III - BELETH

Short. Feline. Appears with a curly horn. Attempts to scare the conjurer. Possibly invoked by Noah’s son, Ham. Generally hates being summoned unless you’re polite. Referred to as a the First of the Kings. PM mentions offering a bowl of wine for summoning. PM also mentions multiple protection measures such as a silver ring to see through glamours and a hazel staff, also for combatting illusions. Beleth is a former power. Beleth will test the summoner, and if they waver or show fear. Beleth will break the summoning. 

From Pseudomonarchia Daemonium:

Bileth [Byleth] is a great king and a terrible, riding on a pale horsse, before whome go trumpets, and all kind of melodious musicke. When he is called up by an exorcist, he appeareth rough [turgid] and furious, to deceive him. Then let the exorcist or conjuror take heed to himself; and to allaje his courage, let him hold a hazell bat [rod, staff, or stick] in his hand, wherewithall he must reach out toward the east and south, and make a triangle without besides the circle; but if he hold not out his hand unto him, and he bid him come in, and he still refuse the bond or chain of spirits; let the conjuror proceed to reading, and by and by he will submit himselfe, and come in, and doo whatsoever the exorcist commandeth him, and he shalbe safe. If Bileth the king be more stubborne, and refuse to enter into the circle at the first call, and the conjuror shew himselfe fearfull, or if he have not the chaine of spirits, certeinelie he will never feare nor regard him after. Also, if the place be unapt for a triangle to be made without the circle, then set there a boll of wine, and the exorcist shall certeinlie knowe when he commeth out of his house, with his fellowes, and that the foresaid Bileth will be his helper, his friend, and obedient unto him when he commeth foorth. And when he commeth, let the exorcist receive him courteouslie, and glorifie him in his pride, and therfore he shall adore him as other kings doo, bicause he saith nothing without other princes. Also, if he be cited by an exorcist, alwaies a silver ring of the middle finger of the left hand must be held against the exorcists face, as they doo for Amaimon. And the dominion and power of so great a prince is not to be pretermitted; for there is none under the power & dominion of the conjuror, but he that deteineth both men and women in doting [better: "foolish" or "silly"] love, till the exorcist hath had his pleasure. He is of the orders of powers, hoping to returne to the seaventh throne, which is not altogether credible, and he ruleth eightie five legions.

“Six more souls this cost me. When first I summoned beleth, I was met with a sight most terrible. My ancestors tomb seemed to slip away into darkness. I feared I had performed the ritual improperly. Deep, deep in the dark there came a light, and a far-off sound that seemed to claw at the senses. The light came closer in time with the sound, growing in intensity. One light became many, fanning out over the dark like stars flanking an impossible sun. As the came closer I was able to make out the sources of the light. Imps, legions of them, these were small, feline of feature but standing on two legs, all of that rough demonic countenance like a statue made from burning coal. Each carried a twisted horn through which they played a terrible and discordant fanfare. They rushed about me, the heat of their flesh was unbareable. I struggled for thought under the infernal fanfare. I held tight the hazel staff and began to chant. 

Then before me was a shape. More than this I cannot say for more than this I could not comprehend. I beheld a white horse, one I was sure echoed the steed of the biblical harbinger of death. It was a pale and sallow thing with patient and unblinking eyes, far too tall and thin to be able to move yet with unburdened grace it carried its ineffable rider. The countenance of king beleth was impossible, a shapeless, formless hole in reality into which all thought was cast. The infernal fanfare pressed me on, blaring at my senses, driving me to step into the abyss that was king beleth. I strained to focus on the hazel staff, on the spell, but my hands were failing, my voice drowning beneath the infernal chorus. I became aware of beleth reaching towards me. My senses went numb with fear. The idea of being touched by this impossible thing. I continued to chant although I could not feel my lips, knowing that as afraid as I was, betraying that fear to my guest would be my end. 

Through numb lips I cast the spell. The world tilted. The hazel staff nearly fell from my hand. 

I found myself in my ancestors tomb, the illusion banished. Before me was that same pale horse with that same patient unblinking gaze. Astride the steed, and safely within the circle, was king beleth, the true king beleth. 

He was shorter than I expected, feline of feature as the imps he commanded, but greater than them, impossible to mistake for their leader and king. He regarded me casually, as one might regard a stranger in a cafe. For a moment, our eyes met, his expression empty. In that moment I grasped at the sheer age of what stood before me.

The pale horse knelt and the demon dismounted, landing with catlike grace. (It was here I noticed the beast bore no reins or saddle.) He then knelt to take the bowl of wine set within the circle, never taking his eyes off me. He drank it standing, the stray drops hissing on contact with his burning skin. As he finished, he took in his surroundings. My ancestors tomb seemed to amuse him in some way. He walked to the edge of the summoning circle and for a moment it seemed as if he was simply going to walk through it, as if the wards I had so painstakingly crafted were simply forgotten, but at the edge he halted. His hand moved to the blade on his hip, but stopped before it reached the pommel, deciding against its use. With a jaunty little hop, he swung an armor-clad foot against the wall of the ward. The motion was casual, as if he were batting a stray football back to a group of careless schoolchildren. 

There was a sound like a thunderclap and the world spun. It felt as if a burning railroad spike had been driven into my eyes. The air between the demon and I splintered and cracked with scarlet light that pulsed and throbbed like an open wound along with the white-hot pain in my head. My vision clouded and I toppled to my knees, just barely able to keep myself from colliding facefirst with the stone floor. I vomited.

I looked up to see king Beleth crouched, balanced on the balls of his feet in decidedly catlike fashion. The ward held, but only barely.

Brand of the Lover - As hells minister of the interior and head of personnel, beleth is responsible for managing an impossible number of souls. The brand of the lover manifests as a ball of scarlet yarn, invisible to all with mundane sight. Through touch, the branded can bind others to the thread, allowing the branded to know their thoughts and intentions. The connection, however, is two-way. In addition to knowledge, the branded gains the ability to subtly influence the thoughts of those bound to them through suggestion. 

The branded can use additional yarn to increase their control over the bound. With one or two threads, the bound becomes suggestible, with four or five, the bound becomes a puppet. 

In addition, the branded can also bind others together, fundamentally intertwining their thoughts and ambitions. This seems to function as a sort of matchmaking ability, the bound often becoming sexually and romantically involved. 

The yarn is finite, spooling from the flesh on the left palm of the branded, soaked in the lifeblood of the branded. Using too much at once causes acute blood loss.