Nihiles: The oldest group of beings in the world, some claiming that they are older than God himself. Information is scarce due to the lack of contact and what little information we know comes from Heaven itself. They used to be masters of the world, until God segregated the world into 3 parts in Genesis, theirs being called Pandora. For that, they hold a grudge against everything else in the universe, especially Heaven. They comprise of 7 races: Serpents, Ghouls, Demons, Devils, Goblins, Wraiths and Succubi, each led by 1 lord to form the 7 Lords of Pandora. It was these 7 Nihile Lords that led the invasion that triggered Exodus, and it is said their powers combined are more than a match for God himself.
Chapter 4: Worst Birthday Party. Ever.
Falvius takes a deep breath and exhales, fixing his eyes forwards to the massive set of wooden doors in front of him. It is probably twenty times his height, with long metal strips holding the huge wooden planks together.
Strange, he’s only now noticed that the bolts securing the planks to the metal have a ram’s head on it, with the horns curved backwards.
His grandfather’s symbol.
What is he doing here anyway?
It is his seventeenth Birthday for hell’s sake.
He should’ve been at home, eating a birthday cake and spending the whole day just dicking around with his friends. He heard the House of Bael has just gotten its own natural hot spring. That would’ve been a sweet way to spend his birthday. Together with his buddies, drinking in the hot water, enjoying themselves as hot girls in swimsuits dip themselves into the same pool of hot water as them. He can feel himself burning up as he visualizes the Bael twins in bikinis. Wow. That would’ve been awesome.
The blissful expression he wears morphs into one of resignation.
But noooo, old Gramps just has to have a major, official, formal pain-in-the-ass ceremony in his palace. The guest list has over a thousand people.
Including Lord Bael.
Adjusting his ceremonial robes, he wonders if Lord Bael would mind him tagging along to the Bael Manor afterwards to enjoy the hot spring. There is no doubt he will be in need of one after the whole affair is over. Nihile ceremonies are either too boring, or way too exciting, he felt.
Either they stood in one place for hours listening to some old dude prattle on, or some battle would erupt and a bloodbath would take place.
He sincerely hopes the latter will not take place today.
He frowns; he can’t ignore the feeling that something bad is going to happen today. This is an awful lot of fuss for his birthday, even if he is one of the Princes of Pandora. He is certain that the others did not have a celebration just short of a national holiday on their seventeenth birthdays.
His musings are cut short when he hears the trumpets begin.
The sound of fanfare is the cue that the procession is about to begin, and he immediately straightens.
He looks around, giving nods of acknowledgements to the rest: four butlers to carry flags bearing the Satan and Astaroth symbols, and two maids behind him: one holding his very long robe/cape, the other holding some crown?
He isn’t sure what it is for though – his father had said it was a surprise.
He has a bad feeling about this surprise.
Then, with a massive whoosh, the massive doors swing open and the grand entrance music by the band flanking him begins to play.
He is almost overwhelmed by the sight before him.
Rows upon rows of guests, many of whom he recognizes, sit on each side of the central aisle of the hall. There are military leaders, celebrities, heirs and heads of noble houses. All here just for him.
Banners are draped along the walls at the side, with confetti being shot from the gallery on the second floor. Suddenly he feels so small and unimportant even though he is the star of the show today.
At the raised platform at the end of the aisle, on gilded thrones, sits three people. There is a fourth empty throne in front of them meant for him. He frowns. It isn’t as impressive as the others, barely any gold, and there are no precious stones embedded in his seat. His father and mother sit at each side, looking at him with pride.
But the real attention grabber is the middle person. On a throne so grand it makes the other two look like stools, sits his grandfather.
Satan himself. Appearance-wise, the Demon Lord looks a lot like his son – Falvius’ father: the short black hair, long side burns. The beard each wears is almost identical, well groomed but yet not too short. Despite their similarities, there is one difference between them that is as stark as day and night. Grandfather Satan seems to have a perpetual scowl on his face, even on his grandson’s birthday. Duke Magnus Satan on the other hand, preferred to look pleasant to the eye, sporting a grin or smile as he is now.
Unlike his parents, old gramps is shooting him an expecting look. The subtle beckoning with his finger is all it takes. Come.
Might as well get this over and done with, Falvius sighs to himself.
Bracing himself, he takes his first step.
Over one thousand people get to their feet and started to applaud and cheer. The sound is monstrous – he can’t even hear himself think. But still, all this trouble for little old him? This is too much of a hassle.
And to think that he still has countless birthdays ahead (hopefully, if he doesn’t die young).
Nihiles don’t really have a natural life span. They are natural shape shifters, and why be old when you can be eternally young?
Walking forward, he keeps his gaze fixed on his grandfather. He knows, to his grandfather, that this is as much a celebration as it is a trial of strength. To be able to receive the stares of thousands without faltering in one’s step is the first requirement of leading a House. And an entire race.
Satan gives a nod of approval, and he feels relief wash over him internally.
He passed. Yay.
That doesn’t mean he feels at ease though; he is still a nervous wreck inside.
Who knew walking can be so difficult when a thousand people are watching your every step? He is certain the media will have a field day if he trips and falls.
He can imagine it now, the headlines reading: Prince Falvius of Pandora wears briefs!
Did he mention the Demon Ceremonial robes involved skirts?
His father preferred calling them battle kilts, but a skirt is a skirt.
He takes solace in the clapping and cheers. If the people around him believe he can walk 150 paces without faltering, then so can he.
After what feels like an eternity of walking, he finally reaches the platform.
But he can’t sit down yet. Oh nooo, the fun’s just begun; there are formalities to do.
He kneels to the master of his House, his grandfather first, and the hall grows quiet.
“Lord Satan”
“Prince Falvius Astaroth, you may rise.”
Then his parents.
Daddy first: “Duke Satan.”
Then Mommy: “Duchess Astaroth.”
“Rise, my son, and take you seat.”
Thanks Dad.
As he makes his way to his not-to-impressive throne, he rolls his eyes. He hates formalities. They are so… boring and unnecessary. A birthday song will have sufficed.
This, he looks at the hall filled with people from all over Pandora, the glass and crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the twenty-man band resting at the back.
This is overkill.
At least he’ll be getting a lot of presents if the numbers are anything to go by. Maybe he’ll get a hot spring.
“Ladies and Gentlemen”
He almost goes deaf instead.
Normal people used microphones. His grandfather used magic to amplify his voice - Projection. He frowns, that particular technique is very draining and makes people sound much sterner and much more important than they actually are, and thus only reserved in the grandest of occasions. Is his birthday that important?
A thousand pair of eyes shift their attention from him to Lord Satan behind him, and he has to resist the temptation to turn around and watch his grandfather speak.
“Before I begin, I would like to personally thank the following for taking time off their busy schedules and gracing us with their presence.”
What? Gramps never thanks anyone. To him, everyone is beneath him. Except for the original Nihile Lords of course, like great-grandfather, who probably got blown to smithereens during Exodus or something.
Oh, and there are the other…
No. Falvius’ eyes widens in shock as recognizes the 6 people sitting in the very front row.
No. Why are they here? He’s never seen all of 7 them gather together before in public, except for during the Anathema. He hopes that they remained in their humanoid forms, for the sole purpose of keeping his grandfather’s palace intact.
There is no way he is that important… is there?
“Lady Asmodeus, Queen of the Succubi”
Said Lady stands up, acknowledges his Grandfather, before turning to the crowd and blowing kisses towards them.
The crowd loves it, bursting into cheers and applause at the display. Serah Asmodeus is a rather popular performer when she isn’t destroying cities or performing her Nihile Lord duties.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Seeing her up close, he can see why she is so well loved. Long blonde hair that almost reaches her hips, and emerald green eyes that lures anyone who stares into them. The skintight dress she is wearing only accentuates her killer body, showing off her curves in all the right places.
Too bad she is like… a couple thousand years older than him.
The loud sound of a certain Nihile Lord behind him clearing his throat sends the crowd back into silence, and Asmodeus gives one last wave before sitting down, satisfied at the warm welcome she has received.
Falvius pouts a little. Thunder stealer… Today is his Birthday, not one of her concerts, but he has to keep his annoyance concealed, for fear she turns him into a pile of dust.
His grandfather continues,
“Lord Belphegor, Goblin King”
This time there is no fanfare or grand gestures. Belphegor simply stands up then sits back down.
Short and sweet, he likes it. Though as to why he is wearing armor in a formal ceremony like this, he cannot fathom. Perhaps the man is simply prepared for the eventuality that the ceremony degrades into a bloodbath. He shivers at the thought. A battlefield where all 7 Nihile Lords are present? Maybe they’ll name the resulting crater after him, seeing how it is his birthday party and all.
“Lord Lucifer, Leader of the devils, the stupidest one of them all”
The one known as the most cunning of the Seven Lords sits asleep in his seat, much to the chagrin of his grandfather, who has mumbled the last part out of spite. He hopes nobody else heard it.
Falvius shrugs, he is in no position to judge the strongest beings in Pandora, at least Lucifer came. The redheaded Lord is even wearing an elegant suit. Just for li’l old him. That is enough in his book.
“Lord Beelzebub, Ruler of the Ghouls”
Now this is a man who knows his priorities. Dressed in a plain T-shirt and shorts, the pudgy man merely grunts in acknowledgement before continuing to talk to Belphegor.
Pragmatic? Or just plain lazy? Regardless, it shows just how little the man cares for the ceremony.
His Birthday Ceremony.
Whatever the case, it reminds Falvius just how insignificant he is in the presence of the leaders of Pandora. He is… an insect compared to them.
“Lord Mammon, Wraith Lord”
No response, and he is surprised the man (child?) even came. Mammon may wear the body of a 10-year-old child, but the bloodthirsty gaze he wears all the time reveals the monster that lives within. Mammon is a true monster, not just in power, but within whatever miniscule cold thing he calls a heart. There is a reason why screams of agony are often heard emanating from his palace.
“Lord Leviathan. Dragon King”
At this, it seems the whole hall holds their breath. Leviathan… is a special case, even amongst the Nihile Lords. Serpents, or dragons, by themselves are already monsters by their own right, with juveniles already capable of destroying a small mountain. He hasn’t seen Leviathan’s power first hand, but it’s said that he makes the average adult Serpent look like an earthworm in comparison.
What power.
Even from his throne, Falvius can feel that Leviathan gives off a different aura from the rest.
From where he sits, Leviathan smiles at him, showing off his set of rather sharp teeth. The slit-like serpent eyes studies him, and Falvius can feel the sweat starting to form on his forehead. He is afraid of course, but he cannot show it.
Instead, he tries his best to level his own stare against the Dragon King, prompting Leviathan to raise an eyebrow in mild curiosity.
The man doesn’t look old at all, despite having silver-white hair, and is dressed only slightly more formally than Beelzebub.
Jeans and a button-up shirt.
Better than showing up in his 100 metre long dragon form, he supposes.
His lean form only hides the power that can raze entire armies to the ground. This is the poster boy of Nihile power, the one even Apostles keep their distance from. This is also Eve’s father.
And Falvius is trying to win a staring contest with him. Not exactly his smartest idea, but hey,
It’s his birthday. He can do whatever the hell he wants.
“Now that introductions have been made, today is my grandson’s, Prince Falvius Astaroth’s, 17th birthday and, as I’m sure all of you know, it marks his first step to adulthood.”
The birthday boy really can’t understand why 17 is the legal age of adulthood when the average age of the common Nihile comprised 3 or 4 digits. Like… can’t they have postponed it to like a hundred or something? He isn’t looking forward to his responsibilities, especially since he is the heir to the Satan and the Astaroth line. Again, he wishes he has siblings. Or cousins.
At least now he can wash down those responsibilities with alcohol… so life isn’t that bad as it seems.
“As you know, my grandson’s status as the prodigy in combat and battle is famed throughout the land.”
Really? is he that famous?
As the undefeated champion of the Junior Nihile Combat Games for 5 years, I have seen his strength, and found it nothing short of remarkable, if not downright amazing for one so young.”
Oh stop it Grandpa, you’re making me feel shy.
“Is there anyone here that would object to my assessment of Prince Falvius Astaroth?”
Murmurs break through the crowd, and he even sees the other Nihile Lords talking amongst themselves, some nodding their heads, and pride swells within him. Then again, maybe they aren’t even talking about him.
Then as fast it comes, the murmurs disappear and silence reigns once again. But no one speaks up.
Of course, Falvius scoffs internally, speaking out means objecting to 1 of 7 Nihile Lords, which is simply put, a death wish.
His grandfather continues speaking, listing out his numerous heroic exploits and achievements while pointing out the admirable qualities and traits he has displayed. Slowly, he zones out under the constant barrage of praise and compliments until he hears this:
“As a measure of the trust and confidence we have in him, We, the 7 Lords of Pandora are granting him the title of Pillar General, and he will be leading the advance force into Sol in 2 weeks time, where he will be key in ensuring a monumental victory like our takeover of Eden.”
What.
Firstly, how is the takeover of Eden a monumental victory? The entire of the invading force was wiped out, meaning the most experienced 70% of their population - including the original 7 sins are dead, one of whom was his great grandfather. It is a Pyrrhic victory at best.
Secondly,
-wait.
Falvius’ train of thought grinds to a screeching halt as he recounts what his grandfather said seconds earlier.
What was the first part he said?
Pillar General? Leading advance force?
2 WEEKS TIME?!
The next thing he knows, his father has walked up behind him and he feels a weight placed on his head. He reaches up and plucks it off only to find a crown in his hands, the one the maid had been carrying on the pillow earlier.
He recognizes it now.
It is the symbol of a Pillar General, the highest rank in the Nihile armies.
The crown they wear to war.
He slowly puts it back, except this time his hands are shaking.
No.
Oh noooo.
Is this the surprise?
Because this is a terrible surprise.
It’s a joke, right? A harmless prank?
But the faces on the Nihile Lords’ faces are dead serious.
This is ridiculous. He has no experience leading anybody, much less an army.
Aren’t prior experience and some kind of qualification necessary for this kind of thing? How was the crowd going to let a seventeen year old boy with no credentials lead an army?
Then he realizes, his grandfather has just listed them out.
Slowly, as Satan’s words slowly sink into the now silence-stunned crowd, one line of thinking keeps repeating in his mind as he sits on his little throne with his pretty little crown atop his head.
He is going to war.
He is a Pillar General and he will be leading the advance force to Sol.
In 2 weeks time.
The first audience member who returns to his senses stands up.
And starts applauding. Tens, then hundreds followed suit, and soon the entire hall is on their feet, cheering and applauding for him – even the Nihile Lords join in, though the smiles on their faces seem way more malicious than the rest. But he sees a few in their audience – his friends – still on their seats, their faces still stuck in shock, eye wide and mouths agape. Just like him.
Stop. I don’t want this.
“Hail, Prince Falvius Astaroth, 42nd Pillar General”
And then they kneel, which comforts him a little. But not enough to make him forget that he is now a goddamned (literally) general who is leading an army to war.
There is no backing out of this.
It is all for this moment he realizes, the overkill ceremony, the gathering of the 7 Nihile Lords as well: to make sure he cannot refuse.
He cannot not publicly refuse an order from the Seven Lords – even death is a better alternative.
And it seems that just might be the case.
He is going to war.
He is a Pillar General and he will be leading the advance force to Sol.
In 2 weeks time.
Why can’t he just have cake and a birthday song? He’s even willing to skip out the Bael Manor’s hot springs. Instead, he gets this. A bloody promotion and an order to go to war in Sol. This is going to mess up his plans a little.
He’s basically just gotten a death order for his birthday.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck.