[Third Person's POV]
[Location: House Naberius, Fourth Hell]
Knock! Knock!
"Ah~ Ah~ AH~ P-Please. my lord~"
KNOCK! KNOCK!
A lesser demon in a butler's outfit could be seen knocking on a door from which a woman's moaning sound ca out in response.
The butler's knuckles froze mid-air when the sound inside rose an octave.
He closed his eyes.
Professional. Detached. Unpaid enough for this.
"My lord…" he tried again, louder this ti, forehead nearly touching the dark crimson wood. "It is urgent."
A sharp thud sounded from within, followed by muffled scrambling, fabric rustling, and a distinctly irritated male voice.
"If this is not war, the collapse of a realm, or news of Valeria, I will personally feed you to the kennels."
The butler swallowed.
The door flew open hard enough to rattle the iron hinges.
A tall demon stepped out, shirt half-buttoned, long dark hair tied back hastily with a strip of black silk that absolutely had not been intended for that purpose five minutes ago. Faint claw marks decorated one side of his neck. His golden eyes burned with irritation bright enough to qualify as a minor natural disaster.
Behind him, a woman's low laugh drifted from the dim room, amused and entirely unashad.
Lord Naberius, Duke of the South-East Fourth Hell, Master of the Black Hounds, looked down at the butler like a king forced to acknowledge the existence of dust.
"You have exactly three breaths," Lord Naberius said calmly, which was far more frightening than if he had shouted. "Convince you are not about to die."
The butler bowed so fast his forehead almost struck the floor.
"My lord—It's Lady Valeria!"
The temperature in the hallway dropped.
Not taphorically.
The torches lining the obsidian walls flickered blue as if a winter wind had just passed through the Fourth Hell.
Lord Naberius didn't move.
He didn't blink.
But the pressure in the air thickened so violently that the butler's ears popped.
"…Say that again," the Duke said softly.
The butler swallowed. "M–My lord… Lady Valeria has been sighted."
A pause.
Then—
"If it's true," He gestured behind him inside the chamber. "Then she's yours."
The woman inside the chamber laughed again, low and smoky.
"Oh? Passing off so easily, Lord Naberius?" she purred. "I'm wounded."
"You will survive," Lord Naberius replied flatly, not looking back. "Unlike him, if he's wrong."
The butler felt his soul try to leave through his heels.
"M–My lord, the report cos from three independent scout circles. House Vapula's watchers, a roaming witch, and… and a contracted shade from the seventh Hell."
Lord Naberius' eyes narrowed slightly. That, more than anything, told the butler this was serious.
"…Where," Lord Naberius asked.
"She is spotted in the mortal realm... she seems to be with Lady Ravvy of Gluttony, Lady Ezravia of Envy, searching for..."
"SPIT IT OUT ALREADY! SEARCHING FOR WHAT!"
"…Searching for him, my lord!"
Silence fell.
Not the ordinary absence of sound.
This was the heavy, oppressive stillness of predators recognising a larger predator had entered the forest.
Lord Naberius stared at the butler.
"…Define him," he said at last.
The butler trembled. "T–The Prince, my lord. Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar."
The corridor cracked.
A jagged fracture raced across the obsidian floor beneath Naberius' bare feet, infernal energy leaking like black mist from the split.
In an instant, the Duke's hand clamped down on the butler's neck—a dark miasma-like ball ford on top of his other hand, which he fired inside the chamber.
"ARGHHHH! MY LORD RC—"
The scream cut off wetly.
There was a sound as at dropped into acid.
Then silence.
The butler didn't dare look past his lord's shoulder. The sll alone told him enough.
Lord Naberius released his neck.
The butler collapsed, gasping, clawing at the floor as precious, unnecessary air rushed into lungs he didn't technically need.
"Clean it," Naberius said, already walking down the corridor barefoot, claws clicking against cracked obsidian. "And send compensation to House Leraje. Double the usual. I ruined borrowed property."
"Y–Yes, my lord…"
Naberius didn't slow.
His aura rolled ahead of him like an oncoming storm front. Lesser demons flattened themselves against walls, wings folding tight, eyes lowered. A few were too slow.
They hit the ground choking as the Duke of the Black Hounds passed.
Valeria Asmodeus.
Daughter of Satan of Lust.
... and his obsession.
He's been behind that vixen for five centuries more or less. He tried every non-forceful thod to get her to sleep with him or even marry him.
Non-forceful. Because even a Duke of the Fourth Hell understood one absolute law carved into the bones of demon society:
You do not touch what belongs to the Morningstar bloodline.
Not without permission.
Not without power.
And certainly not without being prepared to lose everything.
Valeria Asmodeus was not just a daughter of Lust.
She was a fiancée.
And that title carried weight older than most hells.
Lord Naberius walked through the arterial corridors of House Naberius, bare feet leaving faint scorch marks where his aura brushed stone.
Servants fled.
Guards knelt.
Hell itself seed to lower its gaze.
But inside his chest, sothing ugly twisted.
Valeria.
Pink hair like sin given colour. Eyes like molten nectar. A laugh that could make angels forget doctrine and demons forget war.
Five centuries.
Five hundred years of:
— Gifts sent and returned
— Banquets attended and ignored
— Duels fought in her na that she never acknowledged
— Poetry written, burned unread
— Alliances offered, declined with a smile
She had never humiliated him.
That would have been easier.
She simply… never chose him.
And now—
She was searching for Dominic.
A na Naberius had not heard spoken in centuries.
A na that should have been dust.
A na tied to a sealed coffin, a failed bloodline, and a political inconvenience everyone had quietly agreed to forget.
His jaw tightened.
"Prepare the war chamber," he ordered a passing captain without slowing.
"Yes, my lord!"
"And summon the houndmasters. All of them."
A flicker of hesitation. "All… my lord?"
Naberius' golden eyes shifted slightly.
The captain imdiately knelt so hard the floor cracked.
"All of them," Naberius repeated calmly.
...
[War Chamber of Black Glass]
The chamber was carved from a single mass of volcanic crystal. A round table of obsidian dominated the centre, etched with shifting territorial sigils representing regions of the Fourth Hell and influence points in the mortal realm.
By the ti Naberius entered, the room was filled.
War demons.
Beast tars.
Tacticians.
Assassins.
All knelt.
At the far end stood three massive figures in black armour grown, not forged — the Grand Houndmasters, each bound to legions of infernal war beasts.
Naberius took his seat.
No throne.
Just a high-backed chair of dark bone.
"Speak," he said.
A scout stepped forward, wings tucked tight.
"Visual confirmation of Lady Valeria Asmodeus in the mortal realm, my lord. Accompanied by Lady Ezravia of Envy and Lady Ravvy of Gluttony."
Murmurs rippled.
Three fiancées.
Together.
Outside Hell.
That was not a coincidence.
"Location?" Naberius asked.
"Shifting. They are masking movent patterns, but triangulation places them in the North Arican nexus zones. New York region most likely."
Naberius' fingers tapped once on the armrest.
New York.
A thin-veil city.
Mana-rich.
Politically volatile.
And far too close to several hidden demon enclaves.
"Objective?" he asked.
The scout hesitated.
Naberius' gaze sharpened.
"…Search behaviour patterns, my lord. Inquiry through mortal interdiaries. Magical divination attempts. Interrogation of minor spirit brokers."
A pause.
"Search paraters match a single profile."
"Say it," Naberius said quietly.
"…Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar."
Silence swallowed the chamber.
One of the houndmasters shifted uneasily.
"That bloodline is extinct," another muttered.
"It was sealed," corrected a strategist.
"It was erased," said a third.
Naberius raised a hand.
Silence snapped back into place.
"Clearly," he said, voice smooth as oil over blades, "it was not erased enough."
Dominic.
Grandson of Lucifer.
Son of Lilith.
The boy who had once been promised to seven thrones.
A political keystone disguised as a child.
If he were alive—
Then the old contracts were not void.
Old loyalties were not aningless.
Old grudges were not settled.
And most importantly…
Valeria's engagent was not symbolic.
It was binding.
Naberius felt heat curl in his chest.
Not rage.
Sothing colder.
Jealousy refined into strategy.
"Options," he said.
A tactician stepped forward.
"We could intercept the ladies in the mortal realm. Escort them under pretense of protection."
"Rejected," Naberius said instantly. "Too visible. Too political."
Another spoke.
"We locate the Prince first. Secure him. Present him to the Seven as… stabilised."
aning controlled.
Leashed.
Useful.
Naberius leaned back.
That had appeal.
If Dominic was weak — and rumours had always claid he was — then possession was power.
But…
Valeria would never forgive coercion.
And he wanted her willing.
Not compliant.
Not afraid.
Willing.
His fingers drumd once more.
"Surveillance," he decided. "Not interference."
Surprised glances flickered.
"My lord?" asked a houndmaster.
"We observe," Naberius said. "We do not touch the Prince. We do not approach the ladies. We do not reveal awareness."
He smiled faintly.
"We learn who he is now."
Because five centuries changed things.
Boys beca symbols.
Symbols beca weapons.
And weapons could be stolen.
"Release the Shade Choir," Naberius ordered.
Several heads lifted sharply.
The Shade Choir were not soldiers.
They were whispers.
Information predators.
Bound entities that moved through cracks in reality, feeding on secrets and reporting only to House Naberius.
"They are to track emotional disturbances linked to the Prince," Naberius said.
A strategist frowned. "Emotional, my lord?"
"Yes."
Because fiancées searching across realms did not move for politics alone.
They moved for attachnt.
"Monitor the girls," Naberius continued. "Especially Valeria. I want fluctuations in her aura, her mana signature, her emotional spikes."
Understanding the rival ant understanding what she felt.
And why.
***
[Elsewhere in the Fourth Hell]
Far from House Naberius, in a citadel built from flayed stone and cathedral arches of bone, another lord received similar news.
Lord Raum of House Naberius' rival faction listened in silence as his informant finished.
"Dominic Morningstar…" Raum mused.
Unlike Naberius, he smiled.
Not with desire.
With opportunity.
"The board reshuffles," Raum murmured.
If the Morningstar heir lived, factions would split.
So would rally.
So would seek to eliminate.
Chaos favoured the prepared.
"Send gifts," Raum said lazily.
"To whom, my lord?"
"All three fiancées."
The ssenger blinked.
"My lord… that could be interpreted as—"
"Exactly," Raum said, grin widening. "Let Naberius choke on uncertainty."
***
Stone , I can take it!
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