"Lord Azazel, is this really wise?"
Shemhazai asked the question for what felt like the hundredth time that day, keeping his pace exactly one step behind his leader.
Ahead of him, Azazel merely waved a hand dismissively, his stride loose and entirely unconcerned. "Relax, Shemy. You'll get wrinkles if you keep scowling like that. We're just here to do a little market research."
His tone was jolly, casual, and utterly carefree. But Shemhazai wasn't fooled. Having stood by Azazel's side since their glorious, distant days in Heaven before the Fall and after, he knew the Governor-General of the Fallen Angels better than anyone else in existence.
Beneath that lazy, eccentric facade lay a sharp, dangerous mind and a terrifyingly obsessive curiosity. Whenever Azazel found something he couldn't explain, he would dive headfirst into the abyss to dissect it, and right now, his eyes were practically sparkling with that exact madness.
Shemhazai glanced to his side, where Penemue walked in silent, guarded vigilance. The three of them were currently strolling through the crowded streets of a rural devil border town, completely undisguised to any observer. To any rational person, having three of the most powerful Fallen Angels in existence casually walking through enemy territory was a direct invitation to an incident.
If asked, Azazel would simply reply that he did it because he could. And honestly, who in this backwater district was going to stop them?
The miraculous news of the "Power Fruit" had spread like wildfire through the Grigori's intelligence networks. The concept of a simple fruit giving one the power to mimic the Phenex Clan's immortality was an interesting thing. So when the rumors of a second auction at Malice & Marvels emerged, Azazel had somehow acquired three invitations.
Shemhazai still didn't know how Azazel had gotten them. The invitations were notoriously difficult to track for some reason. No one knew how they were distributed or what criteria the mysterious "Xeno" used to select her clients. Shemhazai had initially tried to dispatch a squad of elite Fallen scouts to infiltrate the venue ahead of time, but Azazel had stopped him, claiming he had a gut feeling that entering without an official invite would be flat-out impossible.
Looking at the main entrance now, Shemhazai realized his leader's instincts had been entirely correct.
A massive crowd of uninvited devils, humans, and other beings all gathered outside the grand building, some shouting and trying to force their way past the threshold. Yet, the moment they stepped within a few feet of the doors, a barrier gently but firmly repelled them. The gold-embossed invite in Shemhazai's pocket pulsed as they came close, showing that without it they really wouldn't have been able to enter.
Azazel hummed a cheerful little tune, his golden eyes scanning the building with intense fascination. "Fascinating. I can't sense any magic around, yet I know for a fact that without this, he wouldn't be able to enter..." he said as he looked at the invite, trying to understand how it worked.
"Good day, gentlemen."
A soft, melodic voice cut through their quiet observation. The three Fallen turned to look at the speaker standing just past the perimeter.
She stood there with a polite, welcoming smile, a young devil girl with vibrant blue hair, a remarkably generous bust, and a dangerously curvaceous figure. She wore an elegant, form-fitting blue-green dress with a daring V-neck cut that plunged all the way down to her stomach, held in place purely by the impressive swell of her breasts. It was a tantalizing, highly deliberate distraction, but Shemhazai's gaze quickly moved past her charms to really look at her.
She was maintaining an admirable facade of professional composure, but her tightly joined fingers were trembling. 'Oh'
"I have been sent to guide you, Lord Azazel, and your esteemed company," she said, bowing slightly. The movement tilted her low-cut dress, offering a highly scenic view of her chest, but the subtle tremor in her voice gave away her terror.
Shemhazai's eyes narrowed. The people running this auction house had known exactly who they were, no, not just that, they had expected them.
The realization sent a chill of suspicion through Shemhazai. The shaking in the girl's hands was perfectly natural, she was standing mere inches away from the second most powerful Fallen Angel to have ever cast himself down from the Silver City, a living legend of the Great War and one of the ultimate enemy of the Devil race.
The fact that her superiors possessed the intelligence to identify, yet still possessed the sheer audacity to formally invite them in, meant they were dealing with an incredibly dangerous person or just one with balls larger than life.
"Oh?" Azazel chuckled, his jolly demeanor remaining entirely unbothered as he leaned forward slightly. "So we were expected. How polite."
The blue-haired girl swallowed hard, her chest heaving as she nodded. "Y-Yes, my lord."
"And who, exactly, was expecting us?" Azazel asked.
His voice was still light, but a sudden shift in his body made the pressure in the immediate area spike, the heavy gravity of a high-tier entity settling over her shoulders.
The girl froze, her breath catching in her throat as she stared directly into Azazel's golden eyes. For a second, Shemhazai expected her to break, to weep, or to flee. But to her immense credit, she took a deep, steadying breath, forced her spine straight, and held his gaze.
"This way, Lord Azazel," she said softly, choosing to politely ignore the question entirely as she gestured forward.
Azazel stared at her for a long, silent moment. Then, his face split into a wide, genuinely amused grin. "Well then. Lead the way, my dear."
The girl let out a shaky sigh of relief, turning on her high heels and leading them through the grand double doors. As she walked, her hips swayed in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
Shemhazai's gaze briefly flickered downward, tracing the elegant curve of her backside before he quickly looked back up, clearing his throat. Beside him, Penemue let out a dry, judgmental scoff. Shemhazai simply ignored her. What? Even an ancient, fallen archangel could appreciate fine artistic aesthetics. Azazel, on the other hand, didn't even bother to turn his gaze away.
They were led up a grand, plushly carpeted spiral staircase to a higher tier of the building, eventually arriving at a luxurious private VIP suite. The front of the room opened into a wide, polished balcony that offered a perfect, unobstructed view of the entire auction stage below. Directly across and alongside them, similar shrouded balconies lined the upper walls like private skyboxes.
"This is a nice place," Penemue commented, her voice flat but carrying a hint of appreciation.
The blue-haired guide offered them one final, elegant bow. "Please enjoy your stay. If you require anything, simply use the bell on the table."
With that, she retreated, closing the heavy soundproof door behind her.
The moment the door lock clicked, Shemhazai flicked his wrist. Dozens of magic circles were summoned, scattering into the corners of the room, scanning the walls, the furniture, and the ceiling. After a few seconds, they dissolved into nothingness, and he turned to the others with a nod.
"It's completely clean."
"Well, now this is getting interesting," Azazel said, casually tossing himself onto a massive, leather-bound sofa. He reached for a crystal decanter resting on a silver tray, pouring himself a glass of a deep, amber liquid.
He took a slow sip, paused, and then blinked in genuine surprise. He took another, deeper gulp, smacking his lips. "Hmm... oh, that is spectacular. Wonder where the owner managed to get their hands on a vintage like this." he poured another drink.
"We are here for the auction, Azazel, not to raid their liquor cabinet," Penemue sighed, though she took a seat on the adjacent armchair.
"Why not both?" Azazel laughed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he walked over to the balcony edge. "I was originally just curious about that ridiculous 'Power Fruit' for research, but now? The intelligence network... whoever is running Malice & Marvels clearly is someone I'd like to meet."
Before Shemhazai or Penemue could respond, a sudden wave of hushed whispering erupted from the lower main hall.
The crowd of low and middle-class devils below parted like the sea, forming a wide, respectful path as a new group entered the venue. The atmosphere in the entire building instantly grew heavy, choked by an oppressive aura.
Azazel's grin sharpened, his golden eyes narrowing as he looked down. "Well, well. Look who decided to show up in person."
Shemhazai stepped up to the balcony, his gaze instantly locking onto the handsome, cascading crimson hair of the man leading the party.
Sirzechs Lucifer.
Beside him stood the silver-haired "Strongest Queen," Grayfia Lucifuge, flanked by two formidable figures, the legendary swordsman Souji Okita and the magician MacGregor Mathers.
Penemue let out a scoff the moment she laid eyes on the red-haired devil. Shemhazai had to fight back the urge to do the exact same.
Devils these days truly possessed the most vivid, ridiculous imaginations.
To think that this young brat was being heralded across the Underworld as the "Strongest Devil to ever be born." While the statement itself might technically be accurate regarding being born, but calling him the strongest devil in history was a complete, laugh-out-loud moment joke.
The first time that particular rumor had drifted into the ears of the Grigori cadres, the older generation had nearly died of laughter. The children born after the Great War really had absolutely no concept of what a true monster looked like. They had never witnessed the ancient, reality-warping terrors that had once walked the earth.
Shemhazai sighed, his gaze drifting over the bustling crowd. The world had changed so much since the old days.
And it had all started when the war ended.
His expression darkened, a familiar, lingering sense of profound unease settling deep in his chest. Truth be told... he didn't know how the Great War had ended.
Nobody did.
You could ask anyone who had survived that era, from the lowest-ranking Fallen officer to the highest cadres like Tamiel, all the way to Azazel himself. None of them could remember the actual conclusion of the conflict.
An observer might argue that since the Fallen Angels were the first faction to formally withdraw from the frontlines, it was only natural they had missed the final battle. But that logic fell apart under scrutiny. The Grigori had still been actively monitoring the battlefield. They had eyes on everything.
And yet, even their brother in the Silver City, the Archangel Michael, didn't remember how the war ended. The devils lied, covering up the gaps in their history with grand, heroic epics, but Shemhazai knew the truth that none of them knew.
One day, the war was raging with world-shattering intensity. The earth was tearing apart, the heavens were burning, the underworld being torn to pieces, hell freezing, and the three factions were locked in a desperate, tri-lateral struggle for absolute survival as the rest of the world hid in their homes, hoping not to be dragged into their war.
And then... bam.
It was just over.
Their Creator, the Almighty God, was suddenly gone from the throne of Heaven. Their brilliant, rebellious brother, Lucifer, had vanished entirely from existence. The Leviathan had fled back to the deepest death of the Underworld, brutally mangled and on the absolute verge of permanent death. Beelzebub and Asmodeus were confirmed dead. The remaining demon legions had been sealed back into the deep abyss of Hell.
But the most terrifying consequence of the war's end wasn't the casualties. It was what had happened to the very laws of the world.
For some entirely unknown reason, a conceptual suppression law had settled over the earth. Beings of immense power could no longer unleash their full, unrestricted might on the human reflection plane without tearing their own souls apart or being violently repelled by the very world. Angels, Fallen, Devils, and even the ancient Pagan Gods were suddenly forced to play within a highly restricted sandbox.
Nobody knew why. Nobody knew who had woven the law. But it had scared everyone into a tense, decades-long cold war before things started to settle.
Shemhazai looked back at Azazel, who was calmly sipping his spiritual whiskey. It was precisely because of this planetary suppression that the younger generation of devils had forgotten who the Lord of the Fallen actually was.
They had forgotten the terrifying archangel who had battled hand-to-hand against the likes of God and Lucifer. Yes, Azazel was weaker than their Father, but besides Michael and Lucifer, was there a single created entity in the cosmos who could have matched their father during the height of his power?
Aside from Great Red and Ophis, of course, and even those two dragons knew better than to actively challenge their Father when his grace was absolute.
The archangels were to be feared by all, and Azazel had once been one of them, and his intelligence had made him someone that people were wary of, to the point of even preferring to battle Gabriel, the third strongest angel, over fighting Azazel.
Yet now, the Underworld boasted that this red-haired brat, Sirzechs, was "ten times more powerful than the original Lucifer."
'By the Creator, what a pathetic joke,' Shemhazai thought, a cold sneer playing on his lips.
If Sirzechs truly possessed ten times the power of the Morning Star, one of the prime architects who had literally shaped the foundations of creation, the entire multiverse would have already bent to his absolute whim. He wouldn't be sitting in a provincial office dealing with domestic noble disputes and arranged marriages.
Suddenly, the brilliant crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling began to slowly dim, their magical light fading into a deep, atmospheric violet.
"Oh," Azazel murmured, setting his glass down and leaning over the railing with a sharp, expectant grin. "Looks like the curtain is finally rising."
The entire auction house fell into a breathless silence. Thousands of greedy, calculating, and powerful eyes turned toward the center stage as a single, brilliant white spotlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the platform.
And then, she stepped through the heavy velvet curtains.
A tall, breathtakingly beautiful woman with cascading, brilliant pink hair, striking crimson eyes, and a voluptuous figure that commanded the room with effortless, majestic grace.
Xeno had arrived. And the second auction of Malice & Marvels was officially open.
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