"...What an absolute nightmare," Zekram sighed, a pulsing headache forming behind his eyes as he absorbed the information. He looked back up at Finn. "What exactly is Azazel plotting?"
"I don't think it's a conspiracy. It's likely just him securing insurance," Finn replied smoothly. "The Fallen Angels aren't exactly in a position of overwhelming power right now, especially considering their numbers have stagnated. Since the God of the Bible is dead, they can't simply tempt Angels to 'fall' anymore—the system doesn't work like that, and Michael has put the Heavenly system on strict lockdown."
Was it incredibly disrespectful for Finn to casually drop the names of legendary archangels without proper honorifics? Perhaps. But Finn was a High-Class Devil; he couldn't care less.
"As expected," Zekram nodded slowly. "Then why did you agree to his terms without attacking him?"
"Because fighting Azazel would be an absolute waste of my time, Grandpa. There is zero return on investment," Finn answered pragmatically. "If I attacked him, I would instantly become the primary target of Grigori. Worse, I would be politically crucified by the Devil Council for unilaterally restarting the Great War. Isn't it far more efficient to extort Azazel for highly valuable assets and discard him once his usefulness is gone?"
"You are absolutely correct," Zekram smiled, deeply satisfied with Finn's cold logic. "And what exactly did you extort from him?"
"Decades of highly classified research on the Sacred Gear system," Finn tapped his pocket. He looked at Zekram. "Do you want a copy? I can have it duplicated for your archives."
"No, thank you. I have no personal interest in Sacred Gears," Zekram declined.
Unlike Finn, who would ruthlessly monopolize any and all forms of power, Zekram was a fundamentalist of the Bael Pillar. He placed absolute faith in their bloodline trait: the Power of Destruction. The fact that Sirzechs Lucifer currently held the title of the strongest Devil in existence purely by weaponizing the Power of Destruction proved its supreme superiority. To Zekram, the modern Bael Clan simply lacked the imagination and talent to properly wield it.
"Still, you don't need to worry about this Vali Lucifer," Finn assured him. "He's not a political mastermind. He's entirely battle-crazed."
"Oh? He's a Sairaorg-type?" Zekram asked, raising an eyebrow.
"...It's slightly cruel of you to directly compare the White Dragon Emperor to your own biological grandson, but yes. He is exactly like Sairaorg."
"If that is the case, then he is merely a tactical asset, not a strategic threat," Zekram nodded, instantly dismissing Vali.
It sounded cruel, but that was how the Underworld divided its hierarchy. There were those who played the grand game of politics—the sociopaths capable of detaching their hearts to secure long-term geopolitical interests. And then there were the 'heroes'—the meatheads who operated entirely on their hearts, charging blindly forward based on ideals and a desperate need to prove their strength.
Which path was better? There was no objectively correct answer. If someone was happy punching mountains, that was fine. If they weren't, they needed to adapt. Both Sairaorg and Vali were fundamentally identical: they just wanted to fight strong opponents to prove their absolute supremacy. Sairaorg's case was slightly more tragic, given his desperate need to prove his worth as a Bael despite lacking the Power of Destruction, but the psychological profile was the same.
"By the way," Zekram shifted the topic, his tone turning serious. "Have you thought of the possibility of a formal peace treaty between the Three Factions?"
"I have."
"...And your conclusion?"
"It's highly necessary. Continuing this Cold War is financially and militarily bankrupting us," Finn stated bluntly. "There are absolutely no benefits to fighting now. The Biblical God is dead. If the Devils, Angels, and Fallen Angels continue to bleed each other dry, the foreign Pantheons—the Hindus, the Greeks, the Norse—will eventually sweep in and eradicate us all. The Christian mythology historically labeled them all as 'pagans' and actively tried to erase them. Do you think they've forgotten that?"
"...." Zekram remained silent, fully aware of the looming geopolitical threat.
"However," Finn continued, "a peaceful summit is politically impossible right now. The prejudice is too deep. We need a catalyst."
"And what exactly is this hypothetical catalyst?"
"A mutual, existential threat," Finn smiled coldly. "If a terrifying enemy emerges that explicitly threatens the survival of all Three Factions simultaneously, we will be violently forced to group together. But... who currently possesses the overwhelming strength and sheer audacity to force the Devils, Fallen Angels, and Heaven to unite?"
"Hmm...." Zekram frowned deeply, contemplating the terrifying trouble of manufacturing such a threat.
Finn simply smiled. He knew the Khaos Brigade would eventually force the issue, and Issei Hyoudou would somehow miraculously solve it. Finn had no intention of doing the heavy lifting; he would simply manage the corporate logistics from the shadows while the protagonists bled for peace.
"We'll manage it slowly. For now, I'm going back to the human world for a bit," Finn stood up.
"Oh, wait a moment, Finn," Zekram called out suddenly.
"What's wrong, Grand—"
Finn didn't even have time to finish the word. Without a single microsecond of warning, Zekram raised his hand and fired a concentrated, lethal burst of the Power of Destruction directly at Finn's right arm!
KRA-SHRRRRRIP!
The absolute, annihilating dark energy slammed into Finn's bicep. The skin instantly disintegrated. The dense demonic muscle tissue was violently torn apart, erasing his flesh from existence. The agonizing pain was instantaneous as the black aura aggressively chewed its way down to his bone—
[Notice. The 'Power of Destruction' has been analyzed.]
[Action. Adapting cellular structure.]
[Result. The host is now completely immune to the Power of Destruction.]
"....." Finn stared blankly at his arm.
Hiss...
The condensed black energy—functioning almost identically to a localized black hole—furiously tried to consume his exposed bone and regenerate tissue, but it was completely useless. It slid off his biology like water off glass. Unable to destroy him, the energy aggressively devoured a chunk of the surrounding air and a nearby bookshelf before violently fizzling out of existence.
"...Fascinating," Zekram murmured, genuinely amazed.
Finn stared at Zekram speechlessly as his demonic regeneration kicked into overdrive, the flesh and skin rapidly knitting back together over his bone in a matter of seconds.
"...A little warning next time would be appreciated," Finn deadpanned, rubbing his fully healed arm.
While Finn was ultimately fine with the sudden attack, he had to admit he was highly annoyed by the pain. Yet, looking at Zekram, he felt a profound, complex sense of respect.
"You don't need to thank me. Consider this a direct investment in your absolute survival," Zekram smiled warmly.
Zekram was a master politician. He knew that granting an Ultimate-Class Devil immunity to the Bael Clan's ultimate weapon was incredibly dangerous. It meant practically no one in their faction could stop Finn if he went rogue.
But Zekram also knew that Finn would inevitably acquire that immunity anyway. Finn could easily goad Sirzechs, Rias, or even Sairaorg's idiotic relatives into attacking him. Instead of waiting for Finn to randomly acquire the immunity elsewhere, Zekram actively chose to hand it to him. By doing so, Zekram ensured Finn owed his absolute survival to him.
As Finn operated entirely on transactional loyalty, Zekram had just secured the ultimate asset.
"Now, get out of here. Go find yourself a wife instead of sitting in the dark with an old man," Zekram waved him off.
"Thank you, Grandpa," Finn bowed deeply.
Walking out of the library, Finn completely understood why Zekram ruled the Underworld despite lacking Sirzechs' raw power. Zekram played 5D political chess.
But as he walked down the grand corridors of the Bael estate, his thoughts drifted back to the impending arranged marriage season. Who exactly was fit to be Lady Balam?
It definitely wouldn't be Rias Gremory or Sona Sitri. Aside from the fact that they were set to inherit their own prestigious Houses, Finn wanted absolutely nothing to do with canon protagonist drama. Rias was a walking geopolitical disaster, and Sona was far too rigid. Finn wanted a Queen who would quietly help him manage his corporate empire and let him live a comfortable, luxurious life.
However, before he could compile a list of eligible corporate heiresses, a deafening, aggressively enthusiastic roar echoed down the hallway.
"FINN!"
A massive, heavily muscled young man charged toward him. He wore a brilliantly stupid smile, but his massive fist was currently coated in Touki and aimed directly at Finn's face!
Who is this absolute idiot? Finn sighed inwardly.
It was Sairaorg Bael. The ultimate meathead, the disgraced son of the Bael family, and a combat fanatic who solely communicated through extreme physical violence.
Sairaorg drove forward with a devastating, supersonic bull-rush, fully intending to smash Finn through the estate walls as a 'friendly greeting.'
Finn didn't step back. He didn't even flare his Demonic Power.
Instead, relying purely on the Manager's kinetic calculations, Finn stepped diagonally forward, slipping flawlessly inside Sairaorg's guard. As Sairaorg's massive arm extended past his shoulder, Finn casually gripped Sairaorg's sleeve and wrist.
Uki-Otoshi (Floating Drop).
Instead of trying to stop the charging bull, Finn violently pulled Sairaorg in the exact direction the meathead was already sprinting, simultaneously dropping his own center of gravity toward the polished marble floor.
"Eh?!" Sairaorg gasped.
Moving at supersonic speeds, the sudden, violent redirection of his own momentum completely detached Sairaorg's feet from the ground. He literally flew right over Finn's head, using his own world-shattering speed to absolutely smash himself face-first into the reinforced marble floor of the estate.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!
The entire Bael estate violently shuddered as a massive crater exploded in the hallway.
Finn calmly stood back up, dusting off his tailored suit with a crisp clap of his hands, completely ignoring the groaning mass of muscle twitching in the crater.
The nearby Bael guards and maids stared at the scene in absolute, jaw-dropping shock.
"W-What the hell just happened?" one of the guards stammered in disbelief.