There were laws written into the Universe, or, if you were good enough, small-scale Multiverse.
Like the Seventh and her Domain of Life Creation, like the Great Sage and her Domain of All Viewing, like Hades and his Domain of the Thrice Dead Judgement, Odin and his Domain of Valhalla’s Golden, God and his Domain of Eden, Myrrdin and his Domain of the Dreamborns, Azrael and his Domain of Respite Drinking-
Those who redefined the word Power all had this power: to either create or claim their own Universe, then rewrite the laws of reality at a whim.
There was only one rule in the Domain of Kaleidoscopic Infinity that belonged to the true entity labeled Lucifer. One law that was personally ascribed to Space, Time, and Existence as a phenomenon.
None that desire life may die.
For those known as Devils, a race born from Lucifer’s own blood, this only benefitted them. They were, by definition, not beings that were limited by the flesh, but rather the desire and sins that poured out from their very soul. Yet in any hierarchical society, there was always a simple rule. There were those that reigned with an iron fist at the top…
“Salifiel, your posture is awful. You have one second.” His mother said as she put down her tea cup onto the coaster.
And those that scraped by at the bottom.
The young Devil tried to figure out what was wrong. Was his left hand holding the cup wrong? Was it wrong to place his right arm in his lap? Was his back not straight enough? Hazarding a guess, he tried to straighten out his back more, but-
The remnants of his left arm splattered across the rich green walls.
Ah, he thought blankly, so he was holding the cup wrong.
Then suddenly, agony.
It wracked his body. It burned and ate through him as if someone had injected liquid fire into his veins. Tears swam in his eyes but he blinked them out before they could show, even as he knew what would come next.
His mother frowned. “Tears?” She asked, disappointed. “You are Devil, not human, Salifiel. Two seconds.”
He tried to wipe his face, but after being trained to instinctively use his left hand in all things, the loss of it unbalanced him. He brought up his right hand to wipe away his tears but-
Darkness.
It was all he could see after a blast of magic wind burst through his hand, puncturing straight through as it pierced straight through his eyes and out the back of his head.
It was only because he was a Devil that he survived it. His biology didn’t prevent the pain like sharp nails embedding themselves through his skull from driving him to the floor, his mother carefully levitating the emerald table out of the way so he wouldn’t scratch it when his head would smack against the jewels.
She looked down coldly at him writhing in pain. “Too weak to fight, too talentless for magic, too stupid to learn propriety, and born of the wrong Sin. Have you not yet understood? Vespar's results in the war are the only reason our House still stands as respectable.”
She stepped on his neck, her heel cutting off his cries and turning them into gasping wheezes. He grabbed her foot to try to pull it off, and her glare deepened. “How it’s possible for someone as worthless as you to descend from the genes of both Focalor and Naberius simply baffles me. Your father takes too gentle a hand to you, allowing you to still live in House rather than throwing you in with the slaves. Perhaps then you can understand what you’ve lacked.”
“...l…ck…ch.” Salifiel whispered out even through the heels choking him. His mother’s eyes lit up in hope, taking away her heel slightly to allow him to talk, hoping to hear him beg for mercy. To apologize for his mistakes.
Her hope quickly died as the eyeless corpse beneath her grinned a bloody smile. “I said, I’ll be back, you insane bitch.”
Levius Naberius-Focalor, descendant of the Naberius household, wife to Hell Prince Avant Focalor, mother to internationally recognized super soldier Vespar Focalor, only gazed on with an empty look as she raised her hand to Salifiel Focalor and lit him aflame.
There were screams. Then there were ashes on the floor. The only thing left was a mother calmly waving to her servants for another cup of tea, and a maid coming in to sweep up the evidence of the casualty, all too used to the daily events of the Focalor Household.
-------
Salifiel woke up in his bed with a gasp, tossing off his sheets and quickly checking over his body.
One of the five maids in his room bowed to him, her face blank as she addressed the shame of the House. “Good evening, my lord. Three hours and three minutes passed since your last demise; nearly a new record of yours. Please be cautious of checking yourself over with your right hand. Your mother will not hesitate to punish you for such impropriety.”
He snorted. “As if my mother would hesitate to kill me for any small matter she deems a slight.”
He got up and stretched, his bones popping almost humanly as he did so, all too used to his revival to be worrying over something as small as Death. Confirming his revival, all but one of the maids left his room to go report to his mother that she had once again failed in killing him permanently.
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A small look of worry burnt through the otherwise empty gaze of the only maid left. “My lord, I understand it’s not my place, but would you not give your mother what she wants? Even just a few words…”
A snarl ripped out of him at the thought. “I’d rather die thousands of more times before I give in to her.”
The maid flinched back, cowering at his rage.
He turned his head to the side, brushing her off as he headed into the washroom, yet another item pilfered off of human innovation for all that the Noble Houses sneered at humans as beneath themselves. He used a towel on the handrail to angrily brush over his face. If he wanted any water, he’d have to go fetch it since he couldn’t magic up any himself. Of course, there’s the problem of actually finding decent bathing water in Hell of all places…
Another small trick to break him, to make him ask for assistance. Constant dehydration was a pain to deal with as well, but luckily enough he was usually never alive long enough for it to actually be the thing to kill him, not unless his mother was being particularly kind that week.
Speaking of small tricks… “You, human.”
“Yes, my lord?” The maid he snapped at before immediately responded, quickly bowing to him.
“You’re new here, correct? Don’t get close to me.”
“Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord.”
He sighed, debating if he wanted to leave it at that. Still, it left a bad taste in his mouth to leave yet another unaware plaything for his mother to fool around with. “Don’t speak to me unless ordered, constantly stand a distance away from me, and do not make any eye contact with me. The colder you treat me, the better. Else, my mother might just kill you in front of me, and I’d rather not have blood on my clothes. She’s not as fond of emotional torture as my father, but she’s not one to shy away from it either.”
The girl was pale, as if she hadn’t considered the idea. “You mean to say…”
“Black, long hair.” He said distractedly, changing out of the fittingly black clothes he had revived with into something more rich, fitting for him. “Kind disposition, blue eyes, pretty face, it’s some of the traits most maids assigned to me have. The girl I was attracted to back when I was a child had the same; she thinks it might help either sway or convince me to stop this ‘rebellious attitude’ if she kills them enough times in front of me.” Black hair and blue eyes might not be too hard to find, but it was unsurprisingly hard to find a decently kind person in Hell, especially after a few rounds of the constant death and revival cycle, but that’s where being a Noble House came in handy. Or unhandy for him at least.
The maid, if pale before, now looked like one of those Vampires he had heard lived in the dark side of Camelot. It was honestly somewhat amusing. “That’s…”
“Take care to be wary of the other staff members as well,” he said, suddenly remembering that bit. “Most of them will probably be closed off, for understandable reasons. Still, Mother has ears among them.”
She didn’t respond that time, and he glanced at her, confused. She in turn was staring, wide-eyed at him, probably because he was as naked as the day he was born.
“Like what you see?” He joked macabrely, understanding it wasn’t much to look at. Just because Devil physiology was in the mix didn’t mean the negative aspects of reflecting the human physique so perfectly went away, especially considering what happened when one didn’t eat for too long as a human.
He was disturbingly thin, though thankfully not thin enough to be considered literally starving. He still had some image to maintain any time his parents couldn’t avoid bringing him outside the manor for some political party or another, and not being able to even carry himself would have brought some negative points to them. It was the scars that could be easily covered by clothes that were probably disturbing her the most.
“How…” He raised an eyebrow, confused. How did he survive this? It wasn’t exactly possible to die in Hell unless one quite literally had no attachment to being alive anymore.
“How could she do this to her own son?” She viciously asked, literally biting down on her words as she spoke, her tone was so outraged.
That… was a rather surprising question to ask. Wasn’t it obvious? “We’re Devils, girl. Besides, this isn’t even close to as bad as what I’ve seen some humans do to their children. Now that’s what I call disturbing.”
Her eyes didn’t leave him even with the quip, making him increasingly uncomfortable before he realized. “Oh, could it be you’re new to Hell in general? That’s rare. Father must be getting into one of his desperate moods to get you straight from the initial pickings; I’ll have to be careful. Mother is usually more temperamental then.” He mused, before shaking his head. “Don’t worry, a few spin cycles in the whole revival bit will take care of that pesky empathy problem for you. You’ll be fine.”
“Still…” The girl struggled with her words, for reasons beyond his understanding. “Why would she?”
“Do you not know?”
She shook her head. “I’ve heard your mother wants you to say something, but…”
“Ah.” He hummed, his throat getting uncomfortably tight. “It’s… complicated.”
It was the true reason why his mother constantly killed him, the true reason his father allowed him to still live in the house, and the true reason why his siblings could never understand him.
“The house of Focalor is famed in power all due to its grand sin of envy. The envy for the strong, envy for the most powerful, that’s something that could only be understood by the weak, and that forms a drive to become stronger. Additionally, the stronger the influence of a particular sin, the stronger the Devil. Theoretically at least.”
It was a lot more complicated than that. There needed to be Luck too, with the strongest Devils being born with plenty of it, literally the Devil’s Luck coming into play. The Luck to be born with a strong body, with a strong talent for magic, with a sharp mind, with connections and riches, with a preferable Sin, and that was just the very starting stages of life. The stronger the sin, the more potential a Devil had. Transforming that potential to real results was a completely different ball game, and something that required a lot of Devil’s Luck.
That was something he lacked in spades. “Too weak to throw a punch, too talentless to conjure up a simple spell, too stupid to learn when to quit,” is his father's favorite saying when it came to him.
“And… you have no sin?” She asked, skeptically. He snorted at that too. A Devil with no sin; that was an absurd idea.
“Oh no, I have plenty of sin.” He shook his head with a grin, continuing to put on his clothes. “Just the wrong kind. Envy, there’s always been something I hated about it. If you have envy, you acknowledge someone as your better.”
“No.” He shook his head again. “That simply isn’t right.” A pull on the dark green coat, one that he quickly buttoned up. “From the day I was born, I understood that there was no one better than me. Where my siblings were all born with the House Sin of Envy, I was born with the unnatural, un-Focalorish, sin of Pride.”
A swish, and his black cloak layered on top of his green coat flapped. Perfect. Just like all the theater dramas he had always adored to watch whenever he snuck out of the house after being revived as a child.
“In all the Universes,” He calmly stated. “From Hell, to Helheim, to the Nine Realms Odin covets so much, to all the Realms Humanity has conquered, to the eternal sea of stars that lay within the confines of the Multiverse, there is none greater than I.”
She stared at him, completely bewildered by the sheer amount of self-worth displayed by someone so easily killed before. He cracked another small smile at it.
“In essence, from the time I could speak, my mother has wished me to acknowledge them as my betters, to forcefully break my pride and make me more attached to Envy by proving herself stronger constantly. Similarly, my father tries to break me with small irritations over time, gifting my siblings more so that I would become envious of what they have. More presents, more training, more luxuries, more food, anything they could desire they would have, if only to make me jealous. They want to break me, and that is something I will never, ever, do.”
“That…” The girl muttered, before seemingly nodding to herself, looking up with far more determined eyes. “That’s something I can understand.”
“I’d say I’d be glad to gain an ally,” He drawled out. “But I know better. Remember to keep to my advice. Don’t stay close to me.”
With that said, Salifiel burst out through the wash doors, quickly heading out of the doors of his bedroom as well. He stalked down the halls, intent on heading out of the mansion before he faltered when he heard steps closely walking by him.
He glanced at her, the maid who was keeping pace too damn close to him, irritated. “Are you stupid, girl? If you want to die, there are easier ways to do so than torture.”
The maid shrugged, as if confused, but her eyes showed her steel obviously enough. “You said it was your advice before. I’m simply rejecting your advice, my Lord.”
He chuckled. “I said no such thing. Lying already? Well, perhaps you’re a better fit for Hell than I thought.” A moment’s pause, before he cracked the question. “What is your name?”
“Alicia, my Lord.”
“Alicia, huh…” He mused on it, nodding after. "Prove to me you're worth remembering."
Too weak to throw a punch, too talentless to conjure up a simple spell, too stupid to learn when to quit, and perhaps just lucky enough to gain an ally deep in the bowels of the Domain of Lucifer, the Devil of Pride quietly simmered on his plan to kill his family and take over Hell.