"In life, I was fire forged in blood. In death, I return to flame."
Vincent Moretti died with his eyes open.
The cold pavement of the Las Vegas alley offered no comfort as he bled out under the fluorescent hum of a broken streetlamp. A made man. A loyal son of the Moretti crime family. He'd survived federal stings, gang wars, betrayals. But in the end, it was the soft click of a familiar Beretta held by someone he once called brother that ended him.
His last breath carried not fear, but fury. Fury that it ended not in a blaze of glory, but in silence. No witnesses. No chance to send a final message. Just darkness.
And yet…
It wasn't the end.
The Rebirth
Heat. That was the first thing he felt. Not the searing burn of punishment, but a nurturing warmth, like being wrapped in a living flame. It pulsed through him like a second heartbeat, not consuming but empowering.
Awareness came slowly. He wasn't in control his limbs flailed, tiny and uncoordinated but his mind was intact. It was the mind of a man who had once ruled the Vegas underworld, reborn in the fragile body of a newborn.
He couldn't speak. Couldn't move with purpose. But he could feel.
And what he felt was power.
A flood of something surged within him. Like fire, but not just any fire ancient, royal, pure. His body radiated it, and the entire chamber seemed to shudder with his breath.
He heard voices. High, clear. Accented strangely, like something out of old aristocratic Europe refined, cold, and noble.
"His demonic energy it's beyond anything I've seen," came a male voice. Deep, aged, and awestruck.
A softer, melodic voice followed. "He's not even an hour old. Look at the flames he is the fire, not just heir to it."
There were hurried footsteps, the sweep of heavy robes, and murmurs of formal incantations being cast. Even with his infant senses, Vincent/Riser, he realized, somehow could feel the power in the room swell, pulled by the pulse of his mere presence.
He was reborn into a world of magic.
A world of devils.
And not just any devils he was born into House Phenex.
House Phenex: Lords of Fire
The Phenex estate rested in the heart of the Underworld's noble territories a realm carved from ancient obsidian cliffs, surrounded by ever-burning volcanic rivers. From high atop its sky-piercing towers, eternal flames roared, both a beacon of pride and a reminder of the clan's sacred gift: Hellfire and immortality.
Riser's birth chamber was a sanctified room deep within the main spire. The walls shimmered with protective wards written in ancient devil script. The air buzzed with energy so dense it felt alive.
Lady Phenex stood at the foot of the cradle, her long crimson gown trailing behind her like molten silk. Her eyes, sharp and amber-gold, studied the infant in silence.
Her husband, Lord Phenex, High Duke of the Western Infernal Court, paced nearby. His features were angular, noble, cut from the same fire-forged stone as the family's legacy. He had fought in the Devil Civil War. Helped reform the new order. Yet even he stood stiff, uncertain.
Riser didn't cry. He didn't scream. He stared.
His eyes glowed faintly with golden flickers, and flames curled lazily around his infant fingers like wisps of thought.
"A prodigy," Lord Phenex said at last. "No more than that."
"The Phenex fire lives in him more deeply than in any of us," Lady Phenex murmured. "Even more than Ruval"
Her words hung in the air. Ruval their first son was already a legend-in-training, a genius in the art of demonic magic and diplomacy. But even he had never caused the estate's flame pillars to surge just by breathing.
And now came this child. Our child Riser.
No one knew what to make of it.
A Noble Awakening
Weeks passed. Then months.
Riser's body grew, as did the curiosity of the House. Nurses whispered of gratitude while changing him. Servants bowed deeply even when Bringing his milk. They feared and adored him.
By the time he was six months old, his fire had already set an entire wing of the nursery ablaze accidentally, of course. But the fire hadn't harmed a single soul. It had danced around the staff and servants like a playful guardian, singing without burning.
That day, Lord Phenex summoned the family elders to witness the baby.
The Phenex fire was sacred, tied to their unique ability Resurrection. Through Hellfire, their wounds healed. Through their blood, they could be reborn from death itself.
But Riser his flames responded to things they should not.
They curved around holy artifacts, refusing to be extinguished even in sanctified water. They danced in tune with magic circles too complex for his age. He began mimicking incantations with baby babble that vibrated the spellwork.
He was no ordinary heir.
He was fire incarnate.
An Heir with Memory
Inside, Riser remained Vincent Moretti his memories as sharp as ever. He remembered names, places, scenes from the High School DxD series as though they had played just yesterday. He knew what this world was. Knew its dangers. Knew its politics. And more than anything else
He knew the timeline.
Rias Gremory. Issei Hyoudou The Red Dragon Emperor. Great Red. Ophis. Khaos Brigade. The civil war aftermath. The Old Satan Faction. Azazel. Sirzechs. The Fallen. The Heaven's politics…
Vincent had once ruled a world of guns and betrayal. Now, he was destined to rule a world of magic and devils.
He understood the weight of it.
Riser Phenex had been a footnote in the grand narrative. Arrogant. Entitled. Humiliated. Just another obstacle for the hero to overcome.
Not anymore.
This time, the fire wouldn't be wasted on vanity and pride. This time, the devil born from death would forge a new legacy in the Underworld one not written by others, but burned into history by his own hand.
The House Prepares
"His name will shake the Underworld," said Lord Phenex he stood on the upper balcony, gazing over the eternally burning lake surrounding the estate.
Lady Phenex joined him, her fingers laced around a scroll. "Letters are coming from the other Houses. They want to know what we plan to do with him. Some even suggest binding contracts, marriages."
"A child groom?" Vulcan scoffed. "He's not even walking yet."
Lady Phenex smiled faintly. "That's how they play, Husband. They feel the fire. And fire, to them, is power."
"Let them wait," Lord Phenex said firmly. "Let them wonder. For now, he is ours and we will shape him properly."
A New Flame
Later that night, Riser layed in his crib, staring at the canopy above. Golden threads wove through deep red velvet, forming the sigil of the Phenex Clan a firebird in eternal flight.
He reached upward, and tiny embers flickered from his fingertips.
The flames responded. Always.
He could feel the magic in his blood, in his bones. It was a birthright, yes but also a tool. A weapon.
He grinned, just slightly.
This world had no idea what was coming.