The sun had barely set, painting the sky with hues of purple and gold, when Hadrian, Sirius, and Dante returned to the headquarters of Devil May Cry. The clink of their boots echoed against the cobbled streets as they made their way back from a mission that Hadrian had hoped would have been more... satisfying.
At only ten years old, Hadrian looked like someone far beyond his years. Standing at 5'7", his muscular frame seemed to stretch the limits of the sleeveless shirt he wore, his broad shoulders and defined arms visible beneath the dimming light. His messy black hair, streaked with strands of white, fell over his intense, mismatched eyes—one an electric blue and the other a sharp emerald green. Despite his youth, his body had developed rapidly, both mentally and physically, thanks to his magical and demonic heritage. He had the appearance of someone on the cusp of adulthood, though he was barely a child by age.
As the group trudged back, Hadrian's thoughts kept returning to the mission—a nest of Empusa, teeming with insect-like demons, led by a towering Queen Empusa. It should've been the perfect opportunity for Hadrian to showcase his skills. But Sirius, with his characteristic dramatic flair, had different plans.
The moment they'd laid eyes on the demonic creatures, Sirius had groaned in irritation. "Oh, for Merlin's sake—fuck this!" And before Hadrian could blink, Sirius unleashed a massive wave of Fiendfyre, the hellish red flames sweeping across the nest, incinerating everything in their path.
Even Hedwig, perched above in the clouds, joined in, casting bolts of fire and lightning down on the Empusa, her cackling laughter filling the air as the demonic insects were reduced to ash.
It was over in minutes. Hadrian hadn't even drawn his sword.
"Well, that was... anticlimactic," he muttered as they reached the front of Devil May Cry HQ.
Sirius clapped him on the back, a wide grin on his face. "Cheer up, Hadrian! It's all about working smarter, not harder. Besides, that Queen Empusa didn't stand a chance!"
Hedwig landed gracefully on Hadrian's shoulder, her feathers crackling slightly with residual electricity. "Honestly," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "if you weren't so determined to get your hands dirty, you'd appreciate the beauty of a well-executed napalm strike."
Hadrian rolled his eyes, brushing some soot from his shirt. "Yeah, yeah. But some of us like to actually fight our enemies."
"Fighting's overrated," Hedwig retorted. "Why waste energy when you can just roast them from a distance?"
"Because sometimes roasting them isn't enough," Hadrian shot back, his tone light but determined. "I need to feel the fight. It's the only way I know I'm growing stronger."
Sirius snorted in laughter. "Sounds like someone's been spending too much time with Dante."
Once inside the office, the crew settled in for their usual post-mission meal. Dante, as usual, lounged on the couch, a bottle of beer in one hand while he flipped through TV channels with the other. Trish and Lady were going over the mission details, comparing notes, while Morrison sat in his usual chair, puffing away on a cigar, a look of amusement on his face as he observed the group.
Hadrian, however, had a different post-mission routine. He excused himself early from dinner and made his way to his room, where the Peverell Grimoire waited.
The ancient tome sat on his desk, its worn leather cover practically humming with dark, forgotten secrets. The moment he had pulled it from the Peverell vault, it had felt... alive. The Grimoire was no ordinary book—it was a relic of his family's twisted history, one filled with dangerous magic and forbidden knowledge. Every time he opened its pages, it felt like stepping into another world—one that made his skin crawl but also pulled him deeper into the unknown.
He flipped open the heavy cover and began reading, his mismatched eyes scanning the ancient runes and cryptic language that filled the Grimoire. He couldn't decipher all of it yet, but over the years, he had begun piecing together fragments of his family's twisted past.
One of the first things he had learned was how to properly use the Lord's Ring, the relic that now adorned his finger. It was more than just a symbol of power; it was enchanted with numerous abilities:
It acted as a radar, subtly vibrating whenever one of the Deathly Hallows was nearby.
It could function as a Portkey to any Peverell-owned location—a handy feature when he needed to travel quickly.
In modern magical society, it doubled as a credit card, giving him access to various shops and vendors.
But Hadrian's favorite feature by far was its ability to serve as a magical inventory. Anything he stored inside—whether it be weapons, tools, or food—could be retrieved instantly. And, much to his delight, food didn't spoil.
"Best thing ever," he muttered to himself as he retrieved a slice of pizza from the ring, taking a bite before returning to the Grimoire.
The only odd thing? For some reason, he always felt compelled to carry around a plain white plastic chair in the inventory. He didn't know why, but every once in a while, he'd pull it out and sit in it, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction.
The crew had noticed, of course.
Trish had asked him once, her brow raised in amusement, "You really love that chair, don't you?"
Hadrian had shrugged. "I don't know. Every time I sit in it, I just feel... highly motivated and... powerful."
The moment the words left his mouth, his voice had dropped into a deep, demonic resonance, sending shivers through the room. Dante, Trish, and Lady had shared uneasy glances as if the air had suddenly turned heavy with tension. Even now, they watched him warily whenever the chair appeared, as if expecting him to turn into a demonic overlord at any moment.
Hadrian, meanwhile, remained blissfully unaware of their concern. To him, it was just a chair.
Tonight, however, his focus was on the Grimoire. As he scanned through more of its pages, he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. The more he learned about the Peverell family, the more he realized how utterly insane they were.
"I swear, my ancestors were batshit crazy," Hadrian muttered, rubbing his temples. "Who in their right mind thinks it's a good idea to mess with Soul Magic and Necromancy on a daily basis?"
He paused as his eyes fell upon a particularly cryptic passage about Shadows and Monarchs. The Peverells, it seemed, had dabbled in magic related to shadow realms and rulers of the void, though the details were maddeningly vague. From what little he could decipher, they had an unhealthy obsession with these shadowy figures, referring to them as "Monarchs of the unseen realms."
The Abyss—a recurring term in the Grimoire—was central to their research. The Peverells believed that the Abyss held otherworldly knowledge, a place where they could access forbidden power and summon beings beyond human comprehension. Some of the darker rituals were designed to tap into this source, and the experiments described were enough to make Hadrian's skin crawl.
There was one warning in particular, etched in bold, ancient runes: "Do not seek the Abyss, for it will claim your soul before you ever understand its depths."
Hadrian felt a chill run down his spine. He had heard stories of the Abyss before—from both Dante and Hedwig.
Dante had once told him about how their father, Sparda, had warned him and Vergil to never seek the Abyss. "You're better off not knowing what's there," Dante had said with a frown. Even Hedwig, as carefree and sarcastic as she usually was, had echoed Dante's words. "There are some places in this world you just don't want to explore," she had muttered, her voice uncharacteristically serious.
Hadrian shook off the uneasy feeling and continued reading. But the more he learned, the more disturbed he became. The Peverells weren't just content with dabbling in forbidden magic—they had made enemies with nearly every major faction in the supernatural world.
The Biblical Factions, for example, still bore a grudge against them. The Peverells had killed Astaroth and Mammon, two high-ranking devils, and had even managed to slay an Archangel. And it wasn't just the Biblical factions they had angered. Demi-Gods, Fae Lords, and even Gods had fallen to the Peverell family in their relentless quest for knowledge and power.
"No wonder the three brothers split the family," he muttered, flipping to the next page.
Their obsession with crossing into other dimensions, opening portals to parallel worlds, and seeking out Eldritch Gods had made them some of the most feared and hated beings in existence. And yet, through it all, their desire for the unknown had only grown.
Later that night, Hadrian recounted the disturbing details to the crew as they gathered in the lounge. He told them about the Abyss, the insane experiments, and how the Peverells had managed to make enemies of almost every supernatural faction in existence.
Dante, reclining lazily on the couch, smirked. "Sounds like you've got a family legacy to be proud of."
"Proud? More like horrified," Hadrian shot back. "They managed to kill an Archangel, some high-ranking Devils, and even a few gods. All in the pursuit of power."
"Sounds familiar," Lady remarked dryly, earning a chuckle from Trish.
Hedwig, perched on the armrest, tilted her head. "I still think you should change your surname before someone with a grudge decides to pay us a visit. Hadrian Peverell is just begging for trouble."
Hadrian chuckled. "Yeah, I've been thinking about it. How does Hadrian Redgrave sound?"
Dante raised an eyebrow. "Redgrave, huh? Not bad. Keeps you under the radar."
Sirius, who had been quietly nursing a drink, finally spoke up, a mischievous grin on his face. "Well, as long as I don't have to take the Black Lordship, I'm happy. Can't wait to see Lucius Malfoy's face when he finds out the Black family is gone."
The group burst into laughter at the thought. The conversation shifted, becoming lighter as they joked about the morbid history of the Peverells and the chaos they had left in their wake.
Hadrian closed the Grimoire, letting out a deep breath. The weight of his family's past was heavy, but with the crew around him, it didn't feel so overwhelming. No matter what dark legacy he had inherited, he knew one thing for certain—he was carving his own path, and with Dante, Sirius, and the rest by his side, he was ready for whatever lay ahead.