Chapter 1
Devils are the only magical creatures that work with both humans and wizards.
Most of them are desperate for contracts, fearing extinction after all, no one wants to be forgotten. Not even Voldemort. Deals with devils are largely frowned upon in the wizarding world. Some see it as an act of weakness; others consider it unethical. Yet, among Muggles, it has gained popularity after all, for them, it’s their only access to magic, or at least something close to it.
Voldemort intends to summon the War Devil, one of the Four Horsemen. Most consider it the weakest among them fear of war has dwindled, especially in the wizarding world. And that’s precisely why he believes this deal will work in his favor. He will offer power and strength. If Voldemort can wage war against the light, more people will fear an impending conflict. And with that fear, the War Devil will grow stronger. In return, he expects its full support. With such an ancient being one with immense knowledge of war on his side, his chances will double. Not that he fears losing, of course. But no risks are worth taking, especially with Potter still running around.
So he performs the summoning exactly as detailed in the heavy, dust-covered book clutched in his right hand. Standing at the center of a ritual circle, he raises his wand, chanting in a forgotten dialect, calling upon forces older than time itself. The flickering candlelight casts eerie shadows against the stone walls, heightening the sense of impending doom. He has done his research—this is the War Devil, an ancient force of carnage and bloodshed. With this entity under his command, no one will stand in his way.
And there it stood…a Japanese schoolgirl
Voldemort stares.
He isn’t kidding, standing in the middle of his summoning circle is what appears to be a seventeen year old girl in a Japanese school uniform. She blinks at him with wide, startled eyes, her lips slightly parted.
Voldemort blinks back.
Maybe he’s dreaming,Won’t someone pinch him?
The girl looks utterly frantic, her gaze darting wildly around the room like a trapped animal. Her shoulders hunch inward, her fingers twitch at her sides—she does not want to be here.
Perhaps she is a vessel? He has seen stranger things. But even then, she looks just as confused as he feels. Her eyes flicker to his wand, her expression shifting between curiosity and absolute terror.
“…Are you the War Devil?” Voldemort finally asks, his voice slow and measured.
The girl flinches. Her eyes snap up to meet his, and she immediately looks taken aback. She bites her lower lip, seemingly deep in thought. She isn’t… trying to translate her words, is she? There shouldn’t be a language barrier.
After what feels like minutes, she nods stiffly toward her right, her expression tired and uneasy.
“Uh… yes. Yes.”
Her voice is barely above a mumble. She glances to her side again Voldemort follows her gaze but sees nothing. What isshe looking at? More importantly, why does she seem so unsure?
She doesn’t elaborate. She just stands there, staring at him, as if expecting him to say something.
Voldemort exhales slowly. He can already sense the disaster unfolding.
“I want to make a deal.”