The Devil Is Real (Noir x Arifureta)

Prologue: The Black King

It was some last act of desperation. He felt the last embers of life slowly fading away from him as he struggled in the makeshift cave, the stinging pain of his missing arm preventing any sort of rest. He smelt death in his own blood, and felt the clutches of death slowly grasping his neck, like how one would choke a person. He knew it was all his fear of death. But he did not—could not—accept a death so humiliating and meaningless.

He delved deep into his memories, so deep it began to explore things better left forbidden. The mystery and dark intricacies of the Heleigh Kingdom's library, and the supernatural rituals that lied within. All that time spent in the library, others thought was pointless and weak. He can clearly remember the words of his peers, the words that one would not expect from a comrade. They were harsh, bitter, borderline cruel. Their actions, a mix of bullying and sarcastic compassion, left an inedible depression mark on Hajime's mind. Yet, it is the sole reason he will be able to do what was to come. He had a strong heart, and that was one of his strong points. A strong will a friend of his thought was strong enough to cast aside all hopelessness.

Yet reality was too cruel as to be redefined by the will of the living. No fault of his own. He knew he hadn't any more time. He knew he will soon perish, lost in the chasms of oblivion in the pit of the abyss teeming with monstrosities and beasts. He was not here on accident. No—Hajime clearly remembered. In what seemed to be the climax of his epic decent to heroism, he never knew will soon be the pillar of his demise. But I just saved them! He thought in distraught as the world came into slow motion. He could not do anything but observe. Nothing but observe as one of the countless elemental attacks unleashed by his "peers" strayed so obviously in purpose, and came in course with his direction.

"Mom... Dad..." He cried, an endless cascade of tears etching and defining his pale face, so pale to the point he looked like porcelain from the amount of blood he had lost. His clothes, soaked in tears and blood, let out an incredibly unpleasant stench. He can smell his own flesh rotting away into decay. He knew the time will come soon.

Hajime Nagumo was not a full-fledged adult. Nor was he supposed to be someone bestowed with such immense responsibility. He was but a 17-year-old. A mere high-schooler who's supposed to be enjoying the peak and concluding point of his youth. Making friends, going to school, falling in love, etc. That was what made youth, well, youth.

So why was he in such a disastrous situation? He was just, on person (face-to-face), met with a betrayal from his Earth classmates. He just, on person, came to directly see the bottomless chasm of darkness in the abyss. He just, on person, came to see monstrosities never been seen before—monstrosities that will consign mankind to the ultimate despair. He just, on person, witnessed one of those same monsters directly gobble up his arm for a snack.

There was no more hope for survival. He just had to do one last thing—just one last. He wanted to relay a message to his loved ones back on Earth—to his own heroes—his parents.

"Please... please work... I beg of you! I beg to whoever is up there! Please make this work!" A desperate cry resounded unexpectedly quiet. His makeshift cave, made of his own transmutation ability to escape the monster that ate his arm, was so small he cannot even stand up. It was small enough that it was just big enough to provide a comfortable space for an elementary student. Moreover, what he was doing was more blasphemous and contradictory.

"Come to me! Come to me, please! I'll give you all of mee!"

He prayed to the Gods, to whatever God is up there, yet the ritual he was performing was literally for the devil. Blood—every last blood he can squeeze out from his body, he used to draw a magic circle with complex and intricate patterns. He SHOULD have died, yet the strong will emanating from his soul was the sole driving force for his continued existence, despite the odds.

It was then that the magic circle glowed. It glowed crimson. A crimson miasma came rushing out violently out of the circle. It was on a volume that Hajime felt could cover the entire world, swallowing and devouring everything until none remained. An unexpected thing occurred. The small cave he was in seemingly disappeared. He found himself in a place suspended in time, an endless darkness in a boundless void. His injuries were gone, and he felt as healthy as he could be.

Hajime knew, this wasn't real. Whatever that was he tried, it somehow worked. This was a space that is not physical. Some sort of spiritual realm, maybe? Nevertheless, an imaginary space.

"A soul of this quality, I've never seen such like it. Kufufufufu, well, I suppose I should greet you first, right? I am the demon you've summoned. Although I despise the fact that you summoned me from such a lowly station, your soul's brimming quality is more than enough payment, right? For that much, I can tolerate this much displeasure."

Ahh... Hajime knew. The being before him was the key to all his problems. He laid eyes to the most powerful, beautiful, and perfect being he has ever seen. He was dressed in princely garments, like a prince of darkness coming literally from hell. He had black hair with streaks of gold and yellow, which were almost vibrant and glowing amidst the dark spiritual space. His eyes—terrifying but majestic—were golden, with black sclera and crimson blood pupils. But Hajime immediately died, his last will and wish passed on to the demon. Hajime's body energy was drained from the summoning, and his soul's energy was used as payment.

"Regrettable," the demon said in an empty cave in the bottom of the abyss. He now had an established presence, a vessel to properly enact his will in the surface world. This was an incredibly dangerous demon who had just gained a body. There was no telling what kind of catastrophe he might bring upon the world. "Though, I must say. What kind of soul was that? Way too strong for a human." He declared, nonchalantly. The demon was referring to the fact that Hajime's payment, his soul, was strong enough to literally lift up the restriction of demons and ascend him to the status of a Daemon Lord (Demon Peer). His name was Noir. Formerly a title to simply refer to him, it now became his literal name. He also now had a body, oh how he loved his body. It was perfect, made from the energy of a soul with an incredibly strong will.

Noir licked his lips. It was a new adventure. A new universe, and a new world. He came to the surface world once more. How long has it been since the last time? A hundred thousand years? Perhaps a million years? Nevertheless, he is FREE. He clutched his hand. Although his current strength was less than ten percent of the one he had in the underworld; in the surface world, he possessed unparalleled might. One who will reduce all who oppose him to naught but desolate echoes of the void, fragments of thoughts.

Those who tormented his vessel, and those who couldn't fully leave behind the grudge...

They would all bear witness, to the bear flesh of the one who is free.

To the one who left it all behind!

And his overwhelming intensity!

This was the one of the Seven Pillars of Primordial—the most ancient and most powerful daemons—direct archetypes of the Great Spirit of Darkness—born before the creation of heaven and earth—the Black King, Noir!