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Prologue – Satan

(Introduction Arc, Part One of Three)

The end of the Great War was nigh. The clash of titans that would decide the winners was set to take place at any moment, all Three Factions having amassed the bulk of their forces at the site of what would be a decisive battle in the Underworld between the leaders of each faction. The location of the coming fight was a vast, empty plain in the Satan territories outside of the capital city of Lucifaad.

The absolute strongest of all God's Angels, His Seraphim, were at one side of the great plain, hundreds upon thousands of lower-ranked Angels standing behind them. His Light shone brightly from the back of the formation as the white-winged sentinels guarded the interdimensional gate to Heaven He had created with His conceptual magic of Genesis. God Himself was on the other side of the gate, maintaining its composition. Row upon row of Angels steadily exited the hole in the sky, forming the ranks of the armies of Heaven behind the two Seraphs at the front. As more and more of the Heavenly Host arrived, anticipation continued to build up amongst them.

Facing the Angels on the other side of the plain were the Demons and their combined armies, buzzing with discontent at having been pushed back to their own home territory. Initial momentum from the preemptive strike on Heaven had long petered out, and with God seemingly more powerful than ever, not even the might of the Four Satans was enough to finish the conflict before He had been able to mount a counterattack. Unlike the Angels, all of the Devils that made up the majority of the faction's military were already assembled and combat ready. Their leaders were nowhere to be seen, though the ominous castle nearby left little doubt as to where the Satans were.

The last of the Three Factions, the Fallen Angels, wore grim expressions. The upcoming battle promised nothing but death and destruction no matter who won. They had long since given up hope of actually coming out of the war victorious due to the massive losses they had sustained thus far, and now only fought to minimize damage. In recent skirmishes, they would instantly retreat, the other two Factions' hatred towards each other allowing them to do so. When retreat was impossible, they often outright joined forces with the weaker side to ensure both came out too tired to wreak further havoc. Azazel was the only Faction leader on the soon-to-be battlefield, his presence attracting more attention than normal due to the man's tendency to avoid direct confrontation.

God Himself walked through the portal, His blinding Light scorching the eyes of the non-Angels that tried to behold Him. As if on cue, the Four Satans materialized outside their capital, wild energy crackling about their bodies in opposition to the Light wielded by their natural enemy. Five overpowering auras flowed over the gathered masses, soon joined by a sixth when Azazel stepped forward to add his to the fray, if for no other reason than to mitigate the effect on his men. Many of the Demons and Devils became visibly more agitated, while the Angels stood with their backs ramrod straight and their banners held high. The downtrodden Fallen mustered their resolve as well, weapons of light manifesting in their hands along with a variety of elemental magic.

The Governor General of the Fallen Angels grimaced at the scene. It would be a bloodbath. He was more convinced than ever that leaving behind the majority of his remaining forces had been a wise decision. The only Fallen standing with him were those that desired war until nothing was left, the opportunists that constantly hounded him to take advantage of whenever a side was left weakened by a recent defeat, not thinking about the consequences of being left alone against the stronger side that remained afterwards or deluding themselves into thinking the Fallen could prevail with their meager numbers.

Inwardly, he scoffed. No. Getting involved in the war had been a mistake from the start. Hadn't he been warned as much? If not for the Satans' blatant racism and God's unwillingness to compromise, his Faction would have been allied with another before it even began. Afterwards, the indiscriminate warfare had dragged his people into the conflict anyway despite his attempts to stay out of it. Azazel cursed his luck. There was one hope left. The Master of Death, the same entity that had warned him against participation in the Great War, had promised to interfere if certain conditions were met.

The Fallen Angel leader had done his best to satisfy them, and it all came down to the last one. Loss of life had to exceed a ridiculous threshold. At the war's beginning, the Fallen Angel leader hadn't imagined it would ever be possible, but here they were, at the cusp. There was no way of knowing for sure, but with the previous battle that eliminated the heads of several of the Pillar Clans and all of their armies, surely it had been surpassed by now. If only it hadn't taken so long to get to this point. If only it weren't necessary in the first place. But there was no use in thinking about what had already happened. It was time to see if the entity's word was worth anything.

At his side, his lieutenants stiffened. Azazel himself blinked and let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"…Sir?"

"Tell everyone to keep their guards up. If anybody even tries to attack, restrain them. If they succeed, kill them immediately," Azazel ordered. "It'll be a mercy compared to what would happen otherwise."

He kept his gaze fixed on the singular black portal that had opened up in the middle of the plain, and the cloaked figure that floated out of it. After looking around slowly for a moment, the figure shrouded in darkness began to make its way towards Lucifaad, gliding with an unnatural amount of speed and grace. The crowd of demonic men and women quickly parted to allow it passage, unwilling to stand in the way of Death.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"The Master of Death approaches, sire," a male Devil reported.

His words caused a wave of unease to sweep through the other lieutenants, though their leaders did not seem to be affected. Despite their apprehension, none of the other Demons or Devils dared to make a sound. The Satan Lucifer grunted. The entity was unmistakable, and he had eyes. If not for the fact that doing so would lower morale at a time where they could ill afford to have such a thing occur, he would have incinerated the Devil on the spot.

"Let it come," he said. "We have nothing to fear so long as we have done it no wrong. And if it wishes to test its strength against mine… we shall see who the true master is."

"As you say."

As the Devil retreated, another of the Satans spoke.

"I wonder what business it has with us," the Satan Beelzebub said. "Do you suppose it cares about the outcome of the war?"

"Its concept governs all of creation. I doubt one war matters in the grand scheme of things," Lucifer responded drily.

Truthfully, he had no idea what he or anyone on the battlefield could have done to attract the attention of the primordial entity that suddenly appeared in the world a couple of centuries ago. The only interaction he had had with it was a singular warning to abandon his designs on the human world. It grated on him to obey, but Lucifer had reprioritized and focused on conquest of the Angels and Fallen Angels. It made no sense to anger that which you could not kill, and Heaven and the portion of the Underworld occupied by the Fallen would be enough to occupy his time for a few centuries, hopefully long enough to see Death gone from the world once more.

"It matters little," the Satan Asmodeus commented. "We're about to find out."

His words were prophetic as the last few lines of Devils parted to reveal the shadowy entity. The cold feeling radiating from it set the Satans on edge, though none would ever show weakness.

"Greetings, Master of Death. If you don't mind, we have a war to win, so why are you here?" Lucifer asked as menacingly as he could. It was well-known that the impartial nature of Death applied to its Master, so as long as he didn't directly threaten violence, the entity across from him would not respond. It was unfortunate for the Demon that he had already incited the entity to action.

The hood was drawn back far enough to reveal dull green eyes. The last thing Lucifer saw was a thin white stick pointed at him and his fellow Satans before a flash of green overtook his vision.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The Angels were less outwardly nervous, but their field commander knew the inhuman entity that had just mysteriously appeared was never a good omen, especially right before any sort of conflict.

"Michael, the Master of Death has been sighted at the edge of the demonic formation! It appears to be conversing with their leader!" Metatron shouted. The recipient of his message frowned at the other man's lack of subtlety, even if the situation was clear as day. One of his fellow field commanders ascended from the ground when he heard the news, his twelve resplendent wings retracting when he reached their height.

"What? Impossible. What reason does it have to be here?" Uriel asked confusedly. When the Angel saw for himself the truth of Metatron's words, the Flame of God frowned severely, his Holy fire coming to life in his hands. A warning look from Michael was met with an equally defiant stare until the other Angel reluctantly backed down.

"Brother…" Michael turned to see his beloved sister having joined the small gathering of Heaven's most elite.

"Do not worry, Gabriel," he reassured her gently. "It is a neutral element. I can only imagine what drew it here from its dwelling on the isles…"

"Still, shouldn't Father be informed?"

"He likely already knows. But you are correct in that one can never be too sure. I will contact Him personally and ask for His guidance."

A massive flash of green light came from the gates of Lucifaad. He barely had enough time to look towards it before the presence of God filled his senses. He turned to his side and bowed his head respectfully.

"Order a full retreat."

The words shocked Michael into silence, but he recovered admirably and obeyed without question, signaling to the banner bearers and the other commanders. His gestures were viewed with disbelief by many, but when God Himself repeated the command in a booming voice, the Angels hastened to return from whence they came.

"Father, what are you-"

"Gather the Seraphim. We will confront Death together."

Michael could see movement from the Fallen as they advanced to attack the Demons and Devils, whose formation had descended into utter chaos.

"What shall you have us do?"

"Focus on the Fallen and the most powerful Demons, but leave their leaders alone. No matter what happens today, Michael, know that I am always with you."

"Father…?"

The ten Seraphs had gathered by now. God looked at each of them in turn.

"Hear me, for I decree as the Ruler of Heaven: none of you shall speak of the events of this day. Go now with my blessing. I will permit no further questions."

The strongest Angels immediately set off to fulfill their Father's wishes, many despite their will. Each had heard the tone in which He had delivered the order. It was a tone they were accustomed to hearing from those on their deathbed, and one as powerful and as healthy as God had no business using it. God closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"I leave the rest to you, my children."

Moments later, he too joined the fray.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Centuries later…

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

A man in his twenties, with messy black hair and startlingly green eyes, stood up straight from his crouched-over position and surveyed his work. At his feet, an elaborate series of runic symbols encircling an equally elaborate crest lay drying. The bucket of liquid in the man's hands vanished without a sound, and a tired sigh escaped his lips.

This is it.

The last act. Waving his hands, the nondescript walls of the cave he stood in seemed to withdraw from him as the floor, and the circle drawn on it, expanded. The ceiling, already invisible in the darkness above the man's head, opened to reveal the starry sky.

This should be big enough. Demons tend to grow larger with power, and power tends to come with age.

The man tugged at his shimmering cloak subconsciously until the cloak itself seemed to flutter in response on his shoulders, almost as if in irritation. He gave it a brief look and a muttered apology before consulting the ancient grimoire next to him one last time. It was open to a page that displayed nothing but runes of a language long lost, but the man didn't seem to have trouble interpreting them.

"Bael. Famed for their Power of Destruction, capable of erasing things from the fabric of existence," he said, glancing at the cloak. Seeing no reaction, he shifted his gaze to the ring on his finger. The stone set in the ring bore a strange symbol of a circle within a triangle with a vertical line dividing the entire thing in half. Sensing no reaction there either, he reached out with his other hand and grasped empty space, only for a thin white stick of wood to appear when he brought his fingers together. The stick thrummed with silent anticipation. Centuries of reading the subtle signs offered by his sentient belongings recognized it as being a sign of eagerness, a challenge.

"Well, apparently Heaven wants nothing to do with me, so they can hardly blame me when I go ask Hell, right?" he asked with an amused smile. "I summon thee, Bael of the Underworld, greatest of the 72 Pillars of Hell!"

With that shout, the magic circle began glowing brightly. Power condensed around the man who stood at the mouth of the cave, swirling around him and flowing from his body. His cloak billowed out behind him, the stone in his ring started to glow as well, and the wand seemed to gather an equal amount of power to itself. There was a sound of glass shattering, of space bending and eventually breaking, then… nothing.

The man stood there, perplexed. His cloak fluttered in a nonexistent breeze then settled on his back as if deflating. The stone in his ring flashed continuously until he shot it an annoyed look. The stick gave off an air of profound disappointment as the power it had gathered dissipated back into its surroundings. The man looked between the grimoire and the large circle still inscribed on the ground.

"Runes, check. Crest, check. Materials, check," he muttered. "Time of day, check. Location, check. The ritual says 'a hundred mature souls,' but I can circumvent the power provided by those souls by just drawing on the power of the Deathly Hallows." His cloak resumed fluttering and puffed itself up. He smiled faintly, but soon resumed pondering the apparent failure of the summoning.

"Could it be… they were killed?" he wondered. It was not unheard of for a demon clan to be wiped out. Indeed, the nature of the constant power struggle in Hell made it quite likely. As he understood it, Hell went through its ruling class more often than wizarding Britain went through its Wizengamot seats during the Great War. That the death of someone on the Wizengamot was reported in papers almost weekly at the peak of the war said something about the state of affairs in the Underworld. Still, just as the Chief Warlock position was held by the same person throughout the War, ruling demon clans tended to hold their dominant positions as well. Just as he was about to try again, a small "ping" noise sounded in the empty air, accompanied by a soft female voice.

"We're sorry, but the Bael clan is not accepting new foreign contracts at this time. Additionally, please refrain from attempting to establish contact across regional territories. An official warning will be delivered to your summoning circle momentarily following the conclusion of this automated message. Please direct inquiries to the Satan Leviathan of Foreign Affairs. The price of summoning will now be refunded."

The man had all of a few seconds to stare in bemusement at the circle before a wave of power blew him backwards out of the cave and off the sheer cliff wall immediately outside. His descent into in the forest below was accompanied by irregular flashes from the stone on his ring and a string of curses shouted impotently into the night.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Approximately five minutes later, the man wrenched his ring off and threw it and the still flashing stone in a random direction, only to have the ring fly back towards him from an inky portal of darkness in the opposite direction and smack him in the head. He glared balefully at the flashing stone, which now seemed to be flashing even brighter and more often, and pointed the stick he somehow still held at it with the promise of violence in his eyes. At that, the stone immediately stopped flashing and the ring instead disappeared, reappearing around the ring finger on his right hand where it had resided before the man took it off. He gave it a single glance and sighed tiredly before looking up at the cave entrance over thirty meters above him. It was then that he caught sight of a scrap of paper floating down slowly in a perfectly straight line in defiance of the laws of conventional physics. Once he saw it, the paper accelerated its descent until it halted, floating in the air in front of his face.

"Attention contract seeker…" he began reading. There was a generic-sounding warning citing some really old and a couple slightly less old laws he didn't care about, so he skipped ahead to the end since it seemed as if there was no actual sanction or punishment the demons planned on imposing on him. "The territory of the Bael clan on Earth currently encompasses the towns of Kuoh, Akihabara, and Osaka in the country of Japan, as well as..." The list was mostly comprised of haphazard areas defined by sets of geographic coordinates. "Please refrain from crafting or using summoning circles outside of the immediate vicinity or boundaries of the territory listed above. Additionally, the Bael clan no longer holds active contracts. All current and prospective contract holders should contact the Gremory clan, based in Kuoh, Japan for service enquiries…" he read aloud. There was more on the small scrap of paper, but the rest wasn't important. There was a small note that due to his unwittingly having broken several laws, he was barred from summoning for the next twenty-four hours or else he would face whatever passed for law enforcement in Hell, but he didn't plan on living after the contract anyway, so what did he care?

Gremory? Japan? Why Japan?

His ring flashed.

Point. Why not? Okay.

With a thought, he transported himself across half the Pacific Ocean with a quiet crack. On the way, he felt himself break something resembling a ward scheme, albeit a very weak one. Appearing in the air above a fairly average-looking town, he used his senses to find the strongest magical focus point in the area and transported himself again to the airspace above that. Looking down, he saw a school built on top of the convergence point of the local ley lines.

Interesting.

Waving his hands with a little more energy, he then vanished from sight. Anyone who looked up or might have seen him also immediately forgot they did. For good measure, he motioned to throw on a hood, even though his cloak didn't have one, and then vanished from all the senses as well. With a snap of his fingers, a gigantic slab of rock, which was actually what used to be the floor of the cave he previously occupied, along with the ancient grimoire, appeared underneath him, still invisible to passersby. He then snapped his fingers and the circle activated again.

This time, the crest in the middle shifted slightly. The grimoire turned a few pages until it displayed details on a different clan, and the circle changed to fit the new crest. The man glanced down at the stone in his ring, which had flashed dully a couple of times.

"I was feeling theatrical and dramatic the first time. Now I just want to get it over with," he responded to the unasked question. The stone flashed and anyone nearby would swear they felt a sense of exasperation. The thin stick tucked behind the man's ear began exuding a powerful aura again, tinged with a slight bit of skepticism this time. The cloak, busy as it was keeping its wearer hidden, couldn't offer its own commentary, but a corner of it solidified temporarily and swatted the man over the head.

"Ow. Don't lie, you were into it too, Mr. Billows-without-wind." Ripples ran along the cloak even as it was wrapped around him. "Was not." More ripples. "That was uncalled for. You're indestructible. Wouldn't it make more sense if you were the one that felt less?" Ripples. "I warded the entire area for miles. There was no wind." A short ripple. "No, using power does not 'automatically make it windy.'"

Any further speech was cut off by a suffocating and chilling presence that began emanating from the spell circle. Moments later, the presence split into two distinct sources. The man's well-developed sense for magic told him that both were extremely powerful. The suffocating presence was most likely the one he sought, since it gave off the feeling of despair and nothingness. The more chilling one was literally causing him to feel cold, somehow piercing the ridiculously-powerful insulation charm woven into his cloak. Still, the man did not act particularly concerned, even when the chilling presence started to cause a dense mist to shroud his surroundings. He also heard faint voices that were steadily increasing in volume. He traced them to the two humanoid figures starting to form in the mist.

"…for twenty-four hours and tries to summon again not ten minutes later thousands of miles away!"

"…powerful… since when did you care?"

"…IN KUOH!"

The first voice was female. Relatively high-pitched, originating from the chilling presence.

The second was definitely male. The voice of an adult, carrying the weight of command.

The currently-invisible man tried using mage sight to properly discern the features of the two demons he figured he had summoned, but the mist must have been magical as well, since he could not see through it. The male's voice became clearer as the mist started to dissipate. As he stepped forward towards the edge of the summoning circle, the cloaked man could make out bright red hair and a sturdy frame. The demon looked human, if supernaturally handsome, and actually took on the appearance of a rather young man. He was swiftly followed by a black-haired girl with twin tails… wearing a uniform of some sort? She was significantly shorter than her companion, but her body was developed well beyond someone of her relative age.

A way to ensnare men of a particular persuasion, maybe?

The demon in a man's body looked around puzzlingly.

"Huh. Someone, I assume the contractor, is here, but I can't tell where," he said while slowly turning around.

"I DON'T CARE. KEEP THE CRIMINAL AWAY FROM MY SO-CHAN!" the girl screamed hysterically. She also started waving around a magic wand-looking staff with a cartoonish star on the end. Despite its comical appearance, wherever she waved it, waves of power began to form ice crystals in the air. The male demon regarded her actions with a hint of amusement.

"Summoning their elder siblings seems contradictory to the goal of harming them," he remarked calmly. "They haven't even moved here yet." His slow survey of the surrounding area stopped, and he turned his body in the general direction of the cloaked man who had not moved from his spot. "Somewhere around there…?"

Perking up, the girl stopped wildly swinging her staff and pointed it slightly to the right of the invisible man.

"YOU! IN THE NAME OF MIRACLE LEVIA-TAN I SMITE YOU!" she shouted. With a particularly violent swing of her staff, the ice crystals all around the three converged on a single point. In the next instant, they all turned to fine dust as the cloaked man ran a hand through his perpetually messy black hair and waved the other nonchalantly. He then made as if to lower his hood, revealing himself to the two demons.

"Are you the most powerful demon of the Gremory clan?" he asked, addressing the male demon. Ignoring the female demon seemed to infuriate her all the more, to the quiet amusement of both other individuals.

"I am. My name is Sirzechs Gremory, although I now go by Sirzechs Lucifer, the Crimson Satan. This is Serafall Leviathan, formerly Serafall Sitri. Are you the contractor?" the demon, Sirzechs, asked, playing along.

"I am. Are you capable of utilizing the Power of Destruction?" the man fired back, pointedly ignoring the mounting fury of the female demon. Said demon had already begun forming an even larger collection of ice crystals all pointed in the man's direction.

"Yes. What do you need destroyed and what do you have to offer?" Sirzechs asked, eying the man with interest. It was not often that someone came along and poured enough power into a summoning to draw his attention. Also, this man continued to blatantly disregard Serafall as a threat. She wasn't anywhere near serious with her assaults, and the offense of violating a summoning ban for mistaken territorial trespass was ridiculously minor anyway, but the amount of power she was using wasn't insignificant.

"I have on me three artifacts. Promise to destroy them, and I will resurrect a person of your choosing."

The world paused. The ice crystals instantly broke apart. Sirzechs stopped breathing.

"Excuse me?" he choked out.

"Your world is constantly at war. Surely you have lost someone important. A military leader? A clan member? A friend? I will bring them back. If you fulfill the contract. I will even perform the resurrection in advance if you swear an oath of my choosing and form a contract with me," the man stated.

Sirzechs reevaluated the man standing before him. Something about the man's bright green eyes bothered him greatly. He was dressed in a black shirt, black pants, and black shoes. Black hair, black glove on his left hand, black cloak. Black on black on black. He held a thin white stick in his gloved hand that Sirzechs could swear was not there a moment ago, and the ring finger of his right was adorned with a plain silver ring with a strange stone that almost called to the power inside his true form. Sirzechs released his control just enough to draw on his Super Devil form and compared it to the man standing before him. The man held considerable power, to be sure. But if he had to guess, Sirzechs would bet he was not more powerful than even Serafall. Perhaps on the level of… His face twisted into a mask of self-hatred for a moment before he schooled his features back into his neutral look. He noticed Serafall looked at him worryingly and he gave her a reassuring pat on the head that she didn't throw a tantrum over for once. Instead, she fingered the ring she wore on her left hand, matching the one on Sirzech's. With that, he turned his attention back to the man floating in the air before him, just off the rocky platform he and Serafall stood on.

How could he claim to be capable of bringing someone back from the dead? He did not have the aura of a necromancer. And the way he had said it, it didn't sound like a partial-resurrection or some kind of half-life. He said it as if he believed that death was reversible; a simple state of being. Moreover, what artifacts were worth such a feat?

"How?" Sirzechs asked warily. "Are you aware that breaching such a contract results in the forfeiture of your eternal soul?"

"Yes," the man replied simply. He did not say anything else, only extending his right hand for a traditional handshake. Sirzechs knew better. There was a distinct aura of magic about his outstretched hand. Shaking it would seal the deal. And he knew that the man knew he would recognize the significance of shaking hands.

"I need more information," Sirzechs said with a serious tone. "What are the artifacts? What limits are there on your abilities?"

The man withdrew his hand and instead indicated the ring he wore, along with the white stick, which Sirzechs presumed was a magical focus, a wand of some sort, and finally, the cloak on his back. "If they died an unnatural death, such as through combat or assassination, I can bring them back as they were immediately prior. Otherwise, I can reverse aging to an extent and force someone who died of old age to inhabit a younger body. I don't recommend this as it creates a disconnect between the mind and the body that is profoundly uncomfortable for the resurrected individual, but it can be done and the discomfort is ultimately temporary."

Sirzechs carefully regarded the three items the other man had indicated while also considering his words. Serafall sent another worried look at Sirzechs' back, for he had now stepped forward so that he was barely a meter away from the other man. The ring he could tell would be difficult, but not impossible to destroy. It merely held a similar essence to the Power of Destruction. If his powers failed, there were plenty of other ways to go about utterly erasing something from existence. Throw anything into the Dimensional Gap and it was guaranteed to be destroyed in short order. The trick was not being destroyed for opening a portal there. Surely Ajuka could find a way. The cloak actively fought his attention, his eyes seemingly sliding off it to focus elsewhere every time Sirzechs tried to look at it, so he decided to look at it last. Once he turned his attention to the wand however, he was hit with a sense of danger.

"That wand…" he whispered slowly.

The man raised a single eyebrow before looking down at the wand. It was once again exuding an air of anticipation, as if challenging Sirzechs to try destroying it. As far as he could tell though, his Power of Destruction could be boosted enough to destroy it. Perhaps with a few weeks or months of concentration, he could focus enough power to erase both it and the ring from existence. Once Sirzechs came to that conclusion, the wand pulsed once before becoming a seemingly regular wooden stick again. Sirzechs could swear he heard a pretentious "Hmph!" sound out from somewhere, but Serafall and the man holding the wand didn't react, so he chalked it up to his imagination. He then returned to trying to examine the man's cloak.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Thoughts?

Standing still for the benefit of his summoned demon, the man communicated with his belongings mentally. He got a sense of resigned defeat from the wand, the equivalent of a roll of the eyes from the stone, and a playful attitude from his cloak.

No go then, huh?

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

After another half hour of silent examination, and utter failure to discern anything about the man's cloak, Sirzechs spoke.

"I may not be able to personally destroy your cloak, but I am confident there is a way. As for your ring and wand, give me a year, and I will have gathered enough power destroy them completely," he proclaimed.

The man looked surprised. "Really? How?"

"You did not tell me how you planned on fulfilling your part of the contract. Do not ask me how I plan on fulfilling mine. If either of us defaults where the other does not, we will pay dearly for it anyways," Sirzechs said with a wan smile. Behind him, Serafall adopted a conflicted look.

The man nodded slowly. "Very well. Know that if you fail, the resurrected soul will also vanish."

Sirzechs expression tightened further. "I am aware."

"Do you need the artifacts now? Or should I keep them and resummon you when you are ready?" the man asked. The stone in his ring flashed angrily a few times, but all parties present ignored it.

"It would be best if you held on to them. I will contact you when preparations are complete. I will also let you know when I have secured a method of destroying your cloak."

"Very well." The man held out his hand again.

Sirzechs looked at it for a moment, then back at Serafall's worried expression. She nodded once, and that was all he needed before extending his own hand for a firm handshake. The summoning circle flared and condensed itself, lifting off the rocky base and onto a piece of parchment that appeared in the air. The terms of the contract wrote themselves as the two men felt their respective magic becoming bound.

"I, Sirzechs Lucifer, so solemnly swear by the terms of this contract, I will destroy the three artifacts specified by my contractor…" Sirzechs glanced across at the man for a moment.

"Harry Potter," he offered.

"…Harry Potter, in the specified timeframe, or forfeit myself to his eternal service. So mote it be," Sirzechs finished.

"I, Harry Potter, so solemnly swear to abide by the terms of this contract and resurrect in full health a single individual of my contractor's choosing or forfeit myself to his eternal service. So mote it be," Harry said.

The oath sworn, the two of them separated and each claimed a copy of the contract, which had updated to show the spoken terms and then duplicated itself.

"I'll be waiting for your contact then," Harry said. "Who do you want resurrected?"

Sirzechs paused. "You should live somewhere nearby. I can arrange for you to live in Kuoh in the meantime."

"I suppose. Again, who?"

Sirzechs was silent for a few seconds. He felt a gentle tug on his arm and turned his head to see Serafall.

"It's okay," she said in a small voice. "We'll all be together again." Her face was blank, but Sirzechs could see the pain and conflict hidden in her eyes.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

He deserves it, Serafall thought to herself. She gave Sirzechs her best, most resolute look she could when he turned to face her, but even she could tell she failed miserably. Unable to maintain eye contact, she looked away and found herself gazing into the eyes of the mysterious stranger who walked into their lives. The blazing green eyes of the man who, in the span of one afternoon, could have possibly dashed all her dreams in one fell swoop. Hers was a gaze of hatred, for him and herself. His was a gaze of indifference. But there was something there. Some small emotion she couldn't quite make out. Something she didn't want to see, so she turned away again, and found herself looking back into Sirzechs' eyes. Eyes filled with a familiar sadness. Haunted. Eyes she couldn't bear to look into any more. She couldn't… She felt tears coming… She couldn't-

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

For Harry, seeing this level of emotion from beings supposedly dedicated to conflict in its bloodiest forms was a first, but not entirely unexpected. Being alive for centuries tends to condition one to surprises. Recently, he felt more and more apathetic as well. Everyone he once cared about, dead. All their children, also dead. Grandchildren, dead. Great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren, great-however-many-times-grandchildren. All dead. He almost thought to thank Merlin when he first noticed the steady decline of magic. More people being born squibs. Less children being conceived in general. And now, he was the last. Still, there was something familiar in those purple eyes. Those eyes that gazed at him with such loathing. For a moment, he felt pity for the female demon glaring at him. Then she looked away and back at Sirzechs. Almost instantly, her expression switched to one of a sadness both wide and deep. Almost as if she wanted to cry. Then she turned away and vanished in a flash of blue light and Harry was left to wonder why, in that infinitely small moment, he saw hatred for Sirzechs as well.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Sirzechs stared blankly at the place where Serafall vanished from.

Well, so much for that.

A polite cough reminded him that he was technically still working and he turned around to face the man that had brought him hope.

"Forgive my ignorance, but I was not aware demons such as yourselves were so… human," Harry spoke hesitantly.

Sirzechs barked out a laugh. Even to him it sounded sad and pathetic. "Yes, well… We are devils. The last demons died in the Great War." Recognition flashed in Harry's eyes, but it was gone so quick Sirzechs reasoned to himself he might have imagined it.

"I see," Harry said.

Sirzechs took a deep breath and looked Harry in the eyes, searching for any sign of deceit, any sign of another agenda. All he found was exhaustion. A deep-seated exhaustion.

"How long must you have lived, to be so tired?" he asked quietly, not expecting an answer.

"Long enough to remember your predecessor," Harry responded. "Too long."

Sirzechs expression shifted to one of shock before quickly reverting to calm and collected. "I will arrange for your housing immediately." He gestured to an empty lot in the distance that glowed with a light only the two of them could see. "There will be a modest house erected there by tonight."

Harry looked at the sun, which was already over their heads. "Impressive."

Sirzechs just nodded appreciatively. Closed his eyes. Waited for the question one last time.

And then it was asked. "Who do you want me to bring back to life?"

Eyes open. Back straight. Voice… almost pleading.

"Grayfia Lucifuge."

A/N: Additional story details and our update schedule can be found on my profile.

We are two people writing fanfiction. The main idea of the fic is my partner's, and this Prologue was written by us both.

In the next chapter, Harry saves a bunch of lives and really gets the plot rolling!