POV: Meruem
Serafall Leviathan arrived forty-one minutes late with a pink box tucked beneath one arm, and Meruem had the feeling before she had taken three steps from the teleportation circle that whatever explanation she intended to offer would somehow make her tardiness his fault.
She had dressed for travel, with a white coat hanging open over clothes whose abundance of pink seemed designed to inflict violence upon the eye, and a little silver ornament shaped like a crescent moon nestled in her hair.
Once, Meruem had entertained the charitable theory that the magical-girl business was an elaborate political performance cultivated over centuries to disarm opponents who expected Satan Leviathan to be some ancient queen of winter. Continued acquaintance with the woman had steadily murdered that theory. She genuinely liked this shit. At least she looked good in it, but that hardly counted for much when she would have looked good even wearing a grain sack.
She came smiling toward him while the teleportation circle faded behind her, apparently pleased with herself. Meruem remained beside the window with one ankle resting across his knee and his abandoned book lying open beside him, watching her set the pink box upon the table as though arriving late to discuss his dead father's dealings with pagan gods naturally called for refreshments.
"I brought a cake to celebrate wonderful news brought to you by yours truly, Meru-chan!" the little gremlin announced. "Hades has declined to answer us, which is very Hades of him, and Mnemosyne has completely ignored your offer ☆~Buuut Demeter answered this morning and has agreed to receive you personally tomorrow. She also asked me to tell you that your father died owing her a debt, so congratulations, Meruem, you may have inherited something besides the face."
"I was beginning to fear the old man had left me nothing sentimental," Meruem said casually. "Did Demeter happen to mention what he owed her? I would hate to arrive expecting an interesting story only to find out he borrowed a sack of wheat."
"She refused to explain anything beyond the debt. Her exact wording was that she would discuss the matter with the son himself, which makes me curious enough that I have decided to accompany you personally. We have permission to enter her territory shortly before sunset tomorrow, and the journey itself should be uncomplicated once we reach Greece. There is only one tiny matter I want to handle along the way."
Meruem reached for the pink box and opened it while Serafall watched him. Strawberry cake waited inside. He cut himself a piece with the little silver knife she had thoughtfully provided - there was no reason irritation should interfere with dessert - and tasted it before deciding whether her scheme deserved his attention.
"What would this tiny matter be?" he asked around the mouthful before chewing and swallowing. The cake was good enough to forgive several minutes of lateness. "Should I start writing my eulogy now?"
"No need to wet your pants, my precious little king! Levi-tan will protect you if anything goes wrong with her wand of justice and love☆~" she declared, striking a ridiculous pose with her oversized wand. "Some of our informants have been following a courier associated with the Old Satan Faction who entered Thessaloniki three days ago, and we believe he is carrying something valuable enough to concern us. I was already going to Greece, so sending another team seemed wasteful when I could make a brief detour and deal with him myself. Since you are coming with me anyway, you may as well make yourself useful and learn what real work looks like. It shouldn't take us more than twenty minutes."
"I'll have you know that I don't work for free," Meruem said, helping himself to another piece of cake. "So scrap any thoughts of exploiting my generous heart for your wicked purposes."
"Is the generous heart with us in the room?" Serafall asked dryly. "As for your payment, you will be graced with my presence for the next couple of days, which most men would consider compensation beyond price. I might even let you carry my luggage if you behave yourself. How does that sound?"
"Nightmare-inducing."
"You know," Serafall said, giving him a thoughtful look, "most psychologists agree that hostility is really sublimated sexual attraction."
"Sexual attraction?" Meruem gave her a doubtful look. "Careful, Levi-tan. That sounds dangerously close to an adult conversation, and I have seen nothing in our acquaintance to suggest you're qualified for one. Perhaps fetch Sona so we can have a responsible grown-up present."
Serafall raised one eyebrow, visibly offended. "Listen here, you little shit. I worked my ass off getting your request accepted by the Greeks within a week. I spent days squeezing favors out of diplomats tighter than a miser's arse around his last coin and endured enough pompous divine secretaries to make murder feel medicinal. The least you could do is show a little gratitude."
"Then forgive me, magnificent Leviathan, jewel of the Underworld and fairest flower ever to bloom beneath its infernal skies." Meruem immediately placed the cake aside and pressed one hand solemnly against his chest. "Your wisdom humbles Solomon, your beauty would have launched more ships than Helen. Every moment spent beside you is an honor beyond mortal comprehension, and if the gods had any decency they would erect temples wherever your little pink boots have touched the earth. I shall treasure these coming days as a pilgrim treasures revelation and spend the remainder of my life telling strangers that I once had the privilege of carrying Serafall Leviathan's luggage."
"See, now that's how you woo a woman as great as me," she said, smiling with satisfaction. "The courier should be easy to locate. My people were watching his hotel until he stopped leaving it this morning, which probably means he realized someone was following him and decided to hide. We collect him, find out what he is carrying, and then continue south for your date with the fertility goddess."
"With my luck, we'll find the man masturbating furiously in his room. Let's see whether your mysterious courier will disappoint us."
The mysterious courier disappointed him by being dead.
Meruem stood just inside the hotel room and regarded the corpse with mild irritation. The dead Devil lay beside the bed wearing pants and an undershirt, which at least spared Meruem the indignity of discovering whether his earlier prediction had some prophetic value. His left cheek rested against the carpet while his glassy eyes stared uselessly toward the wall.
Serafall had called him Malthus something. Meruem had stopped listening before the surname. Apparently, the man had spent several years working as a courier for organizations connected to the descendants of the Original Satans. The Old Satan Faction itself held little interest for Meruem.
They were, by and large, a collection of losers who had somehow turned losing a civil war into a hereditary political identity.
Rizevim was perhaps the sole exception worth keeping an eye on, but now that Meruem had thoroughly derailed Issei's path toward meeting the Fairy Goddess, he doubted Rizevim would be doing much about his present state of useless existence anytime soon.
Serafall closed the door behind them, and her expression settled into an unusual seriousness as she crouched beside Malthus and pressed two fingers beneath his jaw. Meruem walked slowly around the corpse without interfering. There had been no meaningful struggle. A chair stood crooked near the window, although its position could easily have preceded the murder, while the bed remained orderly enough that nobody appeared to have fallen across it.
Meruem crouched opposite Serafall and studied the dead man's face. Fear had been permanently etched into his features. A small wound sat beneath his left ear, its edges already darkened, while maggots feasted merrily upon the remains, several crawling from his eyes and ears in a display Meruem found thoroughly disgusting.
"He has been dead for several hours, and whoever killed him was skilled enough to make the process very quick," Meruem said thoughtfully as he observed with his Alpha Stigma. "Killing a high-class Devil without leaving so much as a broken chair is no easy feat. There is magical residue around the wound, although whoever cast the spell cleaned their signature afterward with care. He would've lost control of his body almost immediately before his heart stopped, which explains why our brave revolutionary never had the opportunity to redecorate this charming room with evidence of resistance. Someone searched the place afterward as well, so our courier appears to have enjoyed a very efficient death, even if the accommodation leaves something to be desired."
"Hey, stop stealing my job. I brought you here to look cute and cuddly, so don't overstep☆~" Serafall complained, giving him an offended look before her attention returned to the corpse and some of the levity slipped from her voice. "The paralysis is familiar, although I would need more residue before I could identify the practitioner with any confidence. The wound suggests our killer wanted him helpless and quiet before finishing the job, and whoever searched the room afterward clearly knew what they were looking for. Most of his possessions are still here, which means whatever disappeared mattered more than the man carrying it. My twenty-minute estimate has therefore become slightly optimistic, and I absolutely forbid you from looking pleased about that."
"Me, taking pleasure in your misfortune?" Meruem asked with wounded dignity. "Perish the thought."
Serafall gave him a look that promised future retaliation before returning her attention to the corpse, while Meruem wandered toward the table beside the curtained window. Someone had indeed searched the room. The intrusion had been careful enough that a hurried observer might have missed it, though whoever was responsible had the peculiar neatness of someone reconstructing a room they had never seen in its original state.
A shirt had been carefully folded before being returned to the open suitcase despite carrying the stale smell of yesterday's sweat, and Meruem knew very few men who treated dirty laundry with such tenderness. Whatever container Serafall had expected to find was gone as well. A plate sat on the table beside a room-service receipt, while half a tuna sandwich had dried around the edges waiting for an owner who would never finish it. Meruem picked up the receipt and frowned.
"Our murdered conspirator ordered a tuna sandwich at seventeen minutes past one in the morning, which may finally provide the moral justification for his death," Meruem observed with genuine disapproval. "Anyone who wakes in Thessaloniki surrounded by Greek food and decides his final meal should be hotel tuna has already surrendered his claim upon posterity. I'm beginning to sympathize with the assassin."
"Which explains why nobody sensible has ever offered you judicial authority," Serafall retorted. "People are allowed to eat whatever they please after midnight, you elitist. Now please examine the receipt properly, he wrote something on the back."
Meruem turned it over and found a telephone number scrawled across the paper in blue ink. He looked at Serafall. Serafall looked at him. There were moments when the world displayed such an obliging lack of subtlety that Meruem wondered why investigators bothered cultivating reputations for genius. He slipped the receipt into his pocket while Serafall rose, and the smile returning to her face carried enough satisfaction that one might have thought she had personally persuaded the corpse to leave them a clue.
"A Devil belonging to the Old Satan Faction using human technology," Meruem remarked. "This investigation is already proving miraculous."
"It's actually fairly common," Serafall corrected him. "Most magical communication leaves a much larger trace in the material world, so people who operate in the shadows learned long ago that ordinary human technology can sometimes be safer. Phones are particularly useful when you know what you're doing." Her eyes flicked toward his pocket. "Still, this is interesting. Our dead courier considered that number important enough to write down shortly before his death, and whoever searched the room either overlooked it or deliberately left it behind."
"So we know our next destination. How wonderfully convenient."
"What can I say? Levi-tan has excellent luck☆~" Serafall boasted, rocking her hands from side to side in a smug little gesture before abruptly snapping her fingers. A small burst of magic answered her, and several pieces of clothing appeared in her arms alongside two monocles.
Meruem stared at them. "What is this?"
"Since we're playing detectives, we might as well look like one☆~" she explained, as though this were an elementary principle of criminal investigation that only an idiot would question.
Meruem could find no flaw in that reasoning. One should always inhabit the role properly.
He therefore pulled a long grey coat over his suit, settled a gentleman's hat upon his head, and fitted the monocle over one eye with all the solemnity the occasion deserved. Serafall dressed herself accordingly, although her own detective ensemble was rather more risqué, with a fitted coat and abbreviated skirt that would have rendered Sherlock Holmes temporarily incapable of deductive reasoning, and Meruem decided the result was quite a feast upon the eyes.
Meruem gave her an appreciative once-over. Perhaps detective work had merits after all.
The owner of the number had the good manners to remain alive, although Meruem suspected he began regretting that decision shortly after opening his door.
The man introduced himself as Petros, a demigod by the look of him. He owned a restaurant called Orpheus, whose dining room remained lively despite the late hour, crowded with human families while cigarette smoke drifted in from the terrace and enough garlic hung in the air to overwhelm the subtler traces of magic clinging to the building.
Petros had built his business carefully over the years. Ordinary customers came for the food, while supernatural clients knew that the wine cellar concealed a second room where introductions could be purchased, contraband could change hands, and questions could acquire answers for the correct price.
"Lady Leviathan, I would've prepared something worthy of your visit if I had received advance notice, and I hope you will forgive the condition of my office. Tuesday evenings rarely bring heads of state through my cellar," Petros said, recovering enough of his composure to offer them a practiced smile. "Please, sit. Allow me to bring you some wine, and tell me what service could possibly require your personal attention tonight. Your companion is welcome as well, of course, although I must apologize for failing to recognize which office he represents."
Petros looked properly at Meruem for the first time, and something about what he saw apparently reassured him. Meruem found that mildly insulting. He studied the demigod in return and idly wondered which member of the Greek pantheon had contributed the divine half of Petros's ancestry, a question that could become remarkably complicated whenever Greek gods and unattended human women appeared in the same historical period.
Serafall entered with the bright smile of a neighbor arriving to borrow sugar, while Meruem followed her inside and quietly closed the door behind them.
"My companion has a famously delicate temperament, and I would be ever so grateful if you avoided giving him a reason to demonstrate just how delicate☆~" Serafall said sweetly, accepting the chair Petros offered while Meruem remained standing behind her. "Malthus Vega telephoned you at one twenty this morning. Somebody killed him shortly afterward, and the black coffin he was transporting has disappeared. I want the name of whoever met him, the destination of that case, and every person who paid you to facilitate the exchange."
Petros swallowed. "He called because he needed transportation arranged, and I provided a driver without asking questions concerning his cargo. I never met the buyer, and I received payment through the usual channels without any identifying information attached. You know how these arrangements work, Lady Leviathan. I can give you the driver's name and the location where Malthus intended to meet him, but I cannot manufacture knowledge I was never given. I pride myself on never telling lies."
As someone who similarly prided himself on avoiding outright lies whenever possible, Meruem immediately recognized that Petros was completely full of shit.
"Petros," Serafall said sweetly, "I really like your restaurant, and your wife makes the best galaktoboureko I have eaten outside Athens, which gives me a some sentimental incentive to preserve this establishment in its current condition☆~ Of course, diplomacy is built upon reciprocity, and Levi-tan is going to need a little something in return. You know how these things work."
"I am telling you everything I can, my lady," Petros replied carefully, though his attention wandered toward Meruem. "Men in my profession survive by maintaining boundaries around information - clients who believe those boundaries can be broken stop becoming clients. Whatever you think happened here has nothing to do with me. I have never supported the Old Satan Faction, and I certainly have no reason to involve myself in whatever those lunatics are planning. If someone gave you my name, then someone wants you looking in the wrong direction."
"I haven't accused you of anything yet, Petros," Serafall said with such sweetness that Meruem almost felt sorry for the man. "Malthus had your number written, and I want to know why he called here before somebody put a spell through his neck and stopped his heart. You can save us considerable time by answering plainly. My handsome assistant is also growing bored, and he becomes terribly philosophical whenever boredom sets in☆~"
Petros glanced toward him again and managed a weak smile that suggested some primitive masculine solidarity might rescue him from Serafall. Meruem smiled pleasantly in return. Hope could be such a cruel thing when offered accidentally.
"I'd consider it a personal favor if you started talking," Meruem said calmly. "You recognized me the moment I walked in, so you know who I am and what my friendship is worth. You're a man who makes his living from connections, Petros, and having a Pillar King owe you a favor is the sort of connection that can open quite a few doors."
Petros was an illicit courier who specialized in the delicate business of interterritorial transportation. Certain regions of Greece belonged directly to the gods, and teleporting across those boundaries without authorization was an excellent way to invite the personal attention of whichever deity claimed dominion over them, an experience most sensible beings preferred to avoid.
Petros secured the necessary permissions through one means or another, arranged discreet routes across supernatural borders, and knew which officials could be bribed, persuaded, or conveniently ignored. People like him were indispensable to creatures of darkness who wished to move between the human world and neighboring dimensions without attracting unwanted attention, which naturally made cultivating friendships with powerful people an important part of the profession.
The man began talking.
"The buyer never gave me a name," he admitted. "She came through a broker from the eastern networks and paid for access to Malthus three weeks ago, although the meeting kept being postponed because Malthus couldn't cross into Greek territory until yesterday. She looked human, perhaps thirty years old, with dark hair and an accent I could not place. She carried divine magic beneath concealment spells, faint enough that I assumed she belonged to one of the minor Greek houses. Malthus called me because the meeting had changed. He was frightened."
Meruem felt his curiosity stir despite himself. This was beginning to smell like some wonderfully convoluted supernatural conspiracy, and an irresponsible Devil with too much power and insufficient respect for other people's affairs could hardly be expected to leave such a thing alone.
"What frightened him?"
"He said somebody else wanted the coffin. That the coffin could not fall into her hand, whom he meant by her I do not know. He asked me to arrange a driver and gave me an address near the old port, then changed his mind ten minutes later and said he would remain at the hotel until morning. I sent the driver away. About an hour later, someone using Malthus's authorization code contacted me and requested entry to an auction being held tonight beneath the Elysion Club."
The name meant nothing to Meruem, although the slight narrowing of Serafall's eyes suggested it meant more to her.
Meruem glanced toward her. "I'm guessing you're familiar with the name?"
Serafall rose from her chair. "The Elysion Club hosts private supernatural auctions every few months. Tonight's event was considered low priority, so I had no reason to review the guest list before coming here. We are going now, and Petros is going to provide the authorization code without charging his usual fee. Afterward, he is going upstairs and personally asking his wife to prepare two portions of galaktoboureko for collection. I am starving."
Petros blinked.
Meruem sighed as he rose from his chair. For reasons he could not yet identify, Serafall clearly disliked Petros, which promised to have an entertaining story behind it, although Meruem wasn't sure whether he wanted to know.
"Threatening an innocent man, and extorting free pastries from his wife," Meruem observed as he stood. "For someone reputed to be the finest diplomat in Hell, you have a flexible understanding of diplomacy."
"He's about as innocent as you are morally well-adjusted," Serafall snorted.
The Elysion Club occupied three floors of a converted warehouse overlooking the Thermaic Gulf, where music rattled the windows, and several hundred humans danced blissfully above a supernatural marketplace whose existence the local authorities were paid handsomely to ignore.
Serafall changed her appearance in the alley behind the building, turning her hair blue and shortening it to her neck, softening several of her more recognizable features, and replacing her coat with a tight black evening dress. Meruem watched the transformation with detached interest until she finished adjusting the final concealment spell, though his interest became less detached once he took in the dress itself.
"You look better in darker colors," Meruem observed, openly drinking in the sight of the black dress hugging every curve of her body, particularly the spectacular breasts that seemed engaged in an active campaign to escape the neckline.
"Really? Most men seem to think I look best wearing nothing at all," Serafall replied playfully, before noticing that his gaze remained firmly attached to her cleavage. She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Hey! Eyes are up here, pal☆~"
"I'm trying, but those glorious melons have their own gravitational field," he replied shamelessly. "Asking me to look away is like asking the Earth to abandon the Sun. There are forces in nature greater than either of us, Serafall."
"Men and breasts," Serafall sighed, cupping hers experimentally in both hands. "I will never understand the obsession. You know, mine used to be much bigger."
"For real?!" Meruem stared at her in genuine disbelief. "What happened to them?"
"Devils don't really suffer from back pain because of breast size, but anything larger than what I have now looked absolutely ridiculous on someone my height," she explained, watching with growing amusement as comprehension slowly transformed his expression into horror. "So I had them reduced a couple of centuries ago."
She might as well have confessed to making stew from puppies and orphaned babies.
"Why on earth would you do that?!" Meruem demanded, sounding personally betrayed. "That's like Lucifer handing you a beautiful gift and you thanking him by kicking him in the nuts."
Serafall burst out laughing. "Lucifer? Really, Meruem? I didn't take you for one of those Devils who worship our creator."
"I don't," Meruem said solemnly. "But if I could motorboat perfect tits like yours, I might finally be able to find faith."
A faint blush colored her cheeks, although Serafall maintained her composure. "Because faith totally lives in my cleavage?"
"Not anymore, it doesn't. Your boobs are too small for it to live comfortably in there." He shook his head with solemn disappointment while Serafall failed completely to suppress her laughter. "You're so selfish."
"Be that as it may, we need a cover identity," Serafall said, clearing her throat. "The authorization code will get us downstairs, but we should avoid violence until we know where the case went. Pick something believable, and please resist whatever instinct encourages you to antagonize strangers for intellectual recreation."
Meruem adjusted the cuffs of his black shirt. "I shall become Belen Moreau, a wealthy collector from Marseille. You can play my wife. Married couples attract fewer questions at gatherings built around money laundering and stolen property. We've been married for four years, our relationship survives through mutual infidelity and a shared contempt for the poor, and we came here because you have developed an expensive fascination with relics connected to fertility cults. I recommend looking mildly dissatisfied with me throughout the evening - every wealthy marriage I have observed eventually develops that expression."
"What a miserable imagaination you have," she said, folding her arms beneath her chest. "If anyone asks about our romantic history, I will tell them you proposed after crying during a Levi-tan film and have remained emotionally dependent upon me ever since. Your reputation will survive tonight only through obedience."
Meruem offered his arm.
"My beloved wife, hearing you describe our courtship has awakened memories I had mercifully buried beneath years of expensive therapy," he said, waiting until she took it before leading her toward the entrance.
"I'm surprised you lasted one year in therapy," Serafall replied. "I would've expected the therapist to need therapy by the third appointment. You probably spent every session explaining why everyone else was the problem while drinking something expensive."
"My imaginary therapist considers me to be a triumph of modern psychology," Meruem said, adopting the languid confidence of a man already accustomed to owning every building he entered. "She says my megalomania is developing ahead of schedule, and my inability to experience shame protects me from several common anxiety disorders. Frankly, Belen Moreau is an exceptionally well-adjusted gentleman."
"Belen Moreau sounds unbearable," Serafall said, squeezing his arm as they approached the velvet rope outside the club. "I'm beginning to understand why his wife cheats on him."
"Belen understands perfectly well why his wife cheats on him," Meruem replied. "He still loves his wife with the fierce devotion of a man whose lawyers have informed him exactly how much the divorce would cost. Any alleged affairs were temporary lapses brought about by the unbearable emotional neglect inflicted upon me by a wife who spends every waking hour purchasing obscene fertility idols."
"Remember," Serafall murmured as they reached the entrance, her expression changing almost imperceptibly as the frivolity settled behind the polished hauteur of a wealthy socialite, "we're here to find out who used Malthus's authorization and where the case went. Try to keep Belen's personality from becoming an international incident."
"You worry too much, darling. I am just committed to verisimilitude."
"You wanted an excuse to say that word." Serafall sighed the weary resignation of a wife who had endured this argument many times before, and Meruem had to concede that she was distressingly good at the role. "Four years suddenly feels much too conservative. I already feel like I've been married to you for forty."
"Wonderful," Meruem said as they reached the doorman. "Keep exactly that expression. You look authentically miserable."
Her smile remained perfectly pleasant as her fingers tightened around his arm.
"If you keep talking, darling, we're going to become widowed surprisingly early in our marriage☆~"
The underground hall beneath Elysion was beautiful in the tasteless manner favored by people with huge amounts of illicit money and an equally big desire to ensure everyone knew it. Black marble covered the floor in broad polished slabs veined with gold, while chandeliers of enchanted crystal drifted beneath a vaulted ceiling painted with scenes of debauchery and naked nymphs reclining beneath grapevines while satyrs poured wine over one another.
Heavy curtains of crimson velvet divided private alcoves from the main chamber, couches upholstered in black leather curved around low tables of ivory and gold, and masked attendants circulated through the crowd carrying champagne upon silver trays.
Whoever had selected the staff had very specific tastes. The women were almost uniformly exotic beauties drawn from half a dozen supernatural races, dressed in elaborate costumes that hovered somewhere between formal evening wear and expensive fetish attire, with silk, lace, jeweled collars, translucent stockings, corsets, polished heels, and scraps of fabric conspiring to preserve exactly as much modesty as the management considered commercially useful.
A fox woman with three tails poured champagne for an elderly magician while a silver-haired Fallen Angel lounged nearby with two masked attendants kneeling beside his chair, and nobody seemed to find any of this remarkable. Meruem recognized Devils, magicians, vampires, Fallen Angels, and at least three creatures whose species he could not immediately identify.
Meruem slowed beside a glass case containing a bronze dagger covered in Phoenician inscriptions. Serafall tugged his arm. He remained where he was.
"My darling husband, we're here for a specific purpose, and I would hate for your enthusiasm for stolen archaeology to distract you from the dangerous extremists carrying property we actually need," she murmured, maintaining a pleasant smile for the benefit of nearby observers. "You can browse after we identify the case, provided you refrain from purchasing anything whose ownership could create a diplomatic incident. Please show the maturity you insist exists somewhere beneath all that jewelry."
"That blade predates Carthage by several centuries and contains a preservation enchantment written through a magical inscription system I have never encountered, so describing it as stolen archaeology is an understatement." Meruem studied the dagger for another moment before reluctantly allowing himself to be pulled onward. "You are right, however, and work comes first. I should warn you that marriage has already become oppressive. My wife controls my purchases, insults my jewelry, and refuses to support my scholarly interests. At this rate I shall require a mistress before midnight."
Serafall tightened her fingers around his arm until an ordinary human's bones would probably have cracked.
"You already have the temperament of a husband destined to disappear during an unfortunate boating accident, and Greece provides an abundance of conveniently deep water," she replied pleasantly. "If you acquire a mistress during an intelligence operation, I will ensure she receives your possessions after the funeral. I believe strongly in supporting widows and other victims of poor judgment. Until then, keep walking and look toward the raised gallery without turning your head too obviously. The woman beside the blonde-haired Devil is carrying the same concealment signature Petros described."
Meruem's amusement remained comfortably in place, although his attention shifted toward the woman with considerably greater care.
There she was.
A serenely beautiful woman with dark hair and striking green eyes, dressed in a fitted emerald gown that hugged her figure gracefully. She stood beside a tall Devil whose face seemed vaguely familiar, though Meruem could not immediately place him. He activated the Alpha Stigma and allowed his gaze to wander through the woman's physiology, peeling through the layers of concealment wrapped around her essence one by one.
There was something divine beneath them, that much became apparent almost immediately, although the sheer number and sophistication of the spells prevented him from determining whether she was a true goddess or merely a particularly powerful demigoddess. Whoever she was, she had gone through much trouble to keep curious eyes from answering that particular question.
"Crescentius Amon," Serafall whispered, and the warmth had quietly drained from her voice.
"That's him?" Meruem asked with genuine surprise, shifting his attention toward the blond Devil wearing an amiable smile.
Crescentius Amon.
It was an infamous name. A traitor's name.
One of the chief architects of the Hallowing of Dis, the great terrorist attack that had bloodied the Underworld twenty years ago, Crescentius had disappeared soon afterward and become one of the most ardent servants of the Old Satan Faction, sheltered, according to reports, beneath the protection of the Leviathan remnants. Meruem had only ever seen the man in portraits before.
Somehow, he looked exactly like the sort of fellow who could survey every side of a conflict, carefully weigh his options, and then choose the losing one. Serafall found less humor in the sight. Her mouth twitched when she recognized him, the smallest crack in her cheerful composure, and Meruem suspected there was some old blood between them as well.
Crescentius leaned toward the woman in emerald and murmured something too softly for either of them to hear, then rested a familiar hand against her arm. She answered with a slight inclination of her head, and together they turned away from the gallery and began moving toward a private corridor guarded by two masked attendants.
Meruem watched them disappear behind the velvet curtain.
"Well," he murmured, "our evening has finally become interesting."
Crescentius exchanged a few quiet words with the woman beside him, his hand briefly touching her arm before the pair turned from the gallery and disappeared into one of the private corridors.
Meruem leaned closer until his lips hovered beside Serafall's ear, playing the affectionate husband for any curious eyes watching them. "What exactly was in the coffin?"
He had finally surrendered to his curiosity. This entire affair had begun as Serafall's little detour and should have meant absolutely nothing to him, but a mysterious coffin, a murdered courier, and now a wanted terrorist connected to Katerea Leviathan. Well… there were limits to a man's ability to mind his own business.
"Not what, but who," Serafall corrected quietly, her eyes never leaving Crescentius. "I may have left out a tiny little detail concerning Malthus Vega's identity. You see, Malthus wasn't an ordinary Devil."
"Oh?" Meruem raised an eyebrow. "His corpse seemed ordinary enough. What makes him different?"
"You know about the Six Houses of Lucifer?" Serafall asked, continuing before he could answer. "Well, the other Satans eventually grew jealous and decided they wanted their own prestigious little collection of sworn houses. So they made them. Of course, theirs never possessed the power or status of the Lucifer Six, and most had been ordinary noble families before their elevation, so the Pillar Houses never acknowledged their superiority in the same way they acknowledged Lucifuge, and the others. House Vega belonged to Leviathan."
That was interesting.
The Six Houses of Lucifer had been institutions unto themselves, ancient names whose authority had once stood only beneath Lucifer and above almost every Pillar House in Hell.
"And Crescentius serves the last scion of House Leviathan, if memory serves," Meruem murmured, watching the corridor. "Which raises the obvious question of why he would be interested in Malthus's death when they supposedly belong to the same side."
"Because they might not," Serafall replied, and something in her expression hardened. "A little over a century ago, Katerea had a falling-out with her younger sister, Lucretia. I never learned exactly what caused it, and neither sister was particularly eager to explain herself afterward, but whatever happened between them was ugly enough that they became permanently estranged. Some of the old Leviathan houses followed Lucretia when she broke with her sister."
"House Vega among them?"
"Indeed."
"And what became of dear Lucretia?" he asked, turning his eyes toward Serafall.
"She disappeared into the Human World," Serafall replied. "Then… nothing. No trace of her through any of the usual supernatural channels. She simply vanished. I assumed she had died somewhere quietly, which would have been a surprisingly sensible ending for one of the old Leviathans, but Malthus appearing here changes things."
Meruem scratched his chin, and slowly a grin found its way across his face. "You think Lucretia is inside the coffin."
"Perhaps," Serafall said. "Perhaps someone else is inside it, and I have spent the last ten minutes building a wonderfully dramatic conspiracy around a corpse in a box. There is only one pleasant way to settle the question☆~"
Her eyes remained fixed upon the corridor where Crescentius and the strange woman had disappeared.
"We follow them." Serafall's voice became quieter. "Keep Crescentius alive if circumstances permit, and try not to damage the woman until we know who she is and whom she serves. I am beginning to suspect Demeter will find our arrival tomorrow much more interesting than either of us expected."
Meruem smiled.
So much for twenty minutes.
AN: The little detective adventure was only supposed to be one chapter, mostly as an excuse to write some Serafall interactions, but oh well.
Advanced chapters are available on my Patreon. If you want to read ahead, vote on which story gets updated each week, or simply support my writing so I can focus more on it, you can check it out here: /abeltargaryen?