**The Morning After**
Caelan woke to frost spreading across his ceiling.
His eyes opened slowly, silver irises focusing on the intricate patterns of ice crystallizing above him—
fractals branching outward from directly over his bed, following mathematical principles he could calculate in his sleep.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
Cold.
The air in his room had dropped to nearly freezing.
Not from any spell he'd consciously cast, but simply from *existing*.
His body at zero degrees, radiating cold like a star radiated heat, the field around him turning his bedroom into a winter landscape.
He sighed, and the breath came out as a visible cloud of mist.
With an effort of will, he suppressed it.
Let the field relax, let warmth from the rest of the estate seep back in.
The frost on the ceiling began to melt, water droplets forming and falling like rain.
He'd survived.
Against all probability, he'd achieved absolute zero and returned.
His body was fundamentally altered now—colder, harder, *different*.
The blue streak in his silver hair caught his reflection in the mirror across the room, a permanent reminder of what he'd done to himself.
And no one had noticed.
Of course they hadn't.
The door to his room opened without warning.
No knock.
No announcement.
Rias walked in first—nearly five years old now, her crimson hair in pigtails, wearing a frilly dress.
She looked around the room with obvious disinterest, as though she'd been dragged here against her will.
Behind her, Grayfia.
His mother.
Their eyes met—silver and silver—and for a moment, Caelan waited.
Waited to see if she'd notice.
The changed hair color.
The way frost formed on surfaces near him even with his field suppressed.
The fundamental *wrongness* of what he'd become.
Nothing.
Her expression was the same professional neutrality she always wore.
No recognition.
No concern.
"Why weren't you present at your brother's celebration?" Her voice was clipped, efficient.
The tone of someone checking off an administrative task.
Caelan stared at her. *
His brother's* celebration.
Not *their* celebration.
Not *your* birthday.
"I—" he started.
"The entire household was expected to attend. Your absence was noted."
By who, she didn't say.
Probably Lord Zeoticus, who kept meticulous records of social obligations and would have noticed an empty seat at the family table.
*Noted.*
Not missed.
Not worried about.
*Noted*, like a clerical error in a ledger.
Did she realize no one had wished him happy birthday?
Did she understand that while Lucien received gifts from across the Underworld, Caelan had gotten a single cupcake from a sympathetic servant?
Did she know he'd spent his birthday achieving absolute zero, nearly dying in his room while they celebrated downstairs?
Her eyes narrowed slightly at his silence, and she made a tutting sound of disapproval.
Under her breath, he caught fragments: "...inconsiderate... duty to family... ungrateful..."
Curses.
She was muttering curses about *him*.
"Get dressed," she said aloud, her tone brooking no argument.
"We're going to Lord Ajuka's laboratory. Both you and Lucien are receiving your Evil Pieces today."
Both you and Lucien.
An afterthought.
A footnote.
"Yes, Mother," Caelan said quietly.
She'd already turned away, ushering Rias out of the room.
"Be ready in twenty minutes. Do not make us wait."
The door closed.
Caelan sat on his bed for a long moment, staring at nothing.
Then he stood and began to dress.
**Ajuka's Laboratory**
The laboratory of Ajuka Beelzebub was a marvel of magical engineering.
Located in a pocket dimension accessible only by specific teleportation coordinates, it stretched impossibly vast—cathedral ceilings, walls lined with arcane machinery that hummed with power, magical circles etched into every surface.
The air itself crackled with residual energy from countless experiments.
This was where the Evil Piece system had been created.
Where the Rating Game rules were refined.
Where devil society's greatest magical innovations were born.
The Gremory family stood in the main chamber: Sirzechs, Grayfia, Lord Zeoticus, Lady Venelana, Lucien, Rias.
And Caelan, standing slightly apart from the group.
Ajuka himself greeted them—a tall devil with green hair and analytical eyes that seemed to calculate everything they observed.
He wore the demeanor of a researcher, not a politician, despite being one of the Four Great Satans. "Ah, Sirzechs! Right on time." He smiled, genuine warmth in his expression.
"And young Lucien—ten years old already. Time flies."
His gaze shifted briefly to Caelan.
"Both of them, I see."
*Both of them. *
Like Caelan was an unexpected variable in an equation.
Ajuka led them deeper into the lab, toward a massive machine at its center.
A complex array of magical circles, crystalline structures, and technological components that defied easy categorization.
The Evil Piece Generator.
"The process is straightforward," Ajuka explained, his voice taking on a lecturer's tone.
"The machine analyzes the individual's magical signature—their power, their potential, their unique characteristics.
Based on that analysis, it generates a customized set of Evil Pieces attuned specifically to them.
He gestured to the machine.
"Standard sets contain fifteen pieces: eight Pawns, two Rooks, two Knights, two Bishops, and one Queen. However, particularly powerful individuals may receive Mutation Pieces—specialized versions with enhanced capabilities."
Lucien listened intently, his golden eyes bright with excitement.
Caelan watched silently, his analytical mind already understanding the implications.
"Who wants to go first?" Ajuka asked cheerfully. "Me! Me!" Lucien stepped forward without hesitation, all youthful enthusiasm.
The family gathered around as Ajuka positioned Lucien before the machine.
"Just place your hand on the interface crystal and release your magical energy. Don't hold back—I want to see what you're really capable of."
Lucien grinned, placed his hand on the glowing crystal, and *unleashed*.
The Power of Destruction erupted from him in waves—crimson and black energy that made the machine's monitoring systems go haywire.
The crystalline components lit up like stars, magical circles spinning faster and faster as they struggled to measure and categorize the sheer *magnitude* of power flowing through them.
"Incredible," Ajuka breathed, his analytical demeanor cracking with genuine awe.
"The density, the control—Sirzechs, your son is extraordinary."
"I know," Sirzechs said, pride evident in his voice as he watched his heir.
Minutes passed as the machine worked, the magical formulae visible in the air becoming increasingly complex.
Finally, with a musical chime, a compartment opened. Inside: a set of Evil Pieces.
But not a standard set.
Three of the Pawn pieces glowed with an unusual light—larger, denser, radiating power that made the air around them shimmer.
"Mutation Pieces," Ajuka confirmed, lifting one reverently.
"Three of them. Each one equivalent to multiple standard pieces in terms of power capacity. These will allow you to reincarnate extraordinarily powerful beings—individuals who would normally require four or five Pawns might only need one of these."
The family erupted in praise. "Magnificent!"
"As expected of Lucien!"
"The future of House Gremory!" Sirzechs embraced his son, genuine joy on his face.
Grayfia allowed herself a small, proud smile.
Even Lord Zeoticus looked genuinely pleased. Lucien beamed, accepting the accolades with the easy grace of someone accustomed to success.
And Caelan watched, emotionless.
**His Turn**
"Alright, who's next?" Ajuka looked around, then his gaze landed on Caelan.
"Ah, yes. Come forward, young man."
No one was paying attention anymore.
The family had clustered around Lucien's Mutation Pieces, examining them, discussing their potential uses.
Ajuka had to repeat himself.
"Young Lucifuge? Your turn."
Caelan walked to the machine.
Placed his hand on the interface crystal.
Released his magical energy.
The effect was immediate and alarming.
The crystal began to freeze. Ice spread across its surface, creeping up the machine's components. The temperature in the laboratory dropped sharply—not just near Caelan, but throughout the entire chamber.
Warning alarms blared. Ajuka's expression shifted to one of professional concern.
He waved a hand, casting diagnostic spells.
"Interesting. Your ice affinity is quite strong—stronger than I would have expected given your magical reserves. The field effect is particularly noteworthy."
*Ice affinity.*
Not "unprecedented control."
Not "unique application of magic."
Just... ice affinity.
*And nothing more.*
The machine struggled, frost forming on its internal components.
But it continued working, analyzing, calculating.
Minutes passed in silence.
The family had stopped paying attention entirely.
Sirzechs was discussing potential peerage compositions with Lord Zeoticus.
Grayfia was helping Lucien organize his new pieces.
Rias was bored and playing with a magical toy.
Finally, the machine chimed.
A compartment opened.
Caelan reached in and pulled out— A box. Smaller than Lucien's.
Simple.
Plain.
He opened it.
Empty.
No, not empty.
There was *something* there.
A single piece.
The King piece.
But it was wrong.
Fractured.
Broken.
The crown that should have adorned its top was cracked, with pieces missing.
Streaks of blue ran through it like veins of ice, pulsing with cold light.
It looked like someone had taken a proper King piece and shattered it, then poorly glued the fragments back together.
Caelan stared at it.
Ajuka leaned over, frowning.
"That's... unusual. The system should have generated a full set, but it seems—"
He ran diagnostic spells over the piece.
"Ah. Your magical signature is too... unstable. Too cold. The machine couldn't properly calibrate the other pieces. They failed during formation."
"So he only gets one piece?"
Lady Venelana asked, barely glancing over.
"Technically, he shouldn't have received any. This King piece itself is flawed—structurally compromised. It might not even function properly for reincarnation purposes."
Ajuka's voice was clinical, analytical.
"I can attempt to generate a new set in a few years, once his magical signature stabilizes."
*If* it stabilizes, his tone implied.
Lord Zeoticus made a dismissive sound. "A waste of resources. He won't be forming a peerage anyway—you need power to attract servants worth having."
No one argued.
Sirzechs didn't even look over.
Grayfia's expression remained neutral.
Lucien was too absorbed in his Mutation Pieces to notice.
Caelan closed the box, the broken King piece inside.
"Thank you, Lord Ajuka," he said quietly.
**His Room**
That evening, Caelan sat on his bed, staring at the broken piece in his palm.
The King.
The piece that represented leadership, authority, the center around which all others orbited.
His was shattered.
Pathetic.
*Destiny fucks you over ironically*, he thought distantly.
Even the universe seemed to be making a point.
You're not just weak—you're *broken*.
Even your potential to lead is fractured beyond repair.
The events of the day replayed in his mind with perfect clarity.
*"Why does he even need pieces? It's not like anyone would want to serve in his peerage."* Lord Zeoticus, speaking to Sirzechs in the corridor after they'd left Ajuka's lab. *
"A formality. All high-class devils receive them upon reaching maturity."* Sirzechs' response, dismissive.
*"He's not high-class. He's barely low-class. This is a waste."*
*"Father, please. Let it go."* No defense. No argument that Caelan deserved the pieces, deserved consideration.
Just...
let it go.
*"Lucien's Mutation Pieces are magnificent! Three of them!"* Lady Venelana, gushing to anyone who'd listen.
*"He'll be able to recruit incredibly powerful servants. Perhaps even beings on par with Ultimate-Class devils."* Ajuka, professional enthusiasm.
*"That's my boy."* Sirzechs, with genuine pride that Caelan had never, *ever* heard directed at him.
*" Grayfia, who was that other boy at Lord Ajuka's lab?"* Rias, asking innocently on the teleportation ride home.
Silence.
Then:
*"No one important, dear."* Grayfia's voice, calm and neutral.
*"Oh. Okay."* And Rias had forgotten him immediately.
Memories from his entire life flashed through his mind.
His birth—the silence, the fear, the disappointment.
His childhood—invisible,forgotten, erased.
The dog and her puppies—all loved equally, while he...
The engagement meeting—redirected before he could even speak.
His tenth birthday—celebrated for Lucien, ignored for him.
Absolute zero—achieved in complete solitude, unnoticed.
And now this.
The final, cosmic joke.
A broken King piece for a broken son.
Something wet rolled down his cheek.
A tear.
The first he'd shed in years.
It froze instantly—a tiny crystal of ice that fell from his face and shattered on the broken King piece in his palm.
Then another.
And another.
Caelan clutched the piece to his chest, his shoulders shaking.
He didn't make a sound—years of silence had trained him well.
But tears fell, each one freezing immediately, tiny crystals of sorrow that accumulated around him like snow.
*What a waste,* he thought.
*What a waste of a life. What a waste of a being.*
His brilliant mind, capable of understanding concepts that baffled scholars.
His precise control, honed through years of solitary practice.
His achievement—absolute zero, something no devil in history had accomplished.
All of it... meaningless.
Because he was *weak*.
And in the Underworld, nothing else mattered.
The tears continued—frozen, falling, shattering.
He stayed there, clutching his broken King piece, his body temperature dropping unconsciously as his control slipped.
The room began to freeze again.
Frost spread across the walls.
Ice formed on the window.
And Caelan Lucifuge—
son of Sirzechs,
son of Grayfia,
son of Gremory— Died.
Not his body.
Not his mind.
But something deeper.
Something fundamental.
The last fragile part of him that had still hoped, still believed, still *wanted* their love.
That part died.
Quietly.
Completely.
And what was left behind was something colder than ice.
Harder than diamond.
Empty.
That night, the boy who'd been born nine years ago—the one who'd reached for his mother's hand, who'd tried to show his father his theories, who'd wanted so desperately to *matter*—
Ceased to exist.
And in his place...
In his place was something else.
Something that would remember this moment.
Remember every moment.
And one day—one day—make them all understand exactly what they'd created.