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[Rewrite] Chapter 5: A Devil Name
🕑 Added 2025-09-23 08:48:32 +0000 UTCSilence laid over the observatory. Right Direction kept stealing nervous glances at her Master. Choosing the girl had been her suggestion. A foreign actor, a supreme vessel, one with sharp theories about futures that could have been and plans to implement them, ‘FF projects’ she would call them.
Right felt that a ranking like ‘FF’ didn’t do the girl's ingenuity the right amount of justice. To her, those ideas were the perfect addition to flip the chessboard of Neel, adding the sweetness her Master desired.
Unfortunately, it was her oversight for missing a mortal with a spiraling path in her soul.
A pity. A devil with Void Song.
“The mark of madness…” the Observer said, almost to the porcelain rim of his cup. A complication, a tricky one. No one in Neel was born with the mark; it was gained through corruption, and those that possessed it were typically irredeemably extreme.
Could it be her world’s fault? An innate thing?
The girl didn’t present herself like a song-sick native that possessed a spiral. Innate mark, altered substrate, unfamiliar physics of soul-growth… the variables kept stacking. The Observer sifted through ten thousand futures and only found foggy readings, timelines knotted and twisted like a bilby’s burrow. Any of them could be decoys. All of them were probably wrong.
“Tricky indeed…” he voiced his thoughts.
Well, maybe she would be fine? Maybe her origin buffered the damage in some way?
He rubbed his temples. Or maybe this would be worse than letting those little gods in Neel keep playing at politics. A mana well severance was a nuisance, but planar collapse across bridges was work.
“Too risky. Killing her again might be better after all…” he murmured. He reached the tidy bureaucrat’s conclusion. Remove the piece. Try again. There was still time to build a third candidate.
He felt his mood sour at the thought. He took another compulsory sip from his cup.
Sip.
With the merits he stocked up, another try was possible, but his attempts were limited. On top of that, time was slowly trickling out.
Finding or creating suitable vessels as supreme as her took time, and he wasn’t shameless enough to snuff out a baby soul in the womb like the lower gods. Saving resources and time was indeed easy, but cutting corners always made him feel prickly all over.
He couldn’t sip properly with irritated skin, only beasts endured that sort of primal dining.
Sip. Sip.
Kidnapping and training a promising young champion from Neel wasn’t an option either. His name and title is quite literally, The Observer. Actions as brazen as that within his own dimension would, without question, alert the Boss and his auditors. Where would his face be if he were to be exposed?
The other god’s wouldn’t let him hear the end of it.
He sighed, remembering the old saying. “Third time’s a charm… I guess.”
Sip. Gulp.
He took another sip, then an exaggerated, drama ladened gulp from his teacup. His head ached from all this. Well, at least his drink was-...
He paused.
Then looked into the cup with his empty sockets, finally noticing what his headache had hidden. The blend had shifted. Bitter to complex. A sweetness behind the spice he had been missing for what felt like an epoch.
‘Ah. Beginning’s beard, what a magnificent blend!’
Principle could be delicious when it surprised him.
The realization stuck him like a hammer. He was foolish to let the recognition slip past him for a single instant. The sugar he needed for the spice was right here. What was a bit of madness? His authorities dealt with neither Order nor Chaos. His job was observing and drinking it all in.
And drink he shall, especially with an era as rich as this.
“What kind of fool kills an innocent girl for being born inconvenient!?” he said, standing so fast the chair whispered on the floor. The cup hovered near his lip as if the drink might escape.
Right, startled, looked to her master; incredulous at the outburst. “But Master, the song. You saw what it did. People flinging themselves off cliffs. Kind neighbors transforming to grotesque cannibals. Families offering their children to deep sea entities for their scholarship exams. We nearly lost entire coastlines before you filed the report!”
It was a terrifying time, and the wound was still fresh. The event was only 700 years ago.
The worst part about the mark was its contagiousness. It only needed an uncorrupted soul within the proximity of the corrupted. The soul would hear the frequency or ‘song’ resonating from the infected party, slowly poisoning the other.
Had it not been for her Master telling the proper authorities about the ‘noise disturbance’, leading to the mastermind's exile, Neel would have fallen in a matter of decades.
But now her snitch of a master, the lead informant, intended to send that very same soul back to the planes of Neel. The actions baffled her.
The Observer didn’t deny it. Instead, he drank again, greedily.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
“She has the mark,” he said between chugs, “but not the melody. And look at her. Steadier than most young devils her age. What’s the problem? We don’t judge a soul by the shape of their mark here, only the content of their character.” The earnestness in his voice was palpable.
Such a righteous display would move the hearts of any lower being.
“...”
But Right was no lower being, nor was she a fool. She just watched him and said nothing. The rug was very obviously being lifted, and the issues that came with the mark being swept deep underneath.
The Observer ignored the eye boring into him and continued as he sat back down, his conscience clear.
“A compromise,” he continued, tone turning administrative. “Give her the boon. Her soul is undersized for the vessel. As it grows, the three natures will swell to fill the new room. With the boon, she will measure her changes and be able to name them. Understanding reduces full surrender. That should be enough.”
Right exhaled. That, at least, would help. The Observer’s boon was essentially introspection made law.
He lifted his cup and added, “Instruct Left to tell her to hide the spiral answer in future tests. Say ‘vertical line’ and move on. As usual, her origin exists only in this room. If Left asks why she was born with it, just deflect. When you finish, go. You have your next assignment in that abyss, move quietly and take only the sample required.”
“Yes sir.” She bowed, sent the message, and tried not to imagine Left with new gossip in his mouth. Best to cut that off at the root.
~~~
Left Direction stared at the child across the white table with polite dread. Sister and Master had both overruled him, nearly verbally beating him at his request. He remembered the song just like them, the way sanity peeled from people like old paint. He did not understand why this, of all risks, was acceptable now.
He let out a heavy sigh.
“What’s wrong?” Hannya asked at last, studying his silence. “Is that mark an issue?”
He hesitated. The easy lie felt wrong on his tongue; the accurate explanation would stamp her with a label he wasn’t allowed to print.
“It is… unwise to show,” he said carefully. “If anyone ever repeats this test outside, say you see a vertical line. You will find that beneficial.”
Hidden danger confirmed. She kept her face in check and filed it next to a dozen other plans. Information was why she’d come, after all. Information and the name. But…she was a little annoyed at the small twist.
What the hell? She was a transmigrator. A devil at that, if the logic follows, she should be a strong to stronger archetype!
‘Don’t tell me I’m the first six-star with no talent? Maybe a devil with no mana type? Or crippled?’
She held back a cringe and shook her head. That wasn’t possible. Her memory was far better now, so she quickly recalled a definitive excerpt from the novel:
Although the devil race was outnumbered 100 to 1 in population compared to their higher being counterpart, the Angels; the balancing factor were the six-star devils, rare in spawn, and elite in talent. Geniuses in their own right and world shaking existences. Their growth speed and innate talents, called ‘gifts’, always resulted in major changes across the planes of Neel without question.
She was more than sure her talent was safe, the canon wouldn’t allow it!
The eye just shook his sight and sighed again.
“Best not to dwell too much on it, young one. Then let’s finish the deal.” Left said quickly, eagerly; already calculating years of conversation. If she was going to be kept around, he planned to milk her for all she’s worth! Finally, a new bosom buddy at last. He couldn’t hold back the excitement in his voice.
“H-hold on! Hey, my name,” Hannya reminded, eyes narrowing. “We did your papers. Where is the part where I get the name?”
Left blinked. He looked at the empty space on the table and then back at her. “Complete. You should have felt the adoption already.”
She followed his gaze and sure enough, the book had vanished while she was thinking. But where was her holy glow? Her fanfare? Her divine choir? She searched within herself, in a way she theorized would work, for a spike of power and found nothing new, then frowned.
She couldn’t tell if nothing changed or if she was doing it wrong.
Left chuckled at her confusion, though she was a harbinger of madness, at least she was a cute one. He let the cope marinate in his mind, hoping to block out the anxiety firmly affixed to his retina.
“Names are important, but they are vectors for evolution. They fix paths, not biceps. Plenty of devils with ridiculous names become monsters by practice alone. So, work hard.” He voiced responsibly.
“Now little Supreme, what do I call you?”
She opened her mouth to answer with the label she had carried in her last life and found a blank where it should have been. The knowledge that a name had existed remained; the syllables didn’t. A shiver went down her spine at the realization, followed by a heat of steadier acceptance. That world was over. A crisp, pathetic end of a meaningless life. This was the beginning of something far greater, far more meaningful.
New names are for new doors.
At the thought, in the deep of her inner world, the spiral mark flickered, turning once. Color pooled through soul-fibers. Space inside her widened.
Left waited. Did the child dislike what she had drawn from the Master’s book? Something in her eyes was different already, a tiny pivot, like a camera that had been nudged off a familiar angle.
He leaned forward, curious.
She smiled, and the four-petal irises began to turn slowly, pink brightening against black sclera in a way that made the room seem warmer, calmer. He did not like the way the hairs on the back of his sight lifted. It indicated his record keeping work would be stressful for a while.
“My apology for the delay,” she said gently. “My name is Hannya.”
She held his gaze, unblinking and rotating. “Hannya 6th Luxuria. At your service.”
Left’s anxiety uncoiled and coiled again. The choice had been made above him. He smoothed his worry down because this was also his moment, his chance! The century’s best opportunity for a conversation partner sat three feet away and carried time in her pocket.
“A pleasure, young Hannya,” he said, and offered his most enthusiastic nod. “Now, shall we make your proposal?”
Her eyes slowed; the glow faded to polite interest. Finally, the important piece. Knowledge for cost. She needed his gossip. She also needed to avoid becoming his next long-term hostage.
And deep down, in the hidden part of her conscience; her thoughts began to laugh maniacally. Visions of all the wonderful ways she could swoop in and rescue her Vainglory in his dire time of need, began to populate undeterred. She just needed the information from this hovering orb. Oh, how valiant she would look! How lofty she’d be!
Hannya was also blissfully unaware that upon hearing her devil name, the dormant devil blood within her began to subtly shift and hum. Causing the image of Vainglory in her mind to rapidly ascend to a much higher pedestal…
“I want answers,” she said promptly, demeanor calm in her spinning eyes “Detailed ones.”
Left’s iris brightened. “Of course! Of course! Five questions for one year of your time-”
She stood and walked, without hurry, toward the single gate at the far end of the white expanse. That should be the exit. She concluded.
Left wobbled in his chair. “W-wait! PLEASE! Negotiate, at least!.”
She continued, slowing half a pace. The message was clear: show some sincerity, or I exit.
He folded instantly. “One question free! On me. Then we set fair terms.” He sagged, muttering out. “I-I’m sorry I tried to rip you off… I just wanted to play a little hard ball…”
She turned back with smooth, cooperative grace. “Why try and bait me when you know I see the hook?” she said, taking her seat again.
Left sagged deeper across the table as if she had taken a decade from him. He had forgotten how obvious his leverage looked when someone actually paid attention.
“Ask your free one.” he said, resigned.
Hannya didn’t waste any time.
“I want to know…Would wishing for a system kill me?”
Left’s iris widened by a measure. He processed the target behind the question, the reasons a devil would want a framework built by foreign hands, the costs of embedding an engine in a vessel that was already an engine.
And the ‘sky’ above them brightened by a small fraction, as if someone had set down a cup to keenly watch.
