Nearly 100 followers from the first chapter is a pr gud sign. I want me reviews tho, so here's a quick update

Don't Fear the Reaper

〖Reason 2〗

|| He Doesn't Mind Starting Over ||

"So. How did you two meet?"

"It's a long story."

"I stabbed her and pinned her to the ground."

"Oh."

"She secretly liked it."

"OH."

"ZERO!"

He let her go.

Rias doubted she could get anywhere far. She was utterly spent from her prior encounters with the Khaos Brigade, and now especially with these throbbing wounds and this unholy headache preventing her from even taking flight, but he let her go, and that was the most crucial part of their encounter..

It became clear to her during her mid-explanation that he had his own suspicions regarding the church and their shady practices, and, perhaps by chance or sheer luck, her story strengthened his suspicion. Strengthened it enough that he seemed to have decided he was to take an action, or at least seek out the truth himself.

He didn't say a word to her. Nothing other than a plain "Alright" before jumping off the roof.

But she felt the intensity of his rage. The flicker of betrayal triggered something in him. For being lied to for who knows how long. For being misled that he was serving the light from the dark when in truth both sides were just as muddied and tainted with deceits.

Ambling on, fully aware this was not a country or place she was most familiar with, Rias forced herself to remain awake despite her body screaming at her to take a rest. The dark dots crawling from the edges of her vision were starting to grow. As she trudged past the bridge whose name she had no clue of, she kept on walking, and walked, past the closed stores, past the stone brick homes, until she spotted a sizable park.

Seemed to be her place to rest for the night.

Zero had gotten tired of waiting.

Initially he'd wait for Griselda at their designated spot, but as it didn't appear she was getting out of the burning monastery soon enough, he allowed impatience get the best of him and marched towards the building. Rooftops to rooftops. Startling a few cats in the process.

The heat of the flame was unmistakable. He watched from the rooftops as torrents of water were sprayed on the building to no avail. There was no point in trying to douse these holy flames with water. The fire would last for days and burn just as bright, though at least it wouldn't spread.

He searched for a less crowded area, finding it at the back of the monastery. No open area here for spectators to gather, but this side of the building was climbable. Some bluish green flames peeked from the window, licking the damp night air, licking the soles of his boots as he rapidly scaled the walls, stepping on the bricks that were poking out and the sills — that suddenly gave way.

More irritated than terrified as he plunged, Zero kicked himself off the wall of the building onto another wall, grunting as he slammed his back against it, and steadily skidded down to the ground.

Climbing was not an option. Not a safe one, at least. The flames would immediately rip apart the ropes of his grappling hook, and he unfortunately did not possess a pair of wings, as he was a mere human.

He tried using his head this time and searched for a latch or so — and what do you know, he found one near the spot where he should've hit the ground and broken his neck. Pretending he did not just risk his life for nothing because he couldn't be bothered searching for another entrance, he lockpicked the padlock by simply raking it crudely. You'd be surprised how easy lockpicking is when you have the right tools.

Tossing the lock away, he lifted the wooden latch, unsurprised at the darkness underneath, and slowly made his way down the rickety stairs, ruffling his toolbelt for his hand held night vision. Six steps later, he was in the burning building. No smoke, however, which was good. He might be immune to magic but carbon dioxide could burn his lungs nonetheless.

The barrels around told him this was where they'd keep the sacramental wine and that tasteless, paper-like bread. Sacks of flours, potatoes, and a bunch of vegetables told him this was also the pantry, and this room didn't seem linked to the upper floors which would explain the lack of smoke. In the middle of cursing his luck, he stumbled into something he did not expect to find in a cellar — another latch.

Nobody was present to see that he literally stumbled on the latch's knob.

It was smaller this time. A lot smaller. Surreptitiously hidden. And it had a bunch of locks instead of one, which only raised his suspicion and reminded him that he was supposed to be mad. If the Devil turned out to be lying, he'd hunt her. End of story. But she didn't appear to be lying. Didn't have the telltale of a liar either.

Though if she did turn out to be a lying wench, then he'd just make it his priority to chase her to the edge of the earth — which he highly doubted given her injuries. At worst he'd have to look a bit out of this city.

But she was not important at the moment.

Locks picked and scattered around, he descended the cellar within a cellar, taking a leap once he made sure he could see the ground, landing inside a smaller room with a single ladder that would lead him back to the cellar. He estimated he was at least twenty meters under the surface, and this time, he could feel the warm smolder of the fire.

He gently swung open the wooden door, being covert purely out of habit, and stepped out into a small corridor. It could fit four people side to side. Probably three Americans at most. He could see light at the end of the corridor, and a dead end at the other end. He also heard screams. Children scream.

'I hate this.' He decided that he hated this very moment and this very place. Why would a dungeon be nestling not-very-deep within a goddamn monastery. This was a place of worship. A place for monks who lived with religious vows. Not a prison.

This… dungeon-like place was clammy and uncomfortable. Slotting his handheld night vision gear back to its place, strapped neatly in his toolbelt, Zero approached the corridor where the light came from, feeling the heat growing stronger and stronger until he was tempted to strip himself naked.

He peered over a corner, and saw Griselda standing in the middle of the burning dungeon, an empty look on her face. Bodies sprawled on the floor around her. Some priests. A spangle of exorcists. Some figures in cloaks. All deceased. Mages, he'd guessed. But they held no relevance to the burnt or burning corpses of children chained to the walls, three in each cell.

The worst part was that he felt relieved — he knew he wasn't a saint but the fact that he felt relief because Griselda's stupefied expression meant she didn't know either about this damned experiment. There was anger, sure, but Zero couldn't lie that he cared enough about these kids to go on an unholy rampage against the church and their filthy lies.

Perhaps because he had already known about it. He didn't have much faith in the religion because of it and was working for them purely because he didn't know where to go, and he had his 'family' there. But Griselda?

Zero understood why he got so angry back then. What set him off the most was that they lied to her.

"Sorella," he reached out to her, repeating when she didn't respond. "Sister. We've gotta get out of here."

Break

Getting out of the building was rather easy when he knew where to go and when there weren't any survivors to rescue. Griselda was mute the whole way. Even as they were making their way out of the city. He even preferred her scolding him for anything stupid or inappropriate than her just being a walking statue. Then again, he couldn't imagine her shock.

Glancing back to check up on her, seeing the shattered look of her face nearly relit the fire in him. But he calmed himself down. Now was not the time. Not when Griselda was… well, not in working order.

The police and guards hailed them as they made their way out — but the Templar Order insignia on his uniform told them all they needed to know, and there were no questions asked. He spotted several nuns in their heavy nightwear, several priests — he'd like to question them if they had a clue of what was happening under their place of worship, but it could wait.

Their faces weren't seared in his memory, but he had ways to find out who they were. For now at least, they were his least significant problem.

"Sister," he said as they walked away from the scene, "you wanna talk about it? It may help. A bit."

"It won't help them."

"Nothing can help them now. Not even thoughts or prayers," Enzo said, very much still with his standard level of sarcasm he normally used. The sarcasm died in his next sentence. "But it might help you."

A smile. Faint, weak, forced. But it was a start.

"C'mon," he went on, "it's worth a shot."

"..." Griselda sighed. "We'll stop by the bridge. I need some time."

"Alright."

They moved further down the road, exchanging silence as they approached the Arno River. He led her to the stone bridge that had stood for centuries. The jewelry shops and food vendors were all closed shut, and there were no pedestrians roaming about — just the right spot to take a breather. He guided to a bench and ushered to sit, which she did, while he walked next to the bench and perched his back and handed over the stone railing.

He lowered his hood, revealing his bundle of brown hair that could use a few trim on the sides.

"You had no idea either huh?" he restarted.

"No," she said. Her tone was stoic, hard to determine what she was feeling, but her frozen blue eyes could leak a few emotions here and there. Especially when her mind was not at the stablest state. "Did you?"

"A little bird told me. Just recently." The image of that crimson-haired Devil crossed his mind, but Enzo booted her away. He'd tell her once it was the right time to tell her. Right now, it was better that she thought it was one of his 'contacts'.

"They also mentioned that wasn't the only place."

Her expression bittered. "I know," she seethed. "Those people. They talked. At least a dozen other."

"Ah." She had executed them. Those fuckers deserved nothing less. He'd argue death was mercy but she'd likely respond they'd pay for their sins in Hell.

He felt the clammy heat the night wind carried. In the horizon, a portion of the skies were painted in bluish green hue. It made him feel a bit poetic. A bit melancholic. Just the right mood for him to say his next intent.

"You know I can't go back, right?" he started, trying to catch a glimpse of her expression. See if she looked sad or concerned or even angry. "Even there's a limit to how blind I can act, and I was already half-blind before this whole fiasco started."

What he found was another emotion entirely; a solemn acknowledgment mixed with a tinge of regret.

"I understand," she offered a smile. It was the most pathetic smile he had ever witnessed coming from her. "I can't force you to stay…" she then chuckled. "Perhaps it's in our best interest that you don't stay. You'll only cause more trouble."

"That's a given."

"I don't doubt you'll do well on your own. Maybe even better."

The orphanage and the monastery raised him but he was every bit a street urchin. His rebellious, adventurous soul refused to stay put and be a nice little boy and trapped in one place to whatever the adults told him to. Not like he didn't get any approval or encouragement from Dulio either, much to Griselda's chagrin.

'Forcing him to stay put is to kill his adventurous soul, and murder is a cardinal sin, Sister.'

He smirked upon recalling Dulio's reason. Griselda never scolded him for sneaking out of the monastery ever since that day. She'd still scold him whenever he got himself hurt or brought back a problem or two in the form of stolen bread. Or smuggled candies. Or several angry mothers and their crying kids because they'd tussled with Enzo and were humiliated that they would lose to a parentless kid.

Because apparently having parents meant he'd be a better wrestler.

But this wasn't about him. He knew he'd manage one way or another. He had connections. Up above and down below.

It was her he was most concerned with. She had faithfully served the church despite everything. For them to commit these heinous acts was certain to have a large impact on her.

"What about you?"

"I have to stay," she said, stolid. "It's a deep-rooted internal problem. It must be dealt with from within. I need… I must know there are others that knew, but haven't taken action."

"Or… y'know, there's always the 'forcibly unroot the problem roots with a hefty amount of righteous violence' option."

He earned himself a glare. But her glare softened all too quickly and far too sudden for his liking. As if signaling the looming turning point of his life where everything would change.

"I'll declare you've gone missing… it might buy you a week… perhaps even less before you're officially declared Excommunicated."

"I'll just find myself a good employer then. Problem solved. Or I'll off myself, who knows! Death is an adventure, and so and so."

"Enzo."

There's the stone-cold strict sister he'd been looking for.

"Another of my bad jokes, Sister. You can blame Lint for that."

"She's five years younger than you."

"She left a very memorable impression."

The two shared a fond smile with each other as if it would be their last. It might be for quite a whole, but it definitely wouldn't be their last.

Still, goodbyes were the hardest.

"Xenovia will be very upset. Irina even more so."

That quirked an eyebrow. "Xenovia? Now I know Irina will want to strangle me the next time she sees me, but Novie? Missus Goodytwoshoes? She's like everything that I'm not."

"She's not the most honest with her true feelings. You'd be surprised how much she cared for you."

"That so?" he muttered. Well. Too late now. Never expected her to be a tsun. "She reminded me of you, in more ways than one. Her naggings, her scoldings, her everyday behavior, the way she fights. It's like she's trying to be you. She even copies your impressive bosoms—"

"Cross the line again, caro. Magic may not affect you but my hand certainly can."

Enzo snorted and cackled quietly. A strange noise that. He sounded a lot like those mythical goblins. "I never thought I'd say this; but I might miss your spanks."

Griselda eye-rolled.

"I'll miss you too, of course," he added, grinning.

"Likewise," she whispered, smiling sadly. "Don't injure yourself too much. You might think you have everything you need to survive, but there's always more to learn, Enzo."

"Always more to learn, got it," he mock-saluted. "You don't have to worry about me, Sister."

"If not me, who else will?"

"Touching, but allocate those worry points to someone else that needs it. Like Novia. Or Irina. Or Lint. You definitely have to worry more about Lint. She'll sniff this out sooner or later."

"I will," Griselda softly chuckled as she rose from her seat, took a deep breath, and pulled him into her embrace.

He didn't retort this time, letting himself sink fully. He appreciated the gesture very much so, but they were both aware she needed this more than him. Griselda never stayed too long whenever there was an adoption. Seeing them go hurt, but it was the knowledge that she could never compete with a family that hurt her the most.

"Be well. Be safe."

"Ahhh, you know that last parts nigh impossible."

"Try," she insisted, before pushing him away. "Go. You don't have much time. Don't remain in this country. Leave the continent if you can. If you get hunted down, I don't know what I'll-"

"I won't. That's a promise."

Griselda sighed. "No matter where, you'll always be in my prayers."

"Appreciate that," he nodded. She was about to cry, he thought, and decided to leave pronto before he got teary. "Welp— adieu! Wait that's French— arrivederci, mia sorella!"

One pop of his grappling hook later, her little Enzo disappeared from sight, and the rapid sound of his steps against the rooftops swiftly died away in seconds.

As he left, regret arrived, and the sorrow was undammable. The familial fears and worries and the self-doubts immediately filled the emptiness inside. Was allowing him to forge his own path truly the right call? Shouldn't she discuss it with Dulio first…?

But Griselda buried all those thoughts by steeling her resolve, reminding herself that she had her own duties to perform.

Enzo was a grown man. He could take care of himself. The children however… subjects of the Holy Sword Project… It was about time someone heard their cries.

Break

Right. First things first.

Zero realized getting out of the country might be an issue when he was flat-out broke, and since being an Exorcist and a Knight Templar was not exactly the highest paying job — which it wasn't, because he got paid in 'thanks' and 'exposure', and because he was not a very smart spender whenever he did have money, Enzo was almost always in the state of poverty.

Therefore, he resorted to a little heist of his own — the vending machines.

Surely they wouldn't mind missing a few hundred Euros… and where else to strike other than the city's tourist spot? There had to be some vending machines lying about in Giardino di Boboli — The Boboli Garden.

Surely.

There had to be.

At least one.

Must be here. Somewhere.

'...Cazzo di merda—' and thus he began to chant a string of curses in his mind as not a single vending machine was found as he trudged through the garden, passing statues that were worthless in his eyes as they could not be turned into money and too heavy to carry around.

His curses intensified the further he went deeper into the garden, avoiding the patrols that happened to still be patrolling the area despite the fire at the other side of the river. Not because he'd get into trouble if he bumped into them, and even if he did, he'd talk himself out of it by saying he got lost or whatever — he snuck around because he didn't get plenty of opportunity to sharpen his stealth.

You never know when he'd have to stealth his way around a noble's mansion to relieve themselves of some of their worldly possession. And now that he was off the church, he no longer had a reason not to take more risks.

So hood up, and mask on.

But still, he was no thief. He merely relocated the fortune of a rich bastard to the lesser fortunate — like himself. And he might need the practice since this garden seemed to be devoid of vending machines.

Yet not a Devil, apparently.

He noted the blood on the grass. The patrols likely thought of it as nothing. He followed the trail. Dark patches here and there. It led to a certain crimson-haired Devil that had collapsed in the pathless area of the garden.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?"

Rias immediately turned over and fired off a bolt of pure destructive energy, only for it to dissipate upon contact against his cheek.

"A light sleeper of a Devil, apparently."

"It's… it's you…" Rias breathed, the relief in her face palpable. "Finally decided to harvest my soul, Reaper?"

"Yes, it's I, Il Mietitore, signorina," he greeted, unfazed. Surprised but unimpressed by her state. Hair decorated with leaves, a feverish sweaty face, and overall not a look benefitting a princess. And yet she still looked prettier than most girls he'd ever met, and that was saying a lot.

"If yes, what will you do? That pretty head of yours is worth a lot of coin, I don't doubt…"

"Test me, if you dare," Rias coughed. She had no defiance or fear in her tone, seemingly able to read that he was only making a jest.

He snorted. "Oh I like you."

"Goodness… I don't know whether I should be glad to see you or… anything, anyone else."

"I see you've found ways to look worse compared to our first meeting."

"The… minutes… haven't been as kind to me as it is to you," she wheezed, clutching her stomach wound, groaning as she tried to stand up. "...What…brings you here…?"

"Vending machines."

The answer managed to confuse her despite her condition.

"Non importa— look, I thought I told you to get away from here."

"I'm afraid I'm not in the right condition to fulfill that requirement… as you can see, I…" She slumped forward. He caught her.

She huffed in frustration. "...can't even stand properly… Evidently."

"I thought you Devils would be more resilient than this."

"Some are simply sturdier than others. Resilience is not my strongest point…" she weakly replied, not even having the energy to lift her cheek off his shoulder. "...Thanks for catching me… but you happen to have caught me in the middle of me dying as well, Sir Reaper Templar."

"Dying?"

"Poisoned," she coughed. Blood came out. "...It doesn't help that I'm surrounded by Exorcists in this country."

"Why come in the first place?"

"Duty call, some might say…"

She coughed again. Some of the blood fell on the lapel of his uniform.

Great.

"You're heavier than you look," he lied. She was lighter than she appeared to be. Too light, perhaps. But damn him and his urge, he couldn't resist teasing anybody at any place or time.

Regardless of her condition, his comment made her frown. "Very gentlemanly of you to mention a lady's weight… Are all Templars this tactless or just you…?"

"You'd be surprised," he said, still fully alert despite his tone. If she ever tried to reach his daggers or his knives or any of his arsenal, then that would be her last move.

But she attempted neither.

She was utterly spent. The ragged breathing of hers was starting to match the pathetic beating of her heart. If she was faking it then consider him lied and fooled.

"Any idea what poisoned you? I may have some antidotes."

"Not an expert in that field, unfortunate—ngh—! …ly…"

He was, however. Immune to magic but also not being able to cast any magic himself, he had to improvise, adapt, and annihilate. While he was patching her up, he knew the sizzling burnt wound she had was a classic case of dagger-coated-in-holy-water. Could've been a sword. Exorcists loved their fancy holy swords. Not him though.

If he was dumb he'd gloat and tell her that his dagger that pierced her shoulder was coated in the same divine substance. But she didn't need to know that yet.

"You're well enough to sass around. Can't be that bad."

"Defense mechanism… We all have our ways."

"That we do," he could agree on that.

"In a completely irrelevant topic to your current predicament-do you happen to own a mansion?"

"Mansion…?" Seeing his plain motive, she managed to rasp out a giggle out of her dry throat. She'd thrown most of her shame away. At the time she couldn't care less that she was resting upon the reluctant hold of her supposed enemy. He was warmer than the grass and that was all she asked.

"Not mine but my parents'. I happened to live in one."

He winced, hope of easy cash fading. "Ergh… past tense?"

"If you're expecting compensation for helping me then I'm afraid I don't have much to offer. Regrettably, I am presently homeless and penniless… the most I can offer is my gratitude. …or perhaps," she sighed into his ear. A sultry tone that was. "You'd rather have my body?"

"He snorted, "Vile temptress— try again when you're not spilling blood on my clothes," he said, and the two laughed quietly. Laughing in the face of absurdity and whatever gods were watching these strange pairing.

He sniffed. "You kinda stink do you."

She smelled nice for someone that looked like they had fallen off a roof, was what he meant.

"...First my weight now my scent… you truly are a monster as they say."

"I have a reputation to keep," he replied, grinning. "So. Homeless and penniless… That makes the two of us."

"...Is that so…?" Shock flashed across her flushed face. Several hypotheses came to life, and Rias assumed what he saw in Badia Fiorentina had a cause in it. "My condolences."

"I was thinking of leaving anyway. But feel free to feel guilty."

She giggled. "Hmm… though it's a shame… you being penniless as well. I was hoping you'd carry a bit of gold."

"The disappointment is mutual," he hummed. His voice wasn't the smoothest or the most pleasant for the ears, but it was quite masculine. The roguish drawl in it was surprisingly fitting for someone that dressed like they belonged in the renaissance.

She enjoyed it in particular.

"Being a Templar means you are to surrender your worldly desires and possessions, apparently. I won't be poor for long, though."

"How optimistic of you," she chuckled, but her words started to die away as her breathing slowed and got heavier. "Much as… I'd love to stay and chat… I might be losing the rest of my consciousness within any… seconds now… If you would… pardon me…"

Slurring her words, Rias Gremory slumped and fainted in his arms, leaving him on his own to make his decision that would decide her fate.

He stared at her for a moment. "Weird gal."

He didn't have a lot of time to ruminate his thoughts, however, as he could hear the clicking of boots of the approaching patrols. His uniform wouldn't matter if normal people spotted a hooded individual carrying an unconscious lady with blood all over her clothes. Her clothes originally being white didn't help either.

So he ruffled an item off his pouch, tossed the marble-like object to the opposite side, and carried her the other direction as a bright flash emitted from his thrown object. Following that would be the curses of the patrols and their rapid approach, thinking some rascal was pranking them with fireworks.

Despite his growing list of problems, Enzo grinned. He'd have to start over. Zero once again. But it was just what he needed. An out from the church's vicegrip. A legitimate reason to go without breaking Griselda's heart. This was what he had been waiting for.

Fresh adventure awaited him, and he couldn't have hoped for a more interesting start.

To be continued…

ever played Dragon Age 2? Well this is inspired by that. by that, i mean party dynamics

that's right people, expect more to join teh banter. go ahead and suggest. i'll read and consider, but fact is, i already know who i want to be the core party so... i guess you can guess

hint hint; it's not a 1 guy all girls party :^)
and no. the guy won't be Freed this time

adios muchachos. thx for read n gib reviws thx