Infinity: Reborn

Lilith studied Paimon’s expression, noting the mixture of scepticism and awe warring across the pride demon’s features. Paimon was the first to respond to her letters—a promising sign, though hardly surprising given what Vespera had told her about the demon lord’s obsession with magical supremacy.

The eleventh circle spell matrix in her letter had been calculated bait, designed to appeal to Paimon’s deepest desires. From her throne, Lilith could practically feel the other demon’s hunger for knowledge radiating like heat from a forge.

Good, Lilith thought. That obsession will make this easier.

Convincing Paimon to serve under her would require demonstrating that such service offered access to magical heights the pride demon had never imagined. But Lilith also recognized an opportunity for herself—Paimon’s expertise could help unlock more of the vast knowledge vault buried within this body.

It was frustrating, really. She had no knowledge of magical theory beyond basic game mechanics, yet Lilith’s body held centuries of accumulated wisdom. The problem was accessing it. She could cast spells instinctively when needed, but understanding the deeper principles required actively searching through layers of inherited knowledge like rummaging through an endless library without a catalogue.

The letter’s spell matrix had been pure luck—she’d been experimenting with magical theory when the knowledge suddenly crystallized in her mind. But replicating that process deliberately remained elusive.

“You must be wondering,” Lilith said, her voice carrying across the throne room’s acoustics, “whether the contents of my letter represent genuine knowledge or clever fabrication.”

Paimon’s yellow eyes narrowed slightly. “The thought had occurred to me.”

“I assure you, Lady Paimon, every formula in that correspondence reflects authentic magical theory.” Lilith rose from the throne, purple energy veins dimming as she stepped away. “However, I won’t waste your time with words when demonstration proves far more convincing.”

Nyssa fluttered closer to the throne’s armrest, her tiny form radiating vigilance.

“I propose we continue this conversation somewhere more open,” Lilith continued, gesturing toward the chamber’s far wall. “The rooftop balcony offers both discretion and… adequate space for what I intend to show.”

Voso shifted slightly, clearly curious about Lilith’s plans but wise enough to remain silent. Paimon’s expression sharpened with interest, her scholarly instincts overriding her natural suspicion.

“Very well,” Paimon said. “Though I warn you—I’ve witnessed countless displays of magical prowess. Impressing me requires more than parlour tricks.”

Lilith smiled, the expression carrying genuine confidence rather than bravado. “I wouldn’t dream of insulting your expertise with anything less than supreme magic.”

As they moved toward the balcony access, Lilith’s mind raced through possibilities. Most eleventh and twelfth circle spells carried devastating consequences or required specific targets. Summoning meteors near her own city would be counterproductive, and combat magic might send the wrong message entirely.

But there was one option—purely theatrical yet undeniably impressive. Infernal Majesty consumed a precious soul gem for nothing more than intimidating display, making it perfect for this situation. The spell would demonstrate her access to supreme magic while showcasing the kind of wasteful power only someone truly confident in their abilities would dare employ.

Besides, Lilith mused as they climbed the narrow stairs, I have plenty of soul gems to spare.

The rooftop balcony stretched before them, its circular platform offering panoramic views of Umbra and the surrounding territories. The massive purple crystal at the centre crackled with residual energy, casting dancing shadows across the magical diagrams inlaid in the floor.

“Now then,” Lilith said, positioning herself near the crystal while Nyssa perched on the balcony’s stone railing. “Allow me to demonstrate why serving under my banner will grant you access to magical knowledge beyond your current understanding.”

Paimon crossed her arms, yellow eyes fixed intently on Lilith. “I’m listening.”

Lilith reached into her dimensional inventory, retrieving a flawless soul gem that pulsed with captured essence. The crystalline structure caught the light, refracting it into prismatic patterns that danced across her palm.

“Tell me, Lady Paimon,” she said, holding the gem aloft, “have you ever witnessed twelfth circle magic?”

* * *

Paimon’s yellow eyes widened at the question, her scholarly mind immediately rejecting the implication. The soul gem in the succubus’s hand pulsed with captured essence, but what she was suggesting bordered on the impossible.

“Twelfth circle magic?” Paimon’s voice carried a mixture of disbelief and academic authority. “That is the domain of gods, not mortal creatures. No being in this realm possesses sufficient magical capacity to channel such forces without complete annihilation.”

She had run the calculations countless times during her centuries of study. The mana requirements alone would drain a demon lord’s entire reserves within seconds, and the physical strain would tear apart even the most resilient magical anatomy. It was theoretical knowledge at best—formulas that existed in ancient texts but could never be practically applied.

“The magical exhaustion would destroy any caster before the spell reached completion,” Paimon continued, her tone growing more certain. “Even if someone possessed the theoretical knowledge, the human—or demonic—form simply cannot withstand those energies.”

The succubus merely smiled in response, an expression that carried far too much confidence for Paimon’s comfort.

Then she felt it.

The air around the blue-skinned woman began to shimmer, reality itself seeming to bend inward as if space were collapsing into a singular point. Paimon’s enhanced senses detected the impossible—every strand of ambient mana in the surrounding area was being drawn toward the succubus like iron filings to a lodestone.

Dark energy swirled upward, forming a pillar of concentrated magical force that defied everything Paimon understood about magical theory. The power wasn’t being generated—it was being summoned from sources she couldn’t identify, channeled through the woman’s body and into the soul gem with surgical precision.

Paimon’s breath caught in her throat. The sheer volume of mana being manipulated exceeded anything she had witnessed in her six centuries of existence. This wasn’t just eleventh circle magic—this was something beyond the theoretical limits of mortal casting.

The air began crackling with visible energy, tiny arcs of purple and red lightning dancing between the succubus’s fingers. Small objects on the balcony—loose stones, even the dust—lifted from the ground as the magical field intensified. The very atmosphere seemed to thrum with barely contained power.

Then the succubus opened her lips and began to sing.

The melody flowed in Lisharaya, the ancient tongue of succubi that Paimon had always dismissed as beneath her scholarly pursuits. She had focused her linguistic studies on demonic high speech and arcane formulae, considering the succubus language too… base for serious magical work.

Now, listening to those flowing syllables carrying impossible power, she deeply regretted that academic arrogance.

The song was hauntingly beautiful, each note resonating with harmonics that seemed to bypass rational thought and speak directly to something primal within her. When uttered by a succubus of this caliber, the language transformed from mere communication into something approaching divine music.

The energy surrounding the caster grew more intense with each verse, the magical pressure becoming almost unbearable. Paimon found herself taking an involuntary step backward, her body’s survival instincts overriding her scholarly curiosity.

Who was this succubus?

But even as the question formed in her mind, the answer crystallized with terrifying clarity. The impossible magical capacity, the command of supreme spells, the casual wielding of power that should have been beyond any mortal being—there was only one explanation.

This wasn’t some talented pretender or ambitious upstart claiming an ancient title. The woman before her, channelling forces that defied the fundamental laws of magical theory, could only be one person.

The real Lilith. The actual Empress of Nocturne.

Somehow, impossibly, she had returned.

Paimon’s legs felt suddenly unsteady as the implications crashed over her. For decades, she had positioned herself as Lilith’s spiritual successor, the demon lord most worthy of inheriting the Empress’s legacy. She had built her entire identity around being the natural heir to Nocturne’s throne.

But if the original Empress had truly returned—if this display of impossible power was genuine—then everything Paimon had believed about her own destiny crumbled to ash.

The magical energies continued building around the singing succubus, reality itself seeming to warp under the strain of containing such concentrated force. Whatever spell was taking shape would reshape not just the immediate area, but potentially the entire political landscape of the Wastelands.

Paimon watched in awe and growing terror as the woman she had come to test revealed herself to be far beyond anything she had imagined possible.

* * *

The burning sensation coursed through Lilith’s mana veins as she completed the final syllable of Infernal Majesty, but it felt more manageable than the agony she’d endured casting Disjunction two weeks ago. Perhaps her body was adapting to channelling supreme magic, or perhaps she was getting used to the toll.

The soul gem in her palm cracked with a crystalline chime, hairline fractures spreading across its surface before it shattered completely. Dark fragments dissolved into motes of shadow that swirled around her form, and Lilith felt the spell’s effects take hold.

Crimson and violet flames wreathed her body, casting dancing shadows that seemed to move independently of any light source. The crown of blackened thorns materialized above her head, occasionally dripping ethereal blood that evaporated before touching the balcony stones. Her wings became shrouded in darkness and flame, leaving trails of ember-like particles with each subtle movement. The air around her shimmered with heat distortion, and she could hear the deep, resonant chanting in ancient demonic tongues emanating from her vicinity.

It was purely theatrical—a waste of her most powerful daily ability for nothing more than impressive visuals. In Infinity, Infernal Majesty had been the ultimate taunt among demon players. Look at me, it declared. I’m so confident in my superiority that I’ll spend an entire minute burning my twelfth circle spell on cosmetic effects just to intimidate you.

Lilith looked at Paimon and immediately realized she might have miscalculated.

The scholarly demon stood frozen, her face drained of colour despite her naturally pale complexion. Her yellow eyes were wide with what could only be described as existential terror, pupils dilated as if she’d witnessed something that challenged her fundamental understanding of reality.

Perhaps twelfth circle magic had been overkill.

Lilith had based her expectations on Voso’s reaction to her previous displays of power. But while he was undoubtedly intelligent, he wasn’t a mage. To him, her abilities had simply been “very powerful spells” without deeper implications. Paimon, however, was an experienced practitioner who understood magical theory well enough to grasp what she’d just witnessed—implications that still eluded Lilith herself.

She should have cast an eleventh circle spell instead. Less dramatic, but safer. More impressive than anything Paimon could manage without crossing into the realm of the impossible.

Lilith dismissed the spell with a casual gesture, the flames and shadows dissipating as if they’d never existed. The crown of thorns faded, and her wings returned to their natural state. The oppressive magical presence lifted, leaving only the mountain air and the distant sounds of activity from Umbra below.

“Forgive me,” Lilith said, adopting a tone of mild regret. “I fear I may have forgotten what kind of effect such demonstrations might have on observers. It’s been… some time since I’ve had cause to display my abilities to another practitioner.”

Paimon’s mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to form words. “Was that… was that truly twelfth circle magic?”

“Indeed it was.”

“How?” The question came out as barely a whisper. “How are you still standing? That spell should have annihilated you. The mana requirements alone should have torn your body apart from the inside. No being can channel forces of that magnitude and survive.”

Lilith paused, realizing she was about to venture into complete fabrication. But Paimon’s reaction suggested this was a crucial moment—one that could determine whether she gained a powerful ally or created a terrified enemy.

“I believe,” Lilith said carefully, “that current magical theory has regressed significantly compared to the knowledge available in my time. What seems impossible to modern practitioners was merely… challenging to those who understood the true principles involved.”

She stepped closer to Paimon, noting how the other demon instinctively straightened.

“But I sense in you the qualities of a mage from the old traditions. Your pursuit of knowledge, your dedication to understanding rather than merely wielding power—these are the traits that first caught my attention. It’s why I wrote to you specifically.”

Paimon’s eyes widened further. “Are you suggesting that I… that I could also learn to wield such magic?”

The hope in her voice was unmistakable, tinged with desperate hunger for the impossible power she’d just witnessed. Lilith felt a surge of satisfaction. This was exactly the opening she’d been hoping for.

“I believe you have the potential, yes. But I must be honest—I don’t typically share such knowledge with potential enemies.”

“Enemies?” Paimon shook her head vigorously. “I would never dare oppose you, Empress. After what I’ve just seen… I’m prepared to place myself under your command entirely. I’ll serve as your apprentice, your vassal, whatever role you deem appropriate. Just… please, teach me.”

The transformation was remarkable. Minutes ago, Paimon had entered Umbra as a proud demon lord, likely expecting to negotiate from a position of relative strength. Now she stood before Lilith, essentially begging for the privilege of servitude in exchange for access to impossible knowledge.

Lilith allowed herself a small smile. This was exactly the outcome she’d hoped for when selecting Paimon as her target for recruitment. A demon lord with significant territory, magical expertise, and now—most importantly—absolute loyalty born from witnessing power beyond her comprehension.

If she was fortunate, the other demon lords would prove equally receptive to persuasion. Though she suspected none would be quite as easy to impress as a wizard who’d just seen her most fundamental beliefs about magic shattered in a single demonstration.