Do you remember the first time you felt air fill your lungs?

In reality, nobody should. It should be something that happens when you're born as a baby. Something that could never really be felt over whatever nightmare of that experience must feel like.

I was glad that my first memory was of my first breath, rather than being the infantile end of a childbirth.

It was Autumn. I could feel the chill in the air. Certainly the scent of browning leaves crinkling gently in the breeze.

It was a welcome distraction from my reality.

How do you come to terms with the fact that you aren't real?

Not some sort of existential crisis, but knowing that you truly did not, should not exist. That while having memories of growing up in a loving family I knew that these memories could not be real.

I shakily sat down on a bench, the worn wood creaking, as I cradled my head in my hands.

My name was Adam Gremory.

I have memories of growing up as the noble scion of a Devil family. But at the same time I knew that something was wrong. After all, the knowledge that canonically the Gremory family only had one son, Sirzech Gremory who gave up his familial ties to become the new Demon Lord Lucifer was also somehow in the essence of my being. As if somebody had twisted some element of my memories, but had the sick humor of leaving the, I suppose it would be accurate to call original canon of the Gremory family in my mind as well.

By that logic I was a paradox. An almost Schrodinger being that should not be real especially as my first moment of true wakefulness was the breath that I just took minutes ago. A breath taken in a world where I could not feel the magical resonance of the balance of Heaven and Hell. There was a sense of aether, of energy, magic, whatever you wished to call it that I could pull from and sustained my own reserves now, but it wasn't the same.

When I reached out with my magical power out of desperation, the energies of Hell did not respond, as if Hell itself did not exist as a Realm.

Deep crimson locks framed my face as I stared down at leather boots.

What sort of sick joke was this?

"My purse!"

I was broken from my personal crisis as the sound of a woman's cry for help called out. Slightly mature sounding. Mayhaps her late 30s?

I looked up to see a petty crook dashing away with a fairly expensive looking black leather purse.

But he was merely human.

I stood up and flicked with the ball my right foot, propelling myself forward at speeds a human would struggle to match, but could be explained away with good physique. Even if I was some sort of imagined existence, it seemed I knew how to control the force of my body surprisingly well.

I briefly debated on striking a debilitating blow to the thief's chin, then thought better of it. I didn't want to accidentally cause a human's neck to snap in case I couldn't control my strength as well as I felt I could, instead letting him ram himself into my shoulder.

"FUCK!" The purse snatcher cried out as he landed hard on his ass. "Get out of-"

I made a show of tearing the purse from his grip. It would have been easy to just tear it from his grip. So easy just to break his fragile human body. That would be cathartic, something easy for me to take out my frustration on, but I grit my teeth as I let him claw at my face, as if I couldn't react fast enough to his human reflexes. It was best to appear to be at their level as much as possible. Besides, it wouldn't even leave a mark.

I suppose it was lucky that he didn't pull a knife on me, instead just running away when he realized he had lost his mark, unwilling to get into any more trouble.

I ignored his angry offhand insult of calling me a "fucking asshole" as he ran with his tail between his legs.

After all, I wasn't sure if I could take him out without looking suspiciously too strong if he pulled a weapon. I was already positive him clawing at my face didn't even redden or break the skin.

I turned to face the middle aged woman that power walked over to me, dressed in a thick purple peacoat and face reddened with exertion in the autumn breeze.

"Thank you, young man!" she choked out after a few breaths, "That cretin came out of nowhere!"

I just shrugged and handed the purse back to her. A closer inspection made it seem likely that it was actually a very well crafted fake Gucci purse, but I didn't have any need or desire to inform this random woman of what she either already knew or didn't care about.

"Couldn't just let something like that happen right in front of me."

"Still, thank you. If he had gotten away, Boston PD wouldn't have been able to do anything and there weren't any Protectorate Capes nearby to chase him down. I wouldn't even have been able to pay for a cab!" She huffed with annoyance, "I wouldn't even have been walking if my car wasn't in the shop-"

I blinked, her chatterbox, mile-a-minute speech droning down into a dull throb in my ear.

Protectorate? Cape? These weren't human terms I recognized. But addressing that right now would only make me look strange. I had already moved at speeds somewhat hard to explain without being an Olympic level athlete. It wasn't a smart play to stand out more with ignorance.

I just nodded politely as I absorbed the other note of information.

So I was in Boston. East Coast of the United States of America. Interesting.

The West was predominantly more occupied by the Heaven faction. From my knowledge it should have been hard to be here as a Devil without being accosted by a member of the Christian Church. It would have been the Catholic Church if I had been in Europe, which was lucky for me as even if an Exorcist of the Church were to show up, they'd be more amenable to discussion and reason than their Catholic counterparts.

Small victory, I supposed, if that even mattered when I couldn't even sense any energy of a Heaven Faction territory.

I accepted her offering of three crisp twenty dollar bills as a thanks for dealing with the petty crook with a grateful smile. A cursory pat of my pockets had already revealed that for all my strange memories that couldn't be real, I had no wallet on my person. No money to speak of or an ID for that matter.

The only thing that I owned outside of the clothes on my back was a small silk pouch inside the inner breast pocket of my bomber jacket that faintly rattled with a full set of Evil Pieces. The only physical proof that I had that verified any level of my existence.

I became lost in thought as I wandered the streets of Boston aimlessly.

Firstly this could not be my world. The energies of the Supernatural world were not present, even though the normal essence of magic was still properly diffused in the atmosphere.

Secondly there was an unfamiliar term. Two of them.

The Protectorate, which sounded akin to some sort of additional policing governmental agency, or even a possible militant force. And a specifically curious term: Capes.

I briefly entertained the thought of superheroes or even Kamen Riders and Sentai Rangers akin to Rias'-

My gait cut short as I felt a surge of complicated emotions rumble at my core.

Confusion. Familial Love. Homesickness. Doubt.

I shook my head.

As important as it was to figure out how much of my memories were real it was more imperative to arrange for my own survival at present.

I had sixty American dollars to my name. No ID. No phone, no way of contacting what I thought to be home. This might have been the greatest crisis of my life. Especially considering that I couldn't use my magic in fear of outing myself as a Devil in an alternate universe where Devils and Angels might not even exist.

I supposed some light level hypnosis might be in order. But I would have to find someone that could answer my more pertinent questions first. Preferably not any random person off the street. It might serve me well if I could find a random patrolling Boston PD officer and initiate a conversation and weave in some more subtle magic when nobody was looking?

If that didn't pan out, at the very least I needed to lay low and not cause any waves. But it was slightly more imperative that I learn more details on how this version of Earth differed from my own.

However I was pulled out of my thoughts as the staccato of three sharp small arms fire echoed from a nearby alleyway.

I paused, knowing that America was known for it's more loose laws on firearms. I personally could deal with bullets with magic. But that would make me stand out in a bad way. Still, it was, rather morbidly, a welcome distraction from my own thoughts as I cast a spell to lower a person's ability to perceive me.

It was certainly no invisibility, though I was capable of something that complex in very short bursts, but anybody that looked at me would have a hard time remembering any distinguishing features. It was something that I knew simply because of how much of a giveaway the distinctive crimson locks of a Gremory clansman could be, but it would serve me well enough here.

I supposed I was using it well enough for its intended purpose anyways.

"Shit, shit, shit. First the purse, then this dumb bitch. If she didn't egg me like- fuck. It's your fault, you dumb fucking kid!"

I wasn't sure if this world had some cosmic sense of irony as the same greasy petty purse snatcher could be seen deeper in the alleyway, his black hoodie pulled over his head as he held a small Glock in his hand.

A blonde girl, roughly my age, was slumped against a brick building, faintly gasping as she tried futilely to apply pressure to two of her three bullet wounds.

She simply didn't even have enough hands.

And one of the bullets must have pierced a lung judging from the way she weakly coughed up blood.

"Fuck, I'm gonna have to get rid of the body. Shit. I'll shove her in the dumpst-"

His words were cut short as I grabbed him by the back of his neck.

And squeezed.

A dull, quiet crack could be heard as his neck snapped as I bent the spinal column with my fingers.

Humans really were such… fragile things.

The blonde girl coughed as she looked up at me, the avenger of her impending demise. Squinting in pain as she stared up at me.

Another spittle-y spurt of blood left her lips.

The crimson liquid gurgled in her throat as she attempted to speak, but the ebbs of life were already leaving her.

A small part of me felt guilt. After all, I had let the purse snatcher go instead of detaining him. It seemed smart at the moment, but now it lead to the death of an innocent bystander.

I sighed, half out of self-loathing, half out of incredulity of the butterfly effect of a simple interaction with a random petty criminal.

I supposed this was my fault in some strange way.

It was also, unfortunately, or fortunately, something I could rectify and take some responsibility for.

A flick of my fingers conjured forth a slip of paper with the magical seal of Gremory upon it, tailored to my magical signature and I pressed it into the dying girl's hand.

The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance, a reaction too late to deal with the reality of the tragedy that had occurred here.

"...Do you wish to live?"

The blonde girl gasped weakly, eyes moist of tears, both from pain and fear.

The light was leaving her eyes and I needed her to respond with a strong enough will to trigger the contract paper.

I gently pulled her head up to make eye contact with me, tilting it with the crook of my index finger as I wiped the blood from her ruby lips with my thumb, the scent of iron and spit lingering in the air.

"It's a simple question. Do you want to live?"

Without using magic to illicit a response, as that would invalidate a Devil Contract, I spoke again, a bit louder as her eyes strained as the looked at me, the bridge of her nose scrunching in pain.

It would have been cute enough if it wasn't for her rapidly paling complexion. Or the fact she was bleeding out in my hands.

She coughed, gasping for air.

But her will was enough and the Gremory magic seal on the Contract paper glowed with light.

"Then the Contract will be fulfilled." I responded quickly, reaching into my bomber jacket, my fingers pulling open the silk pouch with my Evil Pieces.

The Pawn was cold.

Rook unresponsive.

Queen faint, and impartial.

A single Bishop warmed to the touch.

I supposed that it would suffice.

A carved crimson chess piece flickered between my fingers, drawing the attention of the dying girl, her confused gaze staring at the glowing Evil Piece.

"Then you shall be given new life. A Bishop of my Peerage. A member of my family."

I wondered if this was to save her, or to save myself.

I… I was so lonely. So unsure. So unlike a Gremory. If it was my sister Rias in my place, would she feel such guilt?

"Your wish is granted. The deal has been made."

I was pathetic.

But I was no longer alone.