I know what you're thinking— Danzy wtf. Another story?

Hey man, i write what i want. Besides, i got my writing mojo back. Been churning updates like there's no tomorrow. You can't deny me from my hobby

And seriously, give this a shot. HOPEFULLY it's a fresh take

Infernal Renegades: A Tale of Misfits

[Prologue]

Expected Demise, Unexpected Rebirth

"He who swings the sword, dies by it."

The words resonated within the walls of his own home, turning the familiar surroundings into a haunting labyrinth of shadows. He knelt on the cold marble floor of his luxurious mansion, a trembling figure stripped of his once-vaunted authority.

His wife's lifeless eyes stared back at him, her elegant form now marred by the cruel symmetry of bullet wounds. The hushed sobs of their children, his innocent pups, echoed in the air, in the back of his head, their dreams forever silenced.

As his assailants circled him, their leader stepped forward. A twisted grin played on his lips as he raised his gun, aiming it squarely at the man who had once been a formidable force in the criminal underworld.

His breath came in shallow gasps as he felt the barrel of the gun press against his forehead. He knew that this was the end. In those agonizing seconds, a lifetime of ruthless choices and heartless actions played before his eyes like a relentless nightmare.

"Nothing personal, strictly business," their leader spat. "Remember that? That's what you taught me when you shot my parents, in case you forgot."

He had scaled the treacherous heights of criminal power, amassing wealth and dominion, but the price had been steep. The bodies he buried, the orphans, the widows. He had sacrificed his humanity, discarded his compassion to build everything he didn't have from the very bottom. And now came the cost; his family.

"Well I never did."

He understood. In spite of the regret that clawed at his soul, he knew it was a hollow sentiment. He had been molded by his environment, shaped into a callous monster. He couldn't rewrite his history. He had gained and recognized his small piece of heaven—his family—far too late. Too neck-deep in the mire of his criminal empire, unable to break free from its suffocating grip.

The trigger was squeezed. and the deafening shot echoed through the halls of his burning mansion.

Then, in the aftermath of death's icy touch, something extraordinary unfolded. His life extinguished, felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was as if he were being pulled away from the abyss of death, away from the consequences of his sins.

Inexplicably, he found himself surrounded by blinding light, his consciousness adrift in a sea of serenity. He heard distant voices, whispers of a new beginning. His dying wish, a longing for a peaceful life, echoed in the recesses of his mind.

And then, in a flash, his eyes flicked open — and for unknown reason, his first reaction was to cry.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Phenex! It's another baby boy!"

The cries of a newborn baby filled the room. He was no longer the heartless criminal but a tiny, vulnerable infant, with soft skin and eyes unburdened by the weight of darkness.

"My baby boy…" he heard the gentle voice that had cradled him. "...Hah…haa… Don't grow up too quickly like your brothers, will you…?"

Surrounded by warmth, he managed to stifle his cries, wanting to gaze upon the woman who held him. Her disheveled blonde hair framed her sweaty face, yet her beautiful blue eyes radiated undeniable motherly affection.

"Oh… my, that was quick… Quite the early riser, aren't you…?"

[Chapter I]

What is Power? Can I Eat It?

The first glimmers of dawn's light creep through the ornate bedroom window, coaxing me awake. Ah, the irony of it all – I'm Riser Phenex, the early bird of the devil world, and yet, I usually conk out first these days. Being a five-year-old devil in this topsy-turvy life isn't exactly a cakewalk. I mean, who would willingly trade the mob boss drama for the tangled web of diabolic politics at this tender age?

My memory from my first years in this peculiar new existence is a hazy blur, reminiscent of our early years as humans, devoid of coherent recollections. Life, it seems, still finds a way to throw curveballs at you. But the weirdest twist of fate? I'm no longer the fedora-wearing mafioso; I've traded it all for firebending and an absurd regeneration. Quite the cosmic swap meet, I must say.

As I lazily stretch and stifle a yawn that could rival a dragon's roar, I'm acutely aware of the burden that comes with being the third son of the Phenex family – one of the last standing 72 Pillars of the Devil world. Don't worry, my parents haven't dumped the whole "devil hierarchy" spiel on me just yet. They're waiting for me to grow into my horns, so to speak. For now, I'm content with my status as Riser Phenex, son of a Duke, and an early riser. The only power struggle I face is over the last piece of cheesecake during tea time.

I'm no longer an only son. I did have a sister… whose face I can't remember, and it looks like in this new life, I'm going to have one soon enough if my mother's belly is any indication.

But first, let's talk about my older brothers, Ruval and Rulex. The latter I can't help but associate with a knock-off Rolex.

They've got a few decades on me, but their youthful looks make them appear as if they've just hit their twenties. Must be the devil magic at play, I figure. We don't cross paths often, but when we do, they make sure to include me in their antics. Ruval, the adventurous and ambitious one, likely got that from our dad. He's currently aiming for stardom in the Rating Game – think of it as a colosseum, but with more respawn points. While I do have a penchant for some rough-and-tumble activities, I'm not quite ready to don the gladiator gear just yet. Besides, swinging swords doesn't exactly jive with my newfound peaceful outlook – a relic of my previous life.

My whole mob drama still leaves a mark, even in the afterlife.

My father, Rowan, whose name also conveniently starts with an 'R,' shares a distant cousinship with my mother. I can't help but wonder if I'm the result of some generations-long Romeo and Juliet saga. Oh well, such is the life of nobles in our world, and it's more amusing than unsettling. Our family tree resembles a twisted vineyard, and I've got a front-row seat.

Now, my mother, Rhysella and I have always been thick as thieves. She's the one who tucks me in at night, spinning tales about our family's history, like how we went from a Marquis to a Duke thanks to my father's sharp business acumen. He even bagged a new territory from the Great King as part of the promotion deal. The finer details of it all still escape my five-year-old brain, but it sure beats having my dad explain it – he's usually out and about, managing his "devilly duties," which I'm pretty sure involve endless meetings and paperwork. Not quite the adrenaline rush of mob life, but hey, when you're a devil, you gotta play by the devil's rules.

As I embark on another day in this existence, I wear the mask of a well-behaved noble child — at least in front of strangers. Although I'd much rather be causing mayhem of a different sort. It's not that I don't appreciate this second lease on life; it's just that the baggage from my past weighs on me, like a suitcase that won't fit in the overhead bin. A burden I'm more than willing to carry, this time around. Reincarnation is a curious concept, and while I've never been much of a religious soul, I understand that this is a rare opportunity to hit life's reset button, to carve out my own slice of heaven in a world brimming with absurd magic.

After all, being a witty devil isn't about making deals with the devil; it's about dealing with the quirks of my own past and making the best of this second roll of the cosmic dice.

Break

"Good morning, Young Master."

As I step into the bustling hallway of our grand mansion, still rocking my ridiculously expensive yet oh-gods-so-fluffy pajamas that can buy a house should I pawn it off, a young maid greets me with a courteous nod. Now, I've often wondered why there's an abundance of female maids compared to the scarce population of butlers in this peculiar world. If I have to take a wild guess – it's probably because of my mother's enchanting beauty. Whenever she even remotely casts a glance in the direction of our butlers, my father transforms into a bundle of nerves. Oh, the hypocrisy! He can have a harem of concubines, yet he's territorial when it comes to mother. How typically male of him, whether human or devil.

But me? Well, I don't care. Or rather, I can't care yet. After all, I'm just a pint-sized devil trying to find my footing in this topsy-turvy world.

"G'morning, Zesty."

My 'personal maid', as my mother fondly dubbed her, is Zest. She's a demon from the Leporine Clan, scouted and handpicked by mother herself to take care of me during her frequent absences, aiding my father with his "devilly duties." You know, the endless meetings and paperwork that I imagine are about as thrilling as counting grains of sand.

Zest is, without a doubt, a sight to behold. Her statuesque form, adorned with a sun-kissed complexion, and a mane of ivory hair gracefully cascading to her willowy neck, could easily rival the allure of any supermodel in the infernal world. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of gold-green, seem to cradle untold mysteries. Adorning her appearance are a pair of rabbit ears and a matching rabbit tail, lending her an air of captivating uniqueness. Curiously, I'm aware that she's beautiful, but I simply don't possess that 'urge' yet. Rather than plotting ways to woo her, my current fixation leans more towards discovering fresh methods to make her blush.

...Guess that dormant sadistic streak from my past life still lingers, doesn't it? Can't tell if that's bad or good yet.

But can you blame me? Beyond her beguiling exterior, she harbors a reserved and occasionally clumsy demeanor, akin to a small, fragile animal. Almost like a bunny. I've had the pleasure of witnessing her accidentally thwack her horn against an unsuspecting tree branch during our leisurely saunters through our sprawling garden – a garden that might as well double as a theme park.

Zest's amalgamation of grace and awkwardness renders her both endearing and surprisingly human-like. It's rather bizarre how relatable she appears, despite hailing from a realm teeming with supernatural peculiarities. My curiosity often piques, pondering what daily life might entail in the Leporine Clan, that rabbit-themed nook of this altogether peculiar universe.

Onwards with my day.

I extend my tiny hands toward her and demand her my first decree of the day with an eloquent; "Uppies!"

She can barely contain her smile as she responds with a curtsy and an "Excuse me..." before lifting me up.

A wave of jealousy ripples through the other housemaids, but they can't deny that I'm an endearingly cute little brat. In truth, the entire mansion seemed to be craving another child to dote upon, and I am undeniably their fix. They've even had a minor argument with their own masters, my mother, over who gets to bathe me first.

As Zest cradles me in her arms, we make our way to the grand dining hall where breakfast awaits. The mansion itself could easily house a small army, so you can imagine the sheer size of this dining hall – it's like a ballroom, but with more food.

The table is a sight to behold, laden with an extravagant spread that could make a king's feast look like a pauper's meal. Devilish delicacies, exotic fruits, and pastries that seem to defy gravity with their sheer decadence. It's a sight that could make anyone's mouth water.

Speaking of mouths, it's interesting to note that devils don't have stink breath, a fact I've come to appreciate. No morning breath woes here; we can chat and eat without offending each other's olfactory senses.

Zest lowers me into my designated high chair with a gentle touch, excusing herself gracefully. As I settle in, I take a moment to survey the scene. My parents, Lady Phenex and Lord Phenex, are already seated at the head of the table. Their blonde locks and deep blue eyes make us look like a family of celestial beings – though we're quite the opposite. Mother's eyes gleam like sapphires, and her hair gleams like the golden fleece of ancient myths. Father, on the other hand, is the very embodiment of sophistication in his impeccably tailored suit.

They exchange warm smiles as I'm settled into my chair, and a sense of contentment washes over me. Despite the unusual circumstances of my rebirth and the bizarre world I find myself in, this family feels like home.

"Good morning, son. You're up early, as usual," Father greets me with a twinkle in his deep blue eyes.

"Morning, Dad," I reply, a sly grin tugging at my lips. "Well, you're here, Pops, so I wanted to see you before you go work."

Yeah. Try to hide your smile from me, Old Man. I've been an Old Man before—I know how it feels to get your kid beams their smile at you first thing in the morning.

"Goodness, he's already a charmer," my mother remarks, her laughter melodious. "Do try to keep your heartbreaker tendencies in check, honey. We live in a world where most women can hold a grudge, especially when they realize they're not the only apple of your eye."

Yikes. I can see my dad sipping his wine nervously. Seriously? Wine for breakfast? What, a glass of orange juice not pretentious enough for you?

Well, it is for me, as I take a sip.

"Now, now, Rhysella… You will always be the one and only Rhysella in my heart," Father says, attempting to smooth things over.

"Much like how Yvette will always be your one and only Yvette, right, darling?" Mother retorts with a teasing glint in her eye.

Way to dig your own grave, Old Man. At moments like this, the wise thing is to zip it and continue eating. Mom's only teasing you anyway. Have I mentioned I've adopted my snark-tendency and penchant for teasing from my mother? Well my past life did carry some influence, but it seems like this time it's been multiplicated.

The housemaids flutter around, serving dishes with practiced grace. There's a jovial atmosphere in the air, a stark contrast to the tense criminal world I once inhabited. I may be young, but I can sense the genuine affection and camaraderie among the mansion's occupants.

As plates of tantalizing food are set before me, I can't help but giggle. Being a devil isn't so bad, especially when breakfast is a grand affair like this.

Mother sighs then, pushing her chair back as she gently rubs her belly. "...Hmm, what shall we name her…? It's almost time."

The mention of a new addition to the family brings a wave of excitement and anticipation to the breakfast table. A new sibling is on the way, and I can't help but wonder what adventures and mischief we'll get into together in this world.

My father leans forward with a thoughtful expression. "How about 'Ravenna'? It's elegant and befitting of a future lady of our house."

"Hmm… Raven… No, let's avoid associations with those pesky Crows."

Ah, yes, the Crows, those fallen angels. Fantasy worlds just aren't complete without their fair share of fantastical derogatory terms.

"Right, right…" Dad mumbles, going back to the drawing board. "Revalia?"

"That's a nice name…"

I watch them with an inquisitive expression, still 'too young' to fully grasp the gravity of naming a new member of our family. But hey, gotta keep up appearances.

Mother turns to me, her eyes warm and inviting. "What about you, Riser? Any name you'd like to suggest for your little sister?"

I scrunch up my face in thought. "Why do we always have to start with 'R,' anyway?"

Father chuckles, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Ah, that's a good question, my boy. You see, it's a long-standing tradition among our kind. Names are like incantations, and each letter carries its own significance. 'R' is associated with our resilience, strength, and rebirth. It's believed to bring good fortune and protect our family from harm."

I blink, taking in this explanation. It's logical, in a weird sort of way, but also rather bizarre. But hey, in a world where magic and tradition hold sway, I suppose it's not too strange.

Mother ruffles my blonde hair affectionately. "So, Riser, any 'R' names popping into that clever head of yours?"

I ponder for a moment. "'Ruckus'?"

My parents can't help but chuckle. Perhaps 'Ruckus' won't be the chosen name, but at least it brought some levity to the table.

"No, no, ruckus is what you create, sweetling," says my mother with a teasing grin. Well excuse me for being constantly bored.

My father nods, considering another option. "What about 'Ravel'? It symbolizes the weaving of our family's journey, like a tapestry of destinies."

"Ravel…" My mother repeats the name, her eyes lighting up with approval. "Yes, I quite like that. 'Ravel Phenex' has a lovely ring to it."

And with that, the matter is settled. Our newest family member shall be christened 'Ravel,' a name that carries significance and a dash of the peculiar, fitting right into our devilish world.

"Ravel…" I whisper, the name rolling off my tongue like a promise. I remember the weight of my past failures, the haunting memories of my sister's fate in another life. I failed to protect my sister in my previous life — this time, there's no room for failure. I'll be her guardian, her shield, even if it means... Well, let's just say I'm open to creative problem-solving.

I'd prefer to avoid any personal limb sacrifices, though. Sure, my absurd Phenex bloodline grants me regenerative powers, but it doesn't mean I'm eager to test them out. Losing a limb still stings, you know.

Break

The opulent mansion of the Gremory family looms before us, a testament to their wealth and status in the Devil hierarchy. This evening, our presence is requested at one of their grand events, a gathering of the upper echelons of devil society. As we step out of our ornate carriage, I can't help but gape at the sheer size of the place.

Then I remember that my own home is just as ludicrously grand. I still managed to find new spots to get lost when I was finally able to walk or crawl out of my crib.

Father offers me his hand, his expression a mixture of pride and caution. "Remember, Riser, we are representing our family. Be on your best behavior."

"Alright, pops," I agree with an exaggerated sigh, nodding obediently, though my mischievous spirit itches at the prospect of mischief. Mother couldn't join us due to the late stage of her pregnancy, and as much as I miss her, it means there's a higher chance of me sneaking away unnoticed.

Pregnancy is apparently a very rare occasion here. Something with Devils' DNA just doesn't agree with baby-making. Not my concern yet.

As we step into the Gremory mansion, I find myself surrounded by a sea of unfamiliar faces – tiny, aristocratic faces to be precise. These miniature lords and ladies are engaged in conversations that could put a caffeinated sloth to sleep. No, my fair lady, I must confess I have absolutely zero interest in your tediously detailed analysis of the latest teddy bear fashions. My fellow five-year-olds, your fascination with the precise shade of pink in your dollhouse's wallpaper is, honestly, about as thrilling as watching paint dry. Make that, watching paint dry in slow motion.

While these pint-sized aristocrats chatter on about the most mundane of topics, I'm here reminiscing about my days dealing with the criminal underworld's intricacies, surviving close encounters with rival gangs, and contemplating the mysteries of existence itself. But sure, let's dedicate an hour to deciding whether strawberry jam or grape jelly should grace your fluffy croissants. Riveting, truly.

One kid, with a coiffed hairdo that screams 'trying too hard,' prattles on about the precise stitching of his stuffed rabbit's vest. Meanwhile, another girl, her dress festooned with frills that defy the laws of physics, can't seem to shut up about her porcelain doll's porcelain-like complexion.

And then there's me, stuck in this never-ending tea party where the juiciest gossip revolves around Mr. Teddybear's sudden disappearance last night. Oh, the scandal!

"Ah, Lord Phenex—"

With Father's attention firmly locked onto a crimson-haired gentleman, I seize the opportunity to escape the mind-numbing monotony. My adventurous spirit yearns for excitement, and frankly, listening to grown-ups drone on is worse than a month of Mondays. I decide to venture into the sprawling maze garden, rumored to be a labyrinth of wonders, all while evading the watchful eyes of the housemaids and butlers too busy managing the nobility's precious egos.

The garden lives up to its mystique, with towering hedges and exotic flora enveloping me in a fragrant embrace. Roses and night-blooming jasmine scent the air, and I wander deeper into its heart. The towering hedges loom above me, casting eerie shadows as the twilight approaches. As I turn a corner with the grace of a professional hide-and-seek champion – which, by the way, I am, go ask my maids – I stumble upon a young devil.

His finely tailored suit looks like it's had a tiff with a lawnmower, and he's clutching his arm, which sports a rather dramatic cut in the fabric. I raise an eyebrow, equal parts curious and concerned. Another fellow escapee from the riveting discussion about scones?

"Ello," I greet him, my tone more devil-may-care than aristocratic politeness. "Who are you?"

The boy jumps at my sudden appearance, his dark eyes a delightful mix of surprise and fear. "I'm Sairaorg… of House Bael."

Blarghaorg. The mouthful name means nothing to me, but it's clear he recognizes my family from my appearance. I mean, Phenex genes are hard to miss.

Sairaorg seems too shocked to cry, but he does look decidedly baffled and worried, his darting glances around as if expecting his parents to materialize out of thin air to berate him.

"Did you get lost… erm… Sai?" I inquire with my usual flair for informal nicknames. If he's the stuck-up type who minds, well, tough luck for him. I've got no time for kids who can't handle a bit of tongue-in-cheek camaraderie.

Sairaorg nods, his voice trembling as he confirms, "Yes... I… was exploring, and I got hurt. My father would be furious if he finds out I ruined this suit."

I have to stifle a chuckle because it suddenly clicks in my head. Sairaorg must be one of those high-and-mighty nobles, especially since he's a Bael. He's probably raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and a strict set of rules. Quite the opposite of my own daredevil upbringing.

But then I notice the fear in his eyes, the way he's constantly on edge, as if expecting something dreadful to happen. It's a look I've seen before, back in the criminal underworld. It's the look of someone who's preyed upon, someone who's an easy target.

Sairaorg flinches again as I take a closer look at him, his 'wounds' appearing far too extreme for an unfortunate escapade. He looks more like he got caught in a tussle with a horde of garden gnomes rather than some harmless garden exploration.

He takes a step back, his voice trembling, "W-wait… Back away…"

"Hold on, buddy. I don't bite… unless you're made of chocolate," I quip, trying to ease the tension. Why does he look like I'm about to challenge him to a duel?

"Don't… hurt me… It's not my fault!"

I arch an eyebrow. "Hurt you? Seriously, what's going on here? Why do you look so scared?" I ask, genuinely curious. Why is he cowering like that? I'm pretty sure I'm just a misfit with no rep yet. The most notorious thing I did was hide under Zest's maid dress when I got caught trying to fly off at the tip of my mansion.

My eyes narrow, and I lean in a little closer. "Hold on, you got roughed up, didn't you?"

He doesn't answer directly, but he doesn't deny it either.

"Why?" I ask, my voice laced with genuine curiosity. "Were you caught in a garden gnome brawl or something?"

What's going on here?

Sairaorg hesitates for a moment, then speaks softly, "It's because I... I can't use demonic powers like the others here. I'm… powerless. A 'disgrace'... I don't even know what that word means."

Ah. I see.

In the criminal world, fearlessness was akin to a badge of honor, a prized currency traded in dark alleys and hidden dens. But within the devil hierarchy, a realm where deals with the devil were commonplace, it was an entirely different game. Here, power was the premium currency, a relentless and ceaseless pursuit that often started at a tender age. It was as if the devilish toddlers had a checklist: first words, first steps, and first demonic power.

I might be just a kid, but I had an uncanny knack for sensing these infernal abilities in others. Sairaorg, on the other hand, seemed to be running on empty in the power department.

Even within the devil's version of society, resembling an aristocratic circus, power was the ultimate trump card. Those who held it reveled in their superiority, flaunting it with gleeful abandon, while those without found themselves at the mercy of bullies. And I can't help but notice that this hierarchy of 'might makes right' starts early, almost as soon as you could say 'Hell.'

Sairaorg, a few years my senior but sporting the physique of a noble-born beanpole, was unfortunately caught in the crosshairs of this power struggle. A marked outcast due to his lack of infernal mojo, he bore the brunt of their teasing and taunting.

A seething anger bubbles within my tiny frame, fueled by memories of my own turbulent past in the criminal underbelly. It was a place where strength was king, and those who wielded it without compassion ruled with an iron fist. I might have been reborn as a devil in a world far removed from that darkness, but I know firsthand the value of resilience and the savagery of those who abused their power. The path I took then is not the path I want Sai to ever tread upon.

"Listen, Sai," I say, my voice tinged with determination. "if those kids make a mockery of you just because you can't conjure a spark or two, then you've got to give them a reason why it's a bad idea to mess with you. If they don't respect you, make them respect you."

His eyes fill with uncertainty as he sniffles back his distress. "But how?"

"Simple," I grinn, my charismatic charm surfacing like a smooth jazz tune, "by beating them at their own game." I extend a hand towards him, the embodiment of camaraderie and mischief rolled into one tiny fist. "Riser Phenex, at your service."

"..." somewhat anxiously, he grabs my hand and gives me a firm shake. "Sai…Sairaorg Bael."

The transition is seamless, a shift from determined mentor to suave companion, embodying the spirit of camaraderie and the allure of mischief. Misfits like us have an uncanny knack for recognizing kindred spirits, and in Sairaorg, I sense the potential for a partnership that promises more adventure than either of us has dared to dream.

With a theatrical flourish, I summon forth my miniature flames, not hot enough to scorch but perfect for delicate magic. I fixate my attention on Sairaorg's tattered suit, and in the blink of an eye, the torn fabric seamlessly knits itself back together, as if the mishap had never occurred.

"Voilà!" I declare, grinning like the mischievous little imp I am. "Professional tailor at your service. Now, first order of business, my dear friend, is to get you looking bulky and intimidating!"

I flex my meager five-year-old arm, determination etched across my face as I emphasize the point. What I may lack in sheer muscle, I more than compensate for with unyielding spirit.

Sairaorg's wide eyes tracked the magical mending of his attire, his face a mix of awe and gratitude. "W-wow… thank you, Riser!"

I give a modest shrug. "Eh, it's just a little trick I picked up. But don't you worry, my friend. We're going to turn you into the most fearsome, muscle-bound devil around." I linked my arm with his, the height difference making me lean more than I should. "Now, to the dining room!"

As our adventure unfolds, we embark on our noble quest to fill out those noble sleeves. The grand dining room is our first destination, where the delectable feasts of the devil world await our ravenous appetites. Together, the pint-sized duo set forth, two mini-adventurers ready to conquer not the world, but their first plate of otherworldly delights.

To be continued…

Alt story title:
From Crime Boss to Baby Devil: Riser's Redemption
Misfits Unite
Supernatural Oddballs
From Crimes to Cribs - personal fav

I used the criminal theme this time, since, well, it's fitting. Adds more viable reasons to this "Riser" being able to ooze natural charisma just by breathing. It's sorta complicated making "Riser" behave like a kid while retaining some (not all) of his maturity, but I think I did alright. He still have that childlike innocence and know-it-all attitude as well as childlike simplicity in him, with a dash of his own matureness that comes in the form of snark and naturally smooth operator.

And yes. I have taken a step into the dark path known as OOC!OC!Riser. This Riser is still going to be a little shithead instead of the all wise all changed Riser most of the Riser fics I've read. Also, it will be mostly fluff, so don't expect insanely high intensity action scenes, or convoluted plot. it's friendship and such. basically Academy DxD but Riser version and less Fate characters (not saying there won't be any. I have valid excuses)

His first real friend in the sea of dxd characters whose depths hardly rivals that of a puddle, obviously has got to be the best boy Sairaorg. My boy Sai. From Academy DxD. Not the one from canon because in all honesty; canon can eat my ass

And of course I must import Zest from Academy DxD to serve as my donut steal OC!Riser — which is my story, which is why you should give it a read if you enjoyed this one, because Issei is a snark-master in that one. It's also more action-oriented albeit still somewhat slice of life-y. I really like writing character dynamics, so, give it a try

Harem? Well, yes. Obviously. I can make "Riser" bed all the dxd women as I like- but that's boring and I know there are people that are willing to lynch me if I somehow pair him with Rias. So here's the catch: give me your suggestions. And make no mistake, they all will have their own lovey dovey build up that none of Riser OR Sai's harem will ever throw themselves on their hand just because one of them said 'u look cute uwu'

And obviously, Sai will get his qween. You may expect her in the next chapter

And here's another catch. 100 followers and 20 (actual) reviews and I'll post the next update pronto instead of, say, next week

what? what dyou mean this is scummy. and how dare you assume i'm not scummy