His eyes snapped open, a gasp escaping his lips as he tried to greedily drink in air that he was not getting, only to pause as he took stock of his surroundings, or lack thereof, and then himself.
He had no eyes to snap open, no lips to gasp through, no nose to breathe properly, and certainly no lungs through which the air necessary for the sound could be pumped through. He was seeing but not through his eyes. He did not even have a body for that.
He just….was.
If he had lungs or the ability to produce stress hormones or neurons to overthink about this, he would have begun hyperventilating. Instead, he just drifted. Not on purpose, mind you, but somehow, the emptiness that he was subjected to was buoyant, allowing him? His soul? to float as if the darkness was a river and he was some log that was a ride along for a journey he had absolutely no way of controlling.
It was oddly relaxing as well, after he got over the fact that he was ripped from all he knew, from everyone he had ever known, from the life he had built?
His mind, if he even had a brain, paused for a beat as he tried to think of the meaning of the sentence that had just sprouted in his brain.
He was ripped from what life? What people? What everything?
He couldn't remember a thing.
The thought should have sent him into a spiral of panic, of existential crisis, and yet, nothing of that sort happened. He had no idea why, and frankly, the thought of questioning that faded away within moments, or atleast it seemed like it. He had no idea of the time passing in this place of nothingness.
Was this hell, then? A thought with dull curiosity emerged in his mind, and as if whatever higher authority that ruled or managed this place heard his question, he felt and saw a hole in this nothingness appear a small distance away from, or so he thought. He also had no sense of distance in this space as well as no sense of the speed of his drifting.
Even though he had no senses to speak of, he instinctively knew that the hole was rainbow coloured, as if a Kaleidoscope had bloomed in front of him. He also realised with a detached awareness that he was headed straight to the hole, and he seemed to be accelerated, violently.
The nothingness all around him surged forward towards the hole, as if angry for disturbing its nothingness, bringing him all the closer to the hole. His instincts, if they were even real, told him that the hole was the way to escape from this nothingness.
The thought made him feel something, something too dull to correctly quantify, as if the emotions were far too muted for him to feel them. In the end, he was swept into the rainbow hole without any conscious input on his part.
The nothingness really did not like the rainbow hole, it seemed.
___xx__
The next moment he opened his eyes, they were real, actual eyes, flesh and blood. Well, a little bit more than regular blood and flesh but he had no idea of that at the time. All he could see was blurred shapes, giants, and hear intermittently. All of that was also coupled with a crippling sense of weakness.
Soon enough, the weight of his eyes became too heavy for him to bear, depriving him of that blurry vision as well as that small piece of awareness he had managed to snag for himself after spending who knows how long in that nothingness.
___xx__
He had no idea just how much he hated that nothingness until he escaped it. Everyone was wrong. Hell was not boiling oil or purgatory where you had the chance to repent, or a place where all evil was gathered, or a place where Satan took great pleasure in torturing you.
No, that was hell. An absolute absence of everything. No light, no sound, no pain, no happiness, no sight, no senses, no sense of time, no sense of up or down, no sense of direction, no control over his soul self, no way to think properly, no emotions. Nothing.
That was hell.
It was only after his first year here, in this new world, that he realise just how ironic his current thoughts were.
___xx__
It had been some time since he escaped that hellhole, and to this day, he still got fully body shivers whenever he thought of that place and how he could be dragged back to that hell any time, because he did not know how he reached that place, nor how he managed to escape it, without any repercussions whatsoever.
In fact, he seemed to have gotten some benefits out of it. He did not know if he was just special for that to happen or if his time spent in that hellhole and coming out without losing himself entirely played a part, but something changed within him.
For one, he was sure that someone as young as him was not supposed to have full motor control, or havethe ability for the advanced thought processes his brain continued to think of. He was also far stronger than normal, capable of pulling his entire body by a single arm, and it hadn't even taken him a lot of effort to do that.
His mother also was….odd. He instinctively knew who his mother was, and she looked….not sad but not really happy either. He was breastfed a couple of times by her since he could properly see and identify people, but she looked odd the entire time, after which she just placed him in his crib and went out, never to be seen until the next day.
He thought it odd, expecting to be born in like a rich people family, where the baby was just given birth to, for inheritance purposes, with no emotions or love involved. That still did not explain why he never had to worry about diapers and such.
He had no urge to go number 1 or 2, at all. Frankly, he should have noticed it far sooner, but he blamed baby hardware running adult-ish software for that. There were bound to be some glitches in such a configuration.
So, to summarise, he was strong, more aware than he should be, with muscles that should not be there right now, and wholly incapable of pooping, a fact that should have alarmed any self respecting human parents, or their nannies, of which he had seen none of. His mother came in once a day, fed him, looked over to see if he needed a change of clothes before going out of the big ass room he had to suffer in, by himself.
A normal baby would have cried, woken up the entire house, gotten himself sick, peed himself, and more in such an environment, and the fact that none of that happened and that didn't alarm anyone here raised alarms in his mind.
Alarms that did not abate for quite a while after that because while he did not know much about children and how to raise them, he did know that you were supposed to not keep them locked in a room for months on end, and not check up on them save for the single visit a day.
He had no issue with it since, adult-ish software, but that did mean that his prospect of having a good life with good parents went down the drain. The room itself was extravagant, with carpet that probably cost as much as his salary back when he was working for…for…..
He squeezed his eyes and hands as his accidental effort to remember part of his past sent in lancing strikes of pain, not just in his mind but also all throughout his body. Something to do with being a baby, he supposed.
Full body migraines. Fun.
When he opened his eyes once more, his gaze went to his hand, which was, up until a moment ago, gripping the crib, and now? It had bent the metal frame of the crib. His hand shot up from the crib as he stumbled a bit and sat down on his ass, looking at the dented metal with the imprint of his hand on it.
Shocked, he crawled forward a bit, to see if his eyes were not playing games on him. Yup, that was a hand imprint alright. He blinked, rubbing his eyes to check if he was hallucinating. The vision in front of him even passed the pinch pain test, which meant either it was true or he never left that nothingness, and his mind, or what was left of it anyway, was just hallucinating everything to give him respite in the final moments.
No. He shook his head, rejecting the latter option. This felt way too real for it to be a dream. Plus, that pain should have woken him up, and as far as he could remember, he had never lucid dreamed before….
A familiar dull throbbing emerged in his mind, and he only had time to think Oh shit, before his mind was assaulted by the same lances of pain, making him grunt. If he was not hallucinating the whole thing, this time, the pain was not as unbearable as before. Sure, the shit was painful, but compared to before, it was not blacking out pain.
When the entire ordeal was done, he just collapsed on his back and stared straight up, at the ceiling, his eyes growing heavy as he fell asleep with barely a struggle, unlike the past, where he fought the sleep with all he had out of fear of finding himself back in the realm of nothingness.
A/N - My first foray into the DxD fandom. May add smut in the future.
For upto 12 advance chapters - P*treon63View discussionThreadmarks DXD SI : Chapter 1.2View contentIdleMuse0307May 31, 2026#2Disclaimer - I don't own any of the characters appearing in High School DXD or the Anime or the manga whatsoever.
–?--
A year had passed since the day he figured out that he had more strength in his baby body than a regular human adult, and the same alarms regarding his parents continued to ring to this day. He had yet to see hide or hair of his father, or rather, his sperm donor. The one who gave birth to him still breastfed him, but the appearances had become rather infrequent, and her appearance had also grown more haggard.
He could now bench press himself as well as the crib with ease. Single fear pushups were a piece of cake for him.
Aside from the absurdity that was his physical body, he had also discovered something else. It was a feeling of warm, electrifying something flowing through his entire body. He could feel it surge forward towards his hands whenever he was about to do something no baby should be able to do.
He could feel it whenever he tried to think of banishing the sleep away, and it actually did it, allowing him to go for three days without sleep. He could go on for longer, but refrained from doing so out of fear of hurting his baby physique.
So, like any proper isekai protagonist, he began investigating this mysterious energy, especially since he could feel it being consumed wherever he tried to do something that was clearly supernatural.
Negating his need to sleep for a small period of time used up a significant portion of that energy, exhausting him a bit in terms of energy but keeping him awake and alert in terms of his mind and body.
It was weird, having a third thing that could get exhausted. He had lived an entire lifetime being exhausted in just mind and body. Now that he had yet another sense of being exhausted, he could feel it very clearly.
Meditation helped, to an extent, but circulating the energy around his body was hard and took time, but did nothing. He didn't feel his body being purified or his cultivation increasing or anything like that.
He couldn't even get the energy to come out of his body. No, it stubbornly refused to come out to play and only heeded his commands whenever he tried to do something with his body. He could increase his already monstrous strength using the energy, but he had no feasible way of testing its limits, so he dropped that.
He tried to fly, but the best he could do was make his legs stronger and jump to the ceiling. Also, ow!
Just like that, his explorations continued, with meditation being the only way that was feasible to his current baby self. Maybe if he was an adult or a teenager, he would have had the level of freedom required to do the destructive testing that was necessary to gauge his physical strength.
The next thing to do when you had an innate source of energy was energy manipulation, no matter what kind of energy it was. He was very excited to figure out what kind of energy it was.
Was it Qi? Chi? Magic? Cosmic Energy? Electricity? Heat? Lava? Dimensional Energy? Demonic Energy? Chaos energy?
Anything was acceptable to someone who had been an average run of the mill human in the previous lifetime.
___xx___
Just like that, yet another year passed. His energy manipulation increased to the point he could actually see the energy just writhing below his skin, and yet, it still refused to come out. It was a dark red energy that just moved underneath his skin, and it was fascinating to watch the red glow appear beneath his skin wherever the energy moved, but equally frustrating as it never came out.
He couldn't cast magic without it coming out!
All he could do was stupid physical enchantment, something that he couldn't even test or use properly right now. It was extremely disappointing that way because he had no way to get that dopamine hit when someone looked at the results of their hard work. It was hard to stay motivated for long without seeing any results, let alone doing it while being a baby.
Aside from that, the visits from his mother reduced even more in frequency. Now she came in maybe twice or thrice a week, looking more and more haggard as time passed. He also couldn't quantify it, but it felt like her milk was no longer as nutritious to him, as if his body was compensating with his innate energy.
Her appearance suggested as if she was going to die. Curiously, or rather, disturbingly depending on the perspective, he hadn't spoken a single word since he was reborn in this baby body. First, he knew that babies couldn't speak properly, so he refrained from making any noises entirely.
Secondly, there was no one to talk to, and if he wanted to talk to himself, he might as well do it in his mind, instead of being branded as the creepy baby that talked to itself. He didn't know the denomination of his parents, but that was just grounds for enhanced baptism or exorcism, in plain terms. Especially if they knew what his body was capable of.
So, he kept mum in hopes of keeping attention away, and he might have screwed himself. His vocal words were not really developed beyond grunting or huffing or sighing. He hadn't spoken a single word since he was born, and this lady, who looked as if she was on death's door, deserved to have a baby that could speak.
With that thought in his mind, he made up his mind to do something before the lady croaked. Having done her job, the lady lifted him up to examine his naked body, after which, she would clothe him and then place him in the crib, only to disappear for a few days at the very least, after which she would return, looking more pale and sick.
As she was about to clothe him, he opened his mouth and tried to speak, only for nothing but a grunt to escape his lips. A grunt that she expertly ignored. He frowned and tried harder, straining to get his words.
"...Ma…" They were faint and incomplete at first, indistinguishable from his regular grunt, but by the third time, he could get the word right and also the volume right, "ma…Ma….ma….MAMA!"
The lady froze, her grip tightening a bit on his body, something he barely felt before she hurriedly corrected herself and brought him closer to her face, her eyes searching for something in his before she dropped him in the crib and fled the room.
The door slammed shut behind her as he lay in the crib, blinking in confusion, looking up at the ceiling, his throat feeling weird as he subconsciously moved the energy within him to the throat. The uneasiness immediately disappeared.
His attention was not on that, though. He was more concerned about what would come after. He had wanted to do a sweet gesture towards the woman who still came to see him despite looking like she was on the verge of collapse. He expected something. Smile, tears, maybe an acknowledge but not her running out of his room.
He would not lie, it kinda hurt. Not in a crushing way but in the same way as a person not returning your greeting after you greeted them enthusiastically. Hell, he had spoken his first word today, so maybe a little excitement was not wrong to expect.
Then again, that would have been true in a normal world. This was not really a normal place was it?
He was 90% certain that this was not a regular Earth with no supernatural stuff in the dark. No, the fact that they expected him to survive on just that meagre nutrition meant this was normal for them. The fact that he survived and was not getting poked and prodded by doctors and scientists meant it was not abnormal for them, and that was the thing that told him that one of his regular reading genres had just come true for him.
Isekai.
He was in another world with a cheat. Granted, the energy was rather stubborn, but the physique it granted him alone would be a tremendous cheat, provided it was not the same for everyone here.
Then, it would be a rather bland isekai story.
___xx___
It was only a day since he saw her, when the door to his room opened up on its own. It was dark outside, which meant someone had come here in the evening for the first time. Instinctively, he knew that it was his mother.
He lifted his neck, his eyes widening as much as a baby's could, to see her stumbling forward, as if she was dragging herself forward through sheer will.
The room itself was plunged in darkness, but this new awesome body also came with limited night vision. Nightvision that was boosted immediately when he let the energy flow to his eyes, allowing him to sharpen the image he was seeing.
His brows furrowed as he took in the finer details. She almost looked like a zombie to him. Her eyes, though, were locked onto him with a strange intensity. Still, he felt no threat from her, and even if she tried to do something, he liked to think of himself as being more than capable of getting out of her hold.
But she did nothing. She just stopped right next to the crib, leaning forward a bit, only to nearly fall on the crib. She held herself upright next to the crib by holding onto the metal bars, her gaze never straying from him.
She gave him a shaky smile, and he instinctively knew what to do.
"ma..ma…Mama," he said again with a much lower voice this time, but she heard him all the same. Her shaky smile bloomed into a full blown smile, her eyes tearing up, as she looked relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted off of her.
Then, the moment passed, and the shaky smile returned as she looked at him and said in a very faint raspy voice, "I'm sorry…..Magdaran."
The name rang in his mind. Huh, so that was his name. Good to know. No one had said anything to him so far, so this was the first time he had heard himself being addressed.
Then, his attention was brought back to reality by a thudding sound. He scrambled upright to see that his mother slumped on the crib, her head hanging just above him, her eyes vacant, and her mouth open.
His jaw hung agape as he looked at what he was pretty sure was the dead body of his mother. His eyes unconsciously teared up, and a heavy pain settled somewhere around his chest.
Instinctively, he sent the energy to the hurting area, to remove or dull the pain, as he had done before, but this time, the pain didn't go away, at all. In fact, it only increased the more he looked at the zombie like face of the woman who gave birth to him.
Frustrated and confused by the emotions he was feeling, he sent in all the energy he could towards his chest, trying to drown out this unpleasant feeling. He knew one thing and one thing only, and he did not want to feel like that.
He wanted to destroy that feeling.
And in a way, it came true, as a violent outburst of dark red burst from within his body, consuming everything in his sight, as he blacked out.
A/N - My first foray into the DxD fandom. May add smut in the future.
For upto 12 advance chapters - P*treon69View discussionThreadmarks DXD SI : Chapter 2View contentIdleMuse0307Jun 1, 2026#3A/N - Mention of rape/non consensual sex
Clan Head Office, Bael Territory
–Zephyr Bael–
He was rifling through the weekly reports about the clan's massive business networks, just as a show. He didn't really do much about the reports. The clan had people for that. And just the Bael name was enough for the employees to make sure that work was done on time and in the manner it was supposed to.
No one was brave and stupid enough to betray the Great King faction, no matter how strong they might think of themselves. He smirked as he was reminded of the last time he had to make a public example of the last employee who tried to smuggle one of the reports outside the Bael Territory. It was fun watching the man scream, cry, and thrash as he slowly and meticulously destroyed his body, making sure that he did not die instantly.
If one knew what one was doing, one could do surprising damage to a Devil and still keep them alive. Something he had learned over the long years he had spent in the Dungeons, refining his techniques. After all, he was the one who was chosen by their Ancestor to lead the Bael Clan. He was the one who had inherited the spirit of destruction that ran in the blood of every member of the Bael Clan.
He scoffed as he dropped the stack of papers on the desk, reminded of the pathetic members of his Clan. Venelana came to mind. So much power, far stronger than him in both technique and raw power, and what did that amount to? The woman couldn't even have the basic decency of passing down the proper Bael values to her spawn, even if she herself had spat in the face of traditions passed down within the clan since Lucifer created the Pillar Devils.
He was not like her, not like the other members of the Clan. He was going to raise his heir properly, with all the values that were expected from a member of the Bael Clan, a name that symbolised destruction in the Underworld.
Speaking of his heir, he was reminded of a child he'd sired with one of the maids. He had drunk one too many dragon ales that day and had stumbled into his office at night, when it was cleaned by the maids.
His vision had been blurry so he didn't even see who it was. He'd just done his business and went back to his bedroom, uncaring of the state of the maid who lay on the table, unmoving.
It was only a few months later that the Head Maid approached him with news that should, by all rights, be happy news.
The maid was pregnant with his heir. A son.
Sure, the woman was a low class devil, but she was not one of those reincarnated fakes, and as such, was barely passable stock to give birth to the next heir of the Bael Clan. Devil fertility being what it was, any child was a blessing, no matter the source.
Alas, after the baby was delivered, he had none of the characteristics he expected from someone who came from his seed. His firstborn! He expected him to have an exceptional body, demonic reserves, and more importantly, the Power of Destruction clear at birth, just like the pretender who masquerades as Lucifer.
He was disappointed, but that was expected. After all, what could a child born from low quality stock even amount to? Still, the baby was of Bael Blood, and even if he showed no signs of the famed Power of Destruction right now, he could awaken it in the future. No matter how weak, each devil was an addition to their forces, especially since this one was not born from the fake devils. They were best suited to be cannon fodder, not raising the next generation of the Devil race.
Just like how he didn't want that maid to be the one raising his spawn, even if he himself was not interested in even looking at the brat as long as he did not show promise. He wanted a son with more potential and the maid out of the picture. Sure, he could have just as easily have her ordered to the numerous other properties in the Bael Territory and removed any records of her being the birth mother, or if need be, remove her as well, but why waste perfectly good stock when he could make use of her to elevate his son?
He stumbled upon some of the Lucifuge Clan experimental records in the library, and in one of them, was a rather novel ritual that, if executed properly and with the necessary intent, could produce some rather spectacular results.
A mother's love, and her willingness to sacrifice her life, emotions, vitality, and soul over a long period of time, all so her son could gain potential, was not a ritual that would be used by any sane Devil in the underworld. For one, it killed a perfectly alive devil for mere potential in the baby.
It was deemed a failure as the end result remained the same, a devil for a devil. Powerful Devils would never be sacrificed for a baby who might become powerful, and the low class spawn dying would never create a baby who could become exceptionally strong, with the supposed enhanced potential.
No, the underworld needed powerful devils to create more powerful devils. Not give birth to one and die in the vain hopes that the spawn might become strong sometime in the future. That was not how the Devil society worked, for the most part.
By chance, he had stumbled upon the chance to make use of the ritual. All factors lined up perfectly for him. Even if the woman was of low stock, he was sure that his spawn was going to be strong, and if the woman could bump up the ceiling of power a little bit at the cost of her life, all the better.
In the end, he would get what he wanted.
He looked up as the door opened up, revealing his secretary, who looked at him with a neutral look on her face. A professional through and through, a Devil he had seized from one of their many vassal clans, someone who was the reason he could spend half his time like this. Just sitting in his office, thinking of more important stuff than paperwork.
"The last ritual is done, Zephyr-sama. New staff should be in place soon." She reported in the same emotionless tone. He nodded, clearly pleased with her work. She had been the one who approached the maid and convinced her of the ritual.
The ritual was the reason he couldn't risk anyone else stumbling upon the brat. The effect of rituals, at least in the early stages, would be plainly visible to anyone who was half decent, and there was a reason the ritual was forbidden. He was the Lord, so there would never be any repercussions, but the fools in the government might raise a tantrum, and he did not want to waste precious resources fending off their endless questions.
After all, they couldn't do anything but send in strongly worded letters. It was ironic. Despite being the strongest Devil alive, Sirzechs Gremory was arguably weaker than many devils simply because of his unwillingness to use that vast power, preferring to use weak and useless methods such as diplomacy.
Bah! They were Devils for a reason.
Shaking his head, he ordered her, "Make sure to dispose of the body properly. The ritual will leave a mark on her corpse. Also, isolate the brat for a few weeks. We wouldn't want—" His words died in his throat, his neck snapping to the side, to the East Wing where the brat was kept, in one of the isolated rooms.
It was decided to keep the brat hidden in plain sight, in a place that only the maids went to, perfectly hidden from sight, and since no one of note ever entered that place, it was deemed the best place to hide a baby that was under the effects of a forbidden ritual.
That same wing was also now the origin of demonic power lashing out. A flicker of crimson turned his face from wariness to happiness as he immediately flew out of his office, to see his son.
Yes, there would be repercussions for this, heavy ones, especially with his wife, but that could be dealt with later on. She could easily be placated with the assurance of her son being the heir. After all, the more devils the better, and if her son failed to surpass the son of a low born woman, then it was her fault.
He would either get a powerful heir or a powerful heir born from proper stock.
Either way, he won.
His eyes widened at the hole that was punched through the ceiling of the wing. He flew into the hole, and smiled to see the baby, passed out, in a perfect circle in the ground, with not a sign of the woman who was supposed to be visiting him. Another problem that was solved on its own.
Perfect.
For upto 12 advance chapters - P*treon59View discussionThreadmarks DXD SI : Chapter 3 : The Cheat.View contentIdleMuse0307Jun 1, 2026#4Bael Territory
–Magdaran Bael–
___xx___
He stared numbly at the ceiling, ignoring the woman who was hovering just out of the crib, looking at him with such intensity that he would have feared for his life, had he not known what her job was. Apparently, now they gave him round the clock care, with at least one person stationed at his crib at all times.
They made sure everything was taken care of. He was fed five times a day, though the food itself did not compare to his mother's breastmilk in terms of energy, and clothed multiple times despite not soiling himself at all. Not to mention the picking up and moving about. The new place he was moved to had windows on all sides, with beautiful views all around.
It was kinda weird, though. The plants, the lawn grass, the sky, and the sun were all the wrong colour. Now, in his previous room, he had a small window that was situated near the ceiling, and out of fear of being discovered, he had never really attempted the art of wall climbing, so he just knew that the sunlight coming into the room was a bit weird.
He just never expected the freaking sun to be purple!Sure, there was still a day and night cycle, but the sun was purple! He felt like that deserved to be repeated.
Still, even the funky sun, exotic views, and the mobility to watch the views did not help his mood whatsoever. All he could think of was the last moments of his mother before his energy burst out of his chest, knocking him out. Before he was knocked out, though, he saw something. Something that made his chest ache whenever he thought of it.
His power coming out in a rather explosive manner had destroyed everything around him, starting with the crib and the ground beneath him. He watched as he was dropped on the ground, as the energy consumed his mother's body as well, beginning to destroy her. That was all he could see before he was knocked out by the feedback. It was very much likely that there wasn't anything left of his birth mother.
Still, he didn't forget her last words to him.
'I'm sorry…..Magdaran'
He vowed to find out the meaning behind those words. Not now, though, he had a hunch that he was not exactly in the most safe environment. These people thought of him as a baby; let them continue that line of thinking. Once he was older, had cultivated his power, became uber powerful, only then could he get to the bottom of things. Right now, all he could do was keep a low profile, as well as much of a low profile someone could keep after manifesting a destructive power, and then try to gain as much strength as possible.
It was not hard to get over the complex emotions he felt about her death, especially since he had a lot of new stuff to focus on. He blamed the baby hardware he was running the adult software on. Neural plasticity must be off the charts for him.
___xx___
Which is why he was kind of grateful as he was assigned teachers for multiple subjects as soon as he could walk properly, and talk properly. That was at 3 years old.
A lot of stuff had been cleared up by then. Like the fact that he was in an anime world. And not just any anime world, he was in a fan service special anime world, just a couple of steps below outright porn.
That alone would not have been a cause of concern, especially since he was born in one of the most prestigious nobles in the Underworld, and was also a Devil. The last part should have been concerning, but it was not. Even if he was born a Devil, he had, in his opinion, one of the most OP traits in the verse.
The Power of Destruction.
The concerning part about that was, who he was born to. He was born as the bastard son of the Clan Head. Normally, a good thing since that practically guaranteed protection and resources until he was strong enough to become one of the greatest existences in Devil society, but the problem lay in whohe was born to.
It had been a week since he was brought under the care of this new management, and in that time, he had learned a lot. As it turns out, people gossip, regardless of their species. Caretakers who were supposed to take care of a baby who couldn't understand them, even more so. That was how he knew that his father was married to one Misla Bael née Vapula, and his father was the current Bael Clan head.
Now, just like many others from his previous life, he had seen the anime in passing and had come out disappointed from it. One character that stuck with him from the anime was Sairaorg Bael, the supposedly defective son of the head of the Bael Clan, born to a woman who shared the name and clan with the current wife. The same one that had grown absurdly strong without the Power of Destruction. A hard-working shonen protagonist through and through, embodying Hard work and discipline
They were still without a child, though, so he supposed he came ahead of the guy who would end up becoming more of a shonen protagonist than the actual protagonist of the anime.
Knowing that he was going to be mired in that whole controversy, it only served to further increase his determination to get stronger. After all, as far as he could tell, the Devil society ran on might makes right, and the current rules were indeed enforced by the current mightiest devil. So, if he wanted to make sure he was insulated from the fallout, he had to be strong.
As simple as that.
That day, as he was taken out of his room for his next lecture on etiquette, no one noticed the determination in his eyes.
___xx__
[4 years later, Age 7]
"Master Magdaran, your teachers have arrived." One of the maids called for him, as he sighed, and after taking one look at the small garden he had carved for himself, he resigned himself to yet another day full of lessons before he could be permitted to come back here.
"Coming!" Shouting, he flew back to his room, freshening up the old fashioned way instead of just using a spell like he was taught before going to his teachers. He liked some of them, not because they were nice but because all of them were experts, and some of them did not strut around carrying that overinflated ego on their sleeves.
Even though the lessons were a chore, feeling his demonic energy and his control over his PoD increase day by day was enough motivation for him to continue doing that. And once that ran out, he came here, to this garden. He didn't know if it was something the ROB gave him or something he always wanted to do but never got the chance to, but in this life, he loved gardening.
Plants. Trees. Flora of all kinds. It was as if he could speak to them. It was funny. His power was designedto destroy everything in sight and yet, his mind continued to drift towards this garden, thinking of more trees and plants he could grow here.
It never even occurred to him that he could go beyondhaving a garden full of mundane(for the underworld anyway) plants.
___xx__
[ Age 11]
He sighed, looking at the plant currently encasedwithin a ball of his PoD. By all means, something like that should have killed the plant but instead, its yellowed, dying leaves were regaining their lost vigour as if time itself was being reversed. The surge of water and nutrients taken from the ground told him something else.
It had happened by accident. All this time, he thought himself to possess the vanilla flavour of the Power of Destruction. Just point, shoot, and watch it be erased. That was what the PoD was, it was common knowledge.
As it turns out, he, on the other hand, had a different flavour of PoD. Sure, he could do everything that the normal PoD could do, but his power seems to have skipped a couple of steps, to reach the stage where he should have become a God or something.
The ability to affect concepts.
Something that would have him placed on multiple kill lists instantly, as that was something that was thought to be exclusive to the God of Destruction, DxD. Well, Ophis and Great Red could do that as well, but they, being who they were in terms of power scaling, were ignored by him.
Sure, he did not have the juice to do it all the time or use it offensively on devils who were stronger or even the same power level as him, but he could use it to his advantage. And more importantly, he used that to combine his two gifts.
Yes, he was going to call his obsession with his garden a gift. That conceptual aspect of his power was why he had just destroyed the concept of demonic energy damage from the plant's body. Demonic Energy was nasty like that, killing off most plant life if it did not fight back or was too weak to do so.
His mind had already conjured up ways to use this to his advantage, to speed up his progress. Already, they were calling him a once in a generation prodigy, though the compliments had reduced in intensity lately, likely because of the birth of the real Heir of the Clan.
Yes, Sairaorg was born, which meant he probably had very little time until the world went to shit. Yes, Sairaorg was already an adult and pretty strong when stuff went down in the later seasons of the anime, with threats from both outside and within the Underworld attacking anything that shone too brightly, but that was not much time.
Especially not in Devil timeline. A couple of decades might as well have been a year or less, since no Devil had died of aging until now and likely would not for thousands more. It gave them time, but also bred complacency.
Well, it was good that he knew the shitstorm that was handed their way. Conveniently, this new aspect to his powers just shortened his timeline to become a Satan Class devil from multiple decades to maybe a single decade.
As the sun went down, he looked at the slight glow coming from the trunk of the Mother Tree. The tree he'd cultivated in the name of his mother, whom he never knew. The tree was just big, and strong, with a vast root network. Beyond the slight bioluminescence, the tree was normal, but it was the reason he was capable of all his experiments. The root network and the tree's ability to filter the demonic energy effectively meant he could expand his garden. He planend on upgrading the tree as well, but later, when he had sufficient authority and know how to defend and hide this place.
He had gotten this Garden, a medium sized space, as a concession from his father, after showing the results of his training. The man was clearly pleased at his progress, but that meant nothing to him.
Looking down at the planet, he saw the plant was void of any demonic energy poisoning. He then dispelled the sphere of PoD, watching as the demonic energy held at bay by his power rushed in to fill the void. The plant and its leaves began darkening in real time, as the energy began wreaking havoc once more.
Only this time, the rate of damage was slower than before, not by much, but measurable.
He smiled, seeing his experiments work.
Next step? The same for his muscles.
He finally had his Cheat.
A/N - Time skip next year.
As always, you can read ahead(upto 12 chapters) and support me on Patreon. Your support and patronage are what make all this possible. So, drop a sub if you can. It would be pretty awesome of you and help me out quite a bit.
My Patreon - IdleMuse69View discussionThreadmarks DXD SI : Chapter 4.1 : The FarceView contentIdleMuse0307Jun 2, 2026#5Disclaimer - I don't own any of the characters appearing in High School DXD or the Anime or the manga whatsoever.
Coming of Age ceremony, Bael Territory, Underworld
–Magdaran Bael–
He rolled his eyes at the gaggle of children who had gathered in one corner of the large, opulent hall where his family regularly hosted events like this to show off their wealth. As if the entire Underworld was not aware of just how rich the Bael Clan was.
Power was everything in the Underworld, and Bael Clan had that in spades, and that was not just because of Sirzech's Lucifer, though that did play a large part. For the people who were only aware of surface level information, they would think that Sirzechs, bearing the Power of Destruction of the Bael Clan, would favour the Bael Clan, and thus, treat the Clan with the appropriate amount of fear and respect.
But that couldn't be farther from the truth. As it turns out, Sirzechs really was an outlier of a devil, not really favouring any clan, well, not to an outrageous extent anyway. For the people in the know, they knew that the Bael Clan was as powerful as it was because of the existence of their Ancestor.
Zekram Bael.
A devil alive since the time of Lilith, someone who had no peer at the moment. Well, a certain Camel riding midget came to mind, but she was sealed deep in the Gremory Lands. So, at the moment, the most influential devil alive was most certainly Zekram Bael. Half of the underworld would balk at the Clan if they knew that most of the Clan's power at the moment was political, rather than physical.
No, the Satans had a monopoly on the higher tiers of violence. There were certainly no members in the current iteration of the Bael Clan who could fight beyond Satan levels, whatever that meant.
Sipping on his drink, he thought of just how useful that so-called political power was. To the real monsters like Sirzechs, Ajuka, and Rizevim, Zekram Bael might as well have been a Low Class devil, but even with that power disparity, it was really impressive just how easily Zekram could outmaneuver them at every turn.
The Satans' unwillingness to use violence at every turn, like good proper devils, was ironically what stopped them from enacting the bulk of their reform that could have changed the image of devils as this bloodthirsty creature.
He perked up as he felt the arrival of the creature he would never call Father. The hubbub in the room died down as he sipped on his drink, leaning on the bar counter, ready to see how the events unfolded, if they remained the same, despite his existence. To be fair, he hadn't done much when it came to Sairaorg himself, just focused on himself to extreme extents, but even so, that was bound to create ripples, the result of which was probably going to be presented today.
The doors to the hall were opened on their own, as the Illustrious Head of the Bael Clan and his perfect family entered the Hall with polite smiles on their faces. Misla Bael, the only wife of the Clan Head, smiled at everyone, looking positively resplendent, with the young Sairaorg Bael looking nervous about the attention and afraid of something else, clutching his mother tightly.
Zephyr Bael, the current Clan Head, allowed his gaze to roam all over the crowd before his eyes met his. He smirked, and raised his glass towards the man before gulping down the entire glass while maintaining eye contact the entire time. Zephyr's smile turned a little caustic momentarily before he assumed his polite face as the main family of the Bael Clan entered the hall.
As the gathering was only of pureblood devils, i.e. stuffed in the ass people, there was no excitement in the air, only fake polite claps and nodding, something that was routine to him by this point and was expected by everyone in the nobility. After all, being too excited was considered uncouth.
"Thank you all for coming for this auspici—" He tuned out the speech as he ordered yet another drink, only for the bartender to smile apologetically, and inform him that drinks had been stopped until dinner begins, i.e, his sperm donor wanted everyone to hear his pretentious self speak and do nothing else.
How devil like.
Smiling at the man, he snapped his fingers, as the chair that was, up until as second ago, fixed to the floor, morphed into a rotating luxurious chair. Turning around, he watched as the Clan Head continued his speech, with the rest of the nobility pretending to hear.
Even the kids had gone quiet, understanding what was happening. In the middle of all this, his gaze went to Sairaorg who was standing next to his mother, looking deathly pale, with Misla doing a better job at hiding her anxiety, but even then, anyone could tell that she was nervous and somewhat resigned as well, holding onto Sairaorg with one hand, with the other clenched hard.
He sighed internally. It would seem that his asshole of a sperm donor (heh), was about to make the same mistake he did in canon. Changing the Heir of the House internally, within the clan, was one thing, but to do so in front of an audience? To create such a drama on purpose? The man clearly was far too gone in the head to properly lead the Bael Clan, and yet, Zekram allowed the man to do as he pleased.
It either meant that Zekram approved of his actions and had gone senile in his old age or there was some other angle that Zekram was working through, something he could not see right now. Because the current actions of Zephyr were only going to create more animosity between the Clan and the Vapula—
His eyes widened minutely as he looked in the audience and found the absence of any member of the Vapula Clan, a pureblood clan that was not as strong but was still nobility. So that's what Zekram's play was.
That was why Misla was about to fall victim to the Sleeping Disease. A bit better than openly creating hostilities, but still not as refined as he expected from his Ancestor.
Sighing, a glass of Orange Juice appeared in his hand, in a Wine Glass, obviously, as he once again confirmed the absolute lack of demonic power in Sairaorg, and resigned himself to the events unfolding in front of him.
He was born a decade earlier than Sairaorg, just 3 years after Misla married into the Clan. The Devil race's birth rate being what it was, every single Devil was important and precious, especially one of the Bael Clan, so he was not treated badly, despite being born from a lowly maid who oh so conveniently, died shortly after his birth, something that was far from the truth. After all, he had personally witnessed her dead body leaning on his crib, pale and zombie like.
Could she have been saved if she had gone to someone in the Clan, to get a healer for whatever ailed her? Maybe. He still did not know what had happened to her, and seeing how everyone around him pretended like she did not exist, he did not push too much in that direction either. One day, though, he will have his answers, so help him, Lilith.
He was named Magdaran by his mother but everyone told him that he was named by Zekram himself, who was alerted to the commotion created by his birth. He did not know why, but they had kept the name his mother had given him.
But he was not named Heir, not officially anyway. After all, he was not the son of the main wife. Then came Sairaorg, a decade later. He was named Heir instantly atleast unofficially, which was expected.
Sairaorg was supposed to be the big, strong Bael Clan Heir. Vanquish foes with Demonic power alone, disintegrate everything around him with his power, and more.
The only fly in that particular ointment was the near absence of Demonic Power in the boy, let alone the Power of Destruction, something that was twice as intensive on Demonic Power reserves as other Devil Clan traits.
The best healers, the best medicine, and everything else under the Purple Sun had been tried, but it ended with the same result.
Sairaorg will never be able to cast even middle tier spells like Teleport, let alone become a powerhouse like he was expected to become, or so the world thought.
Which led to today.
The Coming of Age ceremony. A way for the Bael Clan to show off the power of their younger generation, to the rest of the underworld, to show the famed Power of Destruction still running through their veins.
Only everyone involved knew what was really about to happen, and that just ticked him off.
Sairaorg was just 7, the same age he was when he was shown to the rest of the Clan like a zoo animal, and yet, he did not have his adult memories and understanding. Right now, he was just a frightened kid who had some idea of what was about to happen and was trying to hide behind his mother.
He could stop this farce. Right now, with a mere flex of his power, he could pause the entire thing, force Zephyr into a duel for the Clan Head position, win easily, and correct the wrong turn the ship known as the Bael Clan had taken. Alas, he could not do that without repercussions.
He was still not strong enough to do whatever he damned well pleased. He was strong, Satan Class without a doubt, and reaching that level at his age was a damned near miracle, and yet, he knew that in front of the real monsters, he couldn't do as he pleased, not yet. He needed more time and more power to do what he wanted to do.
And what he wanted to do was make sure that Sairaorg, a pure soul, did not fall into darkness and become the beacon of hope for the entirety of Devilkind that he would undoubtedly become in the future. Alas, he could not do that, not without forcing things into motion far earlier than he wanted to. No, there was still time, he told himself. Time he could use to make sure Sairaorg became strong enough to kill Zephyr with his own hands.
As always, you can read ahead(upto 12 chapters) and support me on Patreon. Your support and patronage are what make all this possible. So, drop a sub if you can. It would be pretty awesome of you and help me out quite a bit.
My Patreon - IdleMuse67View discussionThreadmarks DXD SI : Chapter 4.2 : The Great King.View contentIdleMuse0307Jun 3, 2026#6Disclaimer - I don't own any of the characters appearing in High School DXD or the Anime or the manga whatsoever.
Coming of Age ceremony, Bael Territory, Underworld
–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 feelhow 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 disappointedsigh 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 Destructioncharacteristics, 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?"