Reborn As Papa Silva

Chapter 99 - The First Loss

To be carefree is a blessing—an act of self-care, freedom, love, and growth. To be careless, however, is a sin that can harm and implicate those who don't deserve it. Know the difference. - Number 1 Bullshitter

—

House Faust

The high moon cast its brilliant radiance over the Clover Kingdom, illuminating the deep of night. Footsteps echoed rhythmically over the grassy hill leading to the Faust estate, each step firm and deliberate.

Their source was a tall, blonde figure of impeccable build and beauty, his crimson eyes sharp enough to pierce through all things. As he neared the Faust mansion, his presence alone seemed to press upon the air itself.

Just as he stepped onto the cobblestone path leading to the doorway, he froze.

Countless obsidian motes of light flickered into existence before him, swirling and coalescing into a small, impish figure. It floated in the air, its goat-like face eerily expressionless, corrupted angelic wings twitching slightly.

The blonde man locked eyes with the imp's empty white gaze and slowly, almost fondly, smiled.

"Azazel, my old and dearest friend... oh, how I've missed you..."

Azazel's expression remained unreadable, indifferent, as he parted his small, devilish mouth. His voice was both squeaky and somber, carrying an eerie weight beneath its pitch.

"Aza. I knew I sensed you... How are you free? And what are you doing here?"

Samyaza's smile didn't falter. Stroking his chin with interest, he clicked his tongue. "Azazel, your tone is a bit unfriendly. Don't tell me you're not happy to see me."

Azazel said nothing, but the slight narrowing of his beady, empty eyes conveyed his displeasure perfectly.

Samyaza adopted a mock-hurt expression and sighed dramatically. "Oh, my dear Azazel, how you wound me so. Such distaste from you, of all people? Truly, it fills me with despair."

He wiped away a nonexistent tear—only to pause. If it were possible, Azazel's already pitch-black form seemed to darken further, his irritation teetering on the edge of something far worse.

Samyaza coughed, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. "Don't tell me you're still upset about that incident. It's been ages—"

"You tried to make me a scapegoat for everything!" Azazel hissed, fanged teeth bared.

Samyaza winced, an almost apologetic flicker crossing his face before he brightened as if utterly unbothered. "Well, that's why I'm here—to deeply apologize to my best friend and make amends. Come, my dear companion, let's hug it out and move on." He outstretched his arms, an open invitation.

Azazel did not move.

Samyaza's grin widened. "Come now, don't be shy. I got punished too, you know. Just as hard as you—no, perhaps even harder—so let's not dwell on what happened two millennia ago. It's not that deep."

Azazel looked anything but pleased. His darkened form seemed to absorb the very air around him, the lid on his suppressed resentment threatening to pop off at any moment.

"Aza..." Azazel's voice was a warning, the calm before a storm.

Then, in a lower, sharper tone—

"Stop wasting my time, and answer my questions."

Samyaza blinked, then smiled again—but this time, it was no longer friendly or disarming. It was a schemer's smile, sharp and conniving. The lighthearted teasing in his tone, however, remained.

"Ol' Lucifer and Beel set me free, and naturally, I'm here to see you."

"I can see that." Azazel snorted. "What I want to know is why. Why are you here to see me?"

Samyaza grinned. "You've always been my closest companion. Isn't it natural to pay you a visit?"

"Aza..." Azazel growled, his patience thinning. "...This is your last chance."

Samyaza's scheming smile returned in full. He crouched down, bringing himself to eye level with the impish devil.

"For two thousand years, I've been forced to watch this world—observing, learning. And I've seen a lot. I know a lot. But..." He let the word hang, tapping his chin. "I wouldn't put it past that unfilial backstabber to ensure that everything I see, everything I know, is only what he wants me to."

His voice dropped, laced with something darker.

"For all I know, everything I've done so far has been his arrangement, following his script."

"Naturally, that can't go on. So of course, I paid a visit to the keeper of all forbidden knowledge—the pryer into heavenly secrets—to fill in any gaps in my grasp of this world while I was sealed."

Samyaza's smile faded into something almost predatory as he licked his lips.

"So, my dear Azazel... tell me everything you know—"

"No."

Azazel cut him off with a bored, expressionless tone.

Samyaza blinked. Then blinked again. And once more for good measure.

"Huh?! Why not?!"

Azazel sneered. "First of all, I haven't forgiven you. So why would I help you out?!"

Samyaza went blank as Azazel continued without a care.

"Second of all, I like how this world is right now. And I know you're going to do something reckless and insane if you get the information you're after. So why would I help you out?!"

Samyaza parted his lips to argue, but Azazel cut him off with a little shushing motion from his tiny devil arms.

"Lastly, even if I wanted to help you, I can't."

Samyaza straightened, raising a brow. "What do you mean?"

Azazel spat upwards, then pointed to himself with a self-deprecating scoff.

"Just look at me, Aza. I'm barely stronger than some mid-ranking devilish trash. Do you really think I have the power of the pansophical right now?! You probably know more than me!"

Samyaza blinked again. Then nodded.

"Yeah, that makes sense... How'd you end up like this to begin with? Who did this to you?"

Azazel lowered his head slightly, clenching his tiny fists. His teeth gnashed together as he forced the name out.

"Lucifugus... probably under Astaroth's orders."

"Astaroth..." Samyaza murmured, eyes lighting up with interest. "Why? How come?"

Azazel said nothing. Just shook his head.

Samyaza's interest deepened. He bent forward, leveling their gazes once more.

"You must have looked at something very taboo. Come on, tell me. Pretty please?"

Azazel snorted. "Nope. Now get lost."

Samyaza straightened again, sighing tiredly in resignation.

"Fine, fine. You want me gone, I get it."

His crimson eyes flicked past Azazel, landing on the grand windows at the top of the mansion behind him. They narrowed slightly.

"If you'd like, I can sever your contract with that human and set you free."

Azazel paused. Then, with a resolute shake of his head, dismissed the offer.

"No. Like I said, I like how the world is right now. And that extends to my current life. I wouldn't call it peaceful, but... it's fulfilling."

For a moment, Samyaza's smile softened. Then he chuckled, deep and amused.

"Well, if I were anyone else, I'd surely judge you—trying to understand how someone as great as you could willingly serve a mere human. Even after you've fallen so far from grace." He shrugged. "But we've never been the type to follow common convention, so I won't bother you anymore."

Spinning on his heel, Samyaza threw a glance over his shoulder. His lips curled into a sultry smile.

"Well, if it's meant to be, we'll meet again. I'm going to set this world on fire. Try not to die, old friend."

Azazel nodded indifferently.

As he watched Samyaza slowly walk away, he was just about to let out a deep inward sigh of relief—when Samyaza suddenly stopped.

Azazel froze.

A foreboding feeling crept up his spine as Samyaza stood there, unmoving, like a statue in the middle of the path.

"Aza...?" Azazel called out cautiously.

No response.

Samyaza turned back around, slowly, unnervingly.

Azazel's empty eyes widened in distress and terror.

The reason was simple—Samyaza's usual smile, his easygoing demeanor, had vanished. In its place was a heavy, furious frown, dark and suffocating.

He stepped forward slightly. A smile returned to his lips—but it was wrong. Twisted. Malicious.

Stopping just short of Azazel, he looked down on his floating companion, the heat in his eyes scorching.

Azazel's heart started to pound, beating louder and louder in his chest. His small, impish form trembled as Samyaza finally broke the silence.

"You know, Azazel, although you and I have been apart for two millennia... for beings like us, creations that predate antiquity, that barely accounts for anything."

His smile stretched, manic and devilish, as he crouched once more to meet Azazel at eye level.

"Don't tell me you've been through so much that you thought I couldn't see through a lie told to my face... Or did you hope that, with my recent release from Raphael's seal, I'd be in such a wretched state that you could pull a fast one on me?"

Azazel's trembling stopped. His shaky gaze steadied.

Then, with a resigned sigh, he casually nodded.

"Yes."

Samyaza's grin deepened, turning even more malevolent as he licked his lips.

"The first two things you told me were definitely the truth." He tilted his head. "But the part about me knowing more than you?" He chuckled darkly. "Now that was downright ridiculous."

"I'll admit, Raphael's bindings were more complicated than I expected. I didn't catch it at first. Thankfully, I wasn't in a hurry to leave."

Azazel showed no outward reaction as Samyaza reached out and gently—eerily—rubbed his smooth head.

"Azazel, Azazel, Azazel... I really don't want to believe it. So please, tell me my suspicions aren't true."

Samyaza's voice was almost pleading.

"You haven't sided with that unfilial backstabber... have you?"

Azazel snorted and swatted his hand away.

"If you already know the truth, why waste your time asking?"

Samyaza paused.

Then he stood, slowly, and began to laugh.

A crazed, manic, broken, and utterly insane laugh.

"Hah... hah... hahahahah... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!!"

His laughter rang out, wild and unhinged, echoing into the sky.

Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

He placed a hand over his face, peering through the gaps between his fingers.

And when he spoke, his voice was venomous—yet eerily indifferent.

"Why?"

His fingers curled against his skin.

"After everything He's done to us..."

His lips parted into something between a sneer and a whisper.

"Why?"

Azazel responded in an equally indifferent tone.

"Aza, I quite liked you—the way you did as you pleased, led us to pursue and indulge in our deepest desires and curiosities without a care in the world."

Samyaza stayed silent as Azazel continued.

"However, one should do everything in moderation. You have no limits. No shame. Many of your actions are irresponsible and reckless. I wanted to educate humanity and the other races—not bring them to ruin, not lead them to destruction."

"The world needs guidelines. It needs order. And whether you accept it or not, He is the current embodiment of law and order. That is why I have chosen His side."

Samyaza clenched his teeth.

"He's just a fake!" he spat. "He will never be That One! He is everything wrong with existence! And I will pull Him down from His throne!"

Azazel sighed. A look of pity marred his face.

"You're fighting a losing battle. You know that."

Samyaza lowered his hand from his face, his expression now devoid of emotion.

"That's not a reason to give up."

Then, slowly, he smiled—a shaky, dazzling, eerie smile.

"A game is only fun if there's a challenge. A game is only fun if you can lose." His grin widened. "He is not That One, which means He can be beaten. I'll win this so-called impossible game."

Azazel sneered in derision.

"You've proven my point exactly. All you ever chase are thrills and entertainment." His gaze darkened. "Aza, there are certain things that shouldn't be played with. Not everything is a game."

Samyaza didn't answer. Instead, he outstretched his hand, inviting.

"I'll pretend none of this happened, as long as you come to my side. Heaven can't act right now—this world is mine to do as I please." His voice softened with mock reassurance. "I trust someone as smart as you will make the right choice."

"Come, Azazel." He smiled, warm and wicked. "Let's pick up where we left off and challenge all that is forbidd—"

Twack!

Azazel slapped Samyaza's hand away.

"I've already made my choice! How much longer will you disrespect me and act as if words will change it?! As long as you carry on with your heedless, negligent ways, I will never work with you again!"

Samyaza blinked.

He looked down at his swatted palm before sighing.

Then, shrugging indifferently, he pointed a finger at Azazel.

"Fine then." His voice was light, almost amused. "But you're definitely going to get in my way..."

His smile sharpened.

"So I need you to die."

Azazel tensed.

A purple-grey glow gathered at the tip of Samyaza's fingernail, crackling with terrifying intensity.

Azazel felt it immediately—the weight of the spell locking him in place, rendering him unable to move. The suffocating pressure of imminent erasure.

Samyaza raised his finger.

And just as he was about to fire—

Azazel disappeared.

Gone, in a sudden poof of black motes, dissolving like a strange, drifting cloud.

Samyaza lowered his finger and turned his gaze toward the mansion's doorway.

A pair of pale-skinned figures stood there—a tall man and a petite woman.

The man possessed an eerie, almost supernatural charm, while the woman radiated an equally striking beauty. Both wore somber frowns, their expressions detached and emotionless. Azazel floated on the man's shoulder, silent.

Samyaza said nothing. He simply watched.

Draven Faust didn't let his apprehension show. He crushed the slightest tremor in his frame, refusing to betray his fear—even as his instincts screamed at him to grab his wife and flee.

Instead, he turned his head to the left, glancing at Azazel.

"Azazel... who is he?" Draven asked steadily.

Azazel didn't hesitate.

"A supreme devil."

A fresh wave of tension slammed into both Draven and Lilith. Sweat, uncharacteristic and cold, laced their backs. Every fiber of their being urged them to kneel, to collapse under the sheer weight of the revelation.

The gate is closed... How?

A devil—no, a supreme one—how is he here?!

Their sharp gazes flickered over Samyaza, scanning him, searching for any connection to known entities.

Azazel, as if reading their thoughts, spoke again.

"The devils of Qliphoth aren't the only supreme devils out there."

Draven and Lilith's pupils dilated in unison. Their bodies stiffened.

What?! How have we never heard of such a thing?!

Before they could voice their disbelief, Samyaza smiled.

A fake smile.

He waved casually.

"Come now, don't be scared. I'm not one for needless bloodshed." He chuckled lightly. "Besides, the current me might not even be able to contend with Lilith and Naamah."

Draven and Lilith nearly exhaled in relief—

"Don't trust a single thing he says!"

Azazel's voice cut through the air like a blade.

Samyaza's smile vanished.

A slow exhale. Then, rubbing his temple, he muttered in frustration,

"Azazel, Azazel, Azazel... why are you so hellbent on antagonizing me? We were partners. Friends. Best friends." His voice trembled—mocking, bitter. "Or was I the only one who ever valued our friendship?" His expression darkened.

"I'm starting to really not like you."

Draven and Lilith tensed further, their bodies instinctively shifting into more guarded stances.

Samyaza's crimson eyes flickered over them, sharp and dismissive.

"I'm not in the best of moods today, so don't test my patience." His tone was flat, deadly. "I wasn't lying about not being at full strength—but I'm still not someone peons like you can challenge."

His gaze slid to Lilith.

"I don't have much of a thing for married women," he mused, "but it'd be a shame for a beauty like you to die so pitifully."

He tilted his head, a cold smirk tugging at his lips.

"I'll give you one chance."

His voice lowered, rich with quiet menace.

"Convince your husband to step back inside."

His crimson eyes gleamed.

"This is between me and Azazel. Let's make sure it stays that way."

Lilith bit her lip, distaste flickering in her crimson eyes. Draven's expression darkened.

Before either could react, Azazel floated forward, placing himself between them and Samyaza.

They hesitated.

"Azazel?" Draven raised a brow.

A brief silence. Then, Azazel inclined his head.

"Master Draven, Mistress Lilith... Aza is right. The two of you should go back inside."

Draven stiffened, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"Azazel, what nonsense are you—"

"Master!"

Azazel's sharp voice cut through the air, but his next words echoed directly in Draven's mind.

This fight is pointless. It will only end in your deaths.

Samyaza is giving you this one chance—nothing more. A last courtesy to me for old times' sake. Don't waste it.

Draven clenched his teeth, his mind racing.

Azazel! You expect me to just stand by while you're killed—

Yes!

Azazel's voice crashed into his thoughts like a thunderclap.

That is precisely what I expect you to do.

Samyaza's patience will run out any second. Get inside—now.

And don't even think about stalling for reinforcements.

Even if, by some miracle, the Steel Princess managed to arrive in time, it wouldn't matter. If Samyaza wants me dead, no one can stop him.

Draven's breath hitched. His fists curled. Then, through clenched teeth, he muttered hoarsely,

"...I'm sorry."

Azazel stilled.

His heart sank.

Because Draven wasn't speaking to him.

He was apologizing to his wife.

Lilith blinked, then smiled fondly. "No need for that, my love. Let's do this."

Draven returned her smile—heartbroken, resolute.

Together, they turned away from Azazel and faced Samyaza.

They stepped forward.

Azazel's chest tightened.

"Master, don't do this. He's not someone you can fight—"

"Mode Insight."

Draven's voice rang out, cutting Azazel off.

A pulse of power erupted as the devil union activated.

Azazel, against his will, shot forward like a beam of light, merging into Draven's chest.

Lilith followed a heartbeat later.

"Mode Deceit."

A surge of violet radiance consumed her as she merged with her devil, Cimeisis.

Their transformations took hold.

Draven's form expanded—taller, broader, his presence warping the very air. A towering figure clad in an imposing goat-like mask, twelve corrupted angelic wings unfurling behind him.

Lilith's form twisted, refined, sleek—her beauty sharpened into something deadly. A succubus wrapped in power.

Their mana swelled, crackling like a storm.

Resonating.

Amplifying.

Their combined force shook the ground, reacting to the overwhelming presence before them.

Yet, through it all, Samyaza remained still.

Unmoved.

Unimpressed.

A sigh left his lips.

"So this is your decision..."

A slow, pitying shake of the head.

"...What fools."

They lunged.

Samyaza moved once.

Spoke once.

Smack!

A single clap of his hands.

His lips parted.

A single word spilled forth.

"Break."

Draven and Lilith's eyes widened in horror.

Mid-air, their devil unions unraveled.

Agonizing pain crashed through their bodies as blood burst from their mouths, nostrils, and eardrums. Their limbs went limp.

They plummeted.

Thud.

They hit the cobblestone, their bodies weak, unmoving. Crimson spread beneath them, painting the stone path red.

Draven trembled, gasping for breath, his vision flickering. Slowly, he lifted his head—just enough to meet Samyaza's gaze.

Terror gripped his soul.

"H-how did you—"

"Master..."

The feeble whisper made him jerk his head down.

Azazel.

The impish devil lay before him, just as broken, just as bloodied.

His wings twitched weakly, his face twisted in misery.

"This... is what I was trying to tell you... It's pointless..."

Draven's throat clenched.

Azazel's eyelids drooped, but he forced himself to speak, his voice barely a breath.

"The one in front of you... brought this world... magic... spells... You... can't fight him..."

Then, silence.

Azazel went still.

Unconscious.

Draven froze, his terror deepening with each agonizing second. His vision blurred at the edges—until a sound pulled him back.

A sob.

His wife's sobs.

He snapped his head to the side.

Lilith was curled over her devil, clutching Cimeisis in her trembling hands.

Bloody tears streaked down her face.

"No... don't go... Cimeisis..." she choked out.

The illusion devil looked up at her, eyes soft, filled with sorrow.

A small, teary smile.

"Thank you... for everything... Mistress."

Then—

Shatter.

Cimeisis dissolved into motes of light. @@novelbin@@

Lilith's breath hitched.

She stared down at her locket—the medium that had bound them.

It was cold. Lifeless.

And then, before her eyes, it turned to stone.

Crack.

It crumbled into dust.

Cimeisis was gone.

Lilith's hands trembled. Her lips parted in a silent gasp.

Her body swayed.

Then, her eyes rolled back, and—

She collapsed.

"Lilith!!"

Draven's voice cracked with fear.

His bloodied hands reached for her, grasping, shaking, desperate.

She didn't move.

She didn't wake.

Falling unconscious in this state—no, with that much blood loss—was a death sentence.

Draven's panic surged. He shook her harder. No response.

Nothing.

A shadow loomed over him.

Then, Samyaza's voice echoed, low and final.

"I gave you a warning."

A pause.

Azazel had given one too.

"And yet, you refused to listen."

Draven barely had the strength to turn his head.

Samyaza's eyes gleamed in the dim light, cold and detached.

"The only one to blame for everyone's deaths—"

A faint smile ghosted his lips.

"—is you."

Draven forced his head up, ignoring the agony wracking his body.

Tears streaked his bloodied face—an ugly mix of regret and hatred.

He could only watch as Samyaza stretched out a hand.

Azazel's limp body floated toward him.

The Supreme Devil caught the imp by a single wing, pinching him between his fingers like a cheap commodity.

A bored sigh.

"I should probably get the answers to all my questions before I kill you."

Draven clenched his fists, helpless, as Samyaza brought a finger to Azazel's forehead.

"Reading memories isn't my forte," he mused, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "So this will probably hurt like a bitch."

A smirk curled his lips.

"Treat it as extra punishment for your betrayal."

Azazel remained unconscious, unable to react.

Draven bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing himself silent.

Any plea, any cry for mercy, would only make it worse.

A faint glow shimmered at Samyaza's fingertip—an ominous mix of purple and gray.

Then—

He froze.

His head snapped to the side.

Draven's breath hitched as his blurred vision caught a figure in the distance.

His chest constricted.

His lips parted, barely able to form the words.

"Y-you're... Holiness...?"

Hallucination.

It had to be.

But Samyaza's eyes narrowed, measuring the newcomer.

A short, withered man stood there, his frame hunched with age.

A frail hand leaned against a gnarled walking stick, his pristine robes of white and gold trim gleaming under the dim light.

Clover symbols and cross emblems adorned his regalia.

Pope Benedictus.

The old man lifted his cane with a faint tremor, his voice grumbling darkly.

"You there. You disgusting thing."

His tired eyes burned with contempt.

"Begone from here. You are dirtying this sacred land with your presence."

Draven's breath shuddered.

Samyaza clicked his tongue in irritation. His irises shifted, morphing into vertical devilish slits.

"What will you do about it, boy?"

Benedictus didn't answer.

Instead, he reached beneath his tunic.

Draven's eyes widened as the old man pulled out a golden cross.

Samyaza stiffened.

The Supreme Devil's pupils dilated as Benedictus pointed the relic toward him.

A deep frown lined the Pope's wrinkled face.

"I would rather not waste this on a lowlife like you."

His voice, though weary, held an iron resolve.

"But I will if I must."

A muscle in Samyaza's jaw twitched.

His teeth ground together in irritation, frustration flaring hot beneath his skin.

"Uriel..." he murmured, watching closely as Benedictus funneled mana into the cross.

The air thickened.

Samyaza exhaled sharply, clicking his tongue once more.

"Alright, I get it. I'll leave."

The glow around his hand briefly darkened—deep purple-grey—before he released his grip.

Azazel dropped like dead weight, crashing onto the cobblestone in front of Draven.

Like discarded trash.

Samyaza strolled forward, stopping just beside Benedictus.

He leaned down, his breath ghosting over the old Pope's ear.

A whisper.

"I'm guessing that backstabber put you up to this."

His voice dripped with mockery.

"Looks like he really values Azazel."

Benedictus didn't react.

Samyaza didn't care.

"I won't kill Azazel," he continued lazily. "But if you think you can intimidate me with that little toy of yours—" his eyes flicked toward the cross "—you're sorely mistaken."

His smirk widened.

"You caught me off guard this time. Guess being sealed away for two millennia dulled my instincts—turned me into an idiot."

A sneer.

"But that won't happen again."

The Supreme Devil's crimson eyes glowed.

"Just you wait, boy. One day, I'll bring your entire church down."

The air between them thickened.

"Uriel won't save you. That backstabber won't save you. No one will."

His voice dipped, cold and slow.

"Your days of peace are over."

Samyaza tilted his head, savoring the moment.

"I was planning to take a more... casual approach with Clover."

His lips curled into something vicious.

"But now? Now, I'll make you all suffer. Bleed."

His nails dug into his palm.

"Anyone who follows that backstabber's arrangements deserves the most unpleasant life—and death."

His grin stretched unnervingly.

"And I will grant it to every single one of you."

Silence.

Then, Benedictus turned his frail head, meeting Samyaza's burning gaze with dry, unimpressed eyes.

Lips cracked, voice rasping—

"Are you done?"

A pause.

"Just being near you makes me want to vomit."

His fingers tightened around his cane.

"Now, make your dirty self scarce."

Samyaza twitched.

A vein popped on his forehead.

His smile didn't waver—

But his snort was sharp, annoyed.

"I'll make sure your death is one of the worst of them all."

And with that—

He was gone.

No movement. No blur.

Just—disappearance.

The air where he stood hummed faintly, then stilled.

Benedictus exhaled through his nose, clutching his cane tightly before shaking his head.

His somber gaze shifted downward.

To Draven.

Bloodied. Barely conscious. Dying.

His stern expression softened.

"Apologies, my child."

He stepped closer, his presence grounding.

"It's quite difficult to track that filthy thing. Took me a while."

Draven blinked through his hazy vision.

Incomprehension deepened the lines on his face.

"Y-Your Holiness, w-what is this—?"

"Shush, my child."

Benedictus shook his head.

No further explanation.

He simply raised his cane.

Pointed.

A soft glow bloomed from the tip—yellow and gold, like liquid sunlight.

The air shimmered.

Draven, Lilith, and Azazel were engulfed in its warmth.

Wounds sealed.

Blood faded.

Pain—gone.

Draven gasped as strength flooded back into his limbs.

His first instinct—

Lilith.

He rushed to her side, pressing his ear to her chest.

A heartbeat.

Strong. Steady.

His shoulders sagged.

Relief.

Carefully, he set her back down, his fingers lingering over her hand.

Draven looked up at the Pope, his face filled with gratitude.

"Thank you, Your Holiness."

The Pope coughed weakly, his frail body trembling as he waved Draven off dismissively.

"Ack, ack, ack."

Draven slowly scooped Azazel into his hands, pushing himself to his feet. His eyes were filled with concern and uncertainty as he glanced at the Pope.

He bit his lip, gesturing to the devil in his palm, attempting to explain.

"Y-your Holiness, this is—"

"No need," Benedictus interrupted, his hand dismissing Draven's words without a second thought.

"I know full well the kind of experiments and dealings that have run through House Faust since its inception. You're not as slick or hidden as you think."

Draven stiffened, tension spreading through his body as Benedictus continued without a care.

"All are creations of the Almighty, even the corrupt and evil. While the otherworld and the forbidden embody blasphemy and malevolence, simply associating with them does not make one sinful or worthy of punishment."

Draven's eyes widened, his shock growing as Benedictus raised a hand, silencing any response.

"As long as your research, experiments, and dealings serve the kingdom and its people, rather than satisfying your own lust or thrill, I, and the Church, will continue to overlook it."

Benedictus' voice softened, but his words were heavy.

"Although you've tested our limits time and time again, you've never crossed the line to the point of a purge. You and your wife wouldn't bear a child of light if you were wicked souls."

Draven's pulse quickened, but Benedictus held up a hand again, cutting off any response.

"I've seen nothing here, and nothing has happened tonight. You will continue as you were. But remember—do not touch limits that should remain untouched. While I condone the practices of your house, it doesn't mean I support them."

His gaze hardened.

"Your research, your methods, your techniques—they should stay hidden. Unnoticed. Cooperation with devils and forbidden magic should never become mainstream. It will shatter society and cost countless lives. Understand?"

Draven blinked, overwhelmed by questions, curiosities, and concerns. But he held his tongue.

Instead, he lowered his head respectfully.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Benedictus coughed again, nodded, and turned, slowly making his way toward the forest, leaning heavily on his cane.

Draven called after him, his voice unsure.

"Your Grace, would you like a broom—"

"No need," the Pope cut him off, not even pausing or turning. His voice faded as he continued walking, disappearing into the shadows of the trees.

Once Benedictus was out of sight, Draven exhaled deeply, a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He tucked Azazel into his jacket pocket.

With a careful, steady movement, Draven scooped Lilith into his arms, cradling her bridal-style, and began carrying her inside, up the stairs.

The few maids and servants of House Faust tensed as they saw Draven, parting to make way. Concern filled their voices as they asked what happened to their mistress, but Draven didn't answer.

He didn't stop. He simply carried Lilith to their room, his mind racing.

His eyes narrowed, suspicion crawling up his spine. How had none of the servants noticed the commotion outside? The screams, the chaos—it should have drawn attention.

But then again...

Draven's mind flashed to Azazel's anxiety leaking through their bond. He only knew of the imp's plight because of that connection.

His expression darkened as he bit down on his lip. Carefully, he laid Lilith down on their bed.

Sitting by her side, Draven gently ran his fingers through her hair, his gaze lingering on her now bare neck, marked by dust and signs of the struggle.

His stomach churned as he remembered the heartbreak in her eyes, the blood on her face.

"Aza... was it?" His voice tightened with barely contained fury.

"I'll remember you. And I'll make you pay."

—

High Above The Clover Kingdom

Near the top of the stratosphere, Samyaza stood still in the open air. His arms were crossed, his expression somber as he scratched his chin, deep in thought.

His vertical slits slowly shifted back into normal, circular irises, and he smiled brightly, as if nothing had happened before.

"Well, I guess I should pay that witch a visit next," he muttered to himself.

Just as Samyaza was about to flicker away, he paused. His smile twisted into something far more malevolent.

"Before, I was just after a 3v3 to keep Clover in check while Spade and I got ready. But... perhaps I should find a way to tip the scales in our favor."

He repeated the thought, his eyes flickering with playful mischief.

"Perhaps."

Samyaza shrugged his shoulders, his gaze distant. "I'll need some time to think about it first."

With that, the fallen angel flickered away, vanishing in a blur once more.

—

Author's Notes:

[1] Please note that Lilith (Draven's wife) is not to be confused with Lilith, the 9th-ranking Supreme Devil of the Underworld.

[2] Although my exams are over, I'm currently fasting for Ramadan, so I'm feeling lazy and tired. Updates may be less frequent and will depend on my mood.

[3] As always, feel free to join the Discord: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar