Diabolus in musica. If you don't live in a cave or aren't a complete musical ignoramus, you've likely heard this term. It refers to the tritone-a musical interval spanning three whole tones-which was banned in medieval Europe. The church deemed it diabolical, sinister, and corrupting due to its dissonance. The tritone's effect is particularly fascinating, creating feelings of anxiety and unease in listeners, as it demands resolution.
But to label an interval 'diabolical' simply because it's discordant is, at best, peculiar. Still, if you've read this far, warrior of the golden sword, you may have begun to grasp the truth. The Diabolus in musica-the devil in music-does indeed exist. Yet, it isn't confined to a mere arrangement of notes. It could never be explained by something so simple.
No, it's there, woven into actions and interactions, playing in your dreams, invading your thoughts. It lingers, relentless, because the consequences of sin-your sin-can never truly fade. The devil in music will not grant you peace.
6. Diabolus in musica.
At Veildark Records, Kain sat in his office on the second floor of the record company.
The office, though not massive, was tailored perfectly to suit its occupant's unique needs. The walls were elegantly adorned with rich red fabric, exuding warmth and sophistication. A bookshelf lined with Braille books took up one corner, its contents meticulously organized. Above, a birdcage hung from the ceiling, reserved for Greasy. In the center of the room stood a sturdy wooden desk, its surface marred by claw marks from the crow. Each drawer was equipped with metal plates inscribed in Braille, allowing Kain to identify their contents.
A shelf displayed various trinkets, while the walls were decorated with a mix of memorabilia: classic posters of legendary Hellish artists and other striking artifacts. The centerpiece of the room, however, was a framed gold record displayed behind a glass case with a padlock, illuminated by a small light. It was Kain Longheart's first major achievement, earned nearly 50 years ago for the album Sinful Sides of Me. The accompanying album cover depicted a grinning Kain lounging on the hood of a burning limousine, his head resting on his cane.
Behind the desk, a window offered a clear view of the canal that ran in front of the record company. The floor was designed with subtle, smoother inclines to prevent Kain from inadvertently walking into the walls. Though the office was pristine and extravagantly arranged, Kain often dismissed its aesthetic as unnecessary, arguing that his blindness rendered it irrelevant. Ronnie, however, countered that the lavish design wasn't for Kain but for the demons visiting the office, ensuring they felt surrounded by luxury.
Kain now sat in a comfortable armchair behind his desk, speaking on the phone. Beside him, Greasy perched on a red bird stand attached to the armchair, occasionally scratching the underside of his wings with the beak.
"Yes, sir, of course the concert will go ahead as scheduled, but I can't just force the artist to sign a guarantee contract. We're a record label, not a law firm," Kain said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "No, the sponsorship value has already been agreed upon. No, we do not accept payment in pizza."
"Caw! I accept," Greasy interjected, leaning closer to Kain with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Shut up, Greasy, I'm in the middle of a call," Kain snapped, then quickly addressed the phone. "No, not you, Mortiali-it's my... associate beside me. Look, you can't just change the payment method for a contract that's already been signed."
He paused, listening with growing irritation, before cutting in. "Alright, let me explain it clearly, and I'm only going to say this once: the concert already has a date and location. You've seen the pictures-it's that beautiful beach in the Solis district. Yes, it's expensive, but it's worth every sin-drenched penny."
Kain shifted in his chair, his tone softening slightly. "Do I intend to expand my operations beyond Hell's Gate City? Sure, but that's... complicated right now. What matters is this: I deeply appreciate your decision to sponsor Emizie's next concert. You can rest assured, this is not a scam. No, there's no hidden agenda, just old good business. Any other concerns? No? Great. Goodbye."
He hung up the phone and exhaled deeply, running a hand over his face as if trying to shake off the stress.
"I don't even like pizza that much; I prefer lasagna."
"I eat everything," Greasy responded with a hint of pride.
"I know, Greasy, I know," Kain replied, placing his hands on the bird and gently petting him. "Cute crow."
Greasy's eyes snapped open, and he looked at Kain angrily, pushing his hand away with a sharp nudge.
"I'm not cute! I'm a powerful demon!" Greasy retorted, flapping his wings dramatically.
"If you were even a third the size of the Prince of Goetia, maybe you were more intimidating," Kain shot back with a smirk.
"Are you saying I couldn't hurt you just because of my size?"
"Wow, we have a Sherlock Holmes here," Kain replied with a slight laugh.
Greasy huffed angrily and leapt onto Kain's face, pecking him ferociously.
"Stop pecking me, idiot!" Kain shouted, trying to hold back the crow that was pecking him.
Kain lost his balance and fell off the chair, but he finally managed to immobilize Greasy by pressing him against the floor.
"Ha, I got you, I win."
"Caw! Let me go, caw!" Greasy kicked his bird feet, beak pressed against the floor.
Kain laughed and released him, and Greasy stood up, shaking his feathers.
"Next time I will win," Greasy declared, flying up and landing on Kain's head.
"I'm sure you will," Kain replied with a smirk getting up from the floor.
Kain then hears knocking on the door.
"Hey Kain, now that the day is over, is there any way we can go to that hot dog stand?"
"No," Kain replied, moving towards the door.
"Why?" Greasy asked.
"Because I don't want to. I'm sleepy. Today was a very tiring day, talking to fans and broken studios..."
Kain opened the door.
"KAIN!!!!!" Ronnie exclaimed, opening his arms and hugging him.
"Ronnie, enough, we just met."
"I know, I know... So how was the conversation with Mortiali? I'm sure this show is going to be amazing! Half of the tickets are already sold out," Ronnie said excitedly.
"I spent almost an hour explaining the obvious to an Italian demon," Kain said, rubbing his face. "Seriously, is this the best sponsorship you've gotten for this show?"
"Kain, you need to understand that folk music isn't very popular here. No big brand will sponsor it, and not every artist will have all the support from the world of sponsors even those linked to Veildark Records, making them stars is our job but everyone starts at the bottom. That's part of the process. But leaving that aside, I spoke to Miss Lumiere about Luxuria Mundi's marketing plan, and she has something good to show."
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"E-Exactly, I think I've come up with something good," Lumiere responds, carrying some presentation boards.
"Well, It's almost the end of my shift, but... Ok, come in," Kain says, stepping aside to let the demons pass.
As they enter, Kain closes the door and sits back in his chair. Ronnie, instead of sitting down, leans against one of the walls, while Lumiere sets up the presentation boards on the stand. Greasy flies off Kain's head and enters his cage.
Lumiere clears her throat and adjusts her posture, adopting a more serious demeanor.
"As you know, recently, Lenian signed a contract with our record label for a Heavy Metal band that's very popular in the underground rock scene of Hell's Gate City," she says in a professional tone, using a pen to point at the board. The board features a drawing highlighting a region in the Solis district known as Villa Inferious, a poorer area within the residential district.
Kain listened to the situation with a wide, closed-mouth smile, while pretending to look at the board that he didn't know where it was.
"That's why I believe it's crucial to focus the band's marketing on this area, not on the more upscale parts of the city, obviously. With Luxuria Mundi under contract, we can leverage their appeal to promote the band within the underground scene of the Pride Ring, expanding their popularity beyond Hell's Gate City. Now, you might ask me how we accomplish that."
"How to do it, caw!" Greasy chimes in from his cage.
"Let's be honest, they'll never agree to perform on those overly fancy stages, so the key word here-one that has been repeated before-is..." She pulls out the first presentation board and declares, "Underground.", Pointing to a picture of the band with the pen.
"Underground? You mean, like... hmmm, spreading the record label's name through the suburbs?" Kain asked.
"Exactly," Lumiere replied with confidence. "We'll build the band's popularity like an ant colony-starting with the outskirts of Hell's Gate City. Little by little, even the rich will want to know what all the buzz is about. This is called Guerrilla Marketing. We won't take the band out of their comfort zone; instead, we'll brand their name into it."
"Are you done?" Kain asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," Lumiere confirmed, standing tall.
Kain and Ronnie began clapping.
"Thank you," Lumiere replied, bowing slightly.
"But... this isn't just up to me. We need to talk to the band directly about this. We'll take advantage of their visit tomorrow to discuss it further. From what I see, though, you've got a solid plan, Miss Lumiere. I suppose all those years in show business really paid off."
"Thank you, boss," Lumiere said with a proud smile.
Kain stood up, walked toward the door, and opened it.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go kill myself again," he said nonchalantly.
Greasy flew out of his cage and landed on Kain's shoulder, following him out.
Kain walked through the halls of Veildark Records, heading toward the stairs. Upon reaching them, he placed his hand on the railing and began descending carefully, with Greasy perched on his shoulder.
"Caw! It's gonna be really cool seeing demons coming here to learn about your career. This museum idea is really nice," Greasy commented, flapping his wings lightly for balance.
"I just hope no one steals anything," Kain replied, moving slowly down the stairs, his grip firm on the metal railing.
After several steps, Kain reached the reception area and adjusted his glasses. He wasn't alone. Cinder Lune, the receptionist, was tidying up the desk to wrap up her day, as Lenian leaned back against the reception desk trying to look cool. Rash, the spider demon studio technician, was engrossed in a conversation with a robotic Hellhound. The Hellhound had sleek gray metallic skin, no fur or clothing, two large red eyes on its face, and sharp, menacing teeth.
Luvenna, the artist manager, was also present, observing Rash as he worked on the Hellhound's left arm.
"I've told you not to carry so much weight on your own, RB40! Do you want to destroy the hydraulic connection in your arm?" Rash scolded the Hellhound while unscrewing a metal plate from its damaged limb. "I specifically asked you to split the new recording booth window into three parts to make it easier to transport. But no, you just had to carry all three pieces at once. And now look-your arm's blown out! I've warned you a thousand times to take it easy with the old hydraulic joints while I design the new mechanical ones."
Frustrated, Rash finished his tirade by lightly smacking the Hellhound's metallic head with the palm of his hand, producing a loud clang. "Idiot," he muttered.
"I apologize, sir. I believe I miscalculated and overlooked some variables," the Hellhound said in a metallic, robotic voice. Its mouth remained motionless as it spoke.
"It doesn't matter what matters is that you are still operational," Rash replied, waving off the apology.
"Understood, sir," RB40 said, tilting its head forward slightly in acknowledgment.
"Relax, everything will be fine," Rash reassured, his tone softening.
He unscrewed a metal plate from the Hellhound's arm, holding it in one of his extra left hands while gripping a wrench in the other. Leaning closer, he examined the hydraulic mechanism and quickly spotted a leak in the hose. Reaching into the front pocket of his engineer's robes, Rash retrieved a roll of duct tape. He tore off a piece with his teeth and carefully applied it over the hole.
"You didn't lose much fluid; this should hold for now," Rash said, stepping back and screwing the metal plate back into place. With the repairs done, he released the robot's arm.
"Does this happen often?" Luvenna asked, eyeing the robot curiously.
"When you're dealing with hydraulic mechanics, it certainly does. But RB is a smart robot-I know because I designed it myself, from the ground up," Rash replied, his tone tinged with pride.
"But why the hell a Hellhound? You could've made it look like anything. Why choose a Hellhound?"
"We're in Hell, Luvenna. I figured it fit the theme," Rash said with a shrug. "Besides, Hellhound starts with Hell."
"So, Miss Lune, I was out in town and happened to end up at the cinema," Lenian began, leaning casually on the counter. "There's this new action film everyone's been raving about, and when I went to buy a ticket, there was a mix-up, and I ended up with two. If you'd like to join me, I'd be more than happy-after all, you're a great friend."
Cinder Lune glanced up at Lenian and replied, "I appreciate the offer, but I can't go today. I need to clean up at home, I'm going to take advantage of the fact that today wasn't a very busy day at the record company and rest a little, clean the house, go to the gym, you know, take some time for myself, I think you understand."
"I suppose so," Lenian muttered, rolling his eyes.
Suddenly, he felt a light tug on his clothes. Looking down, he saw Vixy.
Startled, he let out a small shout. "Where did you come from?"
"Can I go with you?" Vixy asked innocently.
"No," Lenian replied curtly.
Meanwhile, Kain walked through the reception area toward the exit, drawing the attention of everyone present.
"You should shave, Mr. Longheart. Just a suggestion," Rash remarked, slipping a coat onto the robot beside him.
"I know, I know. Did you finish the studio repairs?"
"Yes, sir, as promised," Rash replied, then glanced at the Hellhound. "Even though my assistant made a few mistakes."
"That's great. So I guess we can get back to our standard label activities," Kain said, running a hand through his hair. He sighed and added, "It's going to be hard to explain why we had to close the studio for an entire week."
"It happens. Anyway, I'm off. See you all tomorrow," Rash said, putting on a pair of purple glasses with four lenses before heading out the front door with RB40.
"Yeah, I'm heading out too," Lenian said, following Rash, attempting to maintain his usual cool demeanor despite looking a bit downcast.
"LUMIERE!" Luvenna called loudly.
"I'm coming, I'm coming-damn, sister, no need to shout!" Lumière replied, descending the stairs alongside Ronnie.
Luvenna rolled her eyes, grabbed her sister's hand, and the two exited through the front door. One by one, all the employees of Veildark Records departed to enjoy the chaotic night of Hell's Gate City.
As usual, Kain was the last to stay. When it was finally time for him to leave, Greasy flew to the reception, took the set of keys and placed them in the rhythm demon's hand. Kain ran his hand over the keys and noticed one that had a different relief, he separated that one from the others and opened the door to leave the record company, but when he was going to leave.
"Interesting," Ronnie commented, leaning against the wall at the base of the stairs.
"Ronnie? I thought you had already left," Kain said, his tone calm but uncertain.
"And you still think you can fool me. After over a century of knowing each other, you still believe that?" Ronnie laughed, though his smile didn't reach his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
Ronnie's laughter stopped abruptly, his expression shifting to something far more serious.
"Greasy," Ronnie said firmly. "Take a little flight-this is grown-up talk."
Sensing the tension in the room, Greasy didn't hesitate. With a flap of his wings, he flew out the door, leaving the two alone.
"So," Ronnie began, his voice low, "how long has it been?"
"I don't know what you're talking about-"
"DON'T TREAT ME LIKE AN IDIOT. YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT," Ronnie snapped, his voice reverberating through the space. He exhaled deeply, regaining his composure. "How long has it been happening again?"
Kain hesitated, his hand brushing against the wall as though seeking support. "About two weeks ago. It started suddenly... no specific reason."
"The melody of our sins, which is what you call it" Ronnie said with a bitter laugh before his face darkened. "We agreed to never talk about this again."
"And we don't talk about it, Ronnie. It's not my fault. I was just a young demon back then."
"It is your fault, Kain. And compared to me, you're still young," Ronnie replied, stepping closer. His tone grew sharper. "You said it yourself-there are songs that were never meant to be heard."
"I didn't know the consequences, Ronnie. You need to understand."
"But the consequences remain," Ronnie shot back. "They're literally etched into your eyes. Have you learned nothing from the blindness it brought? The pain? Or have you forgotten the blood dripping from your hands?"
Kain faltered, his voice dropping. "I... No, I didn't forget." He raised his head slightly, facing Ronnie. "But you know how it is. It's like I hear hell talking to me even in my... Dreams."
"What did you do, Kain? Did you play it again? Out of curiosity? Out of selfishness?"
"I didn't play it!" Kain snapped, his frustration slipping through. "Damn it, I don't even remember how. It's been years, Ronnie-years."
Ronnie's stern gaze didn't waver. He sighed deeply, the weight of old memories pressing on his shoulders. "Do you at least remember why we agreed to never talk about this again?"
"Yes, I remember. I don't want a civil war either."
Ronnie rubbed his temples, exhaling slowly. "Lucifer above, you're giving me a headache. You're really working hard to ruin all the joy in my life." His voice softened, but the edge remained. "Does anyone else know about this?"
Kain shook his head silently, and Ronnie sighed again, heavier this time.
"Well, there's no use arguing about it. That melody has returned to haunt you for a reason, and it always brings misfortune. Let's wait for it to reveal itself. Until then, we pretend this conversation never happened. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Kain replied with a faint, almost sarcastic laugh.
Ronnie cracked a smile as well, then turned toward the exit. "I heard what the spider said-glad to hear the studio is back in order. I have a romantic dinner with my boyfriend tonight, so I'm off. See you tomorrow, rhythm demon."
"You know I hate that nickname."
"That's exactly why I made it stick."
"Just be careful not to pull that feline's tail too much."
"Go fuck yourself."
With that, Ronnie left, the door swinging open behind him. Kain was alone once more, the muffled sounds of the city seeping through the walls, blending with the smooth jazz playing softly from the studio speakers. It brought him a strange sense of relief.
Kain raised his hand, tapping his cane four times against the floor in a perfect rhythm. Moments later, Greasy flew back inside, landing lightly on his outstretched arm.
"So, what did you two talk about?" Greasy asked, tilting his head inquisitively.
"Boring manager stuff. Nothing special." Kain smirked, his grin carrying the unmistakable mischief of a demon. "So, who's in the mood for a hot dog?"
"Caw! Caw! Wait, you said-"
"I know what I said, Greasy. I know what I said."
He leaned closer to the bird, whose feathers puffed out as he rubbed his head affectionately against Kain's cheek.
"Ugh, you stink. You need a bath," Kain said with a mock grimace, gently nudging Greasy onto his head.
Kain walked over to the switch and turned off the lights in the record company. He stepped outside, breathing in the polluted night air of Hell's Gate City-a city that embraced its chaos and welcomed the restless.
Kain locked the record company doors, slipping the keys into his pocket. His cane tapped against the pavement in a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm as he began to whistle softly.
"Kain, I want extra ketchup," Greasy piped up from his perch.
"Whatever," Kain muttered, his tone indifferent but amused.
And so another day at Veildark Records came to an end. The studio was repaired, and Kain ventured into the night with a lingering unease he didn't show. Because for those who dare to listen, hell remains the greatest orchestra ever composed.