Blargh

that is all

Okay, maybe not

Remember when i promised you evil pieces? Well, i decided i don't wanna fast forward Riser's growing phase just yet. So sue me for being short-sighted, even though i have 20/20 vision

ok nuff talk enjoy

Infernal Renegades: A Tale of Misfits

[Chapter IV]

Old Flames Die Hard

Guess what? I've officially hit the big one-three. I know, I know, I don't look a day over twelve and a half, right? Well, I've mastered the art of youthful appearance; it's all about the right skin cream and avoiding responsibilities like the plague.

And guess what? I've hosted my own Soirée.

And guess what? I screwed it up. Big time.

Oh boy, what a bombastic night that was. It had more twists and turns than a serpent's tail—where does the snake's body and tail start and end anyway?—, and I'm not talking about the good kind of twists. Let's just say that by the end of the evening, my Soirée had turned into a full-blown circus, and not the classy Cirque du Soleil kind. More like the chaotic clowns-in-a-tiny-car kind.

Let's just say that evening ended with more drama than a Shakespearean tragedy, and it took Rulex and Rowan to extinguish the flames of chaos. Probably the first time I ever felt embarrassed being myself, because I made Ravel cry. Can you believe it? The wisecracking big brother who usually has a comeback for everything managed to shock her into tears. Not exactly my finest hours.

To put it mildly, it was a night to remember, and by that, I mean a night I'd love to erase from my memory. Because I nearly killed a twelve-year old kid.

Yeah. Picture that nagging at your conscience.

I won't bore you with the gory details because, frankly, I'm trying to repress them myself. Let's just say that my temper got the best of me, and I exploded faster than a firework on Devil's Day. It wasn't pretty, and it definitely wasn't my finest hour. So let's sweep this piece of my history under the rug and pretend it isn't there until someone stumbles upon it.

But hey! On the flip side, I'm banned from future Soirées! Woohoo!

Well, not officially banned. Other Families with the right mind just won't risk having their prized heir sitting nearby a psychopath.

Except a few, obviously.

Let's fast forward to the present, where I'm faced with yet another Soirée invitation. This time, it's not one I can easily toss into the metaphorical trash can or reduce to ashes with a snap of my fingers. No, this one is special because it's hosted by none other than my dear friend, Sairaorg Bael.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'd follow Sai to the ends of the Underworld and back, even if it meant navigating through a labyrinth of demon paperwork or getting lost because our internal compass is practically nonexistent. But here's the kicker – I'd rather be anywhere else than attending this event.

As much as I'd love to be there for my bud, I can't help but feel like I'll be doing him a disservice by attending.

See, my temper hasn't exactly mellowed with age; if anything, it's become a finely aged, volatile molotov.

I'd hate to be the one to turn Sai's first official Soirée into a chaotic carnival. I know the guy well enough to know that his invitation is more out of politeness than actual expectation. And besides! He's invited Kuisha and Latia. With those two around and Sai's rock-solid body and stoicism, I know he'll be fine.

But fear not, dear Sai. While I may not be there in the flesh to spice up your party, I'll make sure to give you an audio-visual call later in the night. Our weekly chats, complete with Latia and Kuisha's colorful commentary, are my lifeline in this sophisticated world, after all.

As for this special invitation card, it's earned its place on my magical thumbtack board. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe a picture is worth a thousand words and a thousand memories. Among the snapshots, you'll find family photos, a tiny me snoozing in Mom's cradle, Dad and me conquering the treacherous waters of Hell's fishing—no catfish here, just bearfish—, toddler-me launching crayon missiles at my twin brothers for reasons only known to toddler-me, Ravel's radiant smile against a phoenix-shaped firework backdrop, me pulling pranks on the household help, a pint-sized me perched atop Zest's shoulders, probably picking a fight with Hell's avians, and countless shots of me, Ravel, Sai, Latia, and Kuisha indulging in some good ol' kid stuff, like throwing mud balls, baking cakes, or in me and Sai's case, eating cakes.

My very own visual diary of my devilish adventures, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Then Ravel tugs on my sleeve, her big blue eyes staring up at me. "Brother, are you not going to Big Bro Sai's party?"

Ah, the ever-observant Ravel, with her drill twintails and a knack for catching me off guard. She's seven now, and she's as cute as always.

I let out an exaggerated sigh, drama being my middle name, of course. "Nope."

She grins slyly, her tiny fangs making an appearance. "You're just afraid you'll ruin Sai's party like your last one, aren't you?"

Caught off guard by her insight, I blink. "How are you already this sharp, sis?."

She giggles, and I have to admit, it's kind of contagious. "Woman's intuition!"

Ah. Mother's influence no doubt. She's very happy to have a daughter after all after a hat-trick of rowdy boys.

"So what are you going to do now?" I can tell that her question is more for her benefit than mine. Ravel has a talent for making herself my ever-present sidekick, and I have no qualms about it. It's my chance to show off my responsible big brother side, after all.

I ruffle the top of her golden hair, the non-drilly bits, and give her a sly grin. "I don't know. Where do you wanna go?"

Her response is just as smug, but with an extra dose of adorable swaying that sets the flounce—the bottom part of her one-piece dress—into a flouncing frenzy. "Where do you wanna go, Big Bro?"

Alright. So she's also bored like me. To be honest, I was hoping she'd wanna do something and shadow her instead.

I ponder Ravel's question for a moment, scratching my head as if the answer is hidden somewhere in my spiky blond hair. Truth be told, I don't really have a burning desire for anything specific right now. No daring adventures that might end up with Zest or Mom scolding me for dragging Ravel into some escapade, or my Dad's disappointment because I got found out and urging me to be better at stealth.

So, I resort to my usual fallback plan when in doubt.

With a grin, I turn to Ravel and give her a playful wink. "Well, sis, when in doubt, it's time to go on a Zest-hunting expedition!"

Ravel giggles, her laughter music to my ears. "Zest-hunting expedition? What's that?"

I lean in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. "It's when we go find Zest and see what she's up to. Trust me, it's always an adventure."

Ravel's eyes light up with excitement, and she nods vigorously. "Okay, let's go Zest-hunting!"

Ravel giggles with excitement, clearly on board with my impromptu plan. She's always enjoyed Zest's company, and bothering my dear personal maid has been a hobby for me. With Ravel by my side, we embark on our mission to locate Zest and add a little mischief to her day.

Break

As Ravel and I saunter through the extravagant hallways of our family mansion, we eventually find ourselves in front of Zest's room. I give the door a cheeky knock, followed by my signature line, "Room service!"

Ravel giggles beside me, finding my antics amusing. Zest, our dedicated maid, is a bronze-skinned demoness from the Leporine clan. She's got ivory hair that frames her face beautifully, and she's known for those fluffy bunny ears of hers, which have a secret weapon—they can transform into a pair of formidable horns to deter any unsuspecting attackers. But, to be honest, her personality is more dedicated to her maid duties than defense.

After a moment, the door opens just a crack, revealing a pair of inquisitive bunny ears poking out. Zest's slightly shy and earnest demeanor is always endearing, even though her occasional clumsiness keeps us entertained.

"Ah, Young Master and Young Lady," she begins, her voice as gentle as a warm breeze. She's not in her standard maid suit though, but her nice form-fitting black sweater and pants. "Yes? How may I help you?"

Ravel leans in, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What are you doing in there?"

Zest hesitates for a moment before opening the door wider to let us in. Inside, we find her surrounded by a sea of neatly folded clothes. Her clothes.

"I'm just tidying up, as usual," she says with a small, bashful smile.

Ravel nods approvingly, her childlike wonder making her an easy admirer of Zest's dedication. "You're such a good maid, Zest."

Zest blushes, her bunny ears drooping ever so slightly. "Thank you, Young Lady. It's always my pleasure to serve the Phenex family."

Ravel beams like the kid she is, but I'm no kid.

Amidst the meticulous folding and tidying, it's impossible to ignore the subtle hints of departure. The unusual melancholy lurking in her lemony eyes tells a story of its own. It's clear that she's waiting for the right moment to tell us—the kids—about her impending departure, a conversation she's likely had with my mother. I'm well aware of her loyalty to our family and her sense of duty.

"Where are you going, Zest?" I interject with a mischievous grin, masking my true intent. "Have a hot date with a duster?"

Ravel giggles. "Silly Big Bro, you can't date an inanimate object."

Yeah, well, you'll be surprised with how far lonely people will go to feel a spark of connection, baby sister. But I ain't going to depress you with the sad facts of my past world.

As Zest hesitates, her bashful smile faltering for a moment, I shoot her a knowing look, a subtle acknowledgment that I've caught on to her situation.

She glances at Ravel, who is still admiring her with those big, innocent eyes. It's clear she doesn't want to discuss her departure in front of my sensitive sister, knowing it would likely lead to tears from both of them.

With a conspiratorial wink, I lean down to Ravel's height and whisper, "Hey, sis, how about you go grab your toy wand? Wanna continue our Levia-tan vs. King Phoenix again?"

Ravel's eyes light up at the prospect of playing heroes, especially since she always wins—because I let her, of course. She nods enthusiastically. "Okay, Big Bro! I'll be in the garden practicing my spells!"

As Ravel zooms out of the room, shutting the door behind her because she's been raised right by her mother and father and me, leaving Zest and me alone, I let out a sigh. I'm thirteen now and I can show off my slightly mature side without freaking out people. I can tell that Zest is grateful for the opportunity to speak privately.

"So, spill the beans, Zest," I then say, leaning casually against a nearby table. "And don't say it's because of a duster. We've known each other too long for that."

Zest sighs, her bunny ears drooping further. "You're sharp as always, Young Master Riser… and… thanks. I was not prepared to tell the Young Lady yet."

"The early bird catches the bunny in her hidey hole," I say with a playful grin, though concern lurks behind my eyes. "So where and why, Zest?"

Her uncertainty is evident as she hesitates for a moment. Zest finally decides to take a seat, her hands clasped in her lap, appearing as if she's bracing herself for a scolding. How the turntables indeed.

"It's a family emergency, Young Master," Zest finally admits. "It's… about my mother."

"Your mother?" I don't know much about her mother beyond a vague image of a more mature and chestier version of Zest with longer hair from a photograph. I know about her esteemed position as the Chieftain within the Leporine Clan—a role that undoubtedly carries immense responsibilities, and I doubt one of them is bunny hopping. "Nothing serious, I hope."

"It… is, Young Master."

My eyebrows raise as I grasp the gravity of the situation. "I see. That serious huh."

"Yes, it is, and I have to be with her, Young Master." Zest nods, her bunny ears twitching with anxiety. The weight of her responsibilities as both a maid and a daughter must be immense. "I'm… sorry."

You don't have to share anything you're not comfortable with, Zest," I offer her a reassuring smile. "Family first, I understand. I'll likely do the same if I'm in your shoes. Except the bunny ears part—those are all you." I chuckle lightly, attempting to lighten the mood. "Besides, I suck at cleaning—way better at leaving behind a mess, as I'm sure you'd agree."

Relief washes over her, and she manages a grateful smile, her bunny ears perking up slightly. "Thank you, Young Master. Your understanding means the world to me."

"And you're my world Zest," I give her a wink, getting her to chuckle this time with one of my cheesy lines repertoire.

Our moment of shared levity is comforting, but the impending farewell still lingers in the air. Zest's imminent departure casts a shadow over our playful banter.

"So, when are you leaving?" I ask, unable to suppress my curiosity.

She sighs softly, her shoulders sagging as she glances at the partially packed suitcase in the corner of the room. "Tonight…"

Christ almight—ow— that's quick. "I see, I see… That soon huh?"

"...Yes."

…

What? Expecting witty comments?

Hey, even I can get sentimental.

My thoughts drift to how we'll manage without her. Zest's presence has been an integral part of our daily lives for as long as I can remember. Her absence will undoubtedly leave a void, especially for Ravel and me. But welp. It's family. She's got one that she cares about. What can I do about it?

The reality of her imminent departure starts to settle in, and I find it difficult to believe that this is actually happening. While I've encountered my fair share of unexpected goodbyes in my previous life within the mob, I never anticipated having to experience them in this new existence.

Zest. Leaving. The realization hits me like a semi-truck, and I'm finding it tough to brace myself for the impact. It's akin to knowing you're about to be run over; you can clench as hard as you want, but you'll still feel the weight of it.

But, as always, I'll face it head-on with a smile. This isn't an easy decision for her, and I shouldn't make it any harder.

"Well," I start as I push myself off the table and approach her, and pat her ivory hair. "Why so glum? It's not like you're banned from this house, right? And once I grow up and can snoop around without anyone's supervision and without the risk of an earful, you better check your closet for me, Zest."

A small, fond smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and her bunny ears perk up slightly, nearly brushing against my cheek.

"You never fail to bring a smile to my face, Young Master."

"Good. Because I like seeing you smile," I nudged at her playfully, still patting. Her hair's very bouncy and soft, unlike mine.

Her smile widens, momentarily lightening the weight of her impending departure. But then, as I spot the tears welling in her eyes, I can't help but feel the unfairness of it all.

It's like a prank where the punchline is unexpected emotional turmoil.

"Thank you, Young Master…" She sniffs, her gaze drifting to her lap. "For always being so kind… for everything—for the memories. I'll…" A tear drops to her clenched fists, quickly followed by another, and then another, as a sob wracks her chest. "I will miss you and everyone dearly..."

My jovial tone disappears as I realize the depth of her emotions. Seeing her cry for the first time tugs at my heartstrings, and I quickly move closer, wrapping my arms around her in what I hope is a comforting hug.

"Hey, none of that," I say softly, my voice gentle. "You're more than just a maid to us, alright? Or me and Ravel's babysitter. We all will miss you too."

She clings to me, her tears staining my shirt, but I don't mind one bit. Sometimes, you just need to let it out.

Once she composes herself enough, she pulls away, revealing me her red eyes she's currently wiping.

"I'm sorry, Master," she murmurs softly. "...And thank you again."

"Anytime, Zest," I reply with a grin. "Remember that you're always welcome here, no matter where life takes you. And No matter how far apart we are, I'll always be with you. Inside your breast."

"Heart, Young Master."

"Yes, heart."

She smiles at me fondly. I'm gonna miss her. Maybe I'd shed a tear if my former life wasn't so crap, but, then again, having humor as my primary coping mechanism is hardly the worst. Being able to laugh above it all is a powerful feeling, I'll tell you.

"And right now, I better see Ravel."

With that, I turn to leave, but not before giving her a parting wink and a playful salute. Zest may be leaving, but her place in our hearts and our home will always remain.

Break

The night Zest bid her tearful goodbyes, the Phenex family became the unofficial distributor of Phoenix Tears. My mother and Ravel's torrential crying sessions could probably refill an Olympic-sized pool, but Zest, ever the graceful one, shed her own share too, except hers didn't. Dad, while not as emotionally expressive, demonstrated his appreciation with a gift that could practically buy a mansion – twelve tiny bottles containing a single droplet of our precious Tears. Quite the parting gift, even for a family as affluent as ours.

As for me, well, I'd have shed a tear or two in private if it weren't for my upbringing in the rougher corners of life. In my old neighborhood, showing vulnerability was an open invitation for endless taunts. And besides, this isn't a permanent goodbye. One day, either I'll track you down, or you'll bunny-hop your way back here. Either way, I'm expecting a big hug.

The very next day after Zest's unexpected departure, I dedicated myself to the noble task of cheering up Ravel.

Spoiler alert: It didn't work.

She vacillates between asking why Zest had to leave and staring longingly at the mansion's entrance, hoping our favorite bunny-eared maid will magically reappear. Evidently she's handling this poorly—but hey, she's not even ten, and when you're a kid who's had everything handed to you on a silver platter, Zest's departure feels like the end of the world. This sucks, but I can't do much here except help her grasp the harsh realities of life.

Rich or poor, goodbyes are a universal currency.

Our dear mom Rhysella had a contingency plan, of course. She wanted to assign a personal maid to Ravel to fill the Zest-shaped void in her life. But Ravel, with all the determination of a pint-sized phoenix, refused vehemently.

"No! I only want Zest!" she declared, her big blue eyes welling up with tears. She even stomped her tiny foot for added emphasis.

You know, it's moments like these when it's hard to believe that such a tiny creature can produce such a hurricane of emotions. Mom tried to reason with her, offering to find a new maid who could be just as good as Zest. But Ravel, in her stubbornness, wasn't having it.

"I don't want anyone else! I want Zest back!" she cried, burying her face in her fluffy pillow.

As for me, well, I offered my sister a shoulder to cry on. Literally. I scooped her up in my arms and patted her back as she sobbed, all the while thinking that Zest would be proud of my babysitting skills. There's a silver lining to every situation, right?

Despite Ravel's protests, Mom is determined to find a suitable replacement for Zest, someone who can hopefully fill the bunny-eared maid's shoes, or at least come close. But let's be real, there's no replacing Zest. She's one of a kind.

And as for me, I'll continue to be the big brother Ravel needs, even if I can't mend her broken heart. Because that's what I do. We stick together, through tears and tantrums, phoenixes and bunny ears.

Today marks a week without Zest, and though I feel a pang of emptiness, I already understand that she has her own life to live, and I have mine to focus on. It wouldn't be fair to cling to her like an emotional anchor, and honestly, I've caused enough trouble in my time—more than enough, really.

The whole family is currently wrapped up in Ravel's emotional turmoil, knowing that I'm the one who's supposedly more emotionally mature—well, except when it comes to anger. They also know I tend to be a lone bird whenever I'm feeling down in the dumps. So they're giving me my space, allowing me to continue with my daily activities without too much interference. It's a delicate balancing act, managing the responsibilities and expectations that come with being a Phenex, but I'm handling it in my own way.

When I do find myself feeling sentimental, which is quite rare, I have a ritual—like the one I'm performing right now. I'm perched atop the tallest tree on our mansion's sprawling grounds, gazing into the distant, violet-hued skies as the sun sets. It's my way of finding solace and perspective in this ever-changing world.

And life goes on... I've got ambitions to chase and my own path to carve out in this world. One that will be paved by my past experience as a crime lord and, of course, an endless supply of liquors, cigarettes, and stacks of cash. Yes, I'm already filthy rich, but that's my parents' money. I want to earn my fortune with my own blood, sweat, and tears.

Actually, come to think of it, making money might not be too hard for me. I can just literally shed a single teardrop, purify it, discard the salt, and sell it for a diamond. Heck, I don't even need to purify it first—there's always going to be a buyer.

Sounds too easy, right? Where's the fun and adventure in that?

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm and golden glow over the estate, I find myself lost in thought, pondering the various ways I could become an entrepreneur at my young age. The idea of creating my own business empire has always appealed to me, past and current life, and now that I have the means and the resources, it's time to turn that dream into reality once again.

Instead of diving into the diamond-teardrop market (which I'll keep as a backup plan), I start brainstorming ideas for a real entrepreneurial venture. One thing's for sure, I don't plan on sitting idle and waiting for success to fall into my lap. I've seen enough of the underworld to know that you have to be proactive and seize opportunities when they come your way. With that in mind, I decided to start small and work my way up.

The first idea that comes to mind is a lemonade stand — because Zest's eyes always remind me of lemonades and her name certainly doesn't help. It's a classic way for kids to dip their toes into the world of entrepreneurship, and it doesn't require much capital to get started. I can already envision the stand, complete with a catchy sign and freshly squeezed lemonade. Of course, I'll need to recruit some of the mansion's staff to help with the preparation and serving, but that should be easy enough.

I quickly jot down some notes and ideas in a small notebook I always carry with me. The excitement of starting my own business is palpable, and I can't wait to share my plans with my parents and, of course, Ravel. She's always been my biggest supporter and cheerleader, and I know she'll be thrilled to be a part of this new venture.

As the night deepens and the stars twinkle overhead, I make a mental list of everything I'll need to get started: ingredients, a suitable location for the stand, and a marketing strategy. I'm determined to make Zesty Delights a success, and who knows, maybe one day it'll be a household name in the Underworld.

With newfound purpose and excitement, I head back to the mansion, ready to embark on this entrepreneurial journey. It's a path filled with challenges and uncertainties, but I wouldn't have it any other way. After all, what's life without a little adventure and a lot of spice?

As Ravel dramatically excuses herself from the dinner table to continue her brooding, much to our parents' concern, I seize the moment to pitch my brilliant idea: a lemonade stand. I figure it's a small but meaningful start to my entrepreneurial journey. However, their response doesn't exactly set my ambitions on fire. More like douse it away.

My mother chuckles affectionately, and my father joins in with amusement dancing in his eyes. Classic parental support, right?

My dear mother speaks first, her tone laced with indulgence, "Oh, sweetling, that's positively adorable. But don't you think you're setting the bar a tad low? We're Phenexes, dear. We could fund an entire fleet of lemonade stands without breaking a sweat."

Dad adds with a grin, "Indeed, son. Lemonade stands are for fledgling. You should set your sights higher."

Well, there goes my citrusy dreams.

They do have a point though. I mean, I'm a Phenex, born into one of the noblest devil families in the Underworld. I can't just be out here slinging lemonade like a mere commoner, and they probably don't want me to become the laughingstock of our aristocratic circle.

Sometimes I forget I've got an entire family crest to uphold.

With a defeated nod, I reluctantly abandon my lemonade aspirations, resigning myself to a fate without tart and refreshing beverages.

"But hold on," I interject, my confidence making a swift emergence from the ashes, true to my name. "I've got another idea. Brace yourselves, folks," they both smile at me, momentarily setting aside their worry for Ravel. "What if I dive headfirst into the world of fast-food restaurants in the Underworld?"

They exchange glances, clearly taken aback by my sudden burst of ambition. My mom, ever the patient one, encourages me to elaborate. "Do go on."

"Yes, fast-food joints," I declare, growing more animated by the second. "Think about it. A vast market of middle to lower-class devils, demons, and reincarnated devils hungry for something more accessible than those stuffy fine-dining places. They crave affordable, quick bites during their infernally busy days. And who's going to serve them better than yours truly?"

Dad, the eternal ponderer, strokes his chin thoughtfully and raises an eyebrow, "So, you're saying you want to pivot away from the nobility and cater to the hungry masses instead?"

"Precisely!" I exclaim, fully embracing my noble vocabulary that has tons of words to replace a simple 'yeah'. My nod is practically a vigorous infernal dance of determination. "There's a cavernous gap in the market, and I'm ready to fill it. It's not just about fattening our coin purses; it's about giving the hardworking devils a taste of deliciousness. And, well, maybe making the launch of my future alcoholic empire a tad smoother. But that's our little secret."

"My, you've always had a knack for thinking outside the pentagram." Mom smiles, proud of my audacity and business acumen. "We might have missed this golden opportunity. What do you say, dear? I doubt other families are yet to explore this idea."

"Then we can't let it slip by. I think our son might be onto something," Dad adds his support, acknowledging my vision.

With my parents' interest piqued and a new gastronomic vision on the table, I can't help but feel the flames of excitement rekindling within me. My culinary adventure in the Underworld is about to take off, and it's going to be finger-licking good!

"Let's explore this idea further tomorrow, son," Dad promises, his authoritative tone taking over. "But for now, finish your vegetables. You're already thirteen, for Lucifer's sake."

"Aw…"

Break

Months have swept by since that fateful dinner table discussion, and today is a day for the history books. A day so grand, it should have its own infernal holiday.

It's the inauguration of my fast-food haven in the bustling heart of the Underworld, christened with the fiery title, "Phenex Fried Cravings," fondly known as PFC. Catchy, right? It fits my blazing heritage like a glove—well, at least that's what Ruval, our resident design guru, insisted.

In this timeless photograph, we gallantly stand before the freshly birthed Phenex Fried Cravings. Above the entrance, our logo shines bright: a phoenix with enough style to put even the most flamboyant devils to shame, its fiery talons clutching a tantalizing drumstick with all the finesse of a seasoned magician. It's a symbol of our commitment to serving up blazing flavors to the masses—or so Ruval insists.

My parents, Rhysella and Rowan Phenex, flank me, radiating a cocktail of pride and enthusiasm. Ravel, my ever-enthusiastic little sister, brandishes the ceremonial oversized scissors, ready to slice through the ribbon with the determination of a phoenix on the hunt. My deviously clever older twin brothers, Ruval and Rulex, lurk behind us, playing a sneaky game of 'who can photobomb more creatively' as they subtly sabotage each other's poses.

Naturally, my best pals Sai, Kuisha, and Latia make their grand appearances. Sai, the unwavering comrade, flashes a thumbs-up and a grin that screams, "I'll eat every drumstick here!" Kuisha's elegant aura radiates, while Latia's sly smirk suggests she's reveling in secondhand pride like she's thinking how far this once pint-sized troublemaker has come—from spilling teapots into serving fast-food frenzy.

Our photo's cameo list extends to the esteemed families of our associates from various noble houses. Lady and Lord Gremory, with their daughter Rias, beam with delight. Satan Lucifer and her charming wife, Grayfia Lucifuge, cradle the adorable baby Milicas, cheeks like fluffy peaches. And don't forget Satan Serafall Leviathan(!), the ultimate life-of-the-party, joyously holding a reluctant Sona Sitri who's determined not to catch her sister's vibrant pinkness, encircled by her own family.

Two Satans in one place? It's almost unfair, but hey, networking matters, and I ain't gonna complain.

I also happen to possess my coveted Levia-tan merchandise, complete with her coveted autograph. Plus, there's an extra special edition featuring her and yours truly striking a pose—she's brandishing her actual magical wand at the camera, while I, well, let's say I'm channeling my inner James Bond with my blazing finger gun. Meanwhile, dear Ravel lurks in the background, impatience practically a halo above her head, waiting for her turn. We did take that second photo immediately after, just to be fair. You'll find these treasured memories hanging right there among my most cherished keepsakes.

As for Ravel, her photo has found its home in her room, nestled on her very own magical thumbtack board. It's reassuring to see her return to her cheerful self, and I must say, she's matured quite a bit in handling her emotions. No more tantrums or gloomy spells cast upon my parents whenever they spot her gazing longingly at Zest's now vacant bedroom.

Yet, as my gaze lingers on the photograph, despite the laughter captured, there's a bittersweet undercurrent. One face and a pair of perky bunny ears are notably absent—Zest's. Here's hoping that wherever she roams, the echoes of Phenex Fried Cravings reach her ears, and someday, she'll return to share in the feast of my culinary odyssey.

The moon hangs high in the velvety Underworld sky as I slip into my magical disguise, a form-fitting illusion that makes me look like just another devil in the crowd. It's amusing, really—once a crime lord, now a fast-food maverick incognito.

With a dramatic push, I swing open the door to Phenex Fried Cravings, and a tidal wave of nostalgia engulfs me. The scent of sizzling spices, frying delights, and freshly baked buns wraps around my senses like a warm embrace. The place is positively buzzing, a cacophony of customers from all walks of life, though mostly the working-class heroes. Jackpot.

I hop into line, my disguise holding up nicely. Strike up a conversation with the devil to your left? Sure thing. It's all part of the grand disguise—an eager foodie blending seamlessly with the masses.

"Hello sir, man, you," I start, leaning in as if sharing a secret recipe, "is the Inferno Hot Wings good? I heard they're like a volcanic eruption in your mouth, but in a good way."

The fellow devil, unaware of my true identity, grins broadly. "Oh, indeed, young one. After a plate of those, you might as well breathe fire, but trust me, it's a delightful experience."

I nod in appreciation, then shift my attention to the demon on my right. "Excuse me, good sir, any pro tips for a first-timer?"

A mischievous-eyed demon chimes in, "Well, if you've got a sweet tooth, you can't go wrong with the Sweet Temptation Sundae. It's my guilty pleasure, I must admit. This is going to be my fourth order…"

I nod, soaking in the spicy-sweet banter, making mental notes of their desires and complaints. It's like running a focus group incognito, and the feedback flows like a river.

Behind the scenes, the kitchen staff works tirelessly, meeting the ever-surging demand. It's clear that we'll need more workers and potentially shorter shifts in the near future, but not just yet. I'll keep an eye on the daily operations, once the initial hype has settled down a bit.

My past life as a mob boss, managing establishments in the underworld, provides valuable insights and helps me orchestrate this operation like a true maestro.

With a wink and a nod of appreciation to a frazzled kitchen worker, I take a bite of my drumstick. The flavors burst in my mouth, a taste of what my customers love. It's a reminder of the journey I've embarked upon—from the shadows to the bustling realm of fast food. Challenges may loom on the horizon, but with this valuable feedback and my own experience, I'm ready to tackle any hurdle that comes my way on the road to fast-food glory.

Could use a little bit of hot sauce though.

But let's not forget my true dream—a sprawling empire of quality booze. That's the endgame, after all.

For now though, back to my KFC— I mean uh, PFC!

As the closing hour looms, I personally extend my gratitude to each member of the crew, from the cheerful cashiers to the diligent dishwashers. Their hard work isn't lost on me—I've been elbow-deep in suds myself in a past life. I can still remember the agony of serving under a boss who believed dishwashers were disposable. The age gap between us adds an extra layer of complexity, but I'm all about bridging gaps, no matter how wide.

And besides, it's with these 'lower classes' that I feel most comfortable dealing with.

Gathering the team, I decide to drop an unconventional bombshell. "Listen up, everyone. When I'm in this joint, I shed the 'Young Master' title. Just call me Riser." The shock and faint unease in their expressions are palpable. In our society, addressing a noble by anything less than their full title is akin to asking for trouble. But I reassure them, "Don't worry about offending my noble sensibilities. Consider it an order from your friendly neighborhood boss."

One of the staff members hesitates before speaking up, "Um... Can we at least call you 'Boss'? Pardon our manners, but calling the Young Master by his first name feels rather..."

"Well, okay."

Of course, there are rules to maintain the balance. "Smoking or drinking on the clock is an absolute no-go. Catch anyone indulging, and they'll be swiftly escorted out, with a side order of memory modification." Some awkward shuffling of feet ensues, but hey, they should've read the fine print in those contracts they signed.

Some awkward shuffles there, but they all should've read the fine prints in the contracts before they signed it.

While my intentions lean toward being the most benevolent boss in the Underworld, I'm acutely aware of the need for stringent management in the food and beverage industry. It seems my pragmatic mafioso side has resurfaced, an aspect of myself I hadn't fully realized was still entrenched within me.

Despite the unusual announcement, the staff members express their gratitude before heading home, their biweekly paychecks in hand—a considerable departure from the norm of monthly payments. I've felt the biting sting of scraping by, and this is my way of softening that blow. My parents might not entirely approve, but it's a decision I'm sticking to. No one's scrounging dirt if they work for me.

A select few demons stay behind, burly or athletic night owls handpicked by my mother for nighttime security duty. Naturally, they had to pass my rigorous interview process first. Among them stands Isabela, an acquaintance of one of my mother's associates—someone with zero ties to me.

Isabela is a striking figure with a pixie-cut that defies gravity, light brown hair, and eyes that could hypnotize a basilisk. Three audacious red highlights slice through her hair like flames dancing on a griddle. Her mysterious allure is accentuated by a plain white mask that cloaks the right side of her face, adding an enigmatic touch that screams 'Phantom of the Underworld.'

Now, let's talk fashion. She dons a black jacket with shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of her secrets and a collar wide enough to hide the rest. Three leather straps on each arm scream both 'fashion-forward' and 'ready to kick butt.' The jacket has the decency to be slightly open, offering tantalizing glimpses of her midriff and ample cleavage. Her jeans are equally audacious, featuring a window of opportunity on the right pant leg, inviting your gaze to explore her thighscape—a saucy detail that says, 'I'm here to serve, and not just food.'

Not stopping there, she graces her calves, just below her ankles, with three leather straps each, because why not? And for an extra dash of 'badass,' she includes two more straps on her right pant leg, holding it together like a culinary warrior ready to battle hunger. Her ensemble is completed with sleek black fighting gloves and boots, making it clear that she's prepared to serve and protect, and maybe even whip up a mean burger in the process.

"You look pretty good," I can't help but comment.

She flashes a smirk. "I can kick pretty good as well. Looking forward to serving you, Little Boss."

"Hey," I shoot her an annoyed glare, but I make sure it was in good humor before the other demons start to get antsy.

Well I mean I am pretty small compared to my peers. I'm still at the same height as her chest.

My height is probably stunted by the amount of times I hit myself in the head from my daring escapes or daring tree-climbing and some freestyle free falling during my impromptu flying lessons

As Isabela and the other security personnel settle into their posts, I can't help but be thankful for the eclectic team I've assembled. It's a far cry from my previous life as a mob boss, but this is a journey I've wholeheartedly embraced, fashion-forward leather straps and all.

As the security personnel take their positions, the restaurant is now empty except for them. A moment of calm after the busy service hours.

A moment of calm that is abruptly ripped to shreds by a deafening inferno of sound and fury that rocks the entire establishment. Glass shatters, flames surge through the interior, clawing at everything in its path.

Riser and Isabela are hurled with brutal force from the heart of the blast, their bodies propelled through a maelstrom of shattered glass and into the tumultuous streets. Panic sweeps like a tidal wave through the Underworld's denizens as shockwaves ripple through the area, leaving chaos and fear in their wake.

The once-proud Phenex Fried Cravings is now a blazing inferno, its fiery logo consumed in the sea of green flames that lick at the night. Despite the devastation, Riser's rapid regeneration allows him to survive the ordeal, though not without agony. He experiences the peculiar sensation of his limbs regrowing amidst flames, a fiery rebirth of sorts.

Isabela was shielded by Riser from when the explosion took place, and she emerged mostly unscathed with minor wounds. They find themselves in the midst of chaos, with the restaurant now a blazing inferno behind them.

As the unnatural green flames voraciously consume the once-thriving eatery, the unmistakable signs of magical tampering and sabotage become glaringly evident. Isabela frantically scrambles to her feet, her emotions a swirling maelstrom of anger, concern, and confusion.

"Little Boss?!" she calls out, her voice tinged with desperation, but there's no immediate response from Riser.

"Hey, Little Boss! Snap out of it! I've gotta get you out of here!" Isabela's urgency intensifies, but Riser's gaze remains vacant, his features marred by gore and rapidly healing wounds, gruesome testaments to the blast's ruthless force.

But as she calms down a little, she notices something's awry. There's a disconcerting composure in his demeanor, a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounds them. His eyes remain fixed on the burning remnants of his restaurant, an unsettling tranquility in his expression that hints at something deeper.

"Boss…?" Isabela persists, her worry mounting as she puts a gloved hand on his healed shoulder. "...Riser…?"

What disturbs her most is the absence of anger, the eerie calm that cloaks Riser's demeanor despite the physical pain and the chaos that reigns around them. But beneath the surface, a tempest of rage simmers, coalescing into a tranquil fury that slowly but surely settles in.

Isabela's concern for her new and enigmatic boss reaches its zenith as she notices a subtle grin forming on his lips. Her knuckles tighten as determination surges within her.

"Look, kid," she begins, her voice steady despite the chaos around them, "whoever did this— they'll pay."

But Riser requires no reassurances. These flames are enough assurance.

"Some things never change, huh?" His voice carries a solemn weight as he utters these cryptic words. A bitter acceptance.

"Wait, what?" Isabela's confusion deepens. The abrupt shift in Riser's demeanor from passive to purposeful leaves her baffled.

"Oh well." He never dwells on explanations or shock. He swiftly pivots on his heels, his mind already churning with strategies to ensure that this nightmare doesn't repeat itself. Isabela finds herself fearing him a little as he eyes her with unblinking blue eyes as he asks, "You still okay with working for me?"

Her bewildered response stammers out, "Wha...that's what you're asking?"

"I need a clear answer, not just gasps and questions," Riser replies, his tone void of the earlier levity. "Yes or no?"

She gazes at him, astonished, wondering if this is the same young man who was making cheeky remarks just fifteen minutes ago.

"...Yes," Isabela finally manages to utter, her voice trembling.

"Good. Then you're coming with me."

Isabela's voice trembles with uncertainty, struggling to keep pace with the storm of events. She can't decide what's more astonishing—the way the kid appears to brush off the bloodstains on his clothes, or the haunting suggestion that this isn't his first dance with such harrowing circumstances.

"Wh…where…?"

"The safehouse, of course. Where else?" he proclaims calmly.

She narrows her eyes. "...Safehouse…?"

"Did I say that?" He chuckles softly, a dark undercurrent beneath his casual demeanor. "I mean my place, my bad."

The flames may have razed his fast-food dreams, but from their smoldering ashes, a dormant inferno flickers ablaze within the very core of his soul. A fire stoked by the stark realization that he had grown complacent, too trusting, and fatally naive.

He accepts any fate that may befall him as just. His soul carries a ledger tainted with shadows from his past, and the specters of his deeds do not haunt him—they dance within the marrow of his bones.

But now, he's once again found people he cherishes fiercely. Lives he holds dear, burning with a fervor that eclipses his past sins and regrets. His gift of regeneration is a shield, but what of those he cares about who lack such protection? Even so, he'd rather not have his family face a minor inconvenience like this.

The memory of his past sister he had lost to a scene much like this one looms large in his mind—a phantom pain that he will ensure to never repeat itself. Ravel must not be harmed nor targeted at all cost.

Even if he must embrace the ruthless nature that once anointed him as the underworld's most dreaded figure. A reunion with an old flame that has been smoldering deep within his being, yearning for the moment to rekindle their sinister union. An ember that waits like a long-lost lover, ready to enfold him in its passionate grip and claim him with an unrelenting, jealous possessiveness.

Tonight, Riser Phenex has met his demise in the searing blast.

And a ghost has risen from its ashes.

To be continued…

C'mon… he's a phoenix. You just know I have to make a KFC spinoff

And blow it all up :)

Sorry notRiser, you know it's all been too good to be true

Say goodbye to mischievous yet good boy Riser. You'll probably going to miss him, i hope