Ever since I died, there had been a stark lack of feeling. I wasn't sure what I expected from the afterlife, but it was not being conscious of a distinct lack of anything. It was simultaneously the most relaxing thing I had ever experienced and the most torturous.

When the feeling rapidly vanished, leaving me feeling warm and secure, I was not sure how to feel. The events that followed my newfound ability to feel only made me more uncertain.

I felt as if I was being crushed on all sides, as if I had been thrown into a tubular garbage compactor. Soon, the feeling faded as I was pushed out of something, the warmth and comfort vanishing in the same moment.

It took me a moment to realize I could hear again, and another moment to realize that a baby was crying somewhere.

"It's a boy!" a cheery voice called from somewhere behind me.

"A…boy?." someone above me said as I was wrapped in heavy fabric and moved towards the voice.

Having lacked the ability to see, hear, smell or feel for an indeterminately long time, it took me a moment to gather myself enough to parse what was happening around me.

I was in a small room with several figures standing around me. There was one more figure in the room. She was laying in bed while she looked down at me with a strange look on her face. Maybe it was just my eyes being unused to seeing things, but she looked a bit like a Picasso painting. I felt myself relax as she swung me back and forth in her arms. When did I get so tiny?

"You will make a proper Devil." she said with a small, pleased smile on her face. "My little Riser Phenex."

My crying cut off and I blinked at her uncomprehendingly.

If nothing else, this promised to be interesting.

XXX

Three Years Old

Being a baby sucked. It was one thing to lack any form of feeling or body; it was an entirely different form of torture to have a mature mind trapped in a body that didn't respond to your commands, too undeveloped to support its own weight. I was only stuck like that for a short year – or was it a year and a half? – but it was long enough for me to develop a deep set fear of being paralyzed. If I never experienced that helplessness again, I would be a happy man.

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I stepped out of my room and waddled down the hall. Fine motor control was something I was still working on, but at least I was mobile now. That meant it was time to explore!

I looked around to make sure no one was following me, then rushed as fast as my stubby legs could carry me towards the family library.

If there were any clues on how to start playing with my magic, they would be there. I was reborn into a world of magic in the body of a magical creature whose power was fueled by imagination. Why wouldn't I partake of such fantastical abilities?

Finally having reached the door to the library, I propped myself against its surface and began scrambling up towards the handle just as I had to escape my playroom. It took some effort, but I was able to hook two fingers over the edge of the handle and use my bodyweight to pull it down, falling into the door as I did. The door swung open and I fell flat on my face as my brace disappeared. Even so, I was all smiles.

I scrambled to my feet and pushed the door closed behind me with my shoulder. Waddling over to the shelves, I began to scan the spines of books to see if I could find anything on magic.

I'd asked my mother, father, Ruval and Raycal for help figuring out how to use magic, but they'd all laughed to themselves and told me to wait until I was older. Well I didn't want to wait. I was a grown man trapped in a child's body whose only entertainment was stuffed animals and kindergarten-level picture books. I was going crazy.

Spotting an interesting book, one titled On Shaping Mana, I climbed my way up to the third shelf and pulled the book off. It hit the ground with a dull thud. Excited, I climbed down after it and sat on my butt in front of it, flipping it open.

My giddy smile slowly morphed into a disappointed frown. The book was not telling me anything I did not already know. Devil magic was powered by imagination. The stronger one's imagination, the stronger their magic.

Was it really that easy?

Skeptically, I looked down at my hands. I was a Phenex. The Phenex Pillar was known for its three demonic traits. Hellfire, the ability to summon and shape the fire of Hell. Wind, the ability to command and finely control the air. And Immortality, the ability to regenerate damage from almost any attack. From what I remembered of the anime, Hellfire would be the easiest to try. As I focused on willing flame into existence, my little eyebrows scrunched together in a look of concentration.

I felt…something pulling at me. It was as if there was a cup inside my chest brimming with liquid, moments from overflowing. I followed that strange feeling and tried to spill whatever the cup was holding.

My hands were covered in an orange writhing flame.

"Yes!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands into the air in triumph. I'd done it. I made magic! There was still a lot to learn, like using magic that wasn't part of my bloodline, but for now, I needed to figure out what all I could do with my fire.

I brought my hands back down and stared at the fire coating them with consideration. The fire should do whatever I told it to, right?

I brought my hands together and poured the fire from both hands into a small ball. Grinning, I made the ball swell until it was larger than my head, then rapidly condensed all of the fire down to a point smaller than the width of my pinky.

A fierce whine echoed out from the small ball. I had just enough time to tilt my head in confusion before the small ball exploded less than a foot away from my head.

I was blown backward until my body crashed painfully into a nearby bookshelf. Spilling onto the floor, there was little I could do but groan in pain. A faraway part of me was aware of more fire covering my face and chest as it fixed the damage caused by my little experiment. It appeared my Immortality was working as advertised as well. All that was left to test now was Wind.

The door to the library crashed open, and a woman coated in fire burst into the room. Her golden hair stood on its end as she looked around the area before her with murder in her eyes. It wasn't long before her gaze fell on me and the fire surrounding her was snuffed out like a smothered candle.

"Riser!" she cried, picking up the front of her red dress as she hurried over to me.

By now, the pain was gone – hax devil regeneration for the win! – allowing me to stand up and wave innocently. "Hi, mother." I said, doing everything I could to exude cuteness. I hadn't just blown myself up. I just broke a plate. Ignore the fact that there were no ceramic shards around me. It was an invisible plate.

My mother bent down to scoop me up, lifting me up and twisting me around to inspect my small form. "What happened? Are you hurt? What are you doing here? You should still be in the nursery! I need to–"

Deciding to take mercy on the frantic woman, I threw my hands up again and gave her a great big smile. "I made fire! Then I blew up!" Wait, I wasn't supposed to tell her about that part, was I?

Mother's eyes widened. She slowly panned down to look at the book on the ground before her eyes found mine again.

I smiled innocently, hoping she would take this as a reason to finally start training me properly.

"You're grounded." she said, her eyes narrowed, tone firm.

I slumped in her arms as she began to carry me back to the nursery. That didn't go the way I wanted it to at all. I didn't even get to try my Wind!

XXX

Five Years Old

Dinner was a little awkward tonight, but that wasn't my fault! Okay, I may have found a new way to sneak out of the nursery, bypassing the bolted door and barred windows. I snuck into the training room and slashed apart a few dummies with a sword I conjured with my fire after getting tired of shredding them with Wind. How was I supposed to know that the joints in those magical dummies were lubricated with oil? Why did magic dummies need lubrication anyway? They were magic!

Few words were spoken as my family ate our meal. We sat at the same, long, rectangular table we always ate at. Several figures stood at attention around us as we ate. Some wore servants or maid garb while others wore varying types of armor.

"Riser," a weary voice said from the head of the table. "How did you get out of the nursery this time?"

I scratched the back of my head as I looked at one of the statues lining the wall, refusing to look my father in the eye. "The door was open?"

He sighed tiredly, leaning backward and massaging his forehead. "This is the fifth time you've blown yourself up this month. Why do you insist on experimenting with your power? I told you I would help you when you're older."

"But it's so cool!" I cried, my voice sounding far more childish than I would have liked. "Why can't I learn now?"

Chuckling, Ruval turned to our father and said, "He's not going to give this up. You know that as well as I do. Why not have someone watch over him while he experiments instead of tracking him down by following the explosions?"

I smiled brightly at my older brother, silently thanking him for taking my side.

"It would cut down on the rampant destruction if someone was watching him." Raycal said as he cut up his steak, kind of supporting Ruval. It felt more like he just wanted me to stop burning things down.

"He was being watched." mother said sharply, turning to one of the figures standing behind the table. "Would you care to explain how he got away from you, Clarissa?"

Mother's black-haired bishop curtsied deeply. Pale hands tugged the sides of her forest-green dress up as her amber eyes fixed on the ground beneath her. "I am sorry I failed you, my lady. I swear to you he was still in the room when the explosion shook the house."

Clarissa was nice, I didn't want her to get in too much trouble. She taught me minor control behind my parents back and snuck me cookies. Of all the servants and peerage members, she was by far my favorite, so I grudgingly spoke up in her defense. "S'not her fault. I left a fire clone there so she wouldn't know I was gone." I stabbed my fork down into my steak and pulled it up to my mouth, chewing on it to have something to do other than squirm under my family's questioning gazes.

"A…fire clone?" father said, looking at me skeptically.

I held out my left hand and a billowing flame expanded out from it. The flame rippled into a bipedal shape. Bright blonde hair materialized atop the head of a slim-built young Devil with piercing blue eyes. The fire had taken a shape that was my spitting image.

All conversation and clinking of silverware stopped as the entire room turned to look at my duplicate.

"How long have you been able to do this?" mother asked, staring suspiciously at the copy as the gears turned in her head. She was starting to figure out how I kept getting away from her.

"Dunno." I said meekly, dropping my head and crossing my arms. "While."

Ruval's chair squeaked across the ground as he pushed it back, standing and walking over to my duplicate. A bright orange spell circle appeared before his hand as he leveled it at my duplicate. "Can you move it or is it stationary?" Ruval asked, sounding intrigued.

In answer, the duplicate waved at Ruval.

"He can't talk yet." I said. "I tried to give him vocal chords but he blew up." That had been a rather interesting experience. The explosion sounded like a scream. That meant I was on the right track, but I needed to work out the kinks.

"What else can it do?" Ruval said, an inquisitive fire alight in his eyes as he studied the results of my magic.

Smiling at my older brother's sincerity, I climbed out of my chair and scurried over to the duplicate. "He looks just like me and can move around like I can. And then there's this!" My duplicate held its hand out and a flaming sword grew into being.

"He can use his own fire to make stuff!" I said, basking in Ruval's awed expression. It was very hard to get my brother to do anything other than smile politely, so the fact he was inquisitive spoke to how cool my clone was.

Not that I needed someone else to tell me my clone was cool. I already knew that.

The duplicate's fire sword was sucked back into its body as it held up its other hand. A small fireball shot out of its palm, but snuffed out before it got ten feet away.

"He can shoot out his fire, but he can't replace it. I have to be nearby to refill it or it'll use itself up." I explained, pointing out the subtle imperfection on the duplicate's face now that it was missing the fire needed to be a perfect replica of me. "Oh! I can also do this!" I said excitedly as Ruval watched on.

The duplicate's form was surrounded by flames. At the same time, I covered myself in fire and tugged at my duplicate with my magic. I felt my body shift into flame. When the fire around me faded, I was in a different position.

"I can switch places with my duplicate! I can't go through solid objects though. The fire I turn into needs a path to get where it's going. I can turn myself into fire without a duplicate active, but I can't see or hear anything when I'm in that state, so I need some of my own fire at my intended destination so I don't get lost and wind up reappearing around anything nasty. I can sense where any large gathering of my own fire is so I navigate that way. I can use Wind to speed myself up while I'm made of fire too!" I explained, loving the way Ruval's jaw opened and closed like a fish.

"How did you figure this out?" Ruval asked breathlessly.

I shrugged. "We're Phenexes. Two of our signature powers are related to fire, and one of those uses fire to heal our wounds. It isn't that much of a leap to think we can exist as pure flame. Just don't try to bypass any barriers when you're only fire. I ended up with my arms where my legs should be and had to cut everything off with Wind blades so they would heal correctly." That wasn't a pleasant experience.

"You what!"

I cringed at the shriek that sounded like a screeching Ringwraith. Slowly turning around, I realized that everyone else was still in the room. Mother was on her feet and staring at me with a panicked gleam in her eye. Standing as she was, her pregnant belly was visible, but my focus was on slowly backing away from the murderous aura wafting off her.

"I…Um…It was a figure of speech?" I tried, taking several more steps backward as actual heat waves radiated off of her body.

Mother's breathing sounded like an enraged bull's as she said, "You are grounded until you die."

"Ryrova, can I have a word?" father said as he stood and gently guided mother from the room, the fire spilling off of her parting as it fell around him. The door to the hall closed behind them, leaving silence in its wake.

"I'll remember you fondly, little brother." Raycal said sarcastically.

Ruval continued to inspect my flaming creation while I panicked internally.

Mother looked pissed. I doubted she'd let me out of her sight for the next ten years, which would really screw with my plans. I needed to get stronger and to learn all I could and experiment with my power. This world was an anime in my last life. While I didn't watch the entire show – the third time there was a breast-based power-up I lost all interest – the mere fact that it was a magical anime meant bad things.

By 'bad things', I was of course referring to the fact that almost every single one of them possessed an unstoppable enemy that showed up sometime around the third season and casually wiped a city off the face of the planet. On the plus side, I was born into a family whose powers were so absurdly broken that we should be at the top of the food chain, but neither my parents nor my siblings were creative enough to do anything with their power other than 'burn things hot'. Credit where it was due though, Ruval was exceedingly good at burning things hot. He was in the top ten fighters in the Rating Game scene – big, organized slugfests where devils could compare dick sizes without anyone getting permanently maimed…most of the time anyway.

My eyes snapped to my parents as they reentered the dining room. My mother was no longer covered in furious fire, but now she looked tired, like she'd just spent the last several hours slogging through a stack of paperwork. I wasn't sure if that was better or not.

"Riser," my father started seriously. He walked around the table and knelt down in front of me, putting himself on my eye-level. "Do you know why your mother and I are waiting to begin your lessons?"

"Because I'm too young?" That was the reason they always used to shoot down my requests, right?

"Because we don't want to see you get hurt. You could hurt yourself if you aren't ready."

"But we regenerate! I don't need to–"

"Stop." my father said, holding up his hand.

I swallowed nervously as I cut off, anxiously awaiting his next words.

"Riser, your regeneration is no excuse to hurt yourself, nor should it be used as a crutch. Just because you heal rapidly does not mean that you shouldn't avoid being hurt in the first place. What would you do if you accidentally hurt yourself in a way your regeneration couldn't fix? What would you do if you were alone when it happened? We wouldn't be able to find you until it was too late. A Phenex should not die alone, killed by their own incompetence."

I hung my head in shame as his words washed over me. It wasn't that I was unaware of the possibility, but I felt like I wasn't doing anything. From what I'd been able to gather during my various exhibitions into the library, most, if not all, mythologies and their associated monstrosities existed in this world. I was wasting away as a small child when, for all I knew, Nidhogg, Cronos, or maybe even Ancalagon could break through into the Underworld tomorrow. Who was to say that Ancalagon was fiction when God–

Ow.

When the cloud-sitter wasn't?

Maybe that was a paranoid way of looking at things, but I had already died once; I had no interest in ever dying again. I needed to be able to run away from world ending creatures like that at the very least.

Mother walked up behind father and looked down at me. "Riser, talk to us. Why is it so important to you that you experiment? Are you not content with your toys and books?"

Shuffling uncomfortably, I said, "Experimenting's fun. Toys and books are…easy. I don't like easy. I want to be strong – as strong as the Satans."

Father's expression became clouded as he narrowed his eyes at me. "You want to be a Satan?"

That wasn't exactly what I'd said, but it was more or less accurate. I nodded my head shyly, still having a hard time looking my parents in the eyes.

Mother and father looked at each other and seemed to have a private conversation with their eyes. What felt like an eternity later, they finally turned back to me.

"Riser, look at me." father said.

I looked up at him anxiously, unsure whether or not he was mad at me.

"I originally told you we would begin your more serious studies when you were eight, but your mother and I don't think you'll be content to wait until then, so I'll make a deal with you."

I swallowed nervously, hanging on his words.

"If you do no more experimenting by yourself, we will start next year. But," he said before I could get a word in. "You cannot endanger yourself anymore. No more experimenting. No more sneaking off. In order for us to be able to trust that you're mature enough to start early, we need to know that you'll do as we say. If you can refrain from endangering yourself for a full year, we'll start teaching you. If you can't, we won't start until you are twelve. Do you understand?"

I nodded my head quickly, overjoyed at the chance to get started. Still, I had to go a year without training. In the grand scheme of things, this was much better. I just had to convince mother and father to let me read some actual books and I'd be able to tough it out. I would be fine.

XXX

Ten Years Old

The room I found myself in was dark, lit only by a chandelier with plain candles and a few braziers around the room alight with green fire the color of a shining emerald. The walls were lined with shelves. Some held decaying books bound in anything from leather to human skin. Others held small vials glowing different colors or crystals of varying sizes and shapes.

This was Clarissa's laboratory and study. Mother and father made sure she had her own space due to the fact that her mystical pursuits set some of the staff on edge. Clarissa wasn't what people classically thought of when they heard the word 'mage'.

Smiling, I flexed my fingers, delighting in the dark violet, unnatural energy that swam between my arms.

"Well done, my lord." Clarissa praised me, studying the magic in my hands. Ever since I had begun training, she had been my teacher of all things mystical. My parents had devoted the majority of their time to raising my little sister, leaving Ruval to help me with the Phenex bloodline, but he had never really expanded his reach into other forms of magic as I desired to. Thus, Clarissa was the best choice.

Even before my mother reincarnated her as a devil, she had been immensely skilled in magic, albeit a form of magic most considered strange or an outright waste of time. Clarissa spent hours on end crafting components she used to fuel her spell casting. By using these trinkets, she was able to create effects that were magnitudes more powerful than they should be for a very low drain on her mana supply. That wasn't to say she couldn't throw a lightning bolt if the situation required it, but why would she waste mana on such a costly spell when she could just as easily debilitate her enemies with a spell that warped the target's perception of space by flipping a coin?

Clarissa closed the book on the podium before her and walked around it, approaching me with her hands clasped in front of her. "I must admit to curiosity, my lord. While you are improving faster than I had anticipated, I must ask why you pursue this path at all. The power of Hellfire and Wind eclipses that of anything I could teach you."

Clenching my hands into fists, I dispelled the magic I had been maintaining. "It is not about pure power, Clarissa. If I only focused on making the biggest explosion possible, then I would inevitably meet someone who could make larger explosions than me and I would wind up dead. Just look at Lord Lucifer. I will never be able to stand up to his power. Ergo, in order to combat beings stronger than I am, I need versatility. It is a lot harder to dodge a wall of Hellfire when curses are hampering your movement."

Clarissa's eyebrows narrowed in thought as she absorbed my words. "That is a perspective sorely lacking among Devilkind, my lord. Where is your pride in yourself? In your family? Surely a scion of the great Phenex pillar would be able to defeat any foe?" Her last words were said tauntingly, as if she was trying to get a rise out of me.

I looked up at her – I abhorred being short – and raised an eyebrow. "Pride is stupid. I won't get myself killed because someone called me a chicken. People can think whatever they want about me. In the end, all that matters is what I can accomplish and what those close to me think. Everyone else can rot in Cocytus."

Clarissa smiled at me, seemingly content with my answer. "A healthy perspective. Arrogance has been many a Devil's downfall. Though be sure that the opposite is not your own. Whether you like it or not, the opinions of others mean more than can be measured in the supernatural world." Her wisdom dispensed, she reached into her robe and produced a small, leather-bound book. "Read this before our next meeting. I expect you know that you are not to–"

"Use any of the spells, hexes, rituals, or otherwise nasty magical powers found within until I have supervision. Yes, I know." Clarissa was rather strict about that rule. Any headstart I would make by practicing on my own would be drastically offset by the month or so I would have to go without training if I was caught. It wasn't worth it to even try.

"Good." Clarissa said, an amused smile on her face. She looked over her shoulder at a clock on the wall and tutted disapprovingly. "You are late for your swordsmanship lessons. I do hope that–"

Whatever else she had been saying was lost to me as my body turned into a raging inferno and a gust of Wind propelled me out the door. Belford made my life painful enough when I was on time – one of the few downsides to regeneration, my teacher knew that I could regenerate from anything he dished out so long as he used a basic sword – I didn't need to give him an excuse to tan my hide any further.

As soon as I was out of Clarissa's research laboratory I shot towards the ceiling and followed the small braziers hanging there towards the training hall Belford would be waiting in.

I still could not navigate by sight or sound when in this form. I could feel the area immediately around me by probing with my wind, but it was unreliable for navigating large distances. To allow myself to travel around the Castle in my fire form, I set up a bunch of small beacons throughout the castle to help me get around. Every ten or so feet, and at every intersection, there now hung a small iron brazier that burned with my fire. This ensured I had a map of the house I could access whenever I entered my fire form. It also meant I could rush as fast as I wanted along the ceiling without needing to worry about crashing through someone walking the halls. That…may have been an issue in the past. I made sure to apologize, but I was still grounded for a week.

Why did my mother delight in grounding me so much? I didn't think she ever grounded Ruval or Raycal, and I knew for a fact that she never grounded Ravel, my younger sister who was born just a few years ago. My parents absolutely adored Ravel. They spent almost as much time with her as they didn't with me. That wasn't something I was overly jealous about though. I had other things to occupy my time. Really. I wasn't jealous.

Forcefully shoving the illogical, childish jealousy down, I gave the best approximation a manifestation of fire was able to of a sigh. Being young messed with my ability to let things go and my overall approach to pretty much everything. I just wanted to grow up already. Logically, I knew they cared. I was their son. They didn't need any reason to care other than that.

I refocused on my Wind-propelled flight through the house. While I could have just shot out my wings and flown that way, I was faster like this. I loved my wings, but they were more for combat than anything else. I could still use my swords and magic with my wings out. While I was pure fire I could do little other than run and heal, occasionally cutting something close to me with a Wind blade or two and scorching someone with the Hellfire I left in my wake.

It wasn't a perfect means of transportation, I would still need to work something out for traveling outside the house, but it was sufficient to let me practice. Or, as it were, to get to my swordsmanship lessons as fast as possible.

I exploded through the training hall's double doors like a ship crashing through a wave and quickly shifted out of my fire form. Training dummies and weapon racks lined the walls, but the stone floor itself was open, leaving a wide space for sparring. Various shapes were painted into the stone to help facilitate various training exercises.

"You're late." a tall man in an elegant silver suit said. He had gray hair that was cut within an inch of his head and a full beard of the same color. A plain longsword was sheathed at his hip. His back was to me, but he turned around as I entered. "Summon your weapon and we shall begin."

Sir Belford wasn't one to waste time, especially when it came to swordplay. Father reincarnated him centuries ago. While he wasn't knight of the round, he did serve under King Arthur. After Camelot fell, he had nowhere to go and accepted my father's offer to join his peerage. He had served as my physical combat instructor since mother and father let me begin training. We mostly covered swordplay as it was his area of expertise, but he was also imparting his knowledge of various martial arts he had picked up over the years.

With a sigh, I conjured a flaming longsword and took up a stance opposite Belford. The following hours promised to be painful.