DXD SI : Chapter 4.2 : The Great King. (Patreon)

–Magdaran Bael–

“Now,” Zephyr Bael said, after he had finished praising himself and his entire bloodline, “For the main event. Sairaorg! Come here. Show them the pride of the Bael Clan! The Power of Destruction.”

He closed his eyes, his face contorting as he turned around, facing the bartender, who looked frightened, looking at his twisted, angry face.

The silence in the Event hall was absolute as the only sound was of Sairaorg walking forward. He could feel how unsteady those steps were.

After that, for over a minute, all the sounds in the Hall were of Sairaorg’s heavy breathing, and nothing else. After over a minute of that charade, the disappointed sigh of Zerphy echoed all around the Great Hall, and he took that as his cue. He simply could not stay one more second without feeling the urge to destroy something around him.

So, he left. With a simple mental flex, a circle appeared below him, and he teleported out of that hall before Zerphy could do something so stupid that he found himself disintegrated out of existence.

When he opened his eyes, he was back in his happy place. His safe place.

His garden.

He spent the majority of his time here, in this secured section of the Bael Estate, where no one came or could come anyway, where he grew his plants, practised with his powers, and learned more about the gifts he was given when he was sent to this universe.

His new life did not come with a manual. It would have been very helpful to know what he had instead of bumbling around his early ears, but after almost a decade of experimentation had given him a pretty good idea as to what he was working with.

First of all, he was given an upgraded version of the PoD. Sure, it still retained the original Destruction characteristics, but he was given a separate branch of the same power. 

Conceptual Destruction was the name he had given to his power. No, he was not like Shiva or even Sirzechs in terms of raw power required to do that. Instead, in exchange for raw power, he could erase, nudge, or even tweak certain concepts using his PoD. Sure, esoteric concepts like life, death, entropy, and more were out of his reach, likely forever, but he could do something far more useful.

Like erasing injuries, fatigue, light, and more. That minute level of conceptual manipulation was available to him, so long as he had the juice to power it. 

The second gift, though he was still not sure if it was an external gift or if it was just his innate curiosity, was his attraction towards plants. Flora of all kinds interested him to no end. His power synergized best with flora as well. So far, he had done work that would revolutionise the entire agricultural industry of the world, on top of some very disturbing findings about plants that could actually enhance Devils. Understandably, he had suppressed the second findings, destroying any samples because that was a can of worms he did not wish to open anytime soon. Still, even without that, simply using his powers in conjunction with plants gave him the motivation required to move forward.

Hence, the garden.

His safe haven. The one place—

He whirled on the spot, hand surging forward, a Rasengan like construct of PoD surging in his hand as it collided with something invisible. There was a spark in the air in front of him, before the invisibility fell away, revealing the form of Zekram Bael, standing behind a forcefield that tanked his attack with ease.

Zekram raised an eyebrow and looked at his hand, at the construct that should have destroyed the forcefield, his message clear. Yet, he was in no mood to stop it. He was already enraged by the things he had to witness and at himself for not having the guts to stop it, only for this bastard to come barging into the one place he found solace.

So, no, he was not about to just step back and let go. Using the PoD as a medium, he analysed the concepts of the forcefield in front of him and was surprised to find that even if he did break through the first barrier, the second one stretched space in between them, and the third did something with teleportation. In ordinary circumstances, that would have been a foolproof barrier, capable of stopping Satan class attacks and failing that, teleporting the user to safety, provided he was not facing someone who could do something conceptually.

Alas, Zekram was facing him. He smirked evilly, he was going to show this son of a bitch his place—

His eyes widened, his entire body flinching as he stepped back a bit, shaking his head rapidly as he realised he was under the influence of something. Glaring at Zekram, who looked interested now instead of the indifference from before, he snarled and let the PoD surge throughout his body, covering every single inch of himself. 

There! He found the spell that was somehow able to affect him. His eyes widened as he found concepts like anger, rage, Heavenly Rage, Lower inhibition, and more before he decisively destroyed the spell, not willing to stay under that influence a moment longer because it was a very high level spell, something he had never seen before.

‘What the fuck was Heavenly Rage supposed to be?’

The curtain of PoD around his body dissolved a moment later, revealing Zekram now looking at him with open interest, a forcefield nowhere to be seen. He exhaled, made sure his new, conjured clothes were without a wrinkle, and then asked the man in a polite and distant tone, 

“What can I do for you, Lord Zekram?”

“As far as I recall, this is still part of the Clan Grounds, is it not? Or is my memory failing me, boy?” The words were said with the same clinal tone as before, as if someone was making an offhanded observation, but the meaning was clear.

Who are you to ask me that, boy?

The boy epithet was supposed to rile him up, especially with the spell that was cast on him, without him even knowing of it. He suspected something to do with the Clan Ring he was forced to wear at all times, but since it was destroyed now, he couldn't properly investigate anything.

“It is still part of the Clan Grounds, and as such, you are free to roam about as you please. I was just asking you if you needed something since someone of your stature does not need to muck about in the mud.” 

Zekram looked at him with narrowed eyes and hummed before his gaze slid all over the garden, assessing all the plants present, most of which were hybrids or were specially cultivated by him. It would not be wrong to say that he had literally used his blood, sweat, and tears on some of the plants and trees here.

“I heard you left the Ceremony early,” Zekram remarked as he began walking deeper into the garden. He followed suit stiffly, wondering just why he accepted the invitation and not rejected it like he did the other dozen that came every month. As for answering Zekram’s unasked question..

“Yes, I did not see the purpose of seeing yet another farce. I assume Sairaorg is no longer the Clan Heir?”

Zekram glanced at him from the corner of his eyes before replying, “You assume correctly.”

“Who’s the new heir, then?”

‘Please don’t say me. Please don’t say me.‘

He prayed fruitlessly as he knew that he was the only other candidate who fulfilled most of the criteria, even if he was not strictly of noble descent.

“That’s yet to be declared.”

“But already decided?” 

Zerkram did not reply but continued walking into the garden. Well, he called it a garden, but it would be more prudent to call it a small forest. Giant trees, smaller trees, plants, vines, roots, and more were spread across the land as Zekram took a walk around his home. 

After what felt like an eternity but was only an hour of a silent walk around the Garden, Zekram and he reached the same spot where he had almost broken Zekram’s forcefield and revealed his hand, the crater being the identifying spot.

“There will be new commitments as the new Heir of the Bael Clan,” Zerkam remarked. He remained silent, already resigned to the position but certainly defiant about taking the responsibilities that came with it.

“The new Heir will be terribly busy, then.” He remarked offhandedly, knowing where this conversation was going.

Zekram paused at the moment before turning to him fully, for the first time since he came here, and said, “You really don’t want to become the Heir.” 

The confusion in his voice was positively delicious, as he took the small win for confusing the Great King with pride.

When he still didn’t reply, his eyes narrowed, as if his legendary patience had finally run thin, before his gaze slid back to the massive garden around them. He narrowed his eyes, his hackles rising as Zekram said, “Anyway, I don’t think you will have time for this...hobby of yours. Consider that it is immensely dangerous for anyone but you or other people to enter, I will have to–” 

Zekram’s hand was suddenly raised in a blur, a ball of PoD already formed on his hand as he flicked it words the biggest tree in the garden, the Mother tree, as he had affectionately dubbed it, the same tree that kept most of the trees here alive, the same one that also kept the garden protected, the same one that was his kin for all the meaning of the word.

“....burn it do–” Zekram’s words stuck in his throat as he watched his hand hold onto Zekram’s ball of destruction and as he maintained eye contact with the old monster, crushing it into nothingness, “--down.”

Flicking his hands, “You were saying?”