The Hammer of War, Chapter 45

Name: Amir Azad
Title: War-Summoner
War Points: 0

STR – 42
DEX – 33
VIT – 153

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The stars above weren’t real. Neither was the moon. The celestial bodies one may see in the eternal night sky of the Underworld were all just illusions, meant to soothe those who looked up. The older Devils didn’t need it, but the younger ones did. And so Ajuka came up with it. Serafall didn’t care. They shimmered with enough brilliance to cast reflections in the polished marble of the terrace, and that was enough for atmosphere. Between her and Sirzechs, a low blackwood table stood, inlaid with gold filigree. A servant in the colors of House Gremory poured hot tea into their cups, then withdrew without a word.

Sirzechs reached for his teacup, his crimson hair catching the artificial starlight. He didn’t drink right away. His fingers curled around the handle. And his gaze was distant for a time, contemplating and wondering. And then, his eyes widened and he snapped his fingers, and two sugar cubes fluttered up from the table and submerged themselves onto his tea.

“Why didn’t you apprehend Helena’s killer?” he asked. “By your admission, you basically already had him in your grasp.” 

Serafall didn’t answer immediately. She reached for a biscuit instead, broke it in half, and set one piece down beside her saucer. She was dressed in the usual outfit—ribbons, skirts, exaggerated bows. Magical Girl Leviathan in full—but she didn’t giggle or strike a pose. Here, in this moment, she was Serafall Leviathan, one of the Four Great Satans of the Underworld, head of foreign affairs and diplomacy. Across her was Sirzechs Lucifer, head of internal affairs and unofficial leader of the Four Satans. 

“To be honest?” she said, placing the biscuit delicately into her mouth. “It’s like fishing. You toss your line, feel something bite, and when you pull it up, it’s not a fish at all, but something strange. Something with teeth and feathers and maybe a human eye. It’s something you’ve never seen before.”

Sirzechs arched a brow. “That sounds horrifying.”

Serafall shrugged and reached for her tea. “It’s more curious than horrifying. You don’t throw it away, right? You tag it. Watch where it swims off to. Maybe see what it grows into.”

“You’re tracking the boy, then?” Sirzechs asked.

Serafall sipped once before answering. 

“As best I can. His anti-magic aura messes with scrying attempts and shreds surveillance constructs. Even enchanted familiars lose cohesion near him.” She set the cup down. “So, I watch for the silence. The empty spots on the map where nothing registers. That’s him.”

“You’re not afraid he’ll become a problem?” he asked, eyes still distant.

“He already is,” Serafall said. “The question now is whether he becomes our problem or someone else’s, and how big of a problem he’ll eventually become.”

Sirzechs didn’t respond. A breeze moved between them, cool and dry, barely strong enough to rustle the edge of Serafall’s skirt. She reached again for the second half of her biscuit. After a moment, Sirzechs sighed. “The House of Stolas is clamoring for the boy’s head. They don’t care that Helena technically got herself killed by biting off more than she could chew. And now I hear Halia has also been killed. Never before has the House of Stolas suffered such a grievous blow to their reputation. And it’ll only get worse.” 

“I know,” Serafall nodded. “The House of Stolas out for blood and I don’t plan on stopping them. If they succeed, then my little curiosity fails and that’s that. If they keep on failing, well… I guess things will become more interesting.” 

“Do you think they’ll succeed?” 

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Serafall shrugged. “Amir has tremendous potential. I think the House of Stolas is going to force him to grow; they’ll keep sending weak Devils at first or mercenaries, but eventually he’s going to become strong enough that they’ll be forced to send the strongest of their clan. Or until they give up and stop.” 

“Knowing the Stolas,” Sirzechs said. “They’re not going to stop or give up. Not unless their presumed blood debt is repaid. Or a new House Head is installed. A lot of people are going to die because of this.” 

“That’s assuming they ever find him,” Serafall chuckled. “And, given Amir’s frankly crazy methods of travelling, I think they’re going to be at a loss for where to look. They’re looking for him all over Canada and Alaska, but they’ll never find him there.” 

“Where is he now?” Sirzechs asked. His voice remained calm, steady, but his fingertips tapped once against the porcelain cup.

Serafall set down her own tea slowly, the delicate clink of the china echoing softly between them. 

“Right now?” She smiled faintly. “He’s in Iceland. Swam there too. Didn’t even bother finding a boat. That lunatic. Remind you of anyone?”

Sirzechs raised a brow. His finger stopped tapping. “You’re comparing him to Sairaorg Bael?” 

“Just in terms of grit and physicality,” She nodded once, sharply. “No exaggeration.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes narrowing at nothing in particular. “Where do you think he’s heading?”

Serafall’s gaze flicked upward, following the shifting, glittering stars. 

“North, probably. Nordic territory.” She paused, turning her head slightly. “Or perhaps Great Britain. Hard to tell. He’s keeping to himself, and no one there even knows he exists yet. The Norse gods or the Gaelic gods might have quite the surprise soon.” 

Her smile thinned slightly. “Maybe even the Tuatha de Danann, if they don’t stay hidden in their mists.”

Sirzechs shifted in his chair, tea still untouched. “How dangerous is his anti-magic aura, exactly?”

She leaned back slowly, resting her palms flat against her thighs. Her gaze was distant, thoughtful. “To anyone on the level of a High-Class Devil or below? Extremely dangerous. Vampires, revenants, undead things—they’ll wither and fade away if they step too close. Their magic just drains out of them. Vanishes into a nigh-bottomless pit. I suspect Were-folk will be forcibly reverted to their human forms. Ghosts are gonna have a bad time too.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She raised one finger, tracing a slow circle in the air as if outlining a whirlpool. 

“Imagine standing beside a deep, dark well. Magic pours in and never returns. There’s a point where the well fills—but only after a vast amount of energy is lost. For anyone weaker, it’ll swallow them whole.” Her hand fell back to her lap, still. “For someone like me, though, I’d need to stand in it for a month or more before I felt a thing. I suspect it won’t affect you at all.”

“That is,” Serafall continued. “Assuming his anti-magic aura stays the same level as it was when we met. But I doubt someone like that is going to stagnate.” 

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.” Sirzechs leaned back and sighed. He stared out into the open again. Another servant walked towards them with a tray of pastries and other desserts, and laid it out on the table. The man took his leave with a curt nod. Idly, Serafall wondered where Grayfia was. She was usually by Sirzechs’ side. “How’s little Sona, by the way? Is she doing well in Japan?” 

Serafall brightened and she smiled fully and truly, perhaps for the first time since this whole fiasco with Helena Stolas began. “Hehe she’s doing really well. Thanks for asking. So-tan’s always been obsessed with human stuff, though she hid it quite well from Ria-tan when they were kids. I can imagine just how much fun she’s having in Japan! Plus, the Shinto-faction is cool with us due to the super duper special diplomatic skills of moi. So, they’re staying out of Kuoh and letting the girls rule the city.” 

Sirzechs nodded. “That’s good to hear. I do get worried about Rias a lot. She’s not nearly as wise as she thinks she is. Like Sona, Rias has plenty of untapped potential, but she’s… rash. She’s so desperate to prove to everyone and to herself that she needs no aid from the family to become powerful that I fear she might be diving headfirst into something dangerous.” 

“Weren’t we the same when we were their age?” Serafall chuckled. “Sona’s no different. She likes to act all mature, but she’s still my little baby sister underneath all of that.” 

“I suppose they’ll have to learn to deal with their own mistakes to mature,” Sirzechs smiled. “Just like we did when we were young and stupid…. I just hope Rias doesn’t do anything more stupid than anything I’ve done.” 

Serafall raised a brow. “Like starting a civil war and establishing a new government in the Underworld?” 

Sirzechs laughed. “Yeah, like that.” 

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The obvious move would’ve been to swim to either Great Britain or Denmark. That’s what anyone expecting logic would have assumed. Clean routes. Civilization. Transportation. Options. But I wasn’t interested in what made sense. Predictability got you killed when magic was involved. My original plan was to make landfall in Great Britain and just make my way south and then swim through the English Channel into France and then make my way to North Africa. 

But… what the hell would I be doing there? I needed a new identity, which meant a new birth certificate, a new passport. And I wouldn’t find either of those in Africa… mostly because I didn’t know any of the local dialects.

So I didn’t go south or west. I went east.

Northern Europe curled along the edge of the world. I followed it. Slipped past the Norwegian coast, stayed well offshore, swam between slabs of drifting ice and under the shadows of long-forgotten fishing towns. No boats. No roads. Just cold water and colder wind.

I kept moving. Always east. Toward the edge of the world.

The plan, if you could call it that, was to swing wide around the entire region and make landfall near Siberia. Once there, I’d follow the shoreline, stay out of sight, and keep to the wilderness. No cities. No villages. Just enough to eat and somewhere dry to sleep when I needed it.

From there, I'd head south through Russia. Then, if the terrain didn’t kill me, I’d slip into Mongolia, maybe skirt the Gobi Desert if I felt like being clever. Once I crossed into China, I’d have to be careful. Big country. Too many people. Too many cameras. Too much government. But at least I had the language.

Mandarin wasn’t easy to learn. I’d picked it up years ago, back when I went through a Chinese military history phase. I’d become obsessed with the Warring States period, built model crossbows in the garage, memorized battles, read translations of Sun Tzu and Wu Qi, tried reenacting famous campaigns with little red flags on foam board terrain. At some point, I begged my mom to get me a tutor. She did. One of the few times I was able to talk her into anything.

That said, I knew enough to know Mandarin wasn’t always useful in China. The country was big enough to hold dozens of dialects. People in rural western provinces barely understood each other, let alone someone like me.

Didn’t matter.

India was my real destination.

If I could just make it there.

I spoke the language—Hindi like I’d grown up with it, Urdu well enough to pass in most circles. My skin tone wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. The hair, the face, the way I walked. Nothing screamed foreigner. Not if I played it right. Right clothes. Quiet tongue. Stick to back streets and train stations. Avoid the tourists and the ones who watched for them.

It wasn’t home. Not really. But it was close enough to vanish in. India was loud, alive, crowded—filled with so much sound and motion that no one would notice one more body slipping between the cracks. A billion people meant a billion distractions. I could lose myself in that. I could rest. Regroup. Maybe even build something.

I had people there too. Sort of. My father’s brother lived in Gujarat. Civil engineer, owned land, property. A good man, from what little I remembered. My mother’s younger brother was a doctor somewhere near Delhi. Met them once, maybe twice. Family reunion. Must’ve been eight or nine years ago. They gave me sweets. Called me clever. Patted my head like I was worth something.

They’d help if I asked. I knew that. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t drag them into this mess. Into the supernatural, into devils and magic and ancient monsters. They were good people, who believed in hospitals and buildings and the real, solid things of the world.

So I’d do it alone.

That was the plan.

Keep moving. Stay unpredictable. Stay alive. Simple enough.

So, I did just that. 

But fate had no patience for plans.

It didn’t even take a full day before it all fell apart.

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“For the last time,” I sighed. “Just because I’m Indian doesn’t mean I have anything to do with the Hindu Pantheon! I don’t even know those guys!”