I'm feeling generous. The story hasn't reached the 100 followers yet but around 50 in a day (scratch that, 70) and around a dozen of reviews is pretty gucci

so here's my gift. consider yourself gifted

Infernal Renegades: A Tale of Misfits

[Chapter II]

Soirées and Solitude

"Riser, son, ready up. We're leaving soon," my father's voice resonates through the opulent halls of our devilishly grand mansion.

"...Yes daaad…" I sigh with the dramatic flair only a five-year-old devil can muster.

The prospect of yet another Soirée tickles my funny bone, and not in a good way. How utterly amusing… not.

What's a 'Soirée', you ask? Fitting to its pompous name, imagine a tea party with thrice the pretentiousness, where tiny devils like me are expected to mimic the sophistication of the adults. Meanwhile, our parents indulge in their own version of political gossip. It's like they're brewing a master plan to keep us out of their hair, all while secretly hoping we'll miraculously form friendships amidst the stuffed shirts and etiquette lessons.

And oh, the irony! In this exclusive event, I'll be as thrilled as a cat in a bathtub. If I could roll my eyes any harder, I'd be drilling holes in the floor. Maybe I'll consider self-defenestration... but in the devil world, we don't die that easily.

Not to mention, I'm more of a coffee and scotch and cheap cigarettes kind of guy – or at least I was in my past life. I once snuck a taste of my father's coffee, and I nearly achieved liftoff with the energy it gave me.

Alas, caffeine, one of my many drugs, doesn't sit well with my five-year-old metabolism.

As for booze — the booze here sucks royal eggs. And yes, I did take a sip of dear father's collection of whiskey, and yes, they did taste like diesel squeezed through a sock dampened in vinegar. When I grow up, I know that I'll be the one to expand my family business by being an alcoholic connoisseur. And this time, I don't even need a front to cover it up. No more hiding illegal distilleries for an alcohol so pure it'll send you straight to Jesus behind the guise of an innocent laundromat.

Cigarettes? Well, none of my family members are fans of that particular vice so I haven't had a taste-test. But hey, there's a first time for everything, and you might just find me as the trailblazer of tobacco within the Phenex clan.

But now I'm driveling. My bad. Birdbrain, y'see. Three thoughts are enough to overload my brain and I completely forgot what I'm supposed to be blabbering about.

These 'Soirées' have a special talent for reducing even the sharpest young minds to oversteeped tea bags. What kind of five-year-old wouldn't leap at the chance to spend an entire evening in a stuffy suit, practicing painstaking politeness? Apparently, most of my pint-sized peers. Clearly, they don't appreciate the finer things in life, like Magical Satanic Girl Levia-tan action figures or a perfectly executed whoopee cushion prank.

But this time, there's a glimmer of hope in this dark abyss of boredom. I may miss my routine Levia-tan misadventures, but my newfound friend and fellow misfit with a mouthful name, Sai, has miraculously secured an invitation. Having a fellow misfit around can turn this yawn-fest into an adventure. He's basically my lifeline tonight. If dad hadn't dropped the bomb about him joining the tea party, I'd have probably engineered my own Houdini-style escape act.

Breaking out of Alcatraz? Child's play. This mansion is no match for my escape artist skills. I've mastered the art of concealing my magical mojo from the prying eyes of adults, becoming the undisputed champion of hide and seek in the process. It's practically my daily workout routine.

My mastery of concealing my demonic power and presence is a tale of oddity and secrecy. It all began when I discovered that Zest, my personal maid from the Leporine Clan, had a peculiar knack for sensing my magical energy. At first, it was as if she had a supernatural nose for it, and it became her mission in life to hunt down my magical scent.

Now, most kids might have tried to avoid this situation, but not me. I saw it as an opportunity for a new game, and I wasn't one to back down from a challenge. I decided to turn my efforts into a personal experiment, my own magical escapade.

It began with bizarre tactics like covering myself in buckets of ice cream, thinking that the sugar rush would overpower my aura. Needless to say, it was a sticky disaster. Then, I tried enveloping myself in a cloud of cotton candy, convinced that the sugary fluff would act as a magical smokescreen. Zest was baffled but persistent.

Finally, I had a breakthrough one day when I stumbled upon a dusty old book in the mansion's library. It contained forgotten spells and techniques for manipulating magical energy. Eureka! I had my secret weapon.

Over weeks of clandestine practice, I honed my skills in the art of magical concealment. I learned to control and temper my aura, like a phantom slipping through the shadows. It wasn't about overpowering or masking it with absurdities; it was about finesse and control.

As I became more adept, Zest's attempts to locate me grew more and more futile. She'd wander the mansion, her rabbit ears twitching and nose wrinkled in concentration, but she couldn't sense a trace of my magical presence. I was the hide-and-seek champion, and Zest became my unwitting partner in this strange game.

So, while the adults discussed politicking and all the other kids marveled cakes at their Soirées, I was perfecting my own kind of magic. And all the while, I knew that one day, this skill might come in handy in the most unexpected ways.

Now I'm sidetracked again. Curse this birdbrain. Seriously.

Anyway. Right. My tea party.

Sai is there and I wanna see how he's doing for one. Second, I'm curious about how he navigates the treacherous waters of socializing with fellow kids. Third, and perhaps most importantly, I've been pondering whether I can convince him to take a daring plunge into the world of hair bleaching. It's a matter of aesthetic importance, you know.

The Abaddon House has generously extended their invitation this time, and it seems they've cast their net wide, ensnaring not only House Phenex but an array of noble families. The pièce de résistance of our evening discourse? The elusive Phoenix Tear, the crown jewel of my family's collection, which sends the nobles into a clandestine frenzy of plotting and speculating.

As I stand trapped in my pint-sized tuxedo prison, expertly fashioned by my 'personal maid' Zest, her bunny ears-horns seemingly twitching with finesse, my unruly blonde locks are tamed. She does her best to make me look like a well-behaved devilish scion. But deep down, we both know it's an exercise in futility.

"Decorum, Young Master," she sighs, her voice a blend of patience and subtle exasperation.

I respond with all the grace of a petulant five-year-old. "Oh, the sacrifices I make for the family."

Zest's golden-green eyes shimmer with a wisdom that seems otherworldly. "Indeed. But I have a humble request, Young Master."

"What's your request, dear my zesty attendant?"

Her wry grin emerges like the crescent moon on a clear night. "Try to keep your ruckus within manageable levels."

I feign an air of innocence. "Me? A ruckus? Perish the thought."

She sighs.

And so, off we go in our grand carriage, heading towards the clutches of the Abaddon House. As we embark on yet another evening of devilish decorum, political maneuvering, and cunning conversation of how tea is the epitome of beverage, I can't help but wonder how Sai is handling the Soirée. He's seven, but the weight of House Bael's expectations already presses upon his young shoulders.

Perhaps tonight, we'll redefine what it means to make an impact in the hierarchy, one witty comment at a time.

Then again, I'm still just five years old. The most significant impact I might make is causing a minor scandal by innocently mispronouncing a noble's ridiculously long name, sparking a revolution by suggesting that bedtime should be pushed back by a whole fifteen minutes, or maybe if I'm feeling more adventurous, starting a philosophical debate about whether cookies are better when dunked in milk or hot cocoa.

Break

The Abaddon House stands before us, a testament to the devilish devotion to decadence. Gargoyles leer from the roof, and statues loom ominously at the entrance. It's like a carnival of extravagance that threatens to devour any remaining fragments of joy. If only they had a cotton candy booth or a rollercoaster, perhaps then the Soirée would be somewhat bearable.

"Lord Phenex, Young Master Phenex, welcome. Our Masters have been expecting you. If you please, kindly follow us," the maids and butlers chorus in unison, their well-practiced politeness making me question if they've upgraded from "devil" to "robot".

My father, ever the social butterfly, or flaming bird I guess, gracefully abandons me to partake in "important negotiations," leaving me to navigate the treacherous waters of small talk and etiquette with my trusty companion, Zest, and the Abaddon's army of overly formal butlers. The whole charade is as emotionally distant as my old mob operations, where connections were strained under the weight of professionalism.

As we march towards the impending ordeal, my enthusiasm wanes like a fading star. The forthcoming monotony feels like a curse, but at least it's a curse I've danced with before. Today feels different, like I'm about to walk into a den of lions armed with nothing but a rubber chicken.

At least I'm not alone in this perilous journey.

There he is, Sairaorg, sans his own personal maid, looking like a fish out of water in a room filled with sharks. Our paths intersect like two ships in the night, destined for a collision. My senses tingle with the foreboding sense that something's amiss — where's his attendant and why is he going alone?

"Ahoy there, Sai!" I exclaim with a grin that's more façade than feeling. Hidden beneath my greeting is a mounting sense of concern.

Sairaorg, his attire more akin to casual rebellion than aristocratic conformity, responds with a hesitant but relieved smile. "Riser, you're here too?"

What, his parents didn't tell him? Why though? Shouldn't they at least notice this guy stuck to me like glue during our last week's banquet? I'm pretty sure his grandad is kind to him, the Great King greatly ruffled Sai's hair and all that — oh wait, am I considered a bad influence already? But he's the one who ate all the sandwiches! I just stood and watched in awe. Who knew this skinny boy possessed the appetite of a lion? Or maybe because my bad rep from all the Soirées I attended. I admit, my Soirée resume isn't all rainbows. In fact, there are no rainbows.

Anyway I'm starting to have too many thoughts for my pea-sized brain, so I nod, my eyes locked onto his fidgety black eyes like a detective closing in on a suspect.

"Yep. My parents said they'll hang me on a tree if I don't. You?"

My response seems to startle him at first until he realizes I'm just joking around. But Sai hesitates, as if choosing his words carefully. "My father believes I need to acquire 'social graces.'"

"You too huh." Ah… my brother in arms. One day you'll make a fine Enforcer my friend.

"...I wonder why I'm here…" he then admits, sighing, his well-groomed beansprout stature deflating like a punctured beach ball.

"Whaddya mean?" Oops— me accent's slipping. I cough and rephrase my query, "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well... My last Soirée was... not fun. They all made fun of me, Riser. I'm basically doing butler work… I don't have any talents to impress them with, but at least I can pour tea without spilling, but anyone can do that."

My youthful indignation flares up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. I lean in closer, lowering my voice conspiratorially. "Listen, Sai, if they want a spectacle, give them a show they'll remember. If they underestimate you, we'll make them rue the day they crossed paths with us."

Hope flickers in Sairaorg's onyx eyes, like a lantern in a dark cave. "Do you mean it?"

I clench my tiny fists, determination coursing through my pint-sized frame. "Absolutely. No one toys with my friend and lives to tell the tale." I then pat his chest with exaggerated bravado. "Don't worry, Sai, your journey to becoming the most robust devil in the underworld is still on track. They may make fun of you now, but soon they'll be savoring the taste of their own words, and trust me, it's more bitter than a hundred lemons."

Sairaorg, initially awed by my speech, then asks with wide-eyed innocence "...You can eat words?"

Right. Forgot we're just kids.

As we saunter through the treacherous hallway leading to my dreaded tea party, I introduce Sai to Zest, my partner-in-mischief, or more accurately, the recipient of my mischievous exploits.

"By the way, this is Zest. Zest, say hello."

"Good evening, Young Master Bael," Zest says with a regal curtsy, as if auditioning for the world's most solemn play. "I am honored to make your acquaintance."

"The honor is all mine, Ms. Zest," Sai also bowed. "Sairaorg Bael."

Mhmm. Mhmm. I nod in approving solemnity, like a judge presiding over a case of missing cookies that I definitely did not steal. I like and trust Zest enough to know she won't ever make a fuss with her fellow maids about Sai's apparent lack of demonic mojo. If she ever does, I'll tug her deceptively fluffy ears.

And now, the question that's been nagging my tiny brain— "By the way, where's your personal maid, Sai? Off hunting unicorns?"

"Huh? Unicorns— oh, uh… well…" Sairaorg's voice quivers, but he holds his chin high, displaying courage in the face of truth. "I don't have a personal maid."

Alright, now we're cooking with dragon fire. Something's not adding up. Sai's the skinniest kid I've met among the nobles, and I know it's not because he's picky about his snacks or food.

"Why not?" I ask directly, channeling my inner inquisitor, complete with the solemnity of a five-year-old judge. "Did they run out of personal maids in the Bael clan budget?"

Sairaorg hesitates, his voice as fragile as a soap bubble on the brink of bursting. "Because... because I'm not important enough in my family to have one. My Father told me I need to prove myself first."

What? Prove what?! Aren't you seven?! How absurdly high did his dad set the bar? Finish his veggies? Make sure to never spill the million bucks ice cream?

His words strike me like the 9mm bullet that blew my brain out, and for a moment, I'm a five-year-old wise beyond my years. It's a truth I've known all too well from my darker days, where power was the only currency and the weak were cast aside like yesterday's candy wrappers.

The boy standing before me, another misfit in a world of pretentious devils, is treated like an outcast in his own family? It's a revelation that resonates with my own past, where I was tossed away by my 'parents' as a byproduct of unexpected pregnancy and risky abortion.

"Wh-what about your mother?"

"My mother is… erm… well, she's not the first wife."

"Do you love your mom?"

"Huh? Of course."

Oh. Okay. Thank the gods or satans — whatever. At least it looks like he's got a good mom that tries.

"Well… that's fine then. One day you'll get all the personal maids you want."

"...I think one is enough…" I can see the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, but he doesn't let it extinguish his spirit. "But having you here, Riser, makes it better."

My heart swells with a mixture of anger at the unfairness of it all and admiration for his resilience. He's just seven for chrissake. But no use getting angry. With my current stature, I'm probably as intimidating as a chihuahua - more annoying than scary. I can try to chew off his dad's ankles though if he shows his face.

"Then in that case, you've got me as your honorary personal butler for the day! Hah! I knew this tux would serve me well!"

Sairaorg manages a small, grateful smile, and we stride forward together, ready to face the dreaded tea party side by side with Zest smiling encouragingly. I wonder what's her opinion on the whole Sai situation. I should ask her about it once we get back — if my five-year-old birdbrain can remember it.

As we move on to the grandiose hall of the Abaddon mansion, I can't help but be impressed by the sheer bling of it all. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling like they're competing in a crystal beauty pageant, and the walls are fancier than a devil's tailored suit. Seriously, I wouldn't be surprised if they were woven from threads of pure gold.

"Ah, Young Master Riser and Young Master Sairaorg, how wonderful to have you with us today. Your presence graces our humble abode."

So says a miniature aristocrat with braided pale blonde hair. Whatsherface Abbadon't. I mean, Abaddon.

"Thank you for having us, Young Lady Kuisha," Sai says politely, along with a polite bow and offers a polite nod, looking like he just won the lottery.

Meanwhile, I blink in astonishment at the eloquence of a child who's probably still learning her times tables. Did she hire a speechwriter for this? I'm accustomed to tea parties where they're more likely to scold me for sneezing too loudly.

"Thanks for welcoming us," I finally responded, mustering my most princely smile, matching her level of sophistication, managing to resist finishing my sentence with 'fellow blondie'.

And this is where Zest stops accompanying us as she goes for the maid and butlers hang out area, likely discussing the meticulous yet efficient way to murder dust bunnies. Bye Zest. Miss you soon.

Kuisha leads us into a lavishly decorated room where other pint-sized devils are already seated, engaged in what can only be described as hilariously pretentious conversations for kids trying to emulate their parents. The conversation ranges from the complexities of devil magic to whether or not capes are still in style.

I spot a group earnestly discussing the stock market for toy companies, complete with miniature newspapers and even tinier reading glasses. One particularly animated devil is passionately extolling the virtues of investing in building blocks, insisting they're the future of the toy industry.

Meanwhile, a cluster of devilish youngsters engages in a heated debate over the best method for tying shoelaces elegantly. One suggests a double loop technique for that extra touch of class, while another argues that a quadruple bow is the epitome of sophistication.

In a corner, there's a pair of tiny devils who appear to be conducting a mock trial, complete with a judge's wig and a gavel made of candy. The trial's subject? Whether or not it's acceptable to use crayons for coloring within the lines instead of the more refined colored pencils.

I nudge Sai and whisper, "It's like we've entered a parallel universe where bedtime stories are replaced with business reports and etiquette manuals."

Sai, with a puzzled expression, leans in closer and confesses, "Riser, I'll be honest, sometimes I don't understand the words you're saying, but I think it's funny."

Right. I automatically speak in sarcasm regardless of my age, unfortunately.

I chuckle, patting him on the back. "Don't worry, my friend. Half the time, I don't understand myself either."

But thanks for humoring me, my black-haired friend that looks like a stick with a wig.

Kuisha clears her throat with a tiny cough that could rival a senior devil's theatrical flourish. "Young Masters, may I present Young Master Riser from House Phenex and Young Master Sairaorg, esteemed guests of the Abaddon House."

The room falls silent for a moment as all eyes turn towards us. It's like we've stepped into a lion's den, only we're the antelope wearing the neon sign that says 'lunch.' I catch several stink-eyes, aimed at both me and my partner in yet-to-be-executed-crime. I've been here before, surrounded by tiny devils who'd love nothing more than to poke fun at my expense.

Yeah, yeah. Gossips.

The whispers of my past Soirée escapades must have spread through these tiny devil circles like wildfire. I can practically hear the mental groans of the little aristocrats who were hoping for a quiet and dignified evening. Sorry, stinkin' devils, your hopes have been dashed.

As we make our way to an empty table at the corner at the back of the room, one seemingly reserved for social outcasts like me and Sai, I notice the whispers growing louder. I can hear someone mutter, "Look, it's Sairaorg the Lame," followed by another voice saying, "And there's Rambunctious Riser." It's like they've been saving up these nicknames just for this occasion.

Ah, yes, my illustrious collection of nicknames, each earned through feats of sheer audacity and devilish defiance.

But here's the thing – I wear those nicknames like badges of honor. In fact, I'm grinning, like a rogue in the face of danger. They might call me 'rambunctious' as if it's an insult, but I revel in it, embrace it as a declaration of my refusal to conform to their stuffy standards. I may only be five, but I stand, fly and soar by my own ideals. Can they do the same? I think not.

Wait, I was an adult. Why am I getting competitive with kids barely a third my past life's mental age.

Am I mentally regressing to an actual kid? It does make sense… I guess. I like sweets. I never had a sweet tooth back in my mafioso days.

Well anyway… Beside me, Sai looks troubled, clearly not yet used to this level of attention, especially the negative kind. He's already worrying that this tea party might turn out just as miserable as the last one. I can see the doubts in his eyes, the hesitation in his small step that is slightly longer than mine.

"Riser," he begins, his voice filled with concern, "are we… Are we really going to be okay here…? I don't want you to get picked on."

"Bah! We'll be fineee." I pat him on the back, if you have no confidence then I'll simply be twice as confident and hope it spreads to you like the plague, my boy. "Thanks for the concern though. I appreciate it."

"...No problem, but… how are we going to be fine? He looks at me, searching for sincerity in my eyes.

"You see," I continue, leaning in closer to him, taking a bite of one of the expensive delicacies that taste like a slap of sugar in my tiny tongue, "those nicknames they gave us? 'Sairaorg the Lame' and 'Rambunctious Riser'? Those nicknames are like tickets to our very own parade. If we wear them like armor, no one can make fun of us if we own them."

Sai's expression shifts from doubt to curiosity, his eyes wide as he processes my words. "What does that mean? Sorry, I'm not that smart—"

I cut him off with a firm but gentle tone. "Hey, never apologize for who you are around me. I don't care if you can recite an entire thesaurus or summon thunderstorms with a snap of your fingers — you're my friend, Sai, plain and simple. We're pals for life, come hell or high water."

Sai's eyes shimmer with gratitude, and he nods, a newfound determination in his gaze.

"So what does that mean anyway?" he then asks. "The whole wearing it like armor thing?"

"Ah, it means that when they give you nicknames, you don't let it bother you. Instead, you wear those names like a suit of armor. Collect them like badges! Let them bounce right off you, because it shows that you're strong enough not to be hurt by their words."

Sai considers this, his young mind absorbing the concept. "So, it's like making their insults meaningless?"

"Exactly!" I nod eagerly, emphasizing the point. "And 'sides, it means that we're living inside their nut-sized brains, brother—living rent-free."

Sai's face lights up with understanding, and he chuckles at the notion. "Huh... I see… I think I get it."

"May we join?" Kuisha's voice, carrying an air of diplomatic politeness, wafts over to us like the scent of freshly baked cookies.

"Uh huh, sure—" I say casually out of reflex as I'm in the process of stuffing my mouth with more sweets.

Just as we're diving into the nitty-gritty of our 'demeaning nicknames as armor' discussion, Kuisha, the aspiring pint-sized diplomat, swans over to our table and gracefully takes a seat. Her curiosity is evident as she leans in, her eyes resembling tiny emeralds that have stumbled upon hidden treasure. It's like we're suddenly on an exclusive talk show, and she's the guest with all the burning questions. Kuisha? More like Quizza.

But wait, she's not alone! She's brought company, a duo of blonde comrades who look like they could be the co-captains of the Blondes Only Club. It's as if they received a memo that said, "Blondes, assemble!" Meanwhile, Sai here looking like the lone black sheep in a flock of golden lambs.

Their names? Let's christen them Blondie McBlondeface and Goldilocks. If they're here to make fun of us, they've got another thing coming. This pint-sized firecracker is ready to light up the tea party, and I'm not talking about adding four sugar cubes; I'm igniting the whole sugar factory.

Goldilocks, with her blonde hair cascading like a golden waterfall, exudes an aura of calm and composure. Her introduction is warm and inviting as she curtsy, "Good evening, Young Masters. I'm Latia Astaroth. It's a pleasure to meet both of you. I hope you're enjoying the tea party so far."

Sai and I nod in agreement, exchanging our rehearsed pleasantries. She seems alright. For now. I'm keeping my skepticism though.

Blondie McBlondeface, on the other hand, introduces herself with the air of someone who's just unearthed a hidden Picasso masterpiece in her attic. Her nose, ever so slightly upturned, seems like it's on a quest to sniff out any signs of enjoyment in the room.

"Greetings, esteemed guests," she declares, her words dripping with condescension that could rival a masterful sauce reduction. "I am Coriana Andrealphus, a proud member of the distinguished House Andrealphus. It's... well, I suppose it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Ah, here she is, our resident high-and-mighty noble that I'm more used to seeing, sticking with her two friends likely to gain favor for her house and perhaps because she thinks the other kids are beneath her. I can't help but remember that Coriana is Spanish for "blanket." Maybe that's why she acts like she's trying to smother the fun out of this already riveting tea party.

Kuisha leans in, her curiosity mingling with newfound fascination. "Your conversation is quite intriguing," she remarks with a poise that's unsettlingly mature for a child her age. "Turning insults into strengths?"

I exchange a quick glance with Sai, and then I flash a mischievous grin at Kuisha. "Well, you know what they say, when life gives you lemons, make good lemonade."

That shatters her poise. "...Did they truly say that?" Her miniature diplomat act momentarily falters, revealing a glimmer of youthful innocence beneath her practiced exterior. "...Who does?"

"Uh… the wise guys?"

As Kuisha absorbs my pseudo-philosophical wisdom with a furrowed brow, the other young devils at the table exchange bewildered glances. Coriana, or "Blondie McBlondeface" as I mentally dubbed her, shifts uncomfortably in her seat, clearly not expecting such profundity from a 'rambunctious' five-year-old.

I like that word. Rambunctious. It's sorta funny. Its name equivalent must be like Bobbert or Schlerpo.

Goldilocks, the one with the golden waterfall hair, Latia, is the first to break the silence. She chuckles gently, her laughter as melodious as wind chimes on a calm day. "Well said, Riser. Turning adversity into advantage is indeed a noble endeavor."

Blondie McBlondeface can't hide her irritation at being outwitted in the conversation. She huffs and mutters under her breath, "Such trivialities."

Kuisha regains her composure and nods thoughtfully. "I see your point, Riser. It's a rather unique perspective."

"...Uh huh…" My bean-sized eyes narrow.

I scan the table, my tiny devil brain on overdrive, trying to comprehend how these kids are dropping lines that would put our parents to shame. Seriously, are we not all barely older than diaper-wearing cherubs? How in the blazes have they mastered this art of miniaturized sophistication?

Latia Astaroth, with her golden mane that could rival a shampoo commercial with sparkly blue tips, Coriana Andrealphus, sporting waves that seem determined to defy gravity, and Kuisha Abaddon, our host with braised locks as pale as a ghost's whisper, look just as kid-ish as Sai and me. Yet here they are, talking like they've been attending these gatherings since they were in diapers.

Did I miss some secret prep school for sophisticated devil children while I was too busy sneaking into the kitchen for late-night snacks? Maybe they had secret lessons in etiquette and verbosity, or perhaps they were just born with a silver spoonful of eloquence in their mouths.

Anyway, I'll just stick to my snacks for now. They're pretty good, though I have no clue what they are. Perhaps "snacky poofs" or "munchy munchies." Whatever they are, they've got my vote.

While I casually sip tea that tastes more like enchanted grape juice, I can't help but notice Sairaorg in full conversational swing with the Blonde Trio, his self-esteem rising faster than a phoenix on an espresso binge — me, a few days back. It's a far cry from the bashful kid I met in the garden, and it fills me with a sense of pride. Maybe these tea parties aren't the yawn-fest I thought they were.

Nah, who am I kidding? They're still boring enough to make a snail's race look thrilling.

The chit-chat around this tea shindig flows like a river of devilish dialogue, covering topics from the latest magical trends to the strategic advantages of cake forks versus, well, regular forks. But my table is where it's at.

I can't help but marvel at the incredible seriousness with which the Blonde Trio approaches their "various activities." It's almost like they're miniature business moguls in the making, and it's both baffling and amusing.

Kuisha, with her diplomat's poise, begins, "You know, I've been thinking about ways to bolster our Family name. After all, it's never too early to start."

Latia nods, her blue-tipped hair swaying. "That's right. We need to make our mark in the devil world."

Coriana, with her always-pristine dress, chimes in, "And what better way to do it than through a series of sophisticated endeavors?"

Kuisha leans in with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, for starters, we're planning to organize a grand gala. It will be a fusion of art, culture, and magic. A soirée to remember."

Latia adds, "And we're considering launching our own line of magical artifacts. Perhaps personalized wands or enchanted jewelry for the little devils."

Coriana, her expression the very picture of determination, continues, "We've also been discussing the idea of a youth council. A place where young devils can come together to share their ideas and concerns. It would show that we're not just kids but future leaders."

"Some high agenda you have there," I can't resist commenting. "But what about the strategic advantages of cake forks versus regular forks? That's the real devilish discourse."

Kuisha chuckles, missing my dry sarcasm. "Oh, we're still considering that. It's on our list of priorities, right after establishing a theme park in the Netherworld."

Latia playfully nudges Coriana. "And don't forget our plan to create the world's spiciest hot sauce. We'll call it 'Blondfire.'"

Coriana nods with a grin. "Of course, we can't forget about our strategic alliance with the Gremory Family. We've been discussing a potential partnership in the toy industry. Toys, you see, are an excellent way to influence young minds."

I can't help but exchange a glance with Sai, our eyes widening at the grandeur of their ambitions. These kids are practically plotting world domination through charity events and enchanted accessories. It's as if they're following a devilish business handbook, and I'm left wondering if I missed the memo on "How to Be an Overachieving Child Devil."

Nevertheless, their enthusiasm is contagious, and I have to admire their determination, even if it's focused on endeavors that seem a tad excessive for their age. Who knows, maybe one day they'll be running the Underworld's most successful businesses. For now, though, I'll just stick to my snacks and leave the world of devilish entrepreneurship to the Blonde Trio.

"What about you, Riser? Any plans?" Quizza then asks me.

I just give a nonchalant shrug, my response as casual as the crinkle in my snacks bag. "Uhh... I dunno, haven't thought about it much."

Coriander (Coriana) sniffs dismissively at my apparent lack of aspiration. Little does she know that I'm secretly concocting plans to run the most colossal alcohol empire the Underworld has ever seen. But, of course, I'll keep that revelation under wraps for now. After all, what kind of five-year-old devises an elaborate scheme like that?

"Hmm… Understandable, you're only five," Latia then mutters, as if trying to smooth things out, unintentionally condescending.

Oh, the wisdom that dawns upon you at the ripe age of six! Truly, I should be taking notes on the profound insights that come with being a year older.

"What about you, Sairaorg?" Surprisingly, that wasn't me. It's Kuisha.

Her question takes both Sai and me by surprise, and he stammers for a moment before finding his voice. "Me?" he repeats, as if double-checking that he's the one being addressed. Not accustomed to being the center of attention, he clears his throat and offers a sheepish smile. "Well, um... my dream is to become the Rating Game Emperor."

The Blonde Trio exchange glances, clearly intrigued by Sai's aspiration. Kuisha leans forward with genuine interest. "The Rating Game Emperor? That's quite the ambition, Sairaorg."

Latia nods enthusiastically. "And think about the merchandise! Emperor Sai action figures, collectible cards, and arena replicas."

Sai blushes at the sudden attention, clearly unaccustomed to being in the spotlight. "Well, it's just a dream for now. I've got a long way to go."

I can't resist adding my own playful comment. "Who knows, maybe one day they'll make a board game called 'Sairaorg's Rating Game' where you battle with miniature figurines."

Sai gives me a playful shove, and we all share a laugh. It's a rare moment of camaraderie among the young devils, brought together by dreams and ambitions that stretch far beyond their years. Whether it's aiming for the top of the Rating Game or concocting devilishly spicy hot sauce, these kids are determined to leave their mark on the Underworld, one adventure at a time.

"But you don't even have a demonic power," ah, here it comes. Of course it came from Blondie McBlondface that didn't join our laugh. "What can a 'Sparkless' devil like you achieve in a battle of power?"

"I know, but it doesn't matter. I'll find a way," Sai says, keeping his cool. Looks my earlier drivel took an instant effect on him. "I'll become the strongest Sparkless Emperor."

Oh my, look at you Sai, no longer shrinking— look at how my boy has grown!

His sheer will seems to have taken effect on the Blonde Trio, each of them having their own unique child-like reaction. Kuisha seems the most impressed, with Latia trailing behind. Blondie McBlondface, though, looks almost baffled. Why? Are you expecting an easy prey, McBlondface?

"Wh…hmph."

But not everyone at this pint-sized Soirée shares the budding appreciation for my buddy. I catch them throwing shady glances our way, their eyes practically dripping with disdain. They're probably pondering why me and Sairaorg, a "Sparkless Bael" as I've heard them snicker, scored an invite to this highfalutin gathering.

As the teacups dance around the table, Sairaorg gallantly offers to pour tea for Blondie McBlondeface. With an air of such aristocratic haughtiness that even the queen of England might take notes, she raises an eyebrow and, ever so theatrically, withdraws her teacup.

"No, thank you," she declares, her tone colder than a Yeti's ice cream parlor. "I'd rather not risk contracting 'Sparklessness' from the likes of you."

I clench my jaw, but I maintain my cool exterior. He's holding it in— I can't ruin it for him.

So, with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, my hand "accidentally" grazes the tablecloth, sending my plate hurtling through the air like a miniature frisbee. It crashes into Blondie McBlondeface's teacup with a dramatic flourish, as if choreographed by the ghost of a slapstick comedian. The result? Her pristine pink dress, a fashion statement rivaling the grandeur of the cosmos, is now adorned with a generous splash of tea stains.

Blondie McBlondeface's Shakespherean vocabulary takes a nosedive, crashing into sheer shock as she stammers, "Wh… M-MY DRESS!"

I raise an eyebrow with the finesse of a professional eyebrow-raiser, my expression dripping with innocent curiosity. "Oh my stars, it seems like accidents are throwing a party today."

The room temporarily silences as the poor girl gasps in sheer horror, her face resembling a Picasso masterpiece in distress as the tea stain paints its canvas on her once-pristine gown. But before she can unleash a tirade of outrage that could rival a volcano's eruption, I'm already on my feet, wielding a napkin I drew out from the pocket of my straitjacket— I mean suit, like a knight's flag of peace.

"Apologies aplenty," I chime in, my tone ringing with the resonance of genuine regret. "Let me sweep away this unfortunate tea tsunami."

"You better!"

I wipe the spilled tea from the table, grab the girl's teacup. For a moment, the tea ceremony room is filled with stunned silence, broken only by the sound of tea dripping back into the cup — tea that I squeezed out from my napkin.

"There you go," I say with a small smile, offering the now-refilled teacup filled with napkin-flavored tea back to the McBlondeRedFace. "Drink up."

Her eyes water from more than the spilled tea, as the blatant insult stings like a hornet's bite. Tears swell up immediately, and she dashes outside the room, her voice echoing with a melodramatic flair. "MOMMY!"

The room collectively gasps and exchanges horrified glances, their expressions frozen in shock. I return to my seat with a victorious grin, while Sairaorg nervously mutters, "I… don't think you shouldn't have done that."

I shrug, unperturbed, going for another bite of the munchies. "And she shouldn't have said that to you either."

The atmosphere in the room has shifted dramatically. The other young devils now regard me with a mixture of fear and resentment. It's clear that I've shattered the delicate facade of courtesy that these tea parties are built upon. But honestly, at this point, I've given up on the idea of making friends with these nobles.

I can still hear my mother's words echoing in my head: "No matter what, Riser, never bow down. You're a Phenex. You rise and soar above everything."

And I ain't gonna let me or my buddy bend our knees to anyone.

Sipping my tea, trying to douse my flames of rebellion, I can practically feel the laser-like stares of Kuisha and Latia burning holes into my back. Kuisha, the budding diplomat, is likely running through her mental playbook on how to manage a pint-sized troublemaker. Meanwhile, Latia, with her golden locks cascading like a syrup waterfall, seems more intrigued than irked.

This isn't good. Why am I letting a seven-year-old get under my skin like this? Sure, I've got a temper that sizzles hotter than dragonfire, but c'mon, it's a tea party. I shouldn't be this close to unleashing the flames of heck on a bunch of kids, even if I'm a kid myself.

I was in my late twenties for crying out loud.

This is pathetic.

"Sorry for adding a little spice to your Soirée," I offer as I rise, fully expecting a scolding that's probably rehearsed in Kuisha's miniature mirror. Just save your breath, pint-sized diplomat, I know what you're going to say.

I'd rather tango with garden gnomes than chat with anyone in that room, even if Kuisha and Latia are the exceptions to the bore-fest. The way the other kids treated Sairaorg like a spectacle is enough to turn my stomach, and I can't bear to be around them any longer. I'd rather tango with the elusive garden gnomes.

The other kids look at me as if I'm a walking comet, but with a glare that could melt steel, I make it clear I'm not in the mood for their nonsense. They all hastily look away, pretending to be engrossed in their Levia-tan vs. Godzilla conversation.

What a stupid comparison.

Obviously Levia-tan will win that battle easy peasy.

A quick fib to the standby butlers and Zest about needing to use the restroom, and I'm granted my ticket to freedom. I slip out of the mansion through a window large enough to serve as a gate to freedom, and the cool breeze on my cheeks is like a soothing spa day for my soul. The yard sprawls before me, boasting manicured gardens and pompous statues that seem to be sneering at my sense of belonging.

But there it stands, the Goliath of trees, branches reaching out like the arms of a celestial hugger. It beckons me, playing on memories of my past life as a street-savvy urchin, when I'd clamber from ankles to shoulders like a fearless flea. The helpers at my place gave up long ago on persuading me not to scale anything. My climbing prowess is second to none.

I can fly, but climbing is way more fun and challenging. The helpers in my place has basically given up on trying to get me not to climb anything. I'll scuttle from their legs to their shoulders.

Scaling this nature behemoth isn't a challenge at all. I'm a pint-sized firebird-monkey hybrid, blending grace and grit inherited from my wilder days. Higher and higher I ascend, leaving behind the world of stuffed animals and crustless sandwiches. Nestled among the branches, I'm free from critical stares and the stodgy Soirée vibes. Up here, the world takes on a less devilish hue, reminding me of the streets I once roamed and the rooftops where I gave law enforcement the slip during the adventurous phase of my criminal career.

Just an idiot that roped himself with concrete, unaware that I'd be taken into the depths.

As I sit there, legs swinging lazily, I watch the sky transform into a mesmerizing canvas of purples and pinks. The tea party's chaos, the judgmental glares, and the oppressive atmosphere are all mere footnotes on the ground below. Up here, I'm just a tiny imp, savoring the sweetness of being my unapologetic self.

Watching the fake sun setting, I can't help but drift back to the memories of my former life. Those days of scrapping for survival taught me resourcefulness and resilience, skills that I carry with me even now. I was just another nobody, trying to carve out a niche in the unforgiving streets.

But even then, I yearned for a place where I truly belonged. A place where I wouldn't be an outsider, a misfit, a street urchin condemned to the shadows. The day I became an Associate was the day I felt like I finally had somewhere I could call home.

I may be just five, with a heart as tiny as my stature and a brain still in its early stages of development, but I've got feelings—lots of them. And right now, I'm drained. How can a little devil like me be so exhausted already? How many more of these stuffy soirées will I have to endure in the future?

The thought of disappointing my parents weighs on me. They've been like real parents to me, and I don't want to let them down. But if I keep subjecting myself to these events, I fear I'll end up lashing out in a way that could hurt them even more. I know mom will understand. Pops might be a bit sad though.

…Yeah, no. I think this is going to be my last one. Ever.

Sorry Pops, I don't think the devil's life is my cup of tea.

Thank goodness for Rulex, the benevolent and calm one among us Phenex. He's better suited for the diplomatic intricacies of our House, leaving me free to pursue a different path.

Surely there's more to life as a devil than tea parties and pretentious politicking. The Rating Game may hold some allure, but even that grand spectacle has lost its luster, thanks in no small part to this infernal Soirée. Although the prospect of bashing those snobbish faces should they continue in their snobbishness does indeed tickle my fancy.

That does mean I'll have to start working out though, and get better control over my devilly powers. Maybe not now. I'm still five. I don't want to have pecs at seven.

I'll chalk that up as Plan B. As for Plan A, when I'm a bit older, I think I'll sit down for a heart-to-heart with my dad and ask (beg) for a small piece of land where I can cultivate my own little slice of heaven. Of course, there will be ample room for my budding distilleries—where I'll craft concoctions to put even the finest of devilish spirits to shame.

As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the yard with its final violet hues, I let out a contented sigh. Today may have been a small step for most, but for my tiny legs, it was a giant leap towards carving my own path in this world.

Break

As Riser dramatically exits the tea party, I'm left feeling torn between admiration for his boldness and concern for the trouble he might have stirred. Did he go too far? Should I have stopped him? But his words echo in my mind, reminding me that he stood up for me, just as he is, without apology. He's my friend, and that means the world to me.

He was brave enough to not fake interest in the conversation around us. Conversations about topics that I find utterly boring. Why are we even debating the merits of cake forks versus regular forks? My own fork seems to be doing a fine job stabbing at these weird snacks. I'd rather be playing heroes and villains with my toy knights.

I notice the shocked expressions on the faces of the other kids, and I use this opportunity to slip away, muttering something about needing a break. I'm not sure if I made the right choice, but I can't stay in that stuffy room any longer.

Minutes pass, and I've had enough of pretending to care about these adult-like discussions. I'd much rather be with Riser, who's always been kind to me. I mumble an excuse about going to the restroom and manage to slip away unnoticed. Not that anyone pays much attention to me anyway. They call me the "blight" of House Bael, and it's not a nice word. I know it because it made my mother cry.

As I run through the mansion's grand halls, I realize it's not the same without Riser's sarcastic comments even if I don't always understand half of what he's saying. I wonder where he's gone off to.

Stepping into the yard, the cool breeze soothes my racing heart. Riser told the house helpers he was going to the restroom, but I have a feeling he might be out here. I can clearly remember the day he took me out 'hunting garden gnomes' after our banquet the other day. I really ate a lot.

Following those instincts, I head toward the yard. I head in that direction, and in the distance, I spot a big tree. I think Riser might be there. He told me about the fun we could have climbing trees, so maybe that's where he went.

I see him perched high in the tree like a little devil playing among the branches,

I smile to myself. Looks like I've found my fiery friend.

Wait, how did he even get up there? Can he fly already? Most of us can't even float until we're twelve. He's only five, and he's already up in a tree. That's... awesome.

"Sairaorg! W-wait— goodness you're fast…"

Just as I'm about to call out to him, I notice Kuisha and Latia quietly following me, looking a bit out of breath with their hands on their knees.

"Oh, hello."

"...Did you… did you know where he's gone to?" Kuisha asks. "I…think I should apologize to you and him… on behalf of Coriana's… behavior…"

"That's okay. I'm used to it," I say. "Thanks for the sediments."

"Sentiments, you mean," Latia says with a giggle.

"Oh, right. Yeah," I say, feeling a bit embarrassed about my word choice.

They seem curious about Riser, too. I'm not sure how Riser will react to them, but maybe they can be friends since they treat me like they treated the other kids. I can tell they're nice people. Their 'eyes' when they look at me are… I don't know how to put it… kinder?

So, I decide to go over to the tree, and Kuisha and Latia come with me. We reach the base of the tree, and I glance up at Riser, who's perched among the branches like a squirrel. I consider trying to climb up myself, but the thought of ruining my suit and facing the wrath of my dad quickly stops me.

Kuisha and Latia seem to share the same sentiment, eyeing their dresses with apprehension. Climbing the tree would undoubtedly result in a scolding from their parents, so we at least have that going with us. My parents aren't different. I think Riser's parents will get mad too. I don't think Riser cares though.

So, instead of attempting the treacherous climb, we all call out to Riser. "Riser! Can you hear us?" I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth.

Riser's head appears, his shock of blonde hair peeking through the foliage as he peers down at us. He looks… weirdly sad? But he quickly smiles. "Well, well, what brings you two and the diplomat to my treehouse?"

Latia offers a small wave. "We just wanted to talk, Riser. Can you come down?"

Kuisha adds, "Yeah, we're really sorry about Coriana's behavior."

"What's that?! I can't hear you! I'm too high up!"

I'm a little baffled but I can still feel myself smiling. I actually have a big voice anyway that I don't get to use that much, so I shout again, "We wanted to talk, Riser!"

Riser tilts his head, considering our request. Then, with a mischievous grin, he starts to descend from the tree, maneuvering down the branches with ease. It's like watching a little devil acrobat. He has his suit unbuttoned, but more impressively, he looks pretty clean aside from the tiny leaves sticking to his outfit.

As he finally reaches the ground and dusts off his clothes, he gives us a playful grin. "Well, aren't you all lucky that the treehouse's resident devil decided to grace you with his presence?"

Latia chuckles. "Do you have any idea this tree is the Abaddon's Family sacred tree?"

"That so, Goldilocks?" Riser shrugs. Wait, who's Goldilocks? Did another kid sneak by? Doesn't seem like it… Riser then continues as he looks up at the sacred tree. "Looks like a tree to me, just bigger. What's so special about it?"

"...Well…erm…" Kuisha mutters. Huh. I honestly expect she knows more than that. "W-well, it is special to our family. It symbolizes our heritage and our connection to the 'Hole'... or something like that."

"What?" Riser and me audibly ask.

"...I don't know… I… thought it was too boring of a lecture—" Kuisha finally admits with a cough. She's pretty cute with her blush. "L-Look," she clears her throat, her cheeks still a little flushed. "I just want to apologize on behalf of Coriana. She can be... a bit much sometimes."

Riser crosses his arms, his tone still somewhat playful."Blah, I don't need you or McBlondeface apologizing to me. If anything, have her apologize to Sai. Then I'll apologize to her for filling her cup with dirty tea water."

For a moment, there's an awkward silence. Kuisha and Latia exchange uncertain glances, not quite sure how to proceed.

"...Who's McBlondeface?" Latia finally asks the question that has been bouncing inside our heads.

Riser blinks. "Uh… the other blondie…"

"Coriana?"

"Right. Cortana."

"Oh," the three of us say altogether. Well, at least now I know I'm not the only one who doesn't always get what Riser is saying. He seems to have talent to make up nicknames on the spot. Nicknames that don't sting or sound mean — but I think it's mostly because I don't get what he's referencing about.

I can't help but feel a mix of relief and admiration for Riser's straightforwardness. He doesn't mince words, and he's not afraid to stand up for me.

It's weird how he's smaller than all of us. Latia and Kuisha are around as tall as me, but I can tell Riser is the bravest out of all of us. I mean, he climbs the big tall sacred tree. He's also smart with his words, just like Kuisha and Latia.

Me? My family crest is a Black Lion. I have to be brave and strong. Since I don't have the smart, then I have to be twice as big and brave and strong as Riser, so I can return the favor in my own way.

Or at least, I think that's how it works. Though this does mean I have to finish eating my veggies…

To be continued

Alt chapter title:
Tiny Feet, Big Dreams
Five and Fierce
Of Teacups and Treetops
The Pint-Sized Rebel
From Street Urchin to Tiny Tyrant - personal fav

It's okay Sai. Baby steps. You'll soon become the buffest of devils known to devils

Next stop, Ravel's birth, followed by a little bit of timeskip. Not that big of a leap, mostly 3 years or 5, just enough so I can write Riser and Ravel's shenanigans

Riser is about 10 years older than both Rias and Issei, and Latia is apparently around Rias' age. Technically they're not born yet. Mrs. and Mr. Gremory are still busy making Rias. With that image in your head, I think his canon age is even older but— frankly, my dear readers, I don't give a crap. The main casts of DxD will make their debut only when I think it's the right time. So what if I put Latia in the story earlier? It's more fun

This does mean Riser will get the chance to see Rias and Sona in their scoundrel form, which, as you may suspect, will lead into some harmless bullying as he's that sort of guy who will nudge pampered little kids to get a kick out of their reaction, much to Sirzechs' and Serafall's dismay

And canon plotline? What's that? Can I eat it?

Riser won't be following the canon plotline since they're centered on Issei anyway, and I don't plan on having my 'oc donut steel' Riser taking Issei's spotlight. Why oh why would i do that when I can make him the star of his own rock concert? Complete with blackjack and hookers. Apart from the whole Rias' reee me no marry riser reee fiasco and probably an informal Rating Game for reasons he won't be able to wiggle his way out of, Riser won't go down the canon railroad

After all, he's got an entire alcohol empire to build. He ain't got no times fo that

It's really hard to showcase Latia and Kuisha's personalities at their kid stage. I was going for Kuisha the more inquisitive one and Latia the calm on the surface yet constantly strategizing one. Once they grow and glow up, it'll become apparent. Same case for Riser and Sai. While, as Whimsy has eloquently put it, they both have the character depth of one post-it note and Sai having two-post it notes, I'll try to keep them to at least resemble their canon personalities.

In this chapter at least, Sai is starting to show his stoicism, whereas Riser his not-so-decent anger management. He's a fiery bird and an ex mob boss with an attitude. Combine those three and you'll have a walking molotov. Besides, intimidation has always been his tactic. he's the angry fiery tidal wave while Sai is the impenetrable barrier. i really, REALLY like this duo, but ofc, i'm biased

Friendly reminder to check out my other stories like Academy DxD and Refugees if you like tasteful sass (sass that doesn't always come across as demeaning) as much as I do, and Shadow's Eclipse: The Sage of Cid Kagenō if you wanna rofl since that is in my opinion my most humorous story with actual pretty well-written characters yet

Or if you like seriousness and a spangle of smex and fluff, check out Lucifer: Yearning of Armageddon. It's about Lucifer heavily inspired from DC Comics version (not the godawful wimp he's become in tv series) currently trying to break out a fluffy nine tails out of a rock that she insists to be an amulet. It has Best fox wife Tamamo in it too.

Of course, don't forget to leave ya boy a smidgeon of review before you check those stories out. Like, what you think of Riser so far? He's a lilshit with a birdbrain, and I do want to yeet him off a cliff as I do to all kids, but he's alright so far, yea?

Cmon mayn, can i get at least some words of encouragement for writing free stuffs i wont ever paywall behind a pat reon

okbai for now. stay indoors. the sun is deadly ( ͡ ͜ʖ ͡)