The Prince of Sloth [DxD]

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The maid led the blonde-haired, green-eyed girl to a secluded room at the top of one of the castle towers. She opened the door of the room and said coldly to the girl while pointing inside, "Go inside and stay there. You are not to step outside this door, as per my Lady's orders."

The girl glanced into the room, pursing her lips as she thought to herself, 'Room, sweet room…'

Noticing the girl hesitating at the threshold, the maid's tone turned sharper, more authoritative. "What are you waiting for? Don't make me repeat myself."

"Yes, ma'am," nodded the girl, lowering her gaze, and she stepped inside without another word.

As the maid reached to lock the door, the girl suddenly turned around, a glimmer of curiosity and expectation in her eyes. "Who was that boy?" she asked.

The maid paused, frowning. "What boy?"

"The one fighting the young dragon," the girl clarified, recalling the fierce battle she had witnessed on the screen and the incredible magic he used when confronting the dragon.

The maid scoffed, her eyes narrowing with disdain. "Hmph! Barely a child, and already planning to follow in the footsteps of that whore you called a mother in seducing the noble men."

The little girl's expression turned cold upon hearing the maid's disdain for her and her mother, but all she could do was glare in silence, unable to retaliate, neither with words nor with action.

The maid, without bothering to answer the little girl's question, slammed the door shut on her face, baam!

The little girl flinched at the sound, but the maid's muttered curses from the other side stung far worse.

"The likes of you are better off dead before they're even born," the maid spat. "I don't understand why someone like you is still allowed to live. If it were up to me, I would have wrung that neck before it ever had the chance to utter its first cry…"

She turned to leave but didn't stop her cruel words from spilling out. "Surely, it must have been the influence of that wretched woman on my Lord… Otherwise, how could my Lord hesitate to rid himself of a bastard child like you?"

Left alone in the room, which felt more like a prison than a home, the little girl walked to the glass window and gazed outside. Her expression was filled with sorrow, a single tear slipping down her cheek. 'I... I didn't ask to be born...'

She was on the verge of tears when she suddenly heard voices from outside.

"Malrik… w-what are you doing? Lady Abaddon had forbidden the girl from leaving her room, but she disobeyed and stepped out. Now, she needs to be punished. You can't just…" It was the maid who had locked her inside earlier.

"Lord Abaddon ordered me to bring her to his study…" came the voice of the butler, a voice the girl recognized well.

"But Lady Abaddon clearly said no one is to interact with her, not even Lord Aba—" the maid tried to stop the butler.

"I'm just following Lord Abaddon's orders," the butler interrupted, his tone firm. "If Lady Abaddon has a problem with it, she can speak to my Lord herself." He then began to unlock the door.

Clink… clank… The sound of the key turning in the lock reached the girl's ears.

'Wh-what are they talking about?' she thought nervously as she quickly wiped away the tear the moment door creaked open, revealing both the Head Butler and the Head Maid of the castle standing outside.

After opening the gate, Malrik entered and spoke respectfully to the girl, "Lady Kuisha… my Lord has requested your presence in his study…"

"Hm? Lord Abaddon wishes to see me?" Kuisha murmured, taken aback. Just moments ago, she had been locked in this room on Lady Abaddon's orders for daring to step out, but now, all of a sudden, Lord Abaddon was requesting her presence. This left her confused and momentarily speechless. After a brief pause, she quickly nodded and replied, "I-I understand, Lord Malrik. Then let's go... we shouldn't keep Lord Abaddon waiting…"

Malrik glanced at Kuisha, and upon seeing her attire, he turned to the maid and ordered, "Please make her presentable. The dress and the hair and well… you know what I mean."

"Alright…" The maid, though a bit reluctant, nodded and approached, saying to the butler, "Wait outside."

"Very well," Malrik replied with a nod, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Left alone in the room, the maid looked at Kuisha with a somewhat annoyed expression. "It seems your luck hasn't run out yet, girl..."

"Um, ma'am, may I ask—" Kuisha began, wanting to know why she had to make herself presentable if she wasn't allowed to attend the gathering. Or was Lord Abaddon planning to introduce her there? She had too many questions swirling in her mind.

But the maid shook her head, cutting her off. "Don't ask me... I don't know." She then added, "I've been ordered to make you presentable, so that's what I'll do." She instructed Kuisha, "Remove those clothes and sit in the chair."

Although very confused by what was happening, she nodded. "Y-yes, ma'am..." Following the maid's instructions, she began to remove her clothes and prepare herself.

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A few minutes later, the door to the room opened, and Kuisha stepped out, followed by the maid. She called out to the butler, "Lord Malrik... am I presentable now?"

Malrik glanced at her. "Let's see…"

Kuisha was now dressed in a proper, off-shoulder, full-sleeve dark green dress accented with light green frills and butterflies that seemed to match the color of her eyes. A dark green ribbon was tied around her neck like a collar, and her blonde hair was styled in a small ponytail, secured with a matching dark green ribbon.

Malrik looked at Kuisha with approval and smiled. "Yes, Lady Kuisha, you look very beautiful." He then turned to the maid, giving her a nod of approval. "Good job."

"Th-thank you, Lord Malrik..." Kuisha replied, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. This was the first time she had been dressed in such a manner, and she felt a bit nervous.

On the other hand, the maid nodded silently.

"Well then... let's not waste time and head to my Lord's study. He is waiting for you there," said Malrik, lifting his hand and gesturing for Kuisha to follow. "Please, come with me."

"Yes, please lead the way, Lord Malrik," Kuisha nodded, following the butler.

As they walked, Kuisha couldn't help but ask, "Lord Malrik... may I ask why Fa— I mean, Lord Abaddon has requested my presence?"

Malrik responded casually, "Lord Abaddon will explain it to you, Lady Kuisha." He smiled reassuringly. "But I believe you'll be pleased with this turn of events..." He added, "You won't have to stay in this castle anymore, where you've always been imprisoned and mistreated."

Kuisha's eyes widened as she looked down. "I... I see..." She fell silent, no longer asking questions. However, her mind was racing with thoughts: 'I no longer have to live here? What is Father doing? Where am I being sent?'

With all these questions swirling in her head, she followed Malrik until they arrived at the door of Moros Abaddon's study.

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"Moros, what the hell are you doing?" Kyra Abaddon demanded as she strode into his study, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She sank into a chair, her sharp gaze fixed on her husband.

Moros Abaddon stood by the window, his back to them, gazing out at the vast estate. He remained silent, ignoring her question.

Frustrated, Kyra pressed further. "Why are you giving her to the Belphegors? There is no benefit to us in this!"

Moros finally spoke, his voice calm and measured. "As I have already told you, I know what I am doing, and this matter does not concern you."

Kyra clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Taking a slow, steady breath, she tried again. "Just cancel this. Offer Malakarion something else in exchange for the wager you lost—apologize if necessary—but put an end to this madness. That girl is not going to the Belphegors. She will go where I decide, and she will serve the interests of House Abaddon."

Moros shook his head, his stance unyielding. "That will not happen. Kuisha will go to the Belphegors, as promised to Lord Malakarion in front of Lord Mephisto Pheles and Lord Kaelus Mammon. Nothing will change that."

Kyra's eyes blazed with fury. Her patience snapped as she shot up from her seat, slamming her hands against the desk. "You're ruining… EVERYTHING!" she spat, her voice filled with rage.

"Let everything be ruined, then…" Moros chuckled, his voice laced with bitter amusement. Turning around, he met Kyra's furious gaze without a care and continued, "I will not allow you to sell her off just because it benefits you."

Kyra narrowed her eyes. "I am not selling her off to just anyone. She will serve the heir of Bael, strengthening our relationship with their house—"

But Moros cut her off with a scoff. "House of Bael, huh? Ha… all the more reason why I know I made the right decision by promising her to Belphegors." He crossed his arms, his tone firm. "Between sending her to the Baels—who don't even have a competent heir—or to the Belphegors, the choice is obvious. Didn't you see what that boy, Seirios Belphegor, is capable of? He's not even five years old, and he's already a monster in the making. Meanwhile, the so-called heir of Bael… what was his name? Sairaorg Bael, if I recall correctly, has neither Demonic Power nor the Power of Destruction, as the rumors suggest. Knowing the Baels, that boy has no future."

"I was referring to the younger Bael… Magdaran Bael," Kyra clarified.

"It doesn't matter which Bael you mean. I refuse to have an Abaddon serve a Bael, even if that Abaddon is illegitimate," Moros said coldly, shaking his head. "Ha… the Baels aren't even true Devils. Zekram Bael was nothing more than an artificial existence created by Lord Lucifer, and Zekram's descendants are no different—just a bunch of artificial beings calling themselves Devils. I refuse to acknowledge them as our kind."

He exhaled sharply before continuing, "I have already promised Kuisha to the heir of Belphegor. Ideally, I would have preferred a marriage, but since she is an illegitimate child born from the womb of a low-class devil, that wasn't possible. Regardless, I have known Malakarion and Sephie for eons—they will treat Kuisha appropriately, and I trust their son will do the same."

"I doubt that…" Kyra said, shaking her head before reminding Moros, "Have you already forgotten the language he used during the fight?"

"He's young. In time, he'll learn and mature," Moros replied, defending his choice.

Kyra scoffed. "He's young, yet he already knows such foul words. I understand that he lost his composure during battle, but that's no excuse. Children learn to speak from their parents and surroundings. The fact that he used such language means he has been exposed to it regularly."

Moros shook his head. "I know Malakarion, Sephie, and Roygun—they do not speak that way."

"And yet, their beloved son does," Kyra countered. "Where could he have learned those words, I wonder? A child who speaks like that at such a young age is unlikely to treat an illegitimate girl with respect."

Moros fell silent, momentarily at a loss for words.

Seeing his hesitation, Kyra smirked and rose from her seat. "He may lash out in anger, use violence against her… He may threaten her, demand things she cannot give… and if she resists?" She narrowed her eyes. "He might even kill her."

"He will do no such thing," Moros said, shaking his head.

"How can you be so certain?" Kyra challenged, her gaze sharp.

"…" Moros had no answer.

Kyra's smile widened. She stepped closer, pressing her body against him as her fingers traced lightly over his chest. "Try to understand me… my efforts. Everything I do is for the good of our Household," she murmured. Her hand glided upward, fingers grazing his neck before reaching his cheek. "The future of House Abaddon lies with the Baels. By strengthening our ties with them and placing an Abaddon beside the next Head of Bael, we can—"

Moros cut her off sharply. "We can what?" His voice was cold, daring her to continue as he locked eyes with her.

Kyra opened her mouth to explain, but before she could, Moros interrupted again. "Don't think for a second that I don't know what your true goal is." His tone was laced with disdain as he stepped back, putting distance between them. "But you forget—Bastard or not, she is my child, my blood flows through her veins, I am the father, and Kuisha is my daughter. I alone will decide her fate. You may have seized control of most of House Abaddon through Bedeze's strength and influence, but you have no authority over Kuisha. You are not her mother." His gaze darkened. "And don't forget—officially, I am still the Lord of Abaddon."

His gaze turned cold as he issued his final command. "Now leave. I have more important matters to attend to."

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door, followed by Malrik's voice from the other side. "My Lord…"

Moros responded without hesitation. "Come in, Malrik."

Realizing that Moros was done entertaining her, Kyra's eyes darkened with anger and resentment. "Moros… you may come to regret this decision of yours," she warned before turning sharply on her heels and striding toward the door.

As she walked out, she caught sight of Malrik stepping inside with little Kuisha by his side. Their eyes met for a brief moment.

Kuisha quickly lowered her gaze, avoiding eye contact, and offered a slight bow.

Malrik followed suit, inclining his head respectfully. "My Lady."

"Tch…" Kyra clicked her tongue in irritation before continuing down the hall, disappearing from sight. However, she left behind a cryptic remark: "I hope the life ahead will be pleasant for you, girl…"

Kyra Abaddon's words left Kuisha confused, unsure of what she truly meant.

"Don't pay attention to her," Moros said, pulling Kuisha out of her confusion. He then turned to the butler. "Malrik, leave us for a moment."

"As you wish, my Lord," Malrik nodded and stepped outside the study.

Now alone in the room with Moros, Kuisha bowed respectfully. "Lord Abaddon…"

Moros pursed his lips, unsure of what to say at first. He simply stared at Kuisha for a moment.

"Lord Abaddon?" Kuisha asked, feeling a little nervous.

"You look just like your mother…" Moros murmured with a sigh.

"I've been told that many times by Lord Malrik," Kuisha replied, looking down at her feet.

"Yes… Yes, of course," Moros nodded, adding, "You remind Malrik of his daughter. You truly are her splitting image."

"Unfortunately, I never got to meet her," Kuisha said sadly.

Moros tried to speak but struggled to find the right words, leaving them both standing in silence.

Finally, Kuisha asked, "May I ask why I was called here, Lord Abaddon? And why am I wearing these expensive clothes?"

Hearing her question, Moros sat down in his chair and gestured for her to do the same. "Please, have a seat."

Kuisha hesitated for a moment before approaching the chair opposite Moros and sitting down. She fixed him with a doubtful expression. "Lord Abaddon?"

Moros looked at her intently. "Did Malrik say anything to you on your way here?"

Kuisha nodded slightly. "Yes, Lord Malrik mentioned that I wouldn't be staying in this castle anymore. Am I being sent away from this castle?"

Moros pursed his lips and sighed. "That's correct. You are to sever ties with the House of Abaddon and go to the House of Belphegor, where you will serve their heir apparent to the best of your abilities for the rest of your life."

"To… the House of Belphegor?" Kuisha murmured, stunned by the revelation.

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Sometime later, somewhere in the Abaddon Castle

Seir, who had been unconscious for some time, suddenly stirred. "Hmm?"

"Oh… look, Mother, he's waking up," a gentle voice reached his ears.

Slowly opening his eyes, Seir found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. His surroundings were suddenly too bright, causing him to squint as confusion set in. "Where… am I?" he murmured.

Sephie, who was sitting beside him, leaned in with concern. "Seir, dear, how are you feeling?"

"A bit light-headed, Mother…" answered Seir, recalling the familiar voice.

"Well, that's only natural since you used up almost all of your Demonic Power," Sephie said with a gentle nod, caressing his forehead. She added reassuringly, "You've regained some of it, and you'll recover the rest soon enough."

"I see…" nodded Seir.

Roygun, who was also in the room, spoke up. "Do you remember what happened before you lost consciousness?"

Seir thought for a moment before nodding. "I was fighting Bova Tannin…" he recalled. Then, hesitantly, he asked, "And if I remember correctly… I won, didn't I, Roygun?"

"Well, you certainly won the duel," Roygun said with a nod.

"That's good… I wouldn't want to be embarrassed by that bastard of a dragon," Seir murmured, sounding satisfied.

Hearing the word 'bastard' from his mouth, Sephie raised an eyebrow. "We really need to talk about your language…" She paused before adding in a stern tone, "Even during the duel, you were cursing the young dragon and speaking to him in such a foul manner. Where did you even learn those words? And what was that manner of speaking, huh?"

During the fight, because of all the pain he was feeling, he had truly lost control of his tongue, letting insults and curses fly at Bova. Such language and behavior were far from what was expected of an aristocrat, so it was no surprise that Sephie had taken issue with it.

She had never imagined Seir would speak in such a crude manner and was clearly displeased.

"Uh… well… Mother…" Seir murmured, unsure of how to respond. "Did I really speak like that? I don't seem to remember much…" Attempting to change the topic, he turned his attention toward Roygun. "By the way, Sis—"

But Sephie wasn't about to let him off so easily. She interrupted him sternly, "Do not change the topic, Seir." Fixing him with a sharp gaze, she added, "The way you spoke was unbecoming of the heir apparent of the House of Belphegor. That is not how an aristocrat speaks… even to his enemies."

Seir sighed, realizing he wasn't going to get out of this so easily. "I was panicked and angry, Mother…" He touched his forehead, frowning slightly as he recalled the moment. "I remember getting injured… a wound on my head and another on my waist. I've never felt that much pain before, and I lost control over what I was saying…"

Sephie nodded lightly, her stern gaze softening with emotion and sadness as she recalled Seir's injuries. "Yes, that's the case…" The wounds had been serious, and watching her son—who wasn't even five years old—suffer in such agony through the screen had pained her deeply.

Letting out a sigh, she gently reminded him, "Be more careful next time… and do not present an image unbecoming of the heir apparent of the House of Belphegor before others." Though she was displeased with his cursing, she decided to let it slide this time.

"Thank you, Mother," Seir said with a grateful smile, nodding. "I'll be more careful next time."

He then touched his forehead, noticing that his skin was smooth, with no trace of the wound he had received from Bova. Turning to Roygun, he asked, "Sister… what happened after the duel? My injuries…"

"I used Phoenix Tears on them, so you're fine. All your injuries have been healed." She paused and asked, "Is there any pain?"

"There is slight irritation…" answered Seir, tracing the area where he had received a wound on his forehead.

"Do not worry… it will disappear within the next few hours…" explained Roygun.

Although the Phoenix Tear is an exceptionally powerful potion, capable of healing almost all injuries, it is not omnipotent. While it can reattach severed limbs and repair damaged organs, it cannot regenerate missing ones. Additionally, wounds treated with the Phoenix Tear do not heal instantaneously—although the damage disappears, there remains slight irritation and some dysfunctionality, requiring time for a full recovery.

This was precisely what happened in the canon during the Rating Game between Sairaorg Bael and Rias Gremory in the Youth Devil Rating Game Tournament. When Xenovia Quarta and Kiba Yūto severed Sairaorg's hand, he used Phoenix Tears to reattach it. However, the healing was not instantaneous or perfect, leaving his hand slightly impaired. This temporary dysfunction ultimately contributed to Sairaorg falling behind in his battle against the Red Dragon Emperor.

"I see…" nodded Seir, understanding what Roygun meant.

At that moment, Malakarion, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. "Since you've regained consciousness, shall we return to the hall? Everyone is eager to meet the champion of the duel… and let's not forget, you still need to receive your reward from Mephisto Pheles. We wouldn't want to keep him waiting too long, would we?"

"Yes, Father…" Seir nodded, a spark of excitement in his eyes at the thought of finally getting his hands on Chastiefol. He attempted to rise but found it difficult due to exhaustion.

"Let me help you," Sephie offered, gently supporting him as he got to his feet.

"Thank you, Mother…" Seir said gratefully.

As Seir got to his feet, Sephie murmured, "Hmm… your clothes need to be taken care of as well. You can't exactly go there dressed like this, now can you?"

"Hmm… yes…" Seir agreed, glancing down at his attire.

"Don't worry, I'll handle it," Sephie assured him before using her demonic power to fix the issue.

Meanwhile, Seir turned to Malakarion and asked, "By the way, Father, how is Bova's condition?"

He had beaten Bova quite badly—much worse than he should have. It was the result of his anger and all the pain he was feeling at that time that led to him losing control over his restraints. But now that he was calm, he regretted it. 'Hopefully, he's not dead… That would cause unnecessary animosity with Tannin…' And that was something Seir wanted to avoid.

Malakarion reassured him, "There's no need to worry. Although the young dragon's condition was worse than yours, he is recovering. Phoenix Tears works like magic… all he needs to do is rest for a while, and he will be fine."

"I see. That's good." Seir nodded, feeling somewhat relieved.

"All done," Sephie said with a satisfied smile, having finished adjusting his clothes.

"Once again, thank you, Mother," Seir said gratefully.

Sephie smiled in response.

"Alright then, let's go," Malakarion said as he walked toward the door with Roygun, Sephie, and Seir following him.

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Author's Note:

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