Author's Note: Happy holidays to everyone! I wish my own holidays were as happy (though not in that sense) You see, I'd hoped to actually snag a computer by year's end, but alas, no computer has surfaced. I've even taken to using my girlfriend's machine to check out my email; my situation's that bleak on that front. And you know what that means Anarchy readers? Yep, still nothing from my end in that story. So to stem the tide, I've used every free moment at work that I have to gather up all my other unfinished saved documents, finish them up, and submit. Here's to the holidays, and to a computer hopefully showing up at my door on Christmas Eve!
AN: find a song to use for Kanon, or make up own? Hm.
The Realm of the Underworld, which most humans also term Yomi, Hell, Avernus, Hades, Gehenna, Tartarus, Sheol, and other names besides, was a place not entirely unlike one which could be found in the mortal realm. To start, it had its demonic denizens with twisted shapes that were incomprehensible and downright repulsive to humans. Wherever one would look, they would see a demon; the Underworld was vast. These had little in common in shape, size and form with the humans who dwelt in their realm - at least they used to be as horrific as nightmares would be.
As one went further and further in, one might glimpse, beyond the milling crowds of demons and devils of lesser and greater power, the old unmentioned structures that spoke of a bygone era. There were slagpits filled with half-melted iron maidens and other metal rudiments of torture, there were dormant volcanoes with mile-wide holes that housed in their bosoms putrifying ashes of unknown origin. One particular realm housed the gigantic drying skeleton of some primordial demon, eternally clutching itself in the bitter cold of that abyss. Sometimes one would find the skylines of some realms to have been ripped apart at the center, exposing a gaping darkness which no demon dared enter. Great rivers, said to have been made of purified soulstuff before, now ran polluted with neglected waste down their altered courses throughout the Underworld . The local news spoke of desolate wastes spread out across the realms where bustling demonic shanties now dwelled at the edges, its inhabitants afraid to venture inward.
And finally, in almost all the major towns of the Underworld, there existed the ruined remnants of seven large, stone edifices of unknown greater demons standing proudly at the town center.
To be fair, most demons "of this age" no longer had any cause to visit these ugly sights – for being modern they took the express highways of magic wherever they pleased. Each town had a travel hub from which a demon could travel to other travel hubs across the Underworld, and they would never have to leave the illusory comfort of the towns.
The Underworld, a nation in its own sense, had its government, dwelling in the deepest layers of the realm where no Light entered. It was here that those who were responsible for overseeing the continued operation of Hell went about their business. The buildings were kept dim with little light being used, for Hell was currently low on energy to power such lights.
The energy scarcity was, for most demons, the most pressing concern in New Hell. Many were rightly concerned for their immediate futures.
But that is another side to tell.
Today, Hakua de Rotto Helmium was making her first ever debriefing on the experimental "Love Love Energy Mode" project that she had been assigned to. Her superiors were eager to learn if she had been successful in her pioneering work.
Hours before, she had made the trip to Hell via the fastest port she could find, and here she was standing in the debriefing area, ready to give her report. It was the demon's first official debriefing while working with a mortal, and like most firsts, Hakua wanted it to be good.
The room could hardly be called that, what Hakua currently faced was a yawning darkness out of which the voices of her superiors issued. She alone stood on the only visible platform – a recall pyramid at her front, and her official scythe of proof perched to her left. The "voices out of the darkness" was one of the throwbacks to the previous "age": it was supposed to be the tool that the ancient Lords and Ladies of Hell would use to interrogate an erring underling.
Now, it had been redone for debriefings such as these.
A blast of hot air ruffled Hakua's hair and uniform as a gonging sound, carrying with it the heightened voice of one of her superiors was heard, "I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED PERUSING YOUR WRITTEN REPORT, HAKUA HELMIUM, AND- OH BLOODY, HOLD ON..."
In the awkward pause, Hakua carefully adjusted her messed-up uniform and arranged her hair quickly, before a second, more modulated voice joined in, "Why do you always miss the right volume for your speaker, eh? Makes it hard fer anyone to take them reports seriously." A rough, but weaker breeze made her hair sway once more.
"My sincerest apologies to you all gathered, but the problem has already been corrected, no problems," the first voice, toned down, rejoined.
"Ahem...if we could continue?" said a third, feminine voice. The softer breeze of this one made only stirred Hakua's magical cloth ornament.
"Of course, of course... now, Hakua Helmium, I have reviewed the results of your first field-testing of the so-called 'Love-Love Method', and I would like to clarify just a few things with you, if you would please."
"Certainly, milord." Hakua replied gracefully, while again holding her hair together after being hit by another strong gale from the first speaker.
"In your report, you described your buddy, this 'Capturing God' to have unappealing traits. It says here you found him, and I quote: 'abrasive, generally difficult to get along with, disrespectful to superiors' among other things which I shall not name. Yet, at the end of the evaluation, you gave him the letter grade 'A' overall. Might we be illuminated by your reasons?"
Hakua thought of the commoner she'd been with (and lost a bet to) for a few days and started her response, "Honorable sirs and ladies, it is true that for a mortal the 'Capturing God' is an anomalous existence. Even in his own realm he is shunned, and his personality is something that has the possiblity of conflicting with every other.
"However, he has shown to possess a unique mental faculty that shows how the dubbed 'Love-Love Method' can be so quickly achieved. Within a span of a few days, he," Hakua paused, remembering her own taunts at the commoner, "has managed to capture the love of a human, and free the runaway spirit without any hassle. As had been recommended before, he has the potential to be the benchmark on which the Love-Love Method can be studied, and I dislike to say it: but the human is rightly deserving his A buddy status."
"Thank you for your thoughts, Hakua Helmium. And as for the aftermath of the operation- have the projected difficulties surfaced?" asked the third voice.
"If you mean the possibility of opening the gap further: my superior has just informed me that all instances of my buddy inside the target's memory has been wiped, and it has been four human days without any reports of gap reopening." Hakua tried not to think about having been knocked out for some minutes; those were precious few minutes that she could garner no info on, save that the Spirit had somehow been weakened. Had that commoner done something?
A fourth, gravelly voice cut in, "But that is not to say that the gap may resurface soon, correct?"
"Yes," Hakua replied, shifting her feet. "the possibility still exists."
The second voice rejoined, "But it's been made very clear from this lass's report that the Method is now feasible, so there's no harm allowing the contract to continue."
"What say you, dear? Shall we follow through with your previous request to have the contract removed? The project, will of course be suspended, and you shall have to spend some time off to recuperate from the aftereffects of the ritual," asked the third voice.
"It is possible to have contracts removed, but the process can be especially taxing to the human buddy, and deaths have occured in the past."
Hakua had been prepared for this question, back when she stood gripping the captured spirit in her hand on the desolate plains of Upper Hell. She had certainly been inconvenienced by the binding contract that placed her soul in line with the commoner's, since at first she had the assumption that the commoner would certainly prove useless and lead to her demise.
That was why she'd furiously contacted her superior, Dokuro Skull and demanded the Contract Breaking Ritual, for "no way in Hell was she going to risk her life for this commoner!" - regardless of the risk of death to him. She figured it served as just punishment for having deceived Hell's intelligence.
But then had come the commoner's surprise declaration, and subsequent fulfillment of the terms of the contract. It boggled all foreseen logic, but the mortal had pulled through with admittedly flying colors.
And so this perfect devil figured it would be alright to give one last chance. And, it wasn't like she was concerned for a mortal's well-being or anything. It was just bad decorum to order the death of a human so frivolously.
"Yes, I would like to rescind that ritual. I believe it is important, now that we have established a starting point, to continue with the project's aims." Hakua said firmly after a short pause.
"Very well then, The order has been rescinded, you may now continue in your duties."
"We shall expect regular reports from here on - do not disappoint us, Hakua Helmium. It is as you say, the project must continue. And it must succeed."
The fourth voice concluded, "You are dismissed, devil. We are pleased."
Hakua felt a blast of superheated air wash over her body followed by the rumbling noise akin to thunder, before her vision dimmed and resolved to find herself back at Dokuro's office.
She breathed in deeply, not caring to address her rumpled state for now. The nauseating aftereffects of sudden teleportation were always jarring to any being, be they devil or human.
The she-devil hesitated, before picking up her scythe and hefting it lightly on her back. Seeing that her superior wasn't in his usual place behind the terminal, Hakua turned and headed for the exit, rubbing her forehead as she went.
The sliding doors hissed open, and there stood the short stature of Dokuru Skull, who waved warmly, "I greet you well, Hakua. All done with the debriefing?"
Her superior, Dokuro Skull, was short, barely able to reach above her knees. No one would be able to tell that he was a devil of great import from just looking at him.
"I, uh-" Hakua began, though a dull throbbing in her temple made her stop.
"Instant Porting sickness? That's quite understandable dear, would you like something for that?"
"N-no that's fine," she replied weakly. She watched as Dokuro Skull scurried past her feet and made for his place behind the desk. "I have to head back into the human realm quickly so I can infiltrate, anyway."
"Ah, so I assume you've decided to recall that order?" Hakua turned, and she stared into blank eye sockets. "Yes," she replied shortly, before turning to hide the redness in her face.
"Oh good, good. For you, I mean. And the 'commoner' mortal buddy too. You can hand in your report later – for now, you must make a successful infiltration. I've taken the liberty of preparing your cover story, so I bid you well." The amusement was evident in her superior's voice. "Don't forget to charge up the talisman down at Styx before you go."
"Yes sir," she replied.
Dokuru tapped his head as if remembering something, "Also, don't forget the exact wording of the transformative cantrip," She watched as the little demon rifled through a cabinet drawer that had appeared out of thin air. "Most devils would find it hard to pronounce the right intonation, but I'm confident you'll do fine, dear." Hakua flushed as she received the proffered paper, where on one side was printed the official insignia of Hell, and the other a stream of demonic words insribed carefully in a distinct flowery pattern. She turned it over to glance at the scrawling words. "It may get difficult in the middle, and that is why I advise caution when you reach that part.
"Do not forget the side-effects of sudden transformation. Though you are protected by Heaven's Pact, you are still a devil, and so too much use of magic can tax your body. That extends to offensive and defensive cantrips too, if you do get around to using them. But I'm sure you'll expend no energies as before, eh dear?" A twinkle could be found in the depths of those sockets. "I won't hold you long then, I bid you farewell and luck in your duties."
"Thank you, sir, and I won't forget what you've told me." She curtsied shortly before turning to leave. "And please be sure to get those DVDs I asked you about!" She heard him call out behind her as the sliding doors shut close. "I really need to lose some weight, you know!"
Dokuru Skull let out a tired breath before turning his attention to one of his magical monitors. After a few quick taps on the console, Hakua's request was deleted from the records. A shrieking beep from the siren behind him alerted him to a new visitor coming to his office.
"Is it Hakua?...No, I see it's-"
His door slid open for the third time in the day and a mass of hairy, spindly legs tumbled into Dokuru's office. He allowed the newcomer demon some time to right himself with his multitude of legs while he turned around to prepare something for his visitor.
"I bid you greeting, Dokuru-Chief-of-External-Threats-Branch." The newcomer began, its mouthpiece hidden beneath the mass. A greater multitude of eyes watched Dokuru warily prepare him some tea. A crackle like thunder followed every utterance. "Haste is needed. I shall not tarry. I have received . . . news of import. Your minion has succeeded?"
"I bid you greeting, Homonculus-of-the-Superb-One. The truth is scarce, but it is there. My . . . minion has indeed succeeded, though it is only up to a point. She will need some more time still."
A rumbling sound echoed in his small room. Dokuru wished he could bite a tongue inside his mouth to ease off the tension that rode on his small shoulders. The quaint mug sat cooling on top of his desk.
There was an abrupt gale, not unlike one that could be gotten in the Chasm of Punishment where Hakua had been, before his visitor collapsed in a tangle of hairy legs. No power was left in the homonculus' form, and there was silence in his office before Dokuru scurried over to slide his door shut.
He turned to regard the corpse. He pointed his short, boned fingers, and then a red, rune-filled circle appeared underneath it, bathing it in a sudden blaze of fire. The dappled colors reflected themselves in his hollow sockets before the flame disappeared, leaving not a trace of ash. The little Chief was then left quite alone in his office.
"At least clean up before you go."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Keima Katsuragi didn't like unanswered questions.
He didn't like it as much as Kronicle Crusaders IV getting delayed again because the company wasn't putting its all; as much as losing his place in a long line at the game store during the release of Thank my stars! FD~ ; as much as finding another Kanon poster glaring at him with all its color from across the street; heck, it was up there with P.E., his hated subjet of all. And that didn't include the occasional cleaning jaunts his mother goaded him to do.
Unanswered questions flitted like buzz-flies within the formidable gamers' mind, and his vast intellect would rapidly find solutions to each with the flick of a long, imaginary amphibian tongue. He prided himself on being that quick of a problem solver, which was why he was able to top algebraic tests most of the time.
But now and again, stubbornly unanswerable questions would persist, and like that perpetual thinker encased in stone, the Capturing God would ponder and wonder and whimper.
First there had been two, during elementary and then middle school.
Then had been that bizarre experience he'd had last week. After, he'd spent feverish hours "recovering" himself, burying himself deep in flowery scenarios that when he emerged, he wondered if after all, the Ayumi incident had been just that, a teensy little incident.
That was one of the questions. The next day, he'd kept a wary eye on his surroundings, ready to bolt at the first sign of that cannonball-made-flesh fawning on him like he was supposed to be her boyfriend or something.
"All clear my brothers!~" Imaginary inner Keimas had cheered when he met the untroubled eyes of Ayumi, who strolled into the classroom with naught a glance spared to the Capturing God. Keima wanted to exult, but he refrained.
Instead, he watched as Ayumi did indeed end up winning the match later that day, scoring a glowing medal and much praises for the running prodigy. Unwittingly, Keima had found himself attending the closing ceremony, where the winners would be awarded their medals, just to make sure.
Her eyes passed briefly over him, before they closed in happiness, while she was enveloped by her cheering teammates. Keima's thoughts were suddenly bombarded with images of a hot afternoon inside the empty infirmary, with a sweaty girl wearing a track suit sitting invitingly on one of the beds . . .
No! Bad mind! BAD! BAD!
"Congratulations, Ayumi-san." he murmured to himself as he turned briskly away, his hands already plugging away nonstop on a new scenario in his PFP.
That was one question answered, yet the other question remained: what of his collar? If he presupposed that the events of last week had been true, that he had met a being who claimed herself to be a devil, that he had actually played out a convoluted plot from one of his games and come face to face with an out-of-this world monster, then following that rule: shouldn't the contract be over?
The collar that had signified his death sentence was still there, and it tormented him at times with visions of sudden decapitation. Ill things could only result from this sign, and he was sorely determined not to fall into another trap again.
Never again, devil! That was just a once-in-a-lifetime flag. Perhaps the collar was a souvenir, a permanent reminder of a bizarre week in his life? Oh yes, that would make a good topic of discussion with the kids he would inevitably have with his dear Yokkyun. If that were true, then the beings who ran "Hell" were sadistic imps who only did the mortals ill.
Idly, he spent five minutes in the school library, slipping past that weirdo librarian girl to look up "Underworld" on the database. Yep, definitely a disruptive force, those Hellians.
"Well, it was certainly a memorable week."
[You're telling me, man! I mean seriously, was that bizarre?]
"And it's not like I'm mad that the she-devil took off without a thank-you or sorry-for-bothering-you. I don't ever wanna associate with her kind!"
[Hold on, dude. Are you saying you like her?]
"No way in the Hell those miscreants live in! Even if she is unReal in a sense, but she is still a Real girl!"
[Aww, I always knew you liked Mizuki-chan! Nice going, bro!]
" . . . You can shut up now, Obligatory Male Sidekick # 992." Keima mumbled to the screen, pressing down on the skip button to pass through all his boring sidekick conversation.
It was Saturday, and he had just finished doing his required cleaning duties in Cafe Grandpa for his overseer of a mother. The week had been uneventful, which was good, and he was determined not to squander every second of it. So he patiently gritted his teeth while greeting customers with a ridiculous uniform and forced smiles, as he secretly pressed discreet buttons on the PFP behind his back.
Thankfully, his Mom had been too busy with the sudden workload to notice him playing, or that would've been another PFP flung onto the garage for parts.
Having just cleared another route in his game, Keima cautiously peeked out into the corridor to listen to the sounds of the shop downstairs. It seemed like there were still a few stragglers left. Keima was sure that if he were to descend then, his Mom would be on him like a feral man-eater. The only thing preventing her from actually storming upstairs to "fetch" him was the image she was supposed to put up in front of the customers.
Keima cocked his head to listen, it seemed like one or two of the customers had driven in by car. No matter, the coast was clear; it looked like he could continue with two or more routes before he'd come down. Silently, he slipped back into his room while softly shutting his door.
His enjoyment of a few scenes of elegant ladies demanding he pay them attention in a boarding school setting was little by little being sidetracked by the noise of some sort of commotion going on downstairs. It seemed to be so loud that he could hear it from way up here in his semi-soundproofed room, with his headphones on and the game music set to maximum. He crossed his fingers.
"KATSURAGI KEIMA!~"
The Capturing God slammed his head on his desk, before hurriedly saving his game with a few mouse-clicks. God though he may be, one did not fool around when his Mother shouted with those decibels. He wondered, briefly, if he should contribute some minutes every afternoon from then on to cleaning up the shop, to appease his mother.
Keima rushed downstairs, careful to smooth out the wrinkles in his Cafe uniform. The thing that caught his attention first, however, was not his mother's outraged face; but a big, Wooden box-crate thing sitting and taking up space just into the entrance.
It took a bare millisecond for this fact to register, before he turned once more to his mother, her once clear eyes now hiding a hot, silent fury behind the glasses. Her auburn hair, done up in a tidy bun, now threatened to spill out in tangled waves. Keima gulped, and asked in his most polite voice, "What seems to be the problem, Mother?"
"Oh, I'm sure you know full well, dear spawn of mine." His mother's voice was equally polite and deceptively sweet, but he could sense the volcano that dwelt within.
"For me?" Keima asked, looking quickly at the package again. His mind started powering up behind the lens. Not good, have to salvage this somehow! "What's inside?"
"Oh, I'm sure you know all about it, my spawn." She wasn't stopping her usage of the word "spawn", don't let it snowball! "Mind, the customers were really concerned when they hurriedly went out, not even finishing their afternoon coffee . . . It took all my reassurances to them and the delivery man, to set them at ease . . . and even then, I'm not convinced I did a good job . . . " Menace wreathing her like a shroud, his Mom put her hand to her cheek in mock wonder.
"Mother," he hurriedly replied, inching cautiously to the box and eyeing it carefully. "I can assure you that I have no idea what this box is for, and I have equally ignorant knowledge of what is inside." The box was as tall as he, and unmarked save for the delivery stamp on its side. On it was clearly stated his name as the recipient.
I haven't won any contests that I'm aware of, so that's out. And I haven't been in contact with any weird individuals, so that's out too. Except, wait . . .
"Then, can you enlighten me, oh son of mine?" Good! She's calming down! His mother sighed as she too drew close. "Like you, I've formed a lot of guesses about what could be inside that box. They range from something simple connected with your hobby, to even more dangerous stuff that I will sock," here she playfully ground her fist in her other palm, "your head in for."
"Did Dad say anything?" Keima still kept his eyes on the box, his mind settling on familiar scenarios.
"So you think it's something from your father? Did you two have some sort of agreement without me knowing?" Did Mom turn off the interior airconditioning?
"No, not to my knowledge, Mom. But it would be the most logical conclusion, seeing as he is the only corresponent I could possibly have." Keima cupped his chin in his hand. "Or it could be from Grandpa, and maybe he just forgot to inform us. . . " he trailed off, letting the words work to soothe his mother. Perhaps it really was a delivery from his grandfather, who was a potter of some renown.
No! I have to live! Keima shivered. The last time she had been oozing this much killer instinct had been so long ago, when he'd gone home late at night from a cosplay party wearing nothing but a fireman cap, his boxers, and holding one of the sprinklers from the garden. Don't remember it!
"Mom," he started abruptly. "I think it's dangerous. It may just be a harmless prank, or it could be something that's serious enough to warrant caution. Let's call the company, return it." He'd read of such things before, but he didn't believe he'd be actually experiencing such until now. But then, it diverted attention from him now.
Apparently, it threw his mother out of her loop, as she started to stare suspiciously at the package. "Are you sure your side-hobby hasn't attracted anything weird?"
"Positive." Keima replied. Or it could be a plot to eliminate the Capturing God from some jealous stalker who wants to usurp the throne! Or it could be . . .
Why was this scenario so familiar?
"So you think we shouldn't open it?"
"That would be a yes." Keima's hands itched for a PFP that wasn't there, since he wouldn't deign to stick it inside his uniform.
"Well, let me just go ahead and call the company then," her mother sighed, reaching for the phone behind the counter. She turned back to look at her son as she dialed, "Are you sure it's not - "
"Hm?" Keima wondered puzzledly at his mother's astounded look, before he turned and saw what exactly freaked her out.
The box was levitating.
Shit! It's definitely a death flag! It's definitely from Them! Keima watched as the box, which now levitated over the threshold, flipped onto its side and crashed with a bang. Then, as if nothing happened, the box righted itself back onto its upright position.
Clang went the phone receiver in his mother's hands, as she joined her son in mute shock. It went on for a few seconds before they both shook their heads as if they were daydreaming of sorts, and started to speak politedly to each other, "Well, have a good day then," "I'll see you later for dinner, dear."
So many things to do, games to catalogue . . .
The box now started shaking hotly, and they froze in their steps. From the corner of their eyes they regarded the oddity of a box as it swayed to and fro, looking as if it had something inside that wanted to get out.
"Ahaha, I read a rumor about this on a tabloid a customer bought, something about strange foreigner corpse being carted with voodoo insignia on it, and that the first one who opened it was then mysteriously afflicted with bad luck after . . . "
"Oh really! That seems like a mighty fine rumor to me! Ahahaha!" Like two strangers conversing over a hot drink in the cafe, the mother-and-son combo let reason fly out the window.
Finally, the box's shaking was enough to bring them back down to earth once more, and both of them stared at the box in wonder and horror.
"You think we should open it?"
"Yes, and as the only remaining man in the household, it is your responsibility to open it and find out what's inside." There were smiles all around.
"Oh no, I believe that as the only responsible adult left, you should take responsibility and responsibly open the box, as a responsible parent should." Keima smiled pleasantly.
"Hahahaha!"
"Ohohoho!"
"Keima?"
"Yes, Mom?"
"Open it."
"No!" Keima whined. "I don't care what's inside, for all you know, you're the only one who wants to know, right, so yeah you should open it. . . "
"Keima, I'm gonna ask you now as your mother! - "
"I'll be taking my leave then - "
"You're not going anywhere mister!" His mother grabbed the back of his dress as he tried to scurry away, before the room was filled with gaudy smoke and the sound of a tight explosion.
Keima placidly wiped the powder that had stuck to his glasses and coughed out some of it that had gotten into his mouth. When the smoke finally cleared, out came the one thing that he'd loathed to see since that incident: the she-devil.
This time, Hakua de Rotto Helmium wore a set of clothese that looked like they belonged to some islander. Hawaii? Had the situation not been somewhat serious, he would have laughed at the pathetic way the coconut shells clung to that flat board of a chest; but as it was, when he met her eyes they lit up in recognition.
The week hadn't even ended yet!
"Alright, I'll be taking my leave then."
A painful vice grip on his shoulder rooted him to the spot, and he soon felt the reverse of what had happened before: the room just got a Hell of a lot colder. He looked up to see his mother's cheerful face, which beamed at him briefly with imperious menace before turning to the devil.
"Katsuragi." The devil spoke for the first time. "This . . . Hut of Katsuragi?" Hakua inquired haltingly of his mother.
"Yes?" She responded to the girl in confusion.
"Ah!" The girl procured a little card out of thin air in her hand, and her head dipped as if to read the thing inside it. "Good . . . evening to Katsuragi-who-dwells-in-this-Hut . . . ," What? It seemed like she was struggling over the words. " My . . . calling for my being . . . Hakua in my father's hut . . . this one has . . . rightfully sold to Katsuragi-head for the price of twenty packs rice . . . four ships fish cans . . . and land to burn and farm west of Tenani River . . . this one then . . . was delivered to be Katsuragi-heir's wife-for-eternity." Hakua looked up tentatively.
Unbeknownst to Hakua, Keima's shoulder was being systematically pulverized the longer she read, and when she reached that last part, Keima felt that he could see little butterflies from Heaven. No wait, that's just the paint on the ceiling!
His mother asked, "You . . . Hakua was it?" Hakua nodded. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" She stared blankly. "I'm saying," she mimed something coming from her mouth, then pointing to her head. "Know?"
"Sorry . . . this one speak no well . . . "
Keima felt his bonds loosen a bit, and he gently tried to pry the hand loose.
"Geez, I'm no good with these things," his mother sighed, "Then, let me just clarify." She pointed at the girl, "You," pointed to Keima, "wife?"
Hakua nodded doubtfully. "Is Katsuragi-heir?"
"If you mean he is the only misbegotten son in this household, then yes," she nodded in turn.
"Ah," Hakua's eyes lit up. She turned her eyes to Keima's and in the brief instant when her face was all clear, her eyes spoke the message 'Play along and I'll explain later." Then her eyes trembled, as if seeing her terrible future, "Katsuragi-heir, This one, " she pointed to herself, "wife-for-eternity."
"NO!" He shouted. "No, no, no, no, no, no. No, NO!" He shouted many times. He struggled in vain against his mother's grip, but she only held on tighter (and more painfully). She continued to inquire of the strange girl from a box, "And was he," she tugged his hair painfully, "the one who bought you?"
"Bought?" She tilted her head in a cute fashion. "This one . . . bought by Katsuragi-head."
"And Katsuragi-head would be. . ."
Hakua replied in apparent confusion, "This Hut-head? Katsuragi-mother's husband?""
Keima was finally freed from that terrible grasp, his shoulders aching from overexertion, but he soon felt that it was like finding oneself within the eye of a storm. A great, destructive force that would annihilate everything in its path.
That force now stooped to pick up the phone that had been dropped before, and quickly dialing in a number that she apparently knew so intimately.
"Hello, dear?"
Keima nodded furiously at Hakua, who was looking inquiringly at his mother, and pointed to the stairs. Keima quickly bounded up the stairs, hearing Hakua tread hesitantly behind him.
When the two reached the landing, he heard a powerful explosion rock the floor below them, along with the furious voice of his mother: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN I DON'T UNDERSTAND? You better come up with a better explanation or I'll have my foot so far up your ass, you're gonna be tasting your favorite pasta in the back of your throat!" Another crashing sound; it sounded like the cutlery was being flung across the room. It looked like a whole night of cleaning later.
And the source of this chaos? Keima glared at the she-devil returned. "You and your ilk better have a good explanation for upturning this house's life in one fell swoop, she-devil."
"I must admit," said the familiar voice, "that my superior could have handled the infiltration process with a bit more subtlety, but what's done is done." She turned to listen to his mother threaten his father over the phone with dismemberment, and dragging the pieces like soda cans behind her motorcycle. "Your mother has quite a colorful speech."
"She was supposed to be in some sort of biker gang before," he replied distractedly, before shaking his head furiously and pointing at her, "-Wait, wait! Before anything else, I would like to get some answers from you! What are you still doing here? Shouldn't the contract be over?"
"Contract?" Hakua's eyebrow raised.
"Don't play games with me!" he seethed impatiently. He pointed to the collar that wrapped itself around his neck. "The contract has been fulfilled, so why is this collar still here?" Above all, the fact that he had a figurative bomb strapped to his chest was something which weighed heavily on the Capturing God's mind.
"Fulfilled?" Hakua echoed in amusement, as if Keima had just said a bad joke but forced to laugh anyway. "Commoner, you think that the contract has been fulfilled?"
"You think this is a joke?"
"Undoubtedly!" She burst out laughing, apparently oblivious to the Capturing God's predicament. "Did I not mention to that warped brain of yours that a contract with devils is a lifetime deal? The moment you agreed to help us out, your fate was sealed until the conditions would be met!"
"But the conditions have been met!" Keima insisted hotly. Had he been caught in a shady deal that he no longer had any power over? "I was able to use love, as you have clearly seen, to oust the bad 'runaway spirits' from the target's heart. I've even won your stupid bet (which I'll be collecting on later), and now you're going to tell me the contract hasn't been fulfilled due to some unforeseen circumstances you people are shoving down my throat?"
"What in Hell are you talking about?" Hakua put her hands to her side. "The contract explicitly states, and here I'll show you my copy," abruptly, that familiar purple garment appeared out of nowhere to settle around her shoulders before transforming a section into a piece of paper which she handed to him, "as you can see where I point, ''till spirits are sealed beneath the earth once more, I (that's you) shall continue to serve in my capacity as a Buddy of Hell, until such time that my duties, well continuing until your death, or when Hell deems it safe, of course."
Keima studied the paper carefully. Hakua gave him some time before continuing, "Notice the spirits being plural. Spirits. Not just one spirit. You have to assist us in recovering all the Spirits, before the contract will be considered complete."
"And," Keima asked in a voice that threatened to crack, "How many spirits are left?"
"Within Majima City alone, there are three thousand," his fingers holding the paper shook. "But add them all up across the world and it's sixty thousand." The paper dissolved in magical dust.
"Si-sixty THOUSAND? That'll take me more than twenty lifetimes to fulfill the contract then! How am I supposed to live a long time to capture that?" He shouted, uncaring that he was sharing decibels with his mother downstairs.
"If Hell wishes it, immortality suites could be obtained-"
"Immortality? That's not the point!" He banged his head against the wall repeatedly, already cursing the remainder of his normal life to be slave to that, that thing standing with a coconut bra and a skirt made of leaves in the second floor landing.
"Yokkyun, save me from this Hell," he whispered to a girl whom he knew he'd stuck inside a flash drive under his desk, "Oh, my life . . . "
"Are you done moping by yourself over there?" Hakua asked in annoyance, idly fiddling with the leaves that stuck to her legs. "Because I want to have this bonding ritual done and over with - "
"Shut up! Hell hath no fury greater than a man deprived of his freedom! I will not lie down quietly! I shall rebel, and I shall succeed!" Like a madman, he turned and ran down the corridor into his room.
"Wait, where're you going commoner!"
She found the door barricaded when she reached it, and no matter how much she pounded, it wouldn't budge. Behind the door, she thought she could hear the sounds of much shuffling and objects being thrown across the room. "Commoner!"
Alright, that's it. She summoned her scythe to her side and drew herself up. She pointed at the door, and visualized the commoner in her mind, being drawn aloft her magic into her hand, preferably with her hand on his throat.
It should have been a simple enough cantrip, drawing on demonic magic to forego the rules of space and teleport the commoner into her hands. Quick and easy.
Instead, after she finished the short chant, she found herself being dragged through space, passing straight through the door into his room like a ghost, and colliding with his hunched form.
"Oof!" "What in Hell?"
What had happened? Had she screwed up the spell somehow? Why had it backfired on her like that? For the first time in her successful life, young Hakua Helmium doubted herself.
Keima on the other hand, who'd been briefly knocked out of his self-destructive funk, now found the she-devil's half-naked form on top of him. Undoubtedly, her bare skin felt warm. She was also light. Undoubtedly, she also smelled faintly of. . .
"Gyaaah! No! No!" He pushed her away, and he swiftly crawled backward until he hit one of his shelves, which caused a pile of his games to collapse on him.
"What were you doing, commoner?" She asked after he'd extricated himself and now took to arranging the mess he'd made meticulously.
"It is none of your business to know, she- Hakua." he amended. His eyes wandered from the cover of a game title, up to her half-naked form. Obscenely stimulating . . .
"Well, alright – not that I care. It's just that - " she looked distracted, and appeared to be struggling to find the right words. "Whatever personal Hell you imagined yourself being lowered into, know that what you do in addition to your current life will still have meaning.
"Consider: these sixty thousand Runaway Spirits are said to be the most foulest beings that have, or will ever be. They feed, like parasites, on your human women, gorging themselves on negativity and possibly even contributing to the ills of your society by controlling their victims from inside. They are evil, plain and simple."
Keima ran a loving finger down the arranged spines of his games. "So you're saying it's in my best interest to aid Hell."
"I'm saying that it's rare to be offered such a job by supernatural beings like us, so now that you have a chance to have some sort of meaningful life. Haven't you ever wondered what would happen if something that you only thought existed in fantasy could come true in your own life? If one day you wake up, and you find yourself famous beyond anything you've ever dreamed of. To live an atypical life, a secret life . . . I've read of humans who wished their doldrums could be fixed - "
"Do not lump me in with those idiots." he interrupted brusquely.
"- and put down pen, weapon and barrow for a quest, to storm an ivory tower or find a chest," she continued as if he hadn't, "Well even if you don't feel such things, just remember that for each runaway spirit you capture, there is at least one less human who suffers. Shouldn't that be enough for you?"
"What I desire from life," he began, but he stopped to think. He retrieved one collector's edition PFP from his sacred drawer as he locked eyes with the she-devil. " - is none of your business. But I seem to recall, when I was young and foolish - not yet fully a God," his eyes flashed with hidden fires, "that I once fantasized about a certain cartoon I used to watch. It was the only thing I liked to see on television back then."
"Why are you telling me-" Hakua began, but was stopped by Keima's upraised hand.
He pushed his glasses up while he grabbed a nearby cloth to start wiping his PFP screen. "A team that worked to save the Earth. I liked the one who was a fireman most, because he had a no-nonsense, mature personality and was also the brains of the operation." Keima raised his eyes up for a brief moment, "But he was also a bit of a slob. Anyway, it became time to cancel the show, for some inane reason or other, and this last mission they had, well, they were to get into Hell and rescue some stupid damsel in distress. But first, they had to defeat the minions of Hell on Earth to discover the entrance-"
"Many."
"Excuse me?" Keima glanced back at the scantily-dressed she-devil in irritation, the cloth poised above the PFP.
"No, it's just that-" Hakua began, before fidgeting her body sheepishly. "There are many entrances to Hell. In Majima alone, there are twenty-five, with two suited for mass transport-"
"Is that remotely close to relevant!" Keima shushed the devil, who crossed her arms halfway between embarrassment and annoyance. "Moving on, circumstances in the last episode culminated in the fireman having to save the damsel all by himself. Using his powers, he braved the fires of Hell, smashed the great gates," he ignored Hakua's disbelieving snort, "and emerged from the inferno, carrying the maiden in his arms. And I thought then and there: I wish I could be that heroic. Evidently, my younger self was quite smitten by this dream, yada yada. What does this have to do with what you were saying, you ask? Well, Hakua," He placed the clean PFP on top of his desk. He locked eyes with the devil. "My dreams of becoming the man on a quest have been quenched. I have no desire to set out on an adventure in this reality, no matter how unbelievable it has become for me in the past weeks."
Hakua frowned at the commoner, "So what, you're so self-centered that you can't even find it in yourself to help the victim of a runaway spirit? Some God you are." Keima grunted. "Although I have anticipated your reaction. That's why I have to say something." He cocked an eyebrow. Hakua's eyes glazed with their own hidden fires as she moved closer to grip Keima's collar. "You see, a contract can be willingly broken by both parties."
Keima watched with trepidation as the collar crackled with some sort of energy, aggravated by her twining fingers. He stared defiantly at Hakua, who at this moment really seemed the devil she proclaimed herself to be. "The Mark-IV slave collar, only used on the most defiant, powerful Runaway Spirits. Should the warden will it, the collar would activate, infusing the prisoner with bolts of energy left over from the Great River Acheron, burning very their existences with soulfire for ten times ten thousand years until naught but the empty, dry wind remains, and their screams of agony would persist until the day All is Unmade.
"That is Hell's way of punishing transgressors, commoner." she murmured. Keima glared fiercely back at Hakua, refusing to be mesmerized by those red eyes, nor to be swayed by her words. "Would you risk ten times ten thousand years of agony, of pain that you have never felt before in your short mortal existence, just for your own selfishness? Would you condemn yourself and as much as sixty thousand of your fellow humans for your own slanted view?"
After what seemed an eternity, here in God's domain, while his mother raged below, Keima gave a small smile as he replied, cold defiance set in his voice:
"Hakua, you are brave to threaten a God. Know that I shall do this not for your ilk, but for the ridiculous Real damsels and their annoying little parasites.
"But know that one day, I shall storm the many gates of Hell myself, and then I shall come not to rescue, but to destroy."