair."
"How is it unfair?" Sirzechs asked curiously.
"Under your proposal," Meruem began. "Bael risks losing territories that belong to Beleth by right. In exchange, what do they place at hazard? Nothing that was not mine to begin with. That is a thief being told he may keep stolen goods unless defeated in sport."
"The disputed territories are substantial," sirzechs said weakly.
"Not substantial enough."
"What do you demand?"
"One third of Bael's domain," Meruem's answer came at once.
"That's excessive," Sirzechs said, widening his eyes in surprise.
"No," Meruem said. "That's what I see as proportionate."
"The disputed Beleth territories are nowhere near a third of Bael's domain."
"And the attempted theft of my throne was nowhere near proportionate either, yet here we are."
"This can't be framed purely as damages."
"It can be framed however you like," Meruem replied. "I'm merely informing you what fairness looks like from where I stand."
"If House Bael is to accept the tournament," Sirzechs' tone became firmer. "They must have a plausible basis to do so."
"Must they?" Meruem said disinterestedly. "I was under the impression your office possessed certain persuasive capacities once inter-house stability became involved."
"Yes," Sirzechs admitted. "But that's not license to extort a House into absurd terms."
"Curious word choice," Meruem said with amusement. "given their recent hobbies."
"A third is still too much," Sirzechs said, ignoring the jab.
"Then there is no tournament."
"Meruem."
"No."
Sirzechs watched him in silence. Meruem returned the look without flinching, his expression steady and unmoved. There was no hint of hesitation in him, no sign of calculation still in progress.
He had made up his mind already and was merely waiting to see whether Lucifer was willing to pay the cost of salvaging peace.
"A smaller territorial concession," Sirzechs tried another angle. "paired with formal sanctions and public findings against Bael if they lose."
"No."
"Quarter domain equivalent in strategic assets rather than continuous territory."
"No."
"Meruem," Sirzechs said tiredly. "Can you at least try to be reasonable?"
"Reasonable?" Meruem said annoyed. "There is a charming word from a man who arrived only after I drew blood in self-defense and chose to discover principle when I prepared offense. Don't ask me for reasonableness as if Bael has earned it for you."
"And don't exploit the fact that I'm seeking peace to pretend every demand you make is sanctified." sirzechs said coldly. "I'm still the satan Lucifer. Don't mistake my patience for weakness."
"I would never. That would be discourteous." Meruem's voice made the word sound like mockery sculpted into etiquette. "Very well. Since we are reminding one another of station, allow me the same courtesy. I'm a king in my own House. You are not here to command my domestic obedience. You are here to prevent an inter-house crisis by buying my consent. So buy it properly."
"One third is too much," Sirzechs protested.
"If Bael wants the privilege of converting war into games," Meruem said. "then they will pay for that privilege. One third of their domain has the virtue of making them feel risk."
Sirzechs was quiet for several moments. "You planned for this," he said, his voice quieter now.
Meruem allowed himself the smallest smile. "I planned to negotiate from a postion of strength. You should try it sometime."
Sirzechs studied him for a long while, perhaps weighing how much of his precious peace was worth preserving when men like Meruem were prepared to exploit every incentive it created for their own benefits.
"If I secure Bael's participation under those terms," Sirzechs said at last. "Would you suspend all military action and bind yourself to the tournament's outcome?"
Meruem's eyes flickered with satisfaction. "Now we are speaking as men engaged in actual negotiation."
"That's not an answer."
"It's close enough that you may assume yes."
"I don't deal in assumptions with you."
"You're wiser than most," Meruem's smile widened faintly. "Then yes. If House Bael accepts, and if one third of their domain is formally attached to the wager, House Beleth binds itself to the tournament's outcome regarding the disputed territories."
"Regarding the disputed territories," Sirzechs repeated, noting the careful phrasing.
"One must be precise," Meruem said, making a vague hand gesture. "You of all men appreciate that."
"You will not reopen military action independently if you lose?"
Meruem's eyes narrowed slightly. "If I lose, then I will have failed in the field of your choosing. I don't repeat myself out of wounded vanity. I'm not Bael."
Sirzechs ignored the edge in that. "Then I can force the format only if the conditions are final."
"They are."
"Very well." Sirzechs exhaled very slightly, relieved at finally being done.
Meruem inclined his head by a fraction. "Good. Now we may discuss the rest."
"The rest?!" Sirzechs said, visibly shocked.
"Yes," Meruem said. "Did you think that was my only condition?"
"I should have expected this," Sirzechs muttered under his breath.
"My second condition is for my bishop, Kuroka Toujou, to receive a full pardon," Meruem said in the same calm tone.
"This is unrelated to Bael."
"But it's related to my acceptance of your generous offer."
"She murdered a member of a Pillar House," Sirzechs said slowly. "and you want me to pardon her without a due process."
"Yes," Meruem said simply.
"That's outrageous!" Sirzechs complained. "Done!"
"Well that was quick," Meruem said with an amused chuckle. While he didn't expect for Sirzechs to cause him trouble on that front, he hadn't expected it to be that easy either.
"I always thought the whole situation to be fishy anyway," sirzechs said causally. "Still, it will create resentment in certain Houses."
"Then they may experience the rare and educational sensation of sucking it up," Meruem said with a shrug.
"Any other demands, your majesty?" sirzechs said sarcastically.
"As a matter of fact, yes," Meruem said without missing a beat. "I have a third condition. The tournament will take place exactly two years from now, and it will be a full peerage battle conducted to the death, or until one side formally surrenders. I will not accept any of your specialized rule variations. In addition, victory will only be achieved when every single member of the opposing side has been defeated. As long as even one out of the nine fighters remains standing, the tournament continues."
Generally speaking, a rating game takes the form of a strategic battle between the King and their pieces. However, it does not always have to be a straightforward fight. There were plenty of games with special rules, such as the scramble flag format where the objective was to capture the highest number of flags in order to win.
Meruem refused to participate in those kinds of special ratings because they could be heavily skewed in his opponent's favor, or worse, the outcome could be manipulated through rules and gimmicks long before the match even began.
"Why?" Sirzechs asked curiously, studying his expression. "I would have thought you'd want this to quickly be over."
"I have my reason," Meruem said calmly. "They need not concern you."
"Very well," Sirzechs said with a shrug. "It gives me more time to prepare the details anyway."
Meruem watched him closely. "And one final condition."
Sirzechs gave him a look that suggested the phrase had ceased being reassuring.
"If Bael refuses the tournament," Meruem said, "then their refusal will be entered publicly as refusal of a bounded resolution after they hid behind technicalities to avoid accountability. In that event, you don't come back here asking me for more patience."
Sirzechs' face became very still. "What you are asking is for refusal to function as moral forfeiture."
"I'm asking for refusal to mean something."
"It would."
"Not enough."
"It may have to be enough."
"No. Hear me carefully, Lucifer," Meruem's gaze hardened. "I'm agreeing to step away from a war I'm ready to fight. I'm accepting a game because you require a shape the Underworld can digest. I am even allowing Bael the dignity of competition instead of immediate punishment. But I will not endure a second farce in which they hide behind procedure and are rewarded with more time. If they refuse this offer, then whatever comes after is your failure."
"If they refuse," Sirzechs answered after a pause. "I will not pretend the refusal is neutral."
"That's not the same promise."
"It's the only promise I will make."
Meruem watched him, then gave a small nod. "Very well. It will suffice for now."
"Then we have terms," Sirzechs said, tilting his head slightly. "Do you require anything else before I leave?"
"Yes," Meruem said, still wholly dissatisfied with the conversation. "I'd like an apology."
"An apology?" Sirzechs said, raising an eyebrow.
"For destroying my table," Meruem said coldly.
It was perhaps petty and short sighted to antagonize the Satan of Domestic Affairs over furniture, but it was not as though their relationship had much left to deteriorate.
Even setting aside that Meruem fully intended to tear down the system Sirzechs had built and remake the Underworld in his own image, the two of them were fundamentally incompatible in temperament.
"Yes, that was needlessly dramatic of me," Sirzechs said with a dry chuckle. "Very well then. I apologize, King Meruem Beleth, for destroying your table. I will send you the finest from my personal collection."
"Goodbye, Lord Lucifer," Meruem said. "I'm sure you know the way out."
Sirzechs offered a bow that barely qualified as courteous and departed the chamber without another word. The door closed behind him.
Meruem remained where he stood in the red-lit hall, one hand resting against the golden crest of his chair. For a long moment, he did not move at all. The air still carried the lingering weight of Sirzechs' presence, that oppressive pressure left behind by beings whose power was so vast that it altered the very atmosphere around them simply by existing within it.
His gaze drifted toward the great window, where the purple skies of the Underworld stretched endlessly, vast and imposing.He could not shake the sensation of having been thoroughly outplayed by the Crimson Satan.
Even now, there was little he could do about it except stand there and simmer with quiet frustration.
"You can come out now, Kuroka," Meruem said suddenly to the empty chamber.
For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then the air itself seemed to shift, like a ripple passing through still water. The faint distortion of space unwound, and the presence that had been perfectly blended into the world began to separate from it.
The illusion peeled away layer by layer, as though reality itself had been gently folded back, revealing Kuroka standing there where there had been nothing at all before.
"How did you know I was here?" Kuroka asked with a playful grin. "I made sure to blend completely with the world. Your Youjutsu is nowhere near good enough to pick me up."
"Maybe not," Meruem admitted. "But that's precisely what gave you away. When I extend my senses, I can feel the natural energy flowing through everything around me in more or less the same amount. You were the only absence in that pattern. What does not exist within a complete pattern becomes just as identifiable as what does."
Youjutsu was normally an art exclusive to yokai, a discipline foreign to devils and incompatible with their nature. It was a system rooted in the Yokai's unique nature and connection to spiritual energy. Under normal circumstances, Meruem would have had no access to it.
However, Meruem was no ordinary devil. He had the wielder of [Sephiroth Graal] as his servant, a Sacred Gear with the terrifying ability to manipulate souls at will and alter the deeper structure of living beings.
For someone with enough skill and understanding, granting a devil access to the traits or capabilities of a yokai was practically trivial. That was one of the many reasons Meruem had been so determined to recruit Valerie at any cost.
In a world filled with countless magical systems, bloodline arts, racial techniques, and exclusive disciplines, possessing a tool that could bypass those boundaries and grant access to abilities normally locked behind birth was an advantage beyond measure.
Entire clans guarded secrets for generations, races relied on inherited powers to maintain superiority, and ancient techniques remained closed to outsiders. Valerie's Sacred Gear had the potential to make all of those barriers negotiable.
There were limits, however.
The ability to use light or holy magic still remained beyond him for the time being. Valerie had described the incompatibility as something closer to a fundamental paradox, where demonic energy and holy energy existed at frequencies that rejected synchronization.
The two forces seemed fundamentally rejected by the laws of the world when housed in the same being.It was as though reality itself resisted the existence of someone who could wield both the holy and the demonic without contradiction.
Even so, Meruem had no intention of accepting that boundary as permanent. He suspected it was simply a problem of insufficient mastery, and one that might be overcome as Valerie's control over her Sacred Gear continued to deepen.
Kuroka had been guiding him through the intricacies of Youjutsu, though he was still far from mastery. Which meant she must have intentionally made a mistake and allowed him to sense her presence.
"~Hmm, not bad, nya~" Kuroka purred. "You're not completely hopeless after all."
"Why are you here, Kuroka?" Meruem said, ignoring the jab. "I don't remember saying that you could eavesdrop on my meeting with Lucifer."
"Well, you didn't say I couldn't either," Kuroka replied, a hint of nervousness creeping into her tone.
"Touche," Meruem replied calmly. "But that still doesn't answer my question."
"We were worried about you," she said quickly. "Rossweisse figured out why Lord Lucifer came here, and she knew you wouldn't take it well. We thought things might escalate. Since I'm the best at hiding, we decided I would slip in and step in if things went wrong."
The thought was considerate, though unnecessary. He had no intention of throwing his life away by provoking a being like Sirzechs beyond reason.
"And what exactly did you think you could do if it had escalated?" he asked, a trace of amusement in his voice. The idea of Kuroka standing against Sirzechs carried the same weight as an insect attempting to halt the fall of a mountain.
"Well," Kuroka said, her expression turning serious, "I could at least buy you a moment. Even a split second would be enough for you to escape."
"You would throw your life away for that?" he asked, studying her.
"You are my king," she replied without hesitation. "My life is yours to use as you see fit. Though I would appreciate it if you avoided provoking super-devils for no reason in the future."
"No reason?" Meruem repeated with a scoff.
"Yes," Kuroka said plainly. "Rossweisse already predicted you would be less than cordial with Lord Lucifer, but I think even she underestimated how petty you could be. Was demanding an apology for the table really necessary? It only created you an unnecessary enemy."
"Please," Meruem said, his tone bored. "Sirzechs was already determined to dislike me long before this meeting began."
"That may be true," Kuroka countered, "but your attitude certainly didn't help. If you had wanted to, you could have improved his opinion of you, or at least kept things from getting worse."
"I see no value in pretending to be someone I'm not," Meruem replied coldly. "I will not hide my displeasure merely to accommodate his sensibilities."
"Your pride is going to get you into trouble one day," Kuroka said with a small laugh as she casually moved over and settled herself onto his lap. "Though I will admit, it was entertaining watching how thoroughly outmatched you were. He played you like a fiddle."
Meruem did not respond to that. There was truth in it, and he had no interest in denying what was already obvious. Sirzechs had achieved exactly what he intended. The conflict had been redirected before it could escalate into war, replaced with a rating game that fit neatly within the system he had built.
The rating game itself, being a construct of the current Satan regime, now gained additional legitimacy through its adoption by Houses of immense standing such as Bael and Beleth. It reinforced the illusion of a civilized order within a society that still fundamentally operated on dominance and hierarchy.
That bastard was using him as a piece to advance that ideology and Meruem had no choice but to accept it like a nun threatened with excommunication if she refused to suck the priest cock.
The door to the chamber opened, and Belathriel entered with his usual composed demeanor.
"My king," he said, his gaze briefly taking in the scene. "Trouble in paradise, perhaps? You don't appear particularly pleased."
"No one enjoys being blueballed," Meruem replied with a quiet snort, before recounting the details of his conversation with Sirzechs.
Belathriel listened without interruption, and by the time Meruem finished, there was a faint look of amusement on his face, as though the outcome had aligned perfectly with his expectations.
"Wipe that smirk off your face," Meruem said sharply. "I can already tell you are about to say 'I told you so'."
"I did advise caution, Your Majesty," Belathriel replied smoothly, his tone measured and refined. "The likelihood of Lord Lucifer ignoring such a matter was exceedingly low. Shall I issue orders to halt the war preparations?"
"Yes," Meruem muttered. "We don't have much of a choice. However, restrict the halt to external operations only. Continue reinforcing our borders, I want Bael to feel the blade at its throat even if it has not yet fallen."
"As you wish," Belathriel said with a slight inclination of his head. "Shall I prepare a public declaration as well? It would establish that this temporary peace exists by your dispensation rather than as a result of external pressure."
"Draft it," Meruem said. "Say that House Beleth, in deference to the stability of the Underworld and in contempt of cowardly manipulations disguised as succession, agrees to a temporary suspension of offensive action pending formal review. Make it clear that our restraint is a courtesy extended to the realm, not a concession to Bael. The blood debt remains unpaid."
"At once," Belathriel said calmly. He paused briefly before continuing. "You are aware, however, that a rating game of this kind heavily favors House Bael. They possess at least five ultimate-class devils within their ranks, while you're the only one at that level on ours. This is without accounting for individuals such as Bedeze Abaddon and Roygun Belphegor, who are almost certain to fight on their behalf.
"It's highly likely they will assemble a full roster of nine combatants, each at the level of ultimate-class, all supported by experienced peerages. The condition of everyone needing to be defeated allows you a great degree of influence and possibly win it on your own, but even your capabilities would be severely tested against nine Ultimate-class opponents. Without securing additional ultimate-class allies, our chances of victory are… limited."
"You should start hitting the gym then, brother," Meruem said casually, entirely unbothered. "We have two years to prepare after all, a lot can happen within that time."
"Much can happen in that time, certainly," Belathriel replied with a quiet sigh. "Though I find it better to remain grounded in reality. I don't see myself reaching ultimate-class within such a timeframe."
"Not with that attitude, " Meruem said dryly.
"It's also possible that House Bael may use the tournament as an opportunity to eliminate you, Master," Kuroka added, her tone carrying genuine concern. "If they are able to gather nine ultimate-class fighters, as Prince Belathriel suggests, and you cannot match that number, then they will likely win each individual match. Even if you succeed on your own, you would then be forced to face the remaining fighters alone. You must not go on with this."
"Why?" Meruem asked, his expression shifting slightly as he looked at her. "Because I might lose? A strange reason for calling off a challenge."
Within two years, he had no doubt that he could elevate his peerage to the point where the disparity would no longer be so severe. For someone like him, two years was a long time.
AN: So war has been prevented, which gives an opportunity to explore things beyond the Bael conflict, as it had grown rather stale. Meruem has learned that he can't simply do as he pleases without consequences, but his pride refuses to accept it.
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