When she felt her vision start to cloud at the edges, devoid of oxygen; the book suddenly reacted, excreting a powerful shockwave of magic, causing Beelzebub to retreat, wings cushioning him as he took to the sky while Seraphina was flown back, flopping gracelessly onto the ground with a dramatic gasp. She quickly pushed herself back into action, however, and shakily crawled onto her knees as the Gold Grimoire sputtered helplessly, pages jumping spasmodically. She then broke into a mad sprint and retrieved the item, sweltering, raw magic burning her palms like before; but she braced herself, dodging back and consulting the prewritten knowledge; the first string of legible text that willingly disclosed itself to her while Beelzebub issued the order to his minions to retrieve the book. 

And on came the swarm. But Seraphina ground her heels into the dirt, slapped her open palm on the page, and extended its counterpart, meeting their challenge defiantly. “Saltare Ignis!”  

The pagefronts shined, and her breast filled with intense heat. A raging torrent of fire shot out, albeit she was unable to steady it, causing it to blindly rush around like an untamed bull, scorching everything in her general periphery. Though when the last of the embers dissipated, Seraphina buckled almost instantly, ruthlessly clawing at her burning chest as if an active volcano had taken root within her, body trembling harshly and throat clogged with ash, shriveled and tight. Beelzebub had distinctly let out an expletive, scarcely circumventing the fallout as he launched himself out of range, appropriately jaw-dropped as he interviewed their charred environment, then eyed a heaving Seraphina, curiosity and stupefaction muddling his brazen inflection. 

“She might be an elf, but... even if the book’s only magnifying her magic, it shouldn’t be that...”  

“Ah, this is... it’s too much. I can’t breathe,” Seraphina weakly regathered the buzzy grimoire into her hands; her legs jellified when she straightened herself out. She watched foggily as, like multiplying rabbits, the bugs amassed once more, drifting down from their willowy hub, and she had no time to think when they were on her with the ferocity of a rabid pack of wolves. She rechecked her notes and found another workable verse, voice strained as she fought against her piercing heartburn to rediscover her tongue, swollen in her mouth. “I... Grandinis!”  

Contrary to before, the opposite effect occurred. A blizzard swept through and hardened her veins, wheezing helplessly as all the warmth seemed to leave her blood in an instant, the tips of her fingers frostbitten white. Channeling great volleys of ice; a sharp tidal wave of blades, shredding tiny bodies and luminescent wings, and a stray shard even caught Beelzebub on the cheek, slicing a fine cut when he attempted to slip back into the fray, eyes broadening with astonishment. Tremulous hands ultimately lost their grip on the book as Seraphina collapsed face first, but unlike before, she was unable to muster the verve to fight on notwithstanding, muscles effectively locked and defenseless as she clawed uselessly in the direction of the grimoire, which continued to squirm feverishly.  

A stinging grip curled in her hair and foisted her off the ground. Seraphina whimpered, one eye scrunched shut as she hazily interpreted an unamused Beelzebub, a fresh stream of blood scorching his impenetrable facade, suspending them midair, haloed by his shimmery wingspan. He then draped his arm around her waistline to resecure her, then without any further preamble, a hooked hand broke past her chest wall, wrenching a spout of blood from her throat alongside an agonized scream, a hand squelching, deliberately probing her insides. Though pain blurred her vision, Seraphina watched as the indifference was struck from his expression, superseded by immense confusion when he found the cavity— abandoned.  

“Wait, that mark,” he disentangled his hand and watched as the injury miraculously sutured itself, reconnecting interrupted lines to bridge the revitalized tattoo, burned into flesh as if it was little more than a birthmark. “You... are you—” 

The brand shimmered a radiant red, which was followed by a chorus of high-pitched screams shortly thereafter as a black lance of light pierced through the dark storm of flies that had blotted out the sky, small, desecrated bodies hitting the ground one by one. In his surprise, Beelzebub had dropped Seraphina bodily, and she hacked wildly as she instinctively rolled onto her back, fearfully scrabbling at her bloodied chest to find it safely intact, but—  

Her heart. She... she didn’t have a heart. She had a heartbeat; a discernible pulse, but no—  

“You... what are you doing here, Malphas the Treacherous?”  

“Beelzebub the Gluttonous,” Malphas started; his demeanor generally even-tempered as he squished a vagrant fairy into a bloody pulp in his glove, dropped the crooked remnants, and distinguishably adjusted the lapels of his overcoat thereafter, completely unbothered. “... You thought that you were being sly, did you not? Vainglorious little brat,” his even tone was honed at the edges with creeping anger that visibly caused Beelzebub to start sweating as he anxiously backed; his gauntleted hands lifting, brandishing an allegorical white flag. 

“Look, I... I didn’t know that you were involved in the young lass, my lord! Otherwise, I never would have tried to stake my claim,” the Lord of the Flies spluttered, distractedly tugging at his serrated collar as he considerably looked in the other direction before that scarlet glare could perhaps melt him in place. “... Besides, triumphant archdemons like us, being subjugated by the likes of mere mortals? Hah! It’s completely unheard of,” he laughed arrogantly. 

 “Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Not even the mightiest of Hell’s beasts would ever care to provoke Malphas the Treacherous... historically regarded as the most dangerous devil who has ever walked the realms in between, willingly taking the knee for a puny—” 

Malphas’ dark cloak transfigured, bursting into a crown of black feathers as it projected him forward, catching the fellow demon by the throat and suspending him midair as he grunted and writhed, gauntleted claws scrabbling desperately at a taloned fist, only for it to intensify like a handcuff. Seraphina mindfully retrieved the grimoire in the meantime, which has since cooled off thankfully, briefly checking its contents before returning to the unfolding drama. Her blood ran cold when she saw true colors unfold; Malphas’ facade peeled back, disclosing whetted fangs and uncloaked fury; a smoldering wildfire cooking behind his ruby eyes. “The early bird gets the worm, as they say,” Malphas forewarned. “Would you like to test that theory, Lord of the Flies?”  

“Agh! But I... I am a Prince of Sin, I am... I am worthy of... inheriting Lord Satan’s legacy—!”  

“Yes, I presume that you must think so... after all, we are narrow-minded and arrogant creatures— but I assure you that we are the furthest things from gods. For we were all born from the very same mortals we mock,” Beelzebub wheezed for air when Malphas loosened his hold, wings sputtering helplessly as color returned to his face, knelt over on his knees and armored claws scratching into the dirt. Malphas gracefully wiped his hands off on his coat after he touched the ground, and it retransformed accordingly. When he noted Seraphina creeping into his proximity, he zapped the lingering anger from his face and regarded her with a pleasant smile, chastising her gently. “Now, Lady Seraphina... I sincerely hope that you learned from your indiscretion. I advise you not to run off on your own again any time soon, all right?”  

“... I thought you said that you had to rely on me to draw your own abilities.”  

“Witches have exhaustively cultivated the ability to bind my kind. Ergo, dealing with my own brethren is a vastly different story. Not to mention, Lord Beelzebub and I are already well acquainted,” Malphas glanced at the aforementioned devil as he shakily drew himself to his feet, wings shivering before safely curling to rest against his muscular back. “... Each of the Nine Circles of Hell is monitored by one of his many brothers and sisters: a league of great archdemons with special capabilities that distinguish them from the common rabble... though on that note, the Lord of the Flies, as he calls himself, is the youngest and most hot-blooded of his sinful kin... as you can likely guess by his attitude.”  

“Hah? Who the hell do you think you are to treat me like I’m just some spoiled little brat... I’ll have you know that the higher-ups recognized my talents and promoted me to the Third Layer ‘cuz they knew I was the right man for the job. I’m just cashing in my innate potential— what’s so wrong with that? Tch, as if you even have a say in our politics when you dipped the minute the chance presented itself,” Beelzebub pettily thumped his foot against the ground, crossed his arms, and snorted loudly as his eyes darted off in the other direction, and any measure of intimidation he had demonstrated prior wilted when Seraphina realized then and there that he was merely the equivalent of a troublesome teenager. “... You’re just a washed-up, cowardly old toad who’s way past his prime. Hell needs to be run by somebody who cares about our… uh— democracy, right,” Beelzebub pumped his fist up determinedly. “... Yeah! No need to squander our valuable votes on a braindead figurehead!”  

“There is more to rulership than preening yourself and ordering people around, regrettably. And taking it by force? It is almost like you are determined to make enemies, Your Highness. If word got out about this, you could easily end up losing this precious crown of yours and return to being a disembodied soul drifting aimlessly along the Styx,” this allegation punched a hole into the Lord of the Flies as he promptly deflated like a balloon, but Malphas returned to the young witch before his coworker had a chance to pull him back into another misdirected argument. “... Ignore this fool, mistress. On his own, he may as well be virtually harmless, but... I have a sinking feeling that this will not be the last time that you are targeted by the Hells... so long as you hold the key to the throne, at least. We will... need to be cautious henceforward.”

Seraphina restlessly clawed at her—empty— chest, attempting to stay her apprehension before it fully engulfed her. Concern flashed across his face when Malphas must have noticed that she was unable to make eye contact. “... Mm.”  

“... So, how much have you told her, exactly?” Like they were the closest of chums and Malphas hadn’t attempted to garrote him a mere moment ago, Beelzebub trotted up to lean his elbow against his shoulder, though much to Malphas’ patent chagrin. A sharp grin enveloped his face as Beelzebub snatched the opportunity. “... Given that you’ve been holding yourself up down in the lower levels all this time, my agents topside might just have the information you’re looking for… I assume anyway that your current goal is to reach Saintridge, right? Ooh, tough luck. Those magicians over yonder I’d say are worse than anything you may come across here in the Hells, believe it or not... they’re merciless bastards who aren’t afraid of getting their hands a little dirty if it means protecting their little utopia.”  

Malphas shooed him off. “And what is it that you think you can offer us, Lord Beelzebub?”  

Beelzebub held his hands up. “Woah, now. I don’t work for free, bucko. That’s the whole point of a demonic bargain, right? Though, I wouldn’t say that I’m nearly as greedy as some people,” his phosphorescent eyes flickered tellingly between Malphas and his mistress before outspreading his arms to perform an exaggerated shrug. “But I’m not interested in bartering with you, Malphy,” he flicked the man in the nose then, ignoring how his pale features curdled into a deadly glower and sidestepped him entirely to reach Seraphina, who jolted when he slouched his posture to match her height, to which she was laughably diminutive in juxtaposition, much like Malphas.  

“Sorry for all the roughhousing from before, girlie. Let me make it up to you now, yeah?”  

“... What do you want from me?”  

“I took note of it before. You might not have the best grasp on your abilities at this moment in time, but within you flows arcane blood that goes beyond anything I have ever witnessed before, and while it is... true that I am the youngest of the royal procession, I still have more than a few centuries of experience to safely corroborate my curiosities... and you... although elves are known for their natural adeptness over magic, this... this is a whole ‘nother ballpark altogether, Miss Seraphina. If you master this,” a clawed finger delicately poked the front cover of the grimoire.

“If you tame it, then... you might just become the most powerful sorceress that Veritas has ever seen... you could even surpass that of the Eld Witch. Therefore,” he proffered his hand instead. “... Forget Malphas and forge a contract with me instead. Together, we can easily take over the Hells.”