A/N: For those of you who have already read the fic up to the ninth chapter and are wondering what happened to the rest, I'm in the midst of rewriting the fic. After reading the initial 30,000 or so that I have already written, I realized I needed to take stock of what was there and I ended up rewriting and revising the fic itself. So, these two first chapters reflect that rewrite—though the trajectory that the first nine chapters were heading towards will still be somewhat similar. I hope this doesn't throw you off too much, I tend to treat my fics as living documents that grow and evolve over time, and for those who have read the earlier iterations, I hope you also enjoy seeing what had been there and what had been rewritten.


Fujiko's brown horns were unvarnished and free of scuff.

Horror coursed through her as the kitchen knife slipped from her fingers. Nothing was working, nothing can cut through these damn things. Why? Why? How the hell do you get rid of these weird appendages? It's not fair, she didn't want anyone looking at her like this; she didn't want to spend the rest of her life disappearing them to live a lie. No one had actually seen her like this, thank god, but the day someone sees her appendages is the day she disappears herself from this earth.

She looked down to pick up the knife from the floor and saw a dull blade.

Damn, she really had made no progress at all in the last two years.

Putting the knife aside the scuffed filers and chipped scissors strewn on her sink, Fujiko stared at herself in the mirror. Two pointed brown horns. Pallor skin. Silver eyes. Huge, leathery wings that nearly span her entire bathroom. A thin, swishing tail whose end was heart-shaped. Fujiko growled, slammed her back against the door, and slid until she sat on the floor and pulled her knees close.

The horror turned into a shame that weighed on her, stilled her muscles, and contorted her face. Nothing worked, none of what she could find ever worked and she had no way of acquiring the more powerful stuff without garnering suspicion. These strange appendages had been growing since puberty and had showed no signs of stopping; they weren't even present before then, leaving Fujiko to wonder just what kind thing she is. She was definitely not human, no matter how natural those things felt, and it was increasingly clear to her that, no matter what she did, she was not going to remove them anytime soon.

Sighing and shaking her head, Fujiko forced herself up to her feet and stared at the mirror again. After rinsing her face with cold water, she took a deep breath and exhaled. Then she shut her eyes and breathed and exhaled again, steadying the beat of her heart. It welled within her, coursing through her body and into her appendages.

Disappear, disappear…

Fujiko opened her eyes and saw a normal, fifteen-year old half-Japanese girl staring back with an empty gaze.

Then shame and regret filled that gaze. Perhaps it was best to just give it up this time before she ends up injuring herself—fatally. She was lucky that not only her horns were tough, but that it hurt every time she dared to cut off her wings or tail; Fujiko was neither brave nor desperate enough to go through with that, and even if she were either there was no way she was not going to attract attention from screaming from the potential pain. In effect, she would be dismembering parts of her—though Fujiko wasn't even sure if she was just a freak accident or there really were some people who had demonic traits like her just out there, who too fear the consequences of revealing yourself to people who may not understand.

Fear. People not understanding—or worse, being hostile to—her has been the only reason Fujiko had yet to tell anyone else about this. There was no one she felt comfortable in confiding, not even in the one person she considered a close friend, and she had no one else even remotely like her. Ms. Tanegawa would not understand despite her empty words of sharing her troubles with her, for she was not the kind of person who backs those words with action. Only Miho was that person, but even so would she really ever want to talk to someone like Fujiko ever again if she found out what she had?

No, Miho wouldn't do that to her, would she? Miho liked her and loved to hang out, play games, and talk. She was the only person Fujiko could ever consider a real friend in this town, so perhaps she could try telling her about these appendages and see what she thinks of it.

The pallor girl in the mirror stared into Fujiko's eyes.

Fear froze her. No no no, there was no way she could ever show Miho—anyone—who she really is. Two years of living with these damn things had shown Fujiko just how extraordinary and horrific her circumstances were and she did not want to make things go from bad to worse. What if people did find out? There really is no way people wouldn't treat her like a freak or monster. No, no way Fujiko, there's no way anyone would ever accept some monstrous thing like her.

No one, no one at all, there's no one who won't get afraid of or hostile towards her—and there would be too many people for Fujiko to ignore. The effort to even tell Miho was futile and pointless, especially if no one else in the whole world had the appendages like Fujiko had. Her condition was too unique, too extraordinary, and it may be that Fujiko will never meet an equal. She alone bore this burden in this world, and it was a burden that for the last two years she did not ask to carry. The thirteen years before were much less troublesome for Fujiko, but it was not like she hadn't faced her fair share of trouble that no one else seemed to have and she, of course, was the unlucky son-of-a-gun so incredibly unfortunate that whoever was the god, or goddess, of bad luck would have Fujiko become its messiah.

"No way, no way," Fujiko murmured. "I can't, I can't, there's no way I can tell anyone, no one, no one, no one at all."

The pallor girl in the mirror furiously shook her head.

No one will understand. No one. Fujiko was never going to remove these damn things, so she might as well live with the fact that she's just some monster in human skin; it was not inaccurate too, for the next week or so was going to be the most challenging and terrifying of the month yet. Still, the ability to make her appendages disappear at will was a remarkably useful ability to have, even though Fujiko had no idea how it actually worked or what was the science behind it—if it can even be explained scientifically. All it takes for it to work is to clear her mind, concentrate, imagine her appendages disappearing as that strange power wells within her, and then let that power course through them.

Fujiko was left to wonder just how unlucky she was to have been born like this—and, to make matters worse, with her mother dead from childbirth and her father's whereabouts and identity unknown. She never knew either of them, and she had no relatives to speak of from either side of the family: Fujiko's mother was the last living person of her line, and her father was just a complete mystery that there was no use in thinking about the possibility of finding him again. For all she knew—and this was the most likely to her, considering just how foreign she looked—he was just some foreigner that her mother had a fling with and it turned out she got more than she bargained for. Just her luck, huh?

Fujiko produced her smartphone from her sweatpants pocket and turned it on: it was 11:52 PM.

She yawned. Damn, she ought to sleep now before she wakes up groggy again. But she couldn't leave the knife here, not without Ms. Tanegawa or the others finding the knife displaced from its holder in the morning. But Ms. Tanegawa also had a strict curfew where no one was allowed to leave their room or play loud music after 10:00 PM—Fujiko was sleeping over with Miho at the time, but Ms. Tanegawa didn't want a repeat of the party incident where the neighbors had called the police on the group-mates' blaring music and rowdy friends. Best if she were careful now.

The knife still lied on the sink.

Fujiko picked it up, stepped out of her bathroom, went up to her bedroom door, shut off the lights, and peered outside. The hallway was dark and it took a minute for her eyes to adjust, but the moonlight peering in from the windows provided enough ambient lighting for Fujiko to navigate to the stairs. Silently she made her way and began heading down, touching her toes on the spots in the wooden floorboards where they were stable and did not creak. When she reached the ground floor, Fujiko slipped into the kitchen through the living room and returned the knife to its holder. She turned and began heading back the way she came.

A delicious scent wafted in the air. The switch clicked and the kitchen lights burned brightly.

Fujiko gasped as she shielded her eyes and kept them shut, blinking them every now and then to let them adjust. She peeked through her fingers. "Oh shit," she muttered.


The parchment envelope, sealed by red wax bearing the pentagram of the Demon King, lay upon the wooden desk in front of Freya. Candlelight from the sconces dotting her study glowed hot as fire without smoke, lighting up the paper walls and the bookshelves with their brilliance.

She hummed as she cut the seal with a knife and opened the letter. It was this month's invitation to the Thirteen Crowns' Dinner at the usual space: the Tower of Babel, the heart of the capital, one week from now. Like all the previous dinners it was merely to discuss the affairs of the state, not make merry in a grand feast—as amazing and fun as that sounded. They really needed to throw one like that sometime, at least it would be a good alternative to Amaryllis' frankly debauched and degenerate bachelor parties. Freya had the pleasure of attending one—Amaryllis always sent invitations to everyone when she threw them—and while she had her fun it wasn't her kind of thing: the Lord of Lust's tastes, after all, were too different for her liking.

Freya leaned back against her chair and sighed. "Another day of policies and politics, though I shouldn't really be surprised. They oughta make these dinners more interesting somehow."

The ticking hellclock that stood near her rang its bells. 6:06 AM.

Freya smiled. Just like old times back in Babyls, though those days were long gone now. There hasn't been a Skalid who had attended the Netherworld's most prestigious school in a while, and all the children born from her brothers and sisters were too young to attend just yet; meanwhile, Freya herself was childless with no lover to come home to. Not that it was a bad thing, but she always wanted to raise a child. Someone she could show the world with, enjoy the sights with, have fun with, teach them a thing or two—and then watch them grow up with those experiences and see how they turn out.

Having a lover too to help her and their child would be fun, but not mandatory. After all, the bloodline for the next generation had already been secured. That, and, well, she supposed she could follow up on one of Amaryllis' bachelor parties again if she grows that desperate…

"Damn it, I'm turning into Lord Asmodeus," Freya sighed as she shook her head. "I'm a Supreme Commander, not some mistress inviting all the singles for an orgy-party."

She better get ready for the dinner.

The week passed without incident. Trees, withered or otherwise, had bloomed their strange flowers and leaves as great terrorbirds sailed through the Netherworld sky, returning home from the winter they had spent in the far south. Gentle spring breezes roused the morning of Hell City as a great shadow loomed over its squat houses and slanted shingle rooftops: a slender bullet-shaped wooden vessel sailed, three decks deep and fitted with four masts arranged in an X-shape across. It was escorted by five similar, slightly smaller ships. From the streets of the city, one could see the Two Flags: one was black and bore a ringed purple pentagram, the other white and emblazoned with a horned crimson shield crossed by two spears.

Freya, standing at the helm as the wind blew through her black bangs, turned from the flag and faced her left. "Alright captain, we've left home and we're sailing out of the city. How long until we reach the capital?"

"It's a two-hour flight, Supreme Commander," he said. "Winds are nominal and the weather looks cool and gentle for the entire morning, so it shouldn't be rough or longer than estimated."

"Does the rest of the 1st Fleet know our route and timetable?"

"Of course. 1st Fleet elements are already on patrol and we have linked up with their cruiser detachment. They're sailing in escort formation."

Freya nodded. "Good, thank you. If there's trouble, at least we'll be prepared."

"Supreme Commander, have pirates really become that much of a problem in the skies here as of late?" the captain said. "1st Fleet does a good job of keeping piracy down, so personally, if I may speak my mind, there doesn't seem to be that much of a need for a detachment."

"No, not really. But you can never be too sure. You've heard of the uprisings in the far east?"

"Yes Supreme Commander, I have."

Freya looked out to the east. "Lord Amaymon thought he could handle the uprising by himself, and look where that got him. Now we have to send in an entire expeditionary force just to contain the rebel forces."

"The rebel forces are part of the Primordial movement, right?"

Freya nodded at him. "Yes, the desire to return the Netherworld to the Old Days. Those demons must be fools if they truly want to bring back the past."

The captain raised a brow. "Have you ever lived in those times, Supreme Commander?"

"No, but my grandparents and their children had. They said those times were dark for demonkind. What about you?"

The captain shook his head. "No, and neither my immediate family nor my great-grandparents. Though, I heard their parents and theirs were murdered in those days, long before the Demon King came."

"Dark times indeed," Freya said.

The spring wind continued to be gentle and cool for the next hour as the Fire and Brimstone and her escort sailed through the sky. A flock of terrorbirds soared beneath the squadron, the world below a rocky, craggy landscape with smatterings of green every now and then with mountain ranges crisscrossing between extensive and lush valleys. Morning mists shrouded the mountains, but they were descending further into the land's nooks and crannies while the clouds above remain thin and wispy.

Freya had been leaning on the railing, watching the landscape below when one of the hands flew up to her and bowed her head.

"Supreme Commander, Captain Vex is requesting your presence at once," she said. "He said something urgent just came up that requires your attention."

Freya glanced at her. "Oh? I see, I wonder what could it be…"

The hand bowed her head once more and flew away.

Pushing herself off, Freya turned, descended to the deck, and entered the bridge. There, she spotted the captain and his officers gathered around the radio section murmuring to each other. "I'm here now, what's going on?"

"We have a situation, Supreme Commander." The captain gestured her over. "TNS cruiser Hellfire has spotted an unidentified formation of vessels approaching our vector from the Dragonian Mountains under cover of mist. The vessels are already roughly less than 2,000 meters from our position and will reach 1,000 in approximately fifteen minutes. They are not responding to our hails."

Freya frowned as she crossed her arms. "Have we identified any markings on those vessels?"

The captain shook his head. "Not as of two minutes ago, Supreme Commander. Hellfire and its sister cruiser, the TNS Ball and Chain, are currently identifying the vessels."

"Any other elements in the area?"

"Demon Squadron from the 1st Fleet is over 3,000 meters away from our position, but of course, they don't have visual on the unidentified vessels."

Freya narrowed her gaze. "Well, if these ships are hostile, they won't be any different from all the other pirates the Throne's Navy had downed.

The radios buzzed to life.

Someone on the other end began speaking. "Hellfire to Fire and Brimstone, pirate markings identified, repeat, pirate markings identified! We are counting ten vessels, seven sloops, and three galleons, flying in attack formation on approach! They're firing already!"

"Heard you, Hellfire," the captain said, then turned to Freya. "Shit, guess you were right about bringing the detachment, huh?"

Freya nodded. "You know what to do."

The captain nodded back and turned to the radios. "Fire and Brimstone to all vessels, 10-ship strong enemy formation spotted from the direction of the Dragonian Mountains on approach. Enemy has already made contact, lethal force is authorized! Send word to Demon Squadron of enemy contact and positions, on the double!"

The bridge became a hive of officers barking orders and conducting status reports of the various compartments of the battleship. Beyond the bridge, Fire and Brimstone roared with the footfalls of hundreds as hands and casters alike hurried to their positions. Hundreds of the cruisers' casters chanted as they rained clouds of purple fireballs and hurled bolts of lightning at the enemy.

The pirate squadron assumed evasive maneuvers and attempted to alter their trajectory, but some of the fireballs and lightning bolts caught onto the masts and vessels, sparking fires. The pirates flew to and fro, wings flapping as they dropped buckets of water to extinguish the flames. Their casters threw fireballs and lightning back, but their magic was less developed and unwieldy and most of their spellfire was absorbed by the magic shields of the Navy's shield-casters.

Freya left the bridge and returned to the helm to assess the developing situation. Not bad, not bad at all: all ships are still accounted for and they have suffered no damage thanks to their shield-casters. Meanwhile, she could see fiery glows dotting the enemy squadron, but their damage control seemed competent enough to contain them. What was strange, however, was the fact that the enemy squadron was not closing in: they remained above the 1,000-meter range. Freya was expecting them to fly close and attempt to board the Navy ships, but so far they've kept their distance.

Two of the enemy sloops' fires grew so great that from a distance it seems as though there were two simultaneous forest fires raging. Freya saw hundreds of wings flapping to the rest of the ships as the two burning sloops, their aether engines no doubt damaged by the fires now, began falling towards the Dragonian Mountains below. To her surprise, the remaining enemy ships began retreating, the three galleons providing cover fire for the five sloops.

Demons cheered and clapped and whistled, yelling they had kicked pirate ass. There was already a celebration as ale bottles were clanking around.

Freya looked closer at the retreat. The enemy ships kept sailing away and away, retreating into the mists of the Dragonic mountains—most likely to see if there were any unfortunate survivors who hadn't flown out of those two sloops. Lucky for them, they were not being targeted today and she didn't really care. After all, she had a dinner to attend to–

Freya shut her eyes and sighed. "Right. Dammit, I'm probably going to be late."

The captain found her. "Supreme Commander! Two enemy vessels are confirmed destroyed, and the rest of the squadron had retreated to where they came from. Should we follow them?"

"No, that's not our objective—let Demon Squadron mop them up. We need to get to the capital on the double, I've been summoned to an important meeting!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Well, this sucks, she's definitely going to be late.