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Chapter 5: Limitations.
🕑 Added 2025-12-12 05:13:07 +0000 UTCA Marvelous Devil:
Chapter 5: Limitations.
Dante Andromalius.
The Underworld.
I was running.
Not because I enjoyed it, or because it was efficient. I ran because flying would have made all effort in vain, and right now, I needed every ounce of training I could manage.
The Sitri territory stretched wide beneath the fake sun. The roads were clean despite being filled, and the buildings were spaced with intent rather than chaos. At least they did not disappoint me in this regard. It was the least they could do if they called themselves nobles.
Devils went about their days with an attitude of people who were content with their lot in life, not what I had expected from a race created for war.
Merchants opening their stalls, servants buying things for their lords, complete families looking at the wares like a normal day.
It was all very… functional, and painfully mortal.
I ran straight through it, my boots striking the stone as I pushed my body toward the distant treeline. The demonic forest lay several kilometers away, far enough that the run would matter, short enough that it would not kill me.
A pathetic metric. One I had to accept.
My lungs burned far too quickly. That alone told me everything I needed to know.
This body was weak. Pathetically weak.
Flying would have let me cover the distance faster, but that would have done nothing to address the underlying problem. If I could not endure a simple run without my breathing turning ragged, then I would have no business leaning on shortcuts from my previous life. I needed my body to catch up, even if only a little.
And considering how fragile it was, even a run like this helped.
I needed every ounce of strength I could squeeze out of this sorry existence I had been forced into, even if it was for the best.
As I ran, my gaze flicked to the devils I passed. Most ignored me, but some stared openly. A few watched with faint curiosity, others with mild disdain. I could feel it in the way their attention brushed against me. To them, I was someone who did not matter. Someone clinging to a hope they had already deemed impossible.
Irritation flared in my chest. It was followed swiftly by disdain.
I scoffed quietly, lengthening my stride despite the protest in my legs. Devils. This was the race I now belonged to. This was what I had been forced to be reborn as.
And they were… disappointing.
The thought came sharp and out of nowhere, obvious enough that I did not bother to suppress it. Compared to what I remembered, compared to the beings I had known and fought alongside and against, these devils felt small. Mortal-adjacent, really.
They were bound by limits they barely seemed aware of, or worse, limits they were content to accept.
Yet the irony did not escape me.
They acted the way Seere once had.
The realization slowed my steps for a brief moment, just long enough for memory to come out.
Seere had been confident. Effortlessly so. An inevitable facet of his existence.
Power had never been something he chased. It was something he assumed, something that followed him naturally as the world bent to accommodate his presence. Training had been optional. Discipline had been for refinement, not out of necessity.
Despite that approach, he had grown into someone who mattered.
These devils walked the same path.
They lived as if strength was a given, as if the structure of their society and the inheritance of their blood were enough. They did not train. They did not strive for more.
The difference was simple. Seere could afford it. They could not.
That disparity fueled my arrogance, taking root deep inside my chest. I despised them for failing where Seere would not have. I despised this race for being born into a role they barely lived up to.
I would not have struggled like this. Seere would not have gasped for breath after a simple run. Seere would not have looked at his reflection and found weakness staring back at him.
They were not Seere. I was.
And because of that, I found them wanting.
Shaking my head, I broadened my evaluation of them.
Devils, as a race, were not even particularly supernatural by the standards I remembered. They possessed power, yes, but it was muted. Our bodies were not exceptionally resilient. Our physical strength was laughable compared to the non-human species I once considered baseline.
I could not even break a metal door with a kick. The fact still irritated me.
For a race birthed to fight God, they were surprisingly frail.
The word had barely finished forming in my mind when agony speared through my skull.
I stumbled mid-stride, biting back a cry as white-hot pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision blurred, divine pressure crushing down hard enough to make me dizzy.
I barely managed to keep my footing.
“Fuck,” I hissed, clutching my head as the pain tore through me. It felt as if something had reached into my thoughts and twisted. Not enough to cripple me. More than enough to make the message clear.
Several devils turned to stare.
I straightened slowly, breathing hard, forcing my expression into neutrality as the pain faded into a dull throb. The discomfort lingered, but it was manageable.
Hilarious. The thought made me snort despite myself.
So that was how it worked.
I did not need to focus to understand it. The curse woven into my kind was crude in its execution, inelegant enough to be almost insulting. Mention God with intent and suffer.
Just a deterrent. Not a kill switch.
Petty, in the way only a being convinced of absolute authority could afford to be.
I could almost appreciate it.
This cosmology’s counterpart to the One Above All was far more vindictive, and that amused me greatly. A curse like this was not a sign of strength. It was a sign of insecurity.
Interestingly, there was something off about it. As if the curse had once been stronger. As if time itself had dulled its edge.
Why He hadn’t returned to the previous level was beyond me; I doubted He had a change of heart in these few centuries.
The devils continued to stare, murmuring quietly among themselves. I felt their attention pressing in.
Without slowing my pace, I reached inward and guided my magic into my clan trait.
The effect was immediate.
Their gazes slid off me. Not dramatically. Simply disengaging, their eyes glazing over as their interest evaporated. To them, I ceased to matter.
Exactly how I preferred it.
The world grew quiet.
My steps barely produced sound. The wind parted around me rather than resisting, flowing as if I were not an obstacle but an absence. That alone surprised me.
I had assumed my clan trait was only suited for hiding, but the implications were broader than that. If even the wind forgot I was there, then there was no reason I could not apply the same principle elsewhere.
Like gravity.
This trait was not destructive. It did not directly enhance strength or speed. It did not grant power in any conventional sense.
Yet its potential was undeniable.
If the world refused to acknowledge my presence, then I could decide when it mattered. I could choose the moment I became real.
Imagination would be the key.
By the time the treeline loomed closer, the stares had stopped entirely. I crossed into the shadow of the demonic forest without fanfare. The oppressive energy washed over me as the sounds of civilization faded into the background.
The forest reminded me of the ones near the Ashen Court.
Trees twisted unnaturally, their bark darkened by the constant demonic saturation of this dimension. The air carried a heavy, metallic tang that dragged up old memories.
This place was steeped in demonic power.
Perfect for training in secrecy.
Everything here was tainted.
I deactivated my trait and waited, wondering how long it would take for the nearby presences to lock onto me.
Not long, thankfully.
A shape moved between the trees, its eyes glowing with a dull red haze. An ape-like creature burst from behind a bush, its muscles tightening in preparation as it panted and fixed its gaze on me.
It looked at me like prey.
I smirked, meeting its eyes and gauging its strength just slightly above mine. Something my experience, forged over eons, should have been more than enough to handle.
And yet, my body failed me.
I stepped in, striking for its throat. My fist connected, but instead of the bone-shattering impact I expected, pain shot up my arm. The recoil was immediate. My shoulder screamed as the creature staggered, wounded but far from finished.
I twisted away from its counterattack just in time, a massive claw tearing through the space where my head had been.
That would have snapped my neck in one hit.
At least it was slow. Strong, but slow.
My experience was flawless.
The timing was perfect. The killing intent was enough to make the beast hesitate.
But my body lagged behind. My muscles were too weak and my frame too fragile to execute what my mind demanded.
Rage simmered beneath my skin. Red was going to pay for this. When I returned, I would deal with him properly.
But now, I focused on the monster.
Demonic power surged through me. Pitiful, but enough for what I wanted. I focused on the concept of fire and hurled a compressed burst at the creature’s face. Weak by my standards, but enough to stagger it.
Then I vanished.
My clan trait erased my presence as I slipped from its perception. The ape swung wildly, roaring in confusion as I reappeared behind it and drove another fireball into the base of its skull.
The creature collapsed with a wet crunch.
Blood splattered across my face. I ignored the vile taste.
I stood over the corpse, chest tight, arms trembling faintly as adrenaline faded. My demonic power was low.
Pathetic.
As the corrupted soul began to slip free, I focused. Not with demonic power, but with something deeper. Something I had learned through countless deals over countless ages.
The soul shuddered, wavering in my grip.
For an instant, it resisted my pull. Then, I consumed it.
The sensation was subtle, almost imperceptible. Yet something changed.
Far beneath the shallow well of demonic energy, a separate reservoir stirred. My Cosmic power increased by a fraction so small it bordered on meaningless.
I only noticed because it was just as insignificant as everything else.
I exhaled slowly, staring at my hands as the implications settled in. One soul had barely moved the needle. To create anything of substance, I would need hundreds. Thousands. Perhaps millions.
The realization was grim. But it was possible.
And dangerous, given the laws of this hell.
I was not strong.
Not yet.
But I would not remain weak.
Later that night.
Dante Andromalius.
Night had already settled by the time I returned home.
My body was sore in places I did not think could hurt, and the smell of blood clung to me. I did not look blood-soaked, thanks to elemental magic.
Water was useful for washing away remains, though maybe next time I would bring soap.
My shirt, however, was beyond saving.
That was expected. My parents did not buy quality clothes.
Celestine noticed immediately.
She was waiting in the living room, seated near the table with a book open in her hands. The moment the door closed behind me, her eyes locked onto mine. Then widened just a fraction.
“Dante, baby, what happened to you?” she asked softly, already rising to her feet.
I could read her emotions clearly. Worry, most notably.
She forced it down quickly, smoothing her expression as she stepped closer.
Hadrian stood near the window. He had not moved when I entered. His posture was relaxed, but his emotions mirrored Celestine’s more than he let on.
Pride was there. And beneath it, a shadow of concern.
Not for me. Strange.
“Are you hurt, baby?” Celestine asked, cupping my cheek gently.
“No,” I replied. “Just tired. I promise I’m fine.”
It was not a lie. Her lips pressed together as she studied me.
She did not believe me, but she did not challenge it either.
“What’s going on?” I asked, glancing between them.
Hadrian’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Celestine's eyes twitched in irritation.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” she said, a little too brightly. “Your father has just been busy. You know how it is.”
I knew she was lying. Celestine was not happy with Hadrian. That much was obvious.
She avoided looking at him for more than a heartbeat. It was not a marital issue. That I knew.
Hadrian, for his part, did not contradict her. He inclined his head slightly, accepting the deflection.
My gaze lingered on him.
Celestine's smile came too quickly. Her hand found Hadrian's arm with pressure that said 'stop talking.' I didn't need my experience to recognize a deflection.
I nearly laughed at how obvious it was. I loved them, but subtlety was not their strength.
“You were gone all day,” she said, guiding me toward a chair. “We expected you back before dusk.”
“I lost track of time.”
“Where were you?” my father asked.
Such a strange word, considering my memories. A Father... who would have thought.
There was no accusation in his tone.
“Training,” I said, slumping into the seat. “In the forest outside the territory.”
Celestine stiffened. “
You should rest,” she said. “And change. You stink, baby.”
I grinned despite myself. Someone worrying for me felt foreign, especially a love that was this pure.
“I will, mother,” I nodded. “Just let me feel my legs again.”
Hadrian frowned and shared a glance with Celestine.
She nodded, even if she clearly did not want to.
“There is some good news,” Father grinned, trying and failing to sound composed. His worry and excitement bled through regardless.
I lifted an eyebrow.
“An important letter arrived. For you.”
“That’s… unexpected,” I frowned. “Did you read it?”
Hadrian looked offended.
I sent him a wink, chuckling.
“No, son. I’m not a nosy bastard,” he said, smacking the back of my head. “It’s from the Sitri family.”
And that…
That was my way in.
