Reborn As Papa Silva

Be careful who you set free.

—

Witches' Forest:

As Acier stepped into the forest, she was greeted by the sight of houses and shops embedded in the canopies of towering trees, all connected by simple suspension bridges.

From above, countless youthful witches looked down at her with mixed expressions—confusion, interest, fear, and anger.

Acier didn't care. She disappeared with a simple flicker, reappearing a second later in the heart of the forest, standing before the Witch Queen's palace.

Without hesitation, she kicked her foot forward. The wooden door exploded into splinters and dust as she stepped into the small, ancient throne room.

Walking over the worn red carpet, she looked up to find her target sitting on a large red throne outlined in gold.

The Witch Queen—a tall, slender woman—wore a layered light green dress adorned with several large red eyes. Her similarly colored hat lacked the eyes, and her pale skin contrasted with her pronounced blue lips and nails. Teardrop-like marks sat beneath her eyes, and her pink hair was almost entirely hidden beneath her conical hat.

Acier's eyes narrowed for a moment at the stone hanging from the woman's left ear before shifting back to the Witch Queen herself.

The Queen clicked her tongue in audible displeasure. "Did you have to destroy that door? It was a century old, you know."

Acier smiled disarmingly. "It was ugly. I did you a favor."

The Witch Queen clicked her tongue again. "Now it's imperfect." She raised a hand to her left earlobe, plucked the stone earring off, and twirled it between her fingers.

"This is what you came for, correct? Take it and leave."

She tossed the stone down to Acier, who caught it smoothly between her fingers before slipping it into her satchel.

Acier crossed her arms, her smile never faltering. "Oh, great seer of the forest…" she began mockingly. "Surely your foresight didn't just predict this. Because if it had, maybe you should change your occupation."

The Witch Queen narrowed her eyes, fingers clenching the armrests of her throne. "It is not yet time for Vanessa to leave. Though it's infuriating, she can only truly reach perfection under that uncouth, vulgar boy. He won't come for her for years. I won't let you ruin her future—"

"Hah. This is what happens when I let you talk." Acier shook her head with an unamused smile.

"You really are a fool… what's your name, anyway?"

The Witch Queen's brows scrunched, her face darkening. "A fool? Me? What nonsense are you spouting—"

"When I ask you a question, you answer." Acier interrupted. "What's your name? No way am I calling a nobody like you 'Queen.'"

The Witch Queen's face blackened further. "I believe this disrespect is completely uncalled for. Do keep in mind—without me sending Dorothy your husband's way, you'd already be a corpse."

Acier sneered. "Dorothy would've left this shitty place one way or another, and my Sebby would've found her regardless… Oh yeah, that reminds me. I really need to teach you a lesson for making my daughter sad. And cry.

I thought I was bad, but you? You could win the award for worst mother in the world. Keeping all your daughters imprisoned in this joke of a kingdom.

How many runaways do you have now, by the way?"

"That's none of your business!" the Witch Queen hissed, her mana flaring outward in a burst of crimson blood. "This isn't a cage—it's a safe haven, keeping them out of reach of the impurity of dirty men. As for the ones who leave, just like Dorothy, they only manage to escape because I let them. Because I believe they're among the few who can excel and be better than they would be in the outside world!"

"Dorothy should thank me! In just half a month, she improved by leaps and bounds and even managed to manifest her power outside! She's taken a solid step toward perfection, which would have been impossible if not for me—Aaugh!"

The Witch Queen cried out in pain as she was hoisted into the air, Acier's hand tightening around her throat. Acier smiled darkly as she choked the life out of her.

"Thank you? She should thank you?" Acier sneered. "You, the bitch who cast her aside the second you found a new toy and lost interest? Dorothy's success has nothing to do with you. Don't take credit for something you didn't contribute to. Understand?"

She squeezed tighter. A sharp cracking sound echoed through the room, making the Witch Queen wince as cold sweat rolled down the side of her face. Struggling to breathe, she nodded weakly.

Acier dropped her onto the throne like discarded trash. She landed with an undignified plop.

Gasping, the Witch Queen clutched her throat, her hand glowing red as she ran it over her cartilage. The pain faded, and her breathing steadied.

Taking a moment to compose herself, she sat up. Acier loomed over her.

That displeased her. No one should look down at her. But she said nothing, biting her lip before spitting out, "Morgana. My name is Morgana Enoteca."

"Heh." Acier laughed mockingly. "Vanessa really is your favorite, huh? You even gave her your last name. What about all the other girls in the forest? Where do their family names come from? The men you sleep with to make them?"

"I do no such thing!" Morgana hissed, slamming her armrest in fury. "You think I would whore myself out to filthy men again and again to sire children?! To sire daughters?! I will not let some man sully my perfection—"

"Perfection, perfection. Is that all you can talk about?" Acier snorted. "You weren't very perfect ten seconds ago. Just answer the question, bitch."

Morgana ground her teeth, digging her nails into her own flesh. "You merely caught me off guard. The gap between us isn't as large as you think. You're starting to test my patience."

"What a coincidence. The feeling's mutual." Acier grinned, pumping a fist. "Wanna settle this the old-fashioned way? Don't worry—I won't kill you. You're still Dorothy's mother at the end of the day, and all these poor girls in the forest depend on you."

A vein popped in Morgana's forehead before she let out a long sigh and sank back into her chair. Her rage cooled into cold indifference, her tone nearly bored.

"I am someone who has grasped the path to immortality. Who has mastered curses, hexes, and esoteric arts. I am the successor who will follow in the great path of Circe and Hecate. Producing asexually—creating daughters with all sorts of different magics, appearances, quirks, and more—is a minor matter."

Acier was not impressed in the least. "Great? Yes, you're so very great. So great, in fact, that you needed Goldstein's help to push my kingdom's borders back from yours… though it failed in the end. Now that I think about it, a lot of the bloodshed and loss in Kiten could be attributed to you. Should I kill you for that?"

Morgana snorted. "Diamond would have invaded Clover regardless."

Acier nodded. "True. But not nearly as aggressively had it not been for your deal with Goldstein. As a fortune teller, you should have known the end result. So many lives lost pointlessly—because of you."

Morgana clicked her tongue. "I'm not omniscient. Fully divining the future of a saint, even a fake saint like Goldstein, is beyond me. Adding Alden into the equation complicated everything further, making the future too blurry. Despite all that, even if I could have foreseen the outcome, if I hadn't sent Goldstein to his death, Clover would be gone by now. You should be thanking me—"

She cut herself off, taking in the dark swirl in Acier's lavender eyes.

Acier sneered. "Not omniscient, huh? Yes, you truly seem to be perfect."

A vein popped in Morgana's forehead, but she stayed silent. The color in her blue eyes dimmed as she looked downward and snorted.

"Take Vanessa and be gone. Don't come complaining to me when this world loses the one meant to weave fate."

Acier spun on her heel, addressing Morgana as she started walking out. "Vanessa will become far greater than your prophecies could ever predict. And even if she doesn't, it won't matter. We adults aren't so incompetent that we need a little girl to bail us out whenever things go wrong."

Morgana's expression shifted, something complex flickering through her eyes as her thoughts consumed her.

Just as Acier was about to exit the doorway, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. "Circe? Hecate? Who are they?"

Morgana, head lowered in deep reflection, replied almost absentmindedly. "Ancestral witches… minor deities that once walked this land…"

Acier raised a brow. "What happened to them?"

Morgana's expression sharpened as she locked gazes with Acier and replied truthfully. "I don't know. All I can say is—there are certain forces out there that don't take too kindly to the notion of the divine being plural."

Acier narrowed her eyes before flickering away.

—

Elsewhere

In the Witch Forest prison, there was a single cell, a single prisoner.

A large, birdcage-like cell hung from the ceiling, and inside sat a young girl—perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old—with fair skin and short pink hair, dressed in a long, conservative white gown.

Absent-mindedly, she played with magic strings, weaving different shapes to entertain herself as she gazed out at the arched windows.

Yearning for light. For freedom. For the power of fate to awaken, so her mother would finally let her out.

But with each day that passed, that hope faded further, growing bleeker. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't grasp the power to weave the threads of fate.

She didn't even know where to begin.

Her mother offered no wisdom, no advice—only the assertion that she could.

Vanessa's heart ached. She wanted to go outside. She wondered if any of her sisters even remembered what she looked like. If they ever thought about her.

Had they forgotten her?

Just as she had forgotten the faces of so many of them. Just as she had forgotten what the outside world even looked like.

Vanessa wanted to see the sun. To bathe in its warmth.

She wanted to be—

"Free?"

Vanessa shot up from her chair, head snapping back toward the sudden, unexpected voice that broke her thoughts.

A silver-haired woman stood before her, gazing down with lavender eyes and a soft, almost motherly smile. Something about her presence inexplicably calmed Vanessa's nerves.

"W-Who are you?" she asked nervously.

The woman knelt so they were at eye level, her smile brightening. "My name is Acier. Acier Silva."

Vanessa blinked. "Y-You don't seem to be a witch."

Acier chuckled. "That's because I'm not. I'm a human—a royal from the Clover Kingdom."

An outsider?

Vanessa's eyes widened before she panicked. She hurriedly whispered, "Y-You shouldn't be here. M-Mother doesn't like intruders. You n-need to leave before she catches you—"

"You don't need to worry about that, Vanessa." Acier interrupted with a gentle smile.

Vanessa blinked again. "You… know who I am?"

Acier laughed softly and nodded. "Yes. Matter of fact, I'm here for you. To take you out of here."

Vanessa's pupils dilated. Her throat hitched. "F-For me? W-Why?"

Acier reached out and lightly ruffled Vanessa's hair, running her fingers through it with quiet fondness. The girl froze. The warmth—it reminded her of how her mother once was.

Acier parted her lips.

"My daughter-in-law is one of your sisters. She hasn't forgotten about you. She's wanted to rescue you for a long time but wasn't strong enough. I am. So I can bring you out."

She extended a hand toward Vanessa.

"So what do you say? Do you want to come back to the Clover Kingdom? Live with me, your sister, and my family?"

"Do you want to be free?"

Vanessa didn't know what overcame her. The woman in front of her was a stranger, yet she felt so drawn to her. She wanted to take her hand. But she didn't dare.

"B-But what about my mother?" she stammered. "I-I need to learn to control fate—to help her protect this kingdom. To protect my sisters."

Acier smiled softly. "That's nice and all. But is that what you want?"

She tilted her head slightly.

"Forget the future. Forget the past. What do you want to do? What do you want to be—right now, in the present?"

Vanessa froze.

Then she trembled.

Her eyes watered.

"M-Miss Acier… I w-want to get out of here. I want to go outside. I… I want to be free."

Acier beamed and gestured to her hand once again. "Then what are you going to do?"

Vanessa hesitated only a second before taking her hand with a shaky smile.

Then she broke down completely, lunging into Acier's chest, weeping.

"T-Thank you… s-so much… thank you, thank you, thank you…." She repeated the words over and over, her voice raw, catching Acier off guard.

But Acier only smiled and wrapped her arms around Vanessa, gently stroking her head, tracing soothing circles along her back.

"Shhh… it's all right. You're free now."

Vanessa whimpered further.

Acier wondered if she had let the Witch Queen off too easily. 

—

Northern Sea, Seafloor

Inside the transparent gravitational sphere, Dante and Zenon walked side by side, following the voice of Lucifero.

They floated just above the seafloor, their only sources of light coming from their magic and their grimoires.

Yet, strangely, neither of them felt out of place. Instead, they felt warm, comfortable—as if this was somewhere they were meant to be.

As if they were being drawn in.

The black water called to them, urging them to become one with it, to dissolve into its depths, to integrate—

"Focus! Don't let yourself be deceived. It's an illusion!"

Lucifero's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

Both brothers snapped back to reality, their eyes widening as cold sweat trickled down their faces. They quickly composed themselves, feigning nonchalance.

Dante coughed into his fist. "Lucifero, what was that feeling? Where are we?"

The King of Devils remained silent for a moment before answering.

"A prison."

Dante blinked, while Zenon narrowed his eyes. "A prison...? What are you talking abou—"

"Enough questions." Lucifero cut him off. "We're here. Stop moving."

The two brothers froze, glancing around the barren seafloor.

Nothing.

No plant life. No magic beasts. No caverns. No caves.

Just an empty, endless stretch of ocean floor.

They struggled to hold back their silence—before Beelzebub's silhouette materialized behind Zenon with a sigh.

"Look up."

Frowning, the two brothers slowly tilted their heads back, gazes scanning the dark waters above.

At first, there was nothing.

Then their bodies went rigid.

The thick, dark water suddenly cleared, brightening as if the ocean itself had turned to glass, stripping away its obscurity.

And then—miles above, at the very top of the sea—they saw it.

A clear, blue sky.

Their breath caught.

Because in the next instant, that sky shifted—transforming into a vast starry night, a celestial expanse filled with swirling auroras, ethereal streams of light cascading across the heavens.

And then—

The stars faded.

Leaving behind only twenty-eight shining points in the southwest.

The stars began to shift. Connecting.

Forming a constellation.

A great hunter, poised with his bowstring drawn.

Zenon's breath hitched. He knew that shape.

He had seen it before.

During his childhood.

During those quiet nights of stargazing with Allen.

"...Orion...?" he whispered, half in disbelief.

"Yes," Beelzebub answered. "Right now, the two of you are standing inside an invisible ancient formation. From this exact point, Orion is the only constellation you can see with such clarity."

Dante stroked his chin, intrigued. A calm smile spread across his face.

"Well… that's interesting and all."

His eyes gleamed.

"But what's the point?"

This time, Lucifero answered.

"You are in a divine prison of old. There is only one cell and only one prisoner. The cell is Orion. And the prisoner… is inside, trapped—forced to eternally look down upon the world he yearns to dominate yet can never touch."

Zenon clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth. "Is he the old friend you spoke of? Are we here to free him? Because if we are, I want answers first. Who is he? What is he? How do you know this place? And what is your connection?!"

Dante raised an eyebrow at Zenon's uncharacteristic outburst before chuckling, amused. "Much as I yearn for my world of malice, I'm not so blinded as to follow your plans without question. We have a mutual deal—we use each other to get what we want… Yet lately, I feel I'm the only one being used. It's time to explain, Lucifero."

"Tsk."

Lucifero clicked his tongue in irritation before snorting. "Fine. But I'll only explain this once, and you will listen. Any questions won't be tolerated. Understood?"

Dante and Zenon exchanged glances before nodding.

Lucifero snorted again.

Dante's forehead mark split open, jagged like a gaping maw, swirling with deep violet energy as Lucifero's voice emerged from within.

"First, you need to understand—there are multiple kinds of devils. Some are natural-born. Others are those who fall—who give in to despair, lose their grace, or have it ripped from them."

His voice darkened.

"Beelzebub and I belong to the last category.

We… are banished angels of Heaven."

Dante and Zenon's pupils shrank.

Lucifero continued without a care.

"We are not the only fallen angels in history. Just the first."

"Millennia after our fall, a certain group of rebellious angels descended to this world.

There were 200 of them.

And they committed all manner of sins—violating Heaven's mandate, leading humanity and other races astray."

Lucifero's tone dripped with disdain.

"They were called the Grigori."

"Naturally, those fools were punished. Slaughtered. Erased.

But two of their leaders… were spared.

Death was deemed too merciful for them."

Lucifero's voice reverberated through the gravitational sphere.

"They were turned into devils. Imprisoned.

One of them is up there. In Orion."

Silence.

The weight of Lucifero's words hung in the water, unspoken questions pressing down on the Zogratis brothers.

Finally, Dante spoke.

"Where's the other one?"

"I said no questions." Lucifero sneered.

Beelzebub chuckled. "You can't just drop that on them and expect them to stay silent."

Lucifero snorted but said nothing.

Beelzebub sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. I'll answer—but keep your questions to a minimum."

He paused, then continued.

"The other one was imprisoned in the underworld with the rest of us.

Once, he served as the Seventh Supreme Devil.

The ruler of the Third Stratum."

Zenon's eyes sharpened. "Once?"

Beelzebub nodded.

"He disappeared. Just like Astaroth."

Zenon didn't press further.

Dante, however, smirked. "And how strong is this guy we're trying to free?"

Beelzebub's voice was calm.

"He's on par with Baal and Megicula."

Dante's grin widened.

"Then he should be more than capable of handling that woman."

Beelzebub chuckled, his tone edged with mockery.

"Yes, but He will likely need time—to recover from His injuries, to regain His power… and even if He does, whether He'd be willing to help is another matter entirely."

Zenon narrowed his eyes, then glanced at the jagged maw on his elder brother's forehead.

"…Is this what you meant when you said you'd rather not do this?" His voice was low, calculating. "Is this guy an untrustworthy ally? If so, maybe we shouldn't free him at all."

Silence.

Then, Lucifero's voice rumbled.

"There are… complications in working with that one, I admit. But none that are terribly inconvenient for us.

Not only will He keep that woman—and others—off our backs… but when the time comes, He may also aid in the Advent of Qliphoth ritual."

Dante folded his arms, unimpressed.

"And what makes you so sure?" His voice carried a sharp edge. "Because you all have a mutual grudge against Heaven? That means nothing. The enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend.

How can you be certain that once this guy is free and fully restored… he won't just take this world for himself?"

Beelzebub chuckled darkly.

"That's a fair question. A very fair one."

His shadow flickered.

"But that guy… He hates Heaven just as much as we do—perhaps even more. And He is just as willing to do anything to screw them over.

Not to mention… if He wants to keep his freedom, he'll need allies. Powerful ones. Releasing us is just a matter of course."

Zenon raised a brow.

"Is it? Will Heaven not know of his escape? Will they not capture him the moment he's free? And won't we be implicated—"

"You don't need to worry about that."

Lucifero's voice snapped like a whip, his irritation bleeding through.

"Do we look like fools incapable of foreseeing the consequences of our actions?! Those slaves up there have problems of their own—problems that keep them from acting, from descending!

This world… is ours to take.

This world… is our playground.

And nothing will stand in our way."

He exhaled sharply.

"Now, if you two are done wasting time—can we get this over with and free that lech?!"

Dante and Zenon exchanged a glance.

Dante was the first to speak, his usual calm smile returning.

"Fine. What do we need to do?"

Beelzebub answered in Lucifero's place.

"Both of you—use your full power."

Neither hesitated.

They channeled their devils' power to the absolute limit.

Dante—80% of Lucifero's.

Zenon—40% of Beelzebub's.

Darkness surged.

Dante's transformation was complete—his body encased in pitch-black save for his face, which bore only two sleek black lines running down either side. His eyes sharpened into vertical red slits.

Four horns—two small ones sprouting outward from his forehead, two larger ones jutting from the sides of his head.

Two pairs of bat-like wings spread from his back—one set large and imposing, the other lean and angled downward.

At the center of his chest, a circular star pulsed with power, encased by a white ring.

A long tail extended behind him, its tipped end mirroring the symbol on his chest.

Zenon's transformation was far less striking—yet no less potent.

Two curved horns—one white, the other black.

Two bat-like wings spread from his back.

And the cross-like mark on the right side of his face… expanded.

As soon as they finished transforming, Beelzebub's voice rang out once more.

"Zenon, just like we said before—you are within the prison that houses the cell Orion. Meaning, you are not far from that star cluster.

Focus on the change in space around you. Grasp the channel that connects this spot to that celestial array—warp to the head of the constellation."

Zenon closed his eyes, concentrating.

Meanwhile, Lucifero's voice echoed in Dante's mind.

"Dante, ensure your gravitational sphere doesn't collapse. You humans can't last long without air—you're too fragile, even with our power."

Dante clicked his tongue in irritation but said nothing. He clenched his fist, reinforcing the gravitational sphere encasing him and his brother. It compacted, layering itself, becoming far more resilient—yet never losing its transparent sheen.

The moment he completed the motion, Zenon's eyes snapped open. He stretched out his arms.

In an instant, their gravitational sphere was encased within a dark blue cube of severed space—cross-like marks etched into its sides.

Then—space began to twist.

Their surroundings morphed, flickering between a vast starry sky and the endless black ocean they floated in. The two landscapes wrestled, oscillating back and forth—until, finally, the night sky won out.

And they warped forward.

One moment—they were there.

The next—they were not.

They reappeared in front of the brilliant, burning star that marked Orion's head.

As soon as they did, Dante gritted his teeth—expanding even more power to keep their gravitational sphere from crumpling under the crushing pressure of the star.

The sphere shuddered violently—but after a moment, it stabilized.

Dante exhaled, relieved.

Then, lifting his gaze, he took in the celestial mass before them.

His eyes narrowed.

Across the white-hot star's shell, intricate magical sigils and ancient runes pulsed with power—many of which he had never seen before.

Dante scratched his chin.

"So… now what? What exactly are we supposed to—"

A voice interrupted him.

A voice that was—

Ancient. Yet youthful. Emotionless. Yet mocking. Calm.Yet seductive.

"Oh? What have we here?"

Dante and Zenon froze.

Their eyes locked onto the glowing star—watching as a black silhouette came into focus within its core.

A figure.

They could barely make out its shape through the overwhelming light, but the outline was massive—almost giant.

Two feathered wings stretched from its back.

Clipped. Torn. Mangled.

A deep indent marred its chest—a scar, perhaps?

The silhouette's physique was rugged, jagged—its entire body lined with sharp, protruding spikes.

Then—its right hand lifted, clawed fingers scratching its chin with grotesquely elongated nails, as though sizing them up.

"…Humans?"

The voice was laced with something unreadable.

"Ye possess a similar aura to some of my sons… wait—"

It paused.

Then—

It laughed.

A deep, resounding laugh.

"Hah… hah… hah… hah…"

The sound rolled through space, vibrating through the very air around them.

"This be truly unexpected.

Beelzebub, old friend—and be that Lucifer I sense as well? To think… that there would come a day when the two of thee would seek me out.

It seems as though you have made some grand blunder—some oversight so great, that ye now crawl to the lowly me for aid—"

"Silence, Samyaza!"

Lucifero sneered.

His silhouette materialized behind Dante, radiating fury.

"Do you want out—or not?!"

The figure—Samyaza—did not agree immediately. It merely continued scratching its chin.

"What are thy conditions?"

Lucifero snorted.

"Cause as much chaos in the world as you please—however it suits you—so long as you leave the kingdom these two rule out of it."

Samyaza's silhouette tilted its head.

"That can't merely be all."

Lucifero scoffed.

"Specifically target the Clover Kingdom. And—when our hosts require your aid—you will provide it."

A pause.

Samyaza's voice remained indifferent.

"What may be this Clover Kingdom? And what may be the kingdom of these two?"

Lucifero's patience frayed.

Before he could snap, Beelzebub's silhouette manifested behind Zenon, speaking up with utter nonchalance.

"Clover is that filthy Mount Sinai. And these two belong to Spade, your dear old Mount Hermon.

Now—are you done with your questions? We can't obscure ourselves from His gaze for much longer."

At those words, Samyaza's silhouette tensed.

Its fist clenched. A sharp hiss escaped—

"Enoch… that traitor…"

A slow exhale.

Then, with a measured nod—

"Very well. I will cooperate with thee.

But how do you intend to free me, as restrained as thou art?

I do not suppose thou hast the key to Raphael's binding?"

Lucifero said nothing.

Instead, he turned his gaze downward.

"Dante. Outstretch your arm."

Dante blinked. But he obeyed.

The moment he did, he froze.

A sudden rush of Lucifero's mana poured into him—spilling through their spiritual bond like an overflowing dam.

Then—his pupils dilated.

A flame flickered to life in his palm.

A black flame.

Dante's thoughts screamed.

Fire?!

Lucifero's power was gravity. What is this—

Samyaza's voice cut through his mind.

"Lucifer… thou hast truly done something deplorable."

His silhouette stroked its chin, smiling. Almost mockingly.

"I pity poor Satanael—"

"Silence, you lowly cur!" Lucifero snapped.

Then—turning back to Dante—

"Throw that flame at the star."

Dante didn't.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes.

"How can you use fire? I thought your power was limited to 80% with the Gate shut. How are you channeling more? Who is Satanael? And why does he keep calling you Lucifer?"

Lucifero's voice turned sharp.

"No more questions, Dante.

My name was Lucifer before I fell from grace.

I go by Lucifero now.

That's all you need to know.

Now—flick the flame.

Or our contract is void.

You are not as irreplaceable to me as you may think."

Dante's jaw tightened.

Then, with a sneer, he glanced at Zenon.

Wordlessly, Zenon lifted his hand—waving a small spatial pocket open before Dante.

Dante exhaled.

And with a flick of his wrist—

The black flame shot into the spatial pocket, vanishing.

A moment later—it reappeared outside the gravitational sphere and streaked toward the white star that imprisoned Samyaza.

The impact was instantaneous.

The black flame devoured the sigils adorning the star's shell.

It burned through the white-hot mass like ice melting in fire.

As if the star itself was never a smoldering inferno—but something fragile.

Then—

Samyaza's silhouette disappeared.

A flicker—

And suddenly—

He stood before them.

Inside the gravitational sphere.

Dante and Zenon's eyes went wide.

The being before them did not match the demonic silhouette they had seen within the star.

He was—

Human-like.

But wrong.

Butt-naked.

Long, golden hair cascaded down his back.

Striking red eyes gleamed with something unreadable.

Flawless skin so pristine it could make any woman envious.

A perfectly sculpted physique—like something out of myth.

Then—he raised his hands toward them.

A carefree smile on his lips.

Dante and Zenon tensed.

Then—stiffened in horror.

Because in that moment—

They realized—

They could not move.

Samyaza opened his mouth.

"Let's get out of here, shall we?"

The Shakespearean undertone in his voice was gone.

And it wasn't really a question.

Samyaza placed a hand on both of their shoulders.

Then—

They blinked.

And—

Their surroundings changed.

The Spade Kingdom throne room.

They were back.

Dante and Zenon stumbled—disoriented.

Samyaza merely lowered his arms, smiling.

"It's great to be back."

Then—he grinned.

"Come—let's celebrate my freedom for the first time in two millennia!"

He threw his arms out in grand exuberance.

"Bring out the wine and the women!!!"

Dante and Zenon blinked.

They exchanged a glance.

Huh?

—

Heaven

Far east of the Grand Temple, a man sat by a crystal-clear river.

Tall. Athletic.

Golden hair cascaded down his back, framing a face too perfect to belong to mortals.

An emerald eye gleamed beneath the sun.

In his hands—

A simple wooden staff, like a walking stick.

A single string dangled from it, touching the water's surface.

It looked like fishing.

But the water was clear.

And there were no fish.

He smiled. Soft. Content.

Then—he blinked.

His head tilted downward—

Not toward the river.

Through it.

Beyond it.

His gaze stretched across space.

Then—

A click of the tongue.

Mild interest.

"That lech is free?"

A pause.

"And was that… Satanael's power?"

His brows furrowed.

"Isn't he supposed to be dead…?"

A shrug.

A smile.

And just like that—

He went back to fishing.

Without a care in the world.

Not His problem.

—

Author's Notes:

[1] There are alot of different depictions of Samyaza in abrahamic traditions, cultures, and religions, so keep that in mind, if mine isn't familiar to the one you know of.

[2] As always feel free to join the discord at: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar