This is an AU and is although heavily based on the show The Devil is a Part-timer, it focuses more on the land of Ente Isla. This story is not humorous or meant for comedy, it reflects much darker tones and the characters lose most of the light-heartedness the show presents them with. I can't call this an original work, but it stems off from the original piece and it is now a nearly a different work. It is my interpretation of what The Devil is a Part-Timer would look like as an epic fantasy, and if I shoved my own character onto the stage. Thanks for reading, please R&R! ;)

Chapter One

The small village she sauntered through was in ruins, not a soul had lived to tell the story of their and their neighbors slaughter. She was sent here for a reason, rob a grave and steal a dead woman's sword. The theft would be executed swiftly, since no one could stop her. The graveyard stood at the end of the dirt path with crumbling buildings leaning against it, looking as if they were stuck in quicksand. The gravestones looked no better than the inhabitants old residences.

After nearly an hour of searching and carefully itching away dirt at the stone to reveal the names of the deceased, she found the one she was looking for. Etched messily was the barely readable name of Meredith Asiths. Curiously, she glanced over at the smaller grave positioned directly next to it, like it was trying to cuddle into the grave next to it. On this grave she read Anastasia Asiths, she stroked it feeling a strange sense of ownership, this must've been Meredith's daughter. She shook off the nostalgia like she should the rain, she couldn't be this girl, her name was Anya and she grew up in the Chruch's clutches not some unimportant little village.

A breeze blew, diverting her attention to the sky. Steely grey clouds loomed overhead, the air chilled and Anya sensed an oncoming flurry. It would snow soon, as it did every time this season of a cold sun rolled around. Anya tucked her cloak tighter around her petite body, she may like to seem she was immune to the chilly icy weather, but her body had other plans. She breathed out and a cloud of white puffed from her chapped lips. If she was to retrieve what she needed, she would require a shovel. Her eyes darted about taking in every small detail, like how the grass was wilting and all the trees had fallen dead except from the ones in the forest several meters away. Finally, what she needed popped up into her line of sight.

She glided over to a shed with rotting wood and an ungodly stench reeked from the inside. Anya pushed aside the door, and stepped into the wasting away structure. After quick scan of the room she took a shovel by the handle and dragged it outside. Swinging it over her shoulder she hiked back to Meredith's grave. Snow drifted down and tickled her reddening nose. Anya prayed a blizzard wouldn't interrupt her work. She shoved the rusty blade into the ground and started throwing away the dirt. In a poorly made coffin she discovered nothing, but bones with dirt clinging to them. No gleam of a blade, she rolled over the body and lifted it up, still nothing. Anya slammed the coffin shut, where could that damned thing be?

The answer came to her as soon as the wind began to quicken and the snow began to fall in thicker flurries. Rubbing her hands together in an attempt to regain the small amount of warmth that had been whisked away as the snow fell. She began to dig up the smaller grave. The coffin was tinier than the last, fit for a child barely over five. The wooden door creaked as she pried open the rotting thing, and inside laid nothing but a magnificently crafted sword. No decayed child lay in the wretched burial box. It was perplexing. Was the girl not truly dead? She shook her head, everyone in this village was dead, and even if the girl had survived she wouldn't have lasted long in a world without a mother or in fact anyone.

Anya took the blade, it felt unnaturally warm, and sliced it through the spiraling snowflakes. The blade was surprisingly light for it's length and the intricate design of symbols swirling around the hilt. She was about to test its strength when a low guttural growl sounded behind her. Anya spun around just in time to slice at the monstrous wolf who had launched itself off its powerful haunches and dove right over the gravestone. She barely nicked passed the silky black fur covering its shoulder. Roaring, it charged. Her toes dangled just above the sharp protruding teeth that were about to clamp down on her throat as she nimbly jumped onto a gravestone. Anya had barely any time to balance herself when the wolf hurled itself at her. Claws rammed into her shoulders and the teeth just missed her forehead. She threw the beast off her and yanked out the blade that had slid through the wolf's chest like it was nothing but air. Once she had tore the blade away from the carcass, the thing which had been so close to ripping out her throat disintegrated into a strange golden dust floating away in the icy wind. Anya sighed, she would have rather liked to use it's smooth pelt as a new blanket.

The blade, it seemed, had a special power. She thought it to be quite efficient to have your enemies turn to dust after a blow. And it was convenient to not have the clean the blade of any bodily waste, or whatever she slayed deemed to be their blood. Howls filled the air, and Anya quickly realized how much precious time she had wasted marveling over the sword. Sending herself sprinting she flew through the village feeling like a mouse scurrying away from its predator, whether it be hawk or cat. This time, it was most certainly hawk. A lone black feather brushed past her flushed cheek. Anya dove away to feel immense heat flare behind her.

A piercing cackle sounding over the thunderous roar of the flames swallowing the building she'd now trapped herself in. A ball of purple magic shot towards her forehead and Anya rolled on the dirt floor to have her cloak take the blow, the magic burning through the dark fabric. She threw off the cloak revealing her tight-fitting black armor that flexed with every muscle in her body. More bullets of the magic rained down on her nearly blending in with the fast-moving snowflakes, she narrowly dodged each one as she sprinted towards a brick wall. Many years of scaling walls to murder unconforming lords and attacking forts had prepared her to find herself a foot holding and throw herself over the wall her body spinning with the ease of a twirled ribbon.

Her legs and feet hit the ground running, and she cleared the quarter of the village that was ablaze effortlessly. Anya had just began to feel aches set in her bones and hers muscles pulling in all the wrong places when she forced herself to stop her feet slamming her quick moving body to a halt. Alarmed she whipped out her dagger and left the sword pressed awkwardly against her thigh. Wings as black as moonless midnight sky blocked out the sun and consumed the sky. Anya held her dagger with a viper like grip and stood unmoving, a statue of marble. She felt no fear in her heart as she stood before the fallen angel, or rather demon general now.

She set her face in a grim line. Anya didn't utter a word, her stony glare and taut face explained enough. She was not happy to see Lucifer nor his cronies, which from the corner of her eye she could see circling her. Her battle stance remained steady, strong as the earth beneath her.

"And who might you be?"

A small wispy smile tugged at Anya's lips,"Wouldn't you like to know? My secrets aren't so easily revealed."

A deep raspy chuckle echoed deep within his chest, it sounded rather pleasant to her earlier impression of his laughter,"Well, then, I hope you don't mind if I pry them from bleeding lips." His eyes flicked to the sword messily latched to her belt, and Anya knew what he wanted from her. Not a tragic mystery to be solved, no just a possible way to help them shed more blood in this war. More had already been spilt than needed.

She lashed out in calculated rage as the demon swooped down, with his fist alight with a purple blaze. Ferocity erupted in her making her move quicker and her blow come down harder. The more he used his magic to try and land a blow she became more furious. Anya felt sweat build up in every nook and cranny and cramps constrict around her body imprisoning her from more fluid movement. The demon general noticed this with hawk like eyes. He easily threw her off balance and Anya tumbled to the ground spraying snow and frigid mud everywhere.

Anya spit out mud, the wretched taste melted into her tongue. She attempted to get up and was only kicked down, that was how it always was. Without magic or blessed weapons she was practically useless in a fight. That was until she bettered herself, pushing herself to be just as fast and strong as Emilia, keeping up with her even in battle. It was a miracle, everyone kept saying, she'd lived this long. Anya knew deep in her heart that she would never be as quick or powerful compared to people with magic in her veins, but yet she still fought on. Even as she felt blood flooding through her lips and kicks and punches come every which way she clinged on to consciousness, the fire in her stomach becoming more and more scorching.

Body aching she rolled away, leaped up, and whipped out the sword as swiftly as the blowing wind. The fire in her stomach burst filling her body with a strange kind of warmth, a false sense of comfort brought by a violent wrath. Every pore in her body was alight and the cuts and bruises that littered her body became nothing more than frilly accessories. Adrenaline pumped through burning away the once raging pain. Anya knew this wouldn't last long and concentrated her blazing temper into a killing calm.

He must have seen the inferno in her eyes because the demon smiled, cunning and cruel. The kind of smile that rattled your bones and made your nerves scream in distress. ''Really, I don't know why you humans always insist on fighting back when you clearly have no chance of winning with your life, you're kind of like gnats. Always buzzing around and getting in my way.''

Anya huffed, letting out a mangled laugh that caught in her throat,''That's kind of ironic coming from you.''

He wasn't the only one who could mess with nerves.

The general flew at her moving so quickly he appeared only as a blur. Purple light exploded into her vision and she moved the sword hastily to block the forthcoming magic. It held, not shattering like most metal would against the power of magic, instead it barely shook. Strike after strike rained down upon and every time she blocked the sword didn't have a mark, it remained shining and flawless. Her arms began to moan in protest and every time she swung the sword it became heavier and heavier. Anya saw the opportunity to escape when he had backed her into a wall.

Relying heavily on the remaining strength in her legs she pushed herself off the stone and flipped over the winged demon and landed nimbly on her feet. The momentary surprise gave her enough of a head to start to burst out sprinting again straight for the woods surrounding the village. The tall trees provided a cloak for her as she became a shadow and she didn't know whether to feel relief or distress at the sign of the setting sun. The dark would provide cover, but it also provided panic for the girl. Darkness had always been something her calloused nerves succumbed to.

The uneasy neighing of her steed pressed her to go faster until she exploded into a clearing. Anya heard the howling and thunderous pounding of wolve's feet. It had been a long time since she had felt so cornered and helpless. That fueled her raging blood even more. Heart hammering against her chest she threw herself onto her horse and kicked him harshly in the side. She kept urging him faster and faster until his breathing became too brash and forced. Anya felt herself panting along with him, more in hysteria than weariness.

Then came the wolves raining down on them in a swirling mass of fur, tooth, and claw. The horse bucked up hitting a few of the beasts in their gruesome muzzles with its sharp hooves. She felt smug as the responding whines and yowls fell on her ears. Anya whisked out the sword once again cleaving and slicing through bone and muscle. The remaining wolves nipped at their heels, but the wounds adorning their bodies slowed them down to a snail's pace.

Anya had gotten away. Said her salutations to death and made her grand escapade. Solace washed over her soothing her anxious heart and lungs. Then the sun set into the sky and the once beautiful painting of pinks, purples, reds, and oranges swirled together on canvas vanished to reveal a dark sky. The trees leaned into her whispering doubt and fear. The eerie sound of the vicious and unknown clawed at her ears. That did not bother her. No, the starless sky and the darkness enveloping her did. And with her heart feeling like it was stuck in her throat she ventured further into the wood.

…

Night was a time for terrible creatures, creatures who bared their wicked fangs at the sun and hissed at the thought of warmth. It was the time when people slept, when people went away from this world because they knew what ungodly things crawled out of their dens in the night. Anya did not have this luxury and that sent terror pricking at every hair on her body. The wood seemed to be endless, the trees never ending. Darkness reigned over all. Anya felt a whimper rise in her chest and then pinched herself, reminding herself to keep her eyes forward and not on the shadows crawling towards her and the swaying trees that seemed to snap downwards to snatch her from her steed. Then the trees spread open and revealed fields of rolling crops and greens, the moon illuminating a small town. Anya nearly cried out in delight.

The horse bolted towards the town eager as she was to escape the wicked wood. She slowed the horse down as they made their way to the town, making sure to glance behind her to see if they had been followed. Hopefully, the demon general had lost her scent for at least a night, still she remained hyper alert. There was also the villagers to consider, Anya didn't underestimate anyone to come into her room at night and slit her throat. The inn they approached was rundown, the smell of cheap beer and other repulsive things leaked out. Booming laughter of drunken men and the sound of a bar fight made Anya head for the stables first.

The stable boy was a scrawny one, his trousers hanging loosely off his calfs and his sleeves bunched up to keep them from covering his tiny hands. She saw ribs poking out from underneath his messily sewed tunic, and wondered what kind of scraps he was fed. Anya felt sympathetic and flipped him a bronze coin for his services, it was the only thing she would sacrifice. She never knew how much money she would need in the future. Traveling around the four continents was not cheap.

Walking into the inn the stench was far more nauseating than it was from the inside, the odor was tenfold stronger. Anya felt ill, her stomach was a stormy sea and her last meal was the ship about to catapulted out. She slid into stool clenching her stomach, odors had always made her stomach weak. Anya could stomach eating anything that was offered and would be drenched in blood and barely flinch. Her problem had always lied in smell, and the dark, but that was another story.

Two young men stood unblinkingly at her, eyes shining with malicious intent. Anya had half the mind to snarl at them. The barkeep came over to her with a far more kind twinkle in his eyes,"Don't mind them miss, they'll go for anything, probably their own cousins if they could. Can I get you anything?"

Anya kept her face concealed,"Water will be fine." She coolly brushed him off, she had no time for friends.

The barkeep nodded, smiling sheepishly before pulling out a goblet and fetching a pitcher of foggy looking water. He poured it in and then slipped it over to her. Anya took it sniffing it, it smelled of leftover beer, she chugged it anyway. She took out her pouch and counted out the appropriate amount for the water and a night-stay. "I'd like a room, please."

"Alright, miss." The barkeep took the money and stuffed it into his pockets, and then tossed her a key. "First room to the right."

She nodded, flipping the key over and over in her hands, admiring the skill put into its design. Anya wondered what blacksmith had made it, and if he'd be willing to make a weapon for her. The stairs creaked under her weight, she assumed it was because of the weapons she had strapped to her body. She was sure she'd lost weight in the weeks she'd spent chasing wild gooses for the Church, Anya had most definitely shaved off a few pounds. The hallway she entered was decorated with sinister paintings with frowning faces. No light was cast and she found herself having a hard time jamming the key into the knob.

The door clicked as she opened the room. She shed herself of her weapons like a cocoon and hurled her travel-bag onto the wee bed pushed into the corner of the room. Only one candle stood lit at her bedside table, and it flickered with the chilly wind from outside blowing in. Anya desperately wished to clean herself of the muck covering her, but found the teensy bathing chamber in her room to be dirtier than herself.

Nonetheless she stripped herself of her many layers of armor and clothing, then proceeded to wet a cloth. She began to scrub, washing away all the filth covering her bodice. Then she proceeded to comb through the tangles in her hair using her fingers, the process was painful and she resisted the urge to yelp every time she yanked out her fingers. Anya took the cloth and cleaned away the rest of mud from her short, choppy tresses. Afterwards, she redressed herself, leaving her armor on scattered on the bed. The clothes remained stained with dirt, but as bad as the grime covered armor.

Anya began to relax, embracing the frigid wind blowing in through her windows, the curtain wildly fluttering against the walls. She stuck her head out through the window and breathed in. The air was refreshing, cooling down the fire flickering inside her and dulling the bruises now pulsing with pain. Winter felt good. Shouts from down below knocked her out of her stupor. Anya rushed forward on instinct to clutch her dagger in a familiar grip, a few screams rose from underneath her and she pressed herself against the door.

Barks and growls joined the fray, and Anya's suspicions were confirmed. She'd knew who'd come. He sure knew how to create a ruckus. A laugh laced with the ice of the snow outside announced Lucifer's entrance. Someone sobbed, another shrieked, and then she heard the crunching of bone and the perfume of something she was far too accustomed to, blood. Anya knew if she ran down there now and confronted the demon general it would be a slaughter for both sides. Her bones groaned in protest and her cuts and bruises screeched their disapproval. She would not be battling anyone any time soon.

Anya ran over to her bed and attached the sword to her belt. She darted over to the window next, throwing one leg out first, finding a foothold amongst the crumbling bricks that made the inn. She descended with less ease than she would have liked, nearly hurtling down to the ground where broken bones would await her. Anya hurried to the stables, hearing the barks coming closer. She threw herself into the nearest stall. Shit and mud covered her once clean body, it would serve as a sufficient enough disguise for her scent. Anya tugged at the horse's blanket and threw it over her and slid the sword under her, keeping her dagger in her trembling hands. She cursed herself for finding herself scared out of her wits, and cursed herself yet again for finding the worst smelling place in the whole village. Bile crawled up her throat and Anya forcefully shoved it down, yet the taste of vomit lingered on her tongue.

Something padded into the stall, and Anya froze, not breathing, not blinking, not moving. The horse neighed nervously and began rearing backwards blocking Anya's blanket covered shape from even the wolf's sharp eyes. Her eyes remained stuck on the wolf and its every movement as it prowled around once more. Luck was never on her side Anya discovered as the wolf approached her and prodded her with its muzzle. Anya shifted so that her dagger was at the perfect angle to spear the beast right through the neck. The wolf creeped forward until it's unnerving ruby red eyes met her own. Then white shiny teeth lurched straight towards her wide open throat.