The Consul

by AnagrammedPseudonym

The butterfly effect is a curious thing: a mage snaps his staff and the future's path is irrevocably altered. Marcus was adopted by the survivors of his mother's Peerage, doesn't know his biological father, and has a Sacred Gear with far too many dead men inside of it. Join him as he grows up to crash headfirst into the antics and insanity of High School DxD. Big time AU.

1. Chapter 1

Welcome, to a new story!

We'll keep things brief, but important points of interest.

One, canon may or may not get blown to smithereens in this story. I'm a discovery writer, so I don't have the firmest grasp on where this road will lead, but canon is not sacred. Canon shipping especially not sacred.

Two, OCs abound. Be warned.

Three...nah, that's it. Enjoy! AN talking in more detail below.

---

"This was not among my better ideas." Serena gasped.

Charles looked over at her. Serena Bellator had been his employer for so long, he'd learned to ignore her sarcasm. It was how she expressed herself in high stress situations.

His mistress, unfortunately, wasn't being sarcastic this time. She was brilliant, but their current predicament was not part of that brilliance. If anything, it was the opposite.

"Oh shut up Charles." Serena growled.

Charles didn't say anything. He focused his eyes back on the road. In the background behind him were the flashing red and blues of the police attempting to catch them. They'd been pursuing for nearly twenty minutes. Charles wasn't worried about them catching him.

His spellframe modifications on the vehicle made that extremely unlikely. Those had done before he'd let his mistress have at the power sources of the spell frames.

It would take at least an Ultimate Class individual to even hope to catch them. No matter how close the police got, they weren't ever going to get there.

Charles Tinari had been scoffed at by mages of all kinds for nearly three decades. His magic ridiculed and derided. Until his mistress had found him, taken him under her wing, provided him the resources he'd desperately needed to prove himself.

Dedicating the ensuing twenty years of his life to her had been trivial in comparison. Charles would never consider his debts erased. Not to his mistress. Being brought into the Bellator household, into his mistress's innermost circle, was his salvation in every sense. Charles would never forget that.

He'd never flinched at her requests. At her unorthodox desires. At the way she'd hoped to use his magic.

It was a perspective Charles himself had never considered. One that, had he framed it the way she did, might have seen him drowning in grant money rather than scraping by before she'd found him.

Then again, his species wasn't in a centuries long war against a declining birth rate. Speaking of his magic as a potential solution to that problem never would've occurred to him. As a human, considering successful births as relevant to his magic had seemed so foreign.

"You're judging me, aren't you Charles?" Serena growled.

Charles shook his head. "Of course not mistress. Judgment is reserved for those who have done something stupid without thinking through the consequences. You knew this was a possibility, and we planned for it. Ergo, why we're where we are. Your statement of it not being your best idea is correct, but you were aware that it could go wrong."

"Again, you're judging me." Serena huffed, before growling and bringing a hand down to her stomach. "Fuck that hurts."

Charles pressed down further on the accelerator. The car shot down the road, barely making a whisper as it sliced through the winds. The police behind them had trouble dealing with his turn, nearly half of them zipping past the merge point. Of the police that did make the merge, the third car back threw up a spray of water from a puddle that blinded the car behind it, causing a pile up when the blinded driver tried to maneuver, only to cut off another car.

A green wheel, filled with intricate Latin, spun up over the radio. "Mistress, we're on standby at the hospital."

Serena snarled, grabbing at the green circle and pulling it closer. "I could've sworn I told you all to stay home."

"I'm sorry mistress, it seems that your contact with the spellframe is destabilizing it." Yukari's voice came through chipperly. "Yumi and I will be awaiting to assist the obstetrician when you arrive."

Serena squeezed, ghostly red claws shattering the spellframe. "Charles, dare I ask why my two Bishops are stationed at the hospital?"

"I believe they told you themselves, mistress." Charles said. "I thought it was quite plain."

The sound of the window rolling down was mostly drowned out by the air rushing by.

Then Serena's shout of frustration. Billowing orange and green lit up Charles's peripheral as his mistress vented her frustrations out the open window. Glancing over, Charles saw the fields and forests alongside the service road were lit up with roaring flames.

The local response teams would have a hell of a time handling the fallout.

On a positive note, the police had stopped pursuing them. Charles didn't blame them; mundane police weren't exactly equipped to chase a vehicle that shot out pyroclastic beams of brimstone and destruction. If anything, he applauded their survival instincts.

"Sometimes I regret picking you up, Charles." Serena growled as the window rolled shut again. "Fuck! How much further?!"

"Less than ten minutes mistress." Charles replied.

"I should've just flown." Serena rumbled, flames flickering from her mouth. "Fuck, Yukari and Yumi are going to have their hands full just restraining my flames."

"It is a high probability, mistress." Charles agreed.

"Don't you go on about probability." Serena snapped. "It's your probabilities that got us here in the first place."

"Indeed." Charles said blithely. "Even I was impressed. I didn't think it would work on the first try. That was…improbable."

"Fuck me." Serena moaned. "Little blighter won't fucking quit. He wants out and I'm trapped in a mundane vehicle with a man obsessed with probabilities. Do not talk to me about the probabilities of him coming a month early."

"Considering his unique heritages, I wouldn't presume to." Charles replied. "Data is paramount, and your son's case is quite unique, mistress. The only way to collect it would bring unreasonable amounts of scrutiny to him, something I would never bring to you or your family."

Serena let out a weak laugh. "I know, Charles, I know. I made you my Queen for a reason, after all. Like to think I picked a loyal one."

"I have no higher purpose in my life, mistress." Charles replied quietly.

Serena's hand squeezed Charles's arm. He felt the warmth, glancing over. His mistress's entire form was still visible, but there was a noticeable haze around her midsection. Her power acting up, presumably doing what it could to protect her son from herself. A quick count only showed three of Charles's seals active and glowing.

They still had a chance.

By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Serena was sweating. Charles stepped out of the car calmly, picking up Serena and putting her in a princess carry. He'd only done so three times in their twenty years of acquaintance. The other two were due to a missing limb and being half petrified, respectively.

Working for his mistress was not for the faint of heart.

The hospital was oddly empty.

"All the long term patients were sequestered, and Yumi dealt with the incoming as they got here." Yukari chirped as she stepped up. "She's got the docs and nurses all ready to go."

Charles deposited his mistress in the wheelchair. "I will stand guard."

Yukari's brows pinched together, but she nodded.

Wind magic wasn't Charles's specialty. He had, however, made sure to pick up at least a smattering of each of the main elemental magics. Enough, in this case, to lift him to the roof of the hospital.

From there, he pulled his staff out, as well as a single, six sided die. He absently rolled that back and forth along his knuckles as he paced the perimeter of the building. Laying down spellframes, keeping himself occupied.

Hayden landed within half an hour of their arrival.

Charles glanced at the young lad. Hayden was human as human could be, a talented mage that his mistress had spotted when the lad was all of ten. Charles had spent much of the past nine years mentoring the boy, helping him with the hardest intangibles of the mystic arts. Hayden Renfried had proved himself an apt pupil, and one Charles fully expected to pass the mantle of Serena's Queen to, once he himself was too infirm.

At the moment, the Rook looked like he'd been put through a war. His favorite leather jacket had burnt patches, there was blood on his trousers, and his precious mustache – something the lad had been inordinately proud of growing, for some odd reason – was missing.

"Yara and I managed to bloody their noses a bit, made them back off." Hayden said, his voice scratchy. "I think we killed a couple of the Astaroth's Peerage, can't be sure. The Belial and Phenix were throwing too many flames around to be certain. Definitely got a good shot in on Zagan. Might've killed the bastard if his Rooks hadn't gotten in the way."

"The others?" Charles asked, letting his staff float by his side as he stroked at his mustache.

"Yara went to help Beth and Remi." Hayden said. "The rest were grouped up with Shu. He was supposed to head off the-"

Charles and Hayden turned as one. The magical aftershocks raced over them, even as a bloom of dark crimson stood out in the night. The pillar was horrifyingly large, at least half a mile in diameter and breaching the low lying clouds above them. What was more disturbing than its size was the control shown. There were no heat waves or shimmer.

"It's not the Maou." Charles said immediately.

"Course it's not the bloody fucking Maou, he likes Miss Serena." Hayden said, his voice shaky. "But still. Even Shu-"

Orange and green fire lanced out from under them, accompanying a bellow of fury and anguish. The entire building shook, concrete cracking over to Charles's right.

"Even Mr. Long, but he knows his job, Mr. Renfried." Charles agreed. "That only leaves one person, however, and Mr. Long will not hold forever."

"That bitch." Hayden spat. "Stupid, fucking Devils and their stupid, fucking purism."

Charles had tried, many times, to correct Hayden's mouth. He'd given up a few years back. The boy was incorrigible, and there were better uses of their time together.

A small whorl of light appeared, and Yumi stepped out of it. Charles saw the way her eyes moved to Hayden immediately. A small tension left the woman's frame, a sigh of relief shown only in her posture.

"Bellator-sama's son is already almost here, uncle." Yumi said. "I must go back momentarily, but she said-"

"Mallory's dead." Charles said.

Hayden flinched. "Mal is…"

"The Bael would not unleash that to kill a Rook." Charles gestured at the still fading beam. "A Knight, with speed and a devil slaying sword, however, requires less precision."

"Kaa-san as well." Yumi said, her voice catching slightly.

Charles felt a tug on his heartstrings. They weren't related by blood, but Kitara had practically raised Yumi and Yukari. The two girls called her mother, much the same way they called him uncle. She was a Pawn, having refused any of the higher pieces when Serena had offered, but she'd been with Serena longer than anyone but Charles himself.

"Head back, Ms. Sato." Charles said.

He purposefully ignored the way that Yumi threw herself into Hayden's arms for a few moments, the two of them squeezing tightly. Turning slightly, he began pacing, letting his boots crunch on the roof's surface. The two youngsters pulled themselves apart, Yumi disappearing a moment later.

Another ripple of magic washed over Charles as he stood there. In response, he tossed the die in his hand up. Catching it, he looked at it and frowned.

"What're the pips telling ya?" Hayden asked.

"I am going to need a favor from you, Mr. Renfried." Charles said, closing his fingers around the die. "One you'll not be fond of, I suspect."

"Yeah?" Hayden asked. "I ain't 'fraid to go punch the bitch."

"This will require a different kind of courage." Charles said. "Mistress Bellator's son will be born shortly. Within minutes. I need you down there when that happens. Give Mistress Bellator this."

Charles pulled a small letter from his jacket pocket. "Make sure to put it in her hands."

"Right after giving birth?" Hayden asked, suitably wary.

Mistress Bellator was not one to take strange demands angrily, but Charles didn't blame the youngster's survival instincts. Serena Bellator was not one to anger idly, and a strange request right after she'd shoved an entire human out of her body would likely not be taken well.

"She won't have to read it." Charles said. "But you will, after she passes out."

"Passes out?" Hayden's tone shifted.

"They will not stop their pursuit, and Mistress Bellator is in no shape to fight them." Charles said. "She will need to be extracted. The letter contains the relevant procedures and instructions to do so."

"Old man…" Hayden trailed off.

Still, the lad took the letter. He was the good sort, in that way.

"If you and Miss Sato ever do end up doing more than making cow eyes at one another, I would appreciate it if you named one of your children after me." Charles said dryly. "You deserve at least one Charles in your life turning your hair grey prematurely."

Hayden let out a choking noise. "Always with the put downs. Agh. Me and Yumi? Really?"

"You should read more about the Japanese culture, and the significance of her letting you call her by her given name." Charles remarked. "Go, Mr. Renfried. I have preparations to make."

A hand landed on his shoulder. Charles turned to face Hayden, intending to make his statement more forcefully.

He stopped. Hayden's eyes were watering, the letter held in his other hand, fingers white knuckled on Charles's shoulder.

"She's gonna kill me for this." Hayden whispered. "Miss Serena will, you know that."

"No, she won't." Charles said, smiling slightly. "Though I do suggest you have some of Yukari's excellent strudel on hand at the time."

Hayden let out a cough, pulling his hand back and wiping at his eyes with his frayed leather sleeve. "Fuck. Fucking fuck. Bloody fuck. Old man, I really hate you sometimes."

"Good." Charles said. "To quote a famous man, it means I've done something right."

"Don't be surprised when she comes dig your ass up and revives you just to kill you herself, old man." Hayden said, turning and walking away. "And then lets me do the same."

"I look forward to it." Charles said.

The door to the roof shut, and Charles turned to the west. The red pillar was still fading to the north, fires still raged to the east from the car ride he and his mistress had taken, and the south glowed green with the fury of a Lagoon Dragon roused to true anger.

West was silent.

Charles suspected he knew why. He sat down, crossing his legs and putting his staff across his legs. Another circle spun up in front of him.

He hadn't lied to his mistress. Gaining data on her son would require bringing him to the attention of beings best left ignorant of anyone he cared for. Charles didn't do that. Instead, he requested that information on himself. A request about a specific pair of actions, and the optimal timing with which to use them.

The first came within two minutes. Charles floated his die up in front of him, letting it spin. His eyes weren't focused on it, but rather the glowing circle in front of him.

It flashed.

The die crumbled away.

With a weary groan, Charles got to his feet.

He was about to die, and he suspected that he would be doing so while devilishly curious about what cascade his action had just set off. His mistress hadn't even given birth yet, which was odd; he'd fully expected that to be the moment. Instead, the ripple of his mistress's son's entrance into the world washed across him less than thirty seconds afterwards. There was an oddity to it, a twisting and bending, but reading fates wasn't Charles's realm of expertise.

"It's always the oddities." Charles grumbled.

Floating himself to the ground, Charles began walking westward. He got three miles down the road before coming to a stop.

"They sent you." Charles said, surprised despite himself.

In all of his calculations and divinations, the Devil across from him was unexpected. He hadn't shown up even once in the simulations Charles had run.

"The Meticulous Gambler, surprised to see me. I should be flattered." Beezelbub said. "Rumor had it that you couldn't be surprised."

"Nothing is impossible." Charles replied.

A Maou was entirely outside of his expectations.

It was a good thing he hadn't been thinking about trying to survive the night. He certainly wouldn't, not against a Maou. Probabilities entered into the equation only insofar as how long he might make a fight last. He could frustrate an Ultimate Class individual for a good while, even if he couldn't harm them.

Super classes bent causality and reality a little too much for his tastes.

"You do like those words." Beezelbub said. "In fairness to you, however, I wasn't sent to fight. I'm merely the adjudicator."

"Adjudicator." Charles said, letting the taste of the word flow across his tongue.

"Yes." Beezelbub said. "A Rating Game needs an Adjudicator, after all."

Ah.

"As my mistress's formal representative, I accept." Charles said. "Opponent, and time?"

"Opponent is me, you old bag of meat." A svelte voice said as a thin, rather effeminate looking man stepped out of the darkness. "Time is now. Your bitch has-"

The Devil's voice was cut off in a fit of coughing as he choked on his own spit.

Beezelbub raised an eyebrow inquiringly at Charles. Charles didn't respond. There was no need. Instead, he waited while the challenging Devil fought against the most horrendous case of 'choking on his own spit' that he'd ever encounter in his life. It was an unlikely occurrence, especially in the given moment, but not impossible.

"Hrkkk." The Devil spat, finally finding his tongue again, straightening up. "Your stupid bitchy little-plerugh!"

The odds of an owl swooping over and deciding that the perfect target to defecate on was the Devil were again, low, but not impossible. The odds of it landing in said Devil's mouth right as he inhaled were even lower.

As the Devil dropped to his knees, coughing and hacking with wheezing sputters, Beezelbub hummed. "Now that is impressive. I see why the younger generation isn't fond of you."

Charles didn't bother responding again.

When the challenging Devil rose to his feet again, his face was near apoplectic. For someone supposedly of high breeding and refinement, his expression was uglier than the backside of a two quid donkey, in Charles's admittedly common opinion.

"If you wish to be able to get your challenge out, I suggest you speak respectfully." Beezelbub said lightly. "I will admit to being amused, so if you wish to be stubborn, I'm quite curious as to what misfortune you'll suffer next."

The challenging Devil's mouth snapped shut. Charles watched as he shook with rage, his entire being quivering. It was so uncontrolled that the Devil's eight wings popped out, flames flickering around them for a brief moment.

"I, Octavius Bellator, challenge the half-" Octavius stopped, clearing his throat. "I challenge Serena, pretender to the name of Bellator, to a Fatal Stakes Rating Game, with her entire Peerage versus mine. Now."

Charles opened his mouth.

"I accept." Charles's mouth snapped shut.

Turning, he saw his mistress alight on the ground next to him. He blinked for a moment, taking in her still noticeably distended belly.

"If I win, I get full claim to the Bellator name and none related to you in blood can challenge that, ever." Serena said. "If you win, well I'm dead and my child's not going to be of concern to anyone. If none of us wins, Beezelbub declares this matter null and void, as no winner could be declared."

Octavius's mouth flapped up and down a few times. Then it settled into a sneer.

"You're on, you half-blood cur of a-"

The second worst case of choking on his own spit wasn't terribly unfortunate, but it did coincide with a peculiar moment of both peristalsis and gas shifting within the Devil's colon. Octavius's face went white as he realized how horribly his body had betrayed him.

"Two minutes of preparation time." Serena said. "Ajuka, for fuck's sake, get the idiot away from me before he stinks up my air. I'm pregnant, I don't need any premature exposure to shit. I'll be dealing with that enough while changing my child's diapers."

Beezelbub lifted an eyebrow, but nodded.

Charles tapped his staff upon the ground as soon as the other two Devils left. "Mistress…"

"I read your letter." Serena's smile was one full of teeth. "It was quite clever. Would've worked perfectly, if I hadn't seen it in your pocket yesterday."

Charles clicked his tongue. "I wondered why you wanted to inspect my jacket, mistress."

"I appreciate it." Serena said, her smile utterly barren of regrets. "Still, I took the idea and tweaked it. My Peerage and I will certainly perish in this monument of stupidity raised upon the cairn of the Bellator name, but my son will have plenty of aunts and uncles to watch out for him."

Charles blinked a few times. Then her wording fell into the proper places. He had taken the slight metaphysical ache to mean his contingency had been properly enacted. It had, but like many things with his mistress, something had gone askew.

Charles couldn't find it within himself to be surprised. Just disappointed.

"Clever, mistress." Charles said. "How may I assist?"

"You've already done the hard part." Serena smiled. "Ajuka will be so mad when he figures it out. I don't think he ever considered the possibility coming into play."

"It wasn't impossible." Charles said.

"Nothing ever is, with you." Serena smiled. "His name is Marcus, by the way."

Charles let out a soft breath. "For your uncle. How very filial of you, mistress."

"For your Marcus too." Serena said quietly.

Charles had nothing to say to that.

Serena knew him well enough to know when to back off. "How did you manage to fool Ajuka?"

"The odds of there being lingering echoes were…high." Charles shrugged, finding his voice after a moment. "I played the odds, mistress. Same as always."

"Even for me." Serena said, sounding impressed. "Very skillful of you."

Charles blinked a few times. "You…ah, of course."

A sour taste filled his mouth. He knew there was nothing he could do to sway his mistress from her course. Her words, however, put the final pieces into place.

Now he wouldn't even be able to save her life.

"Of course, indeed." Serena said, fire in her eyes. "You'll help make sure, won't you?"

Very few requests his mistress made required thought from Charles, rather than instantaneous agreement.

This was one.

"I will endeavor to do what I can." Charles said. "I am uncertain of what good it will do. Much of it will depend on the goodwill of Beezelbub."

"Considering he's about to witness the ending of one of the families being fostered to retake one of the Seventy Two?" Serena scoffed. "He knows I didn't seek this fight Charles. He knows that this stupidity is part of what will likely be the end of our species. I believe I will have his goodwill."

"And if not, then I have other contingencies in place." Serena said. "I left them with Remi."

"Of course, mistress." Charles said.

"The Rating Game will start in ten seconds." Beezelbub's voice echoed across the empty road.

"As long as you can give me, Charles." Serena said, closing her eyes. "I will give them something to remember me by. Something to regret me by."

Charles could feel the power pooling in his mistress. Power she normally kept contained. It mixed and surged; the protections he and her son's father had placed around her womb were no longer necessary, but their remnants remained. Remnants Serena's magic swept up and repurposed. Pushed into a specific direction, compressing and focusing.

"Begin." Beezelbub's voice said.

Octavius Bellator appeared, with his full Peerage. For all his pomp and zealousness, Charles knew the Devil was smarter than appearances might suggest. He'd manipulated circumstances, called in favors, and timed his challenge for when Charles's mistress was weakest. He'd ensured her own Peerage was worn down in delaying actions and full fledged battles against others, expending their energy and health to turn away other enemies of their King. It had worked.

Charles allowed himself a small amount of petty pleasure at the knowledge that Octavius Bellator did not realize the game was no longer being played with the same set of rules.

A swirling shield appeared around Charles and his mistress. Fire, orange flickering with the faintest hints of green, slammed into the shield. It poured through, refracting off the swirling portions to miss Charles and his mistress completely. More attacks followed, all of them punching through yet fracturing in such ways that they barely missed the two targets inside.

"They're growing a bit too close to hold off much longer, mistress." Charles said.

One of Octavius's Knights dashed forwards. The man's sword sliced through Charles's shield, only to deflect awkwardly. The Knight's landing was thrown off and the man tripped, falling on his face. Charles's own spellframe appeared above him, the asphalt moving up and over the Knight's head. Before the enemy could regain his bearings, Charles clamped down with the asphalt.

He left the Knight flailing frantically, attempting to break free of the pliant, yet surprisingly penetrative substance. Charles doubted he'd get out in time to matter. Especially not with the odds of some of the liquified asphalt seeping into his mouth and throat. They were much higher than others might think.

To his surprise, the second of the instances came to pass the immediate aftermath. Charles, trusting to his magic, brought his staff up and broke it over his knee. It crumbled into dust.

Octavius Bellator immediately tripped over a crack in the asphalt caused by his currently entombed Knight launching himself forwards. When he fell, he grabbed onto his Queen's robe, dragging her down with him. The noises of surprise and startlement caused the rest of the Peerage to whip around, several attacks going off point.

One, which should've deflected off of Charles's shield, instead rerouted to punch through the Knight's back, stilling the flailing figure.

Another, a beam of fire tightly compressed, punched through Charles's stomach.

Huh. Well, the odds get everyone, in the end.

Charles felt oddly little pain as he fell to his knees. He twisted his head around, turning to look at his mistress. She looked ordinary, oddly enough. Normally, her-

Ah. Yukari's illusions have grown much more potent, to hide even that. Or perhaps combined with what I placed on her stomach.

"Not so hot now, you stupid old meatbag." Octavius Bellator said as he approached, judging by the sounds of the footsteps out of Charles's sight. "Cur, you should surrender now, and get a clean death. You've made this expensive enough already."

Serena opened her eyes, which glowed with a mix of orange and green. "No, I haven't. You've taken my child from me, Octavius. You will never know what that means to a mother. So let me take away the equivalent for you."

The orange and green pulse that emanated from Charles's mistress was utterly terrifying. Even as it rushed towards Charles, he could see its horrifying power, and what amassing such power had done to his mistress.

I'm sorry, mistress.

I'm so sorry.

()()()()()

---

()()()()()

Sirzechs found Ajuka in the middle of a wasteland. The ground was greyed, darkening the closer they walked to the center. Cracks radiated outwards, varying in width even as they swayed drunkenly across the glassed earth.

Green and orange fires flickered out of the cracks. If there had been any vegetation within five miles, it was gone. Glancing up, Sirzechs saw the way that the detonation had disturbed the local weather patterns.

"Wow." Serafell said as she walked alongside. "Little Renren was really angry."

Sirzechs couldn't find it within himself to smile. Normally Serafell's antics were a welcome relief to the nature of most Devils, but not in the current moment.

His wife was at home, mourning the loss of a close friend. A girl she'd mentored in many ways.

It would take Grayfia a long time to recover.

Longer still, since she's been denied her vengeance.

"Her potency, converted to flame." Ajuka said, studying the area where the cracks emanated from. "She turned herself into a bomb. One particularly dangerous to other who shared her blood."

Sirzechs followed Ajuka's gesture. He saw a second epicenter of cracks. This one was smaller, and less circular, but equally blackened.

"And so ends another promising line." Ajuka said. "They would've been up for promotion as a family."

Sirzechs nodded silently. He knew how seriously his fellow Maou took the reformation of their society. While Sirzechs and Serafell managed their people and their politics, Ajuka was the one looking much further into the future. He sought the solutions that would lead their kind to prosperity.

Including raising new families to take up the names of the Pillars. Or, replace them, as the case might be.

The Bellator had been one such family. Only to fall apart within the last decade, tearing itself to pieces for other, larger families to feed on.

"Little Renren's child?" Serafell asked.

"She wasn't quite there yet." Ajuka said, shaking his head. "Had she been, I would have intervened. I came precisely for that scenario."

"Her Peerage?" Sirzechs asked.

"Scattered." Ajuka said, running a hand through his hair. "Her Bishops are both talented teleporters. I could track their movements, but their King's explosion has thrown everything in the nearby area in flux. As you experienced."

Sirzechs nodded. If they hadn't known Ajuka's signature almost as well as their own, teleporting anywhere close to him would've been impossible. Even with all their power, they couldn't teleport where they couldn't sense.

"If they return to the underworld, we'll find them." Sirzechs said. "They are all worthy of a second chance."

Ajuka let out a sigh. "Yes. They are."

Serafell tilted her head. "Mmm?"

Sirzechs didn't know what she'd seen. He did know his associate well enough to let it play out.

Serafell walked over, crouching down next to a spot within the blackened center of the wasteland. "Ajuka, what's this?"

"That would be where the Meticulous Gambler was turned into ash by his King's explosion." Ajuka said. "Why?"

"It's wet." Serafell said.

Sirzechs frowned. Ajuka strode over, a similar expression on his face.

"His blood." Ajuka said. "Why would his blood still wet the ground? Serena exploded with enough power to detonate an Ultimate Class Devil at nearly full strength, being shielded by all of his own power and that of his Peerage."

Serafell's finger traced along in the air. "It's not a splatter. It almost looks like-"

Both Serafell and Ajuka leapt away from the spot at the same time. Sirzechs saw them flash with various magics cast upon themselves, then each other. When they glanced his way, he cleansed them with what spells he knew to that effect.

"Wasn't aimed at us." Ajuka said after a moment.

Sirzechs let out a small sigh of relief. The Meticulous Gambler wasn't likely to be lethal to any of them with his spells, but they'd all seen his work too many times to disdain it. Serena Bellator had found a frightening mage to be her Queen, even for Maou.

"Still hasn't been activated." Sirzechs said after a few moments inspection of his own.

"It has." Serafell disagreed. "It just hasn't been completed. It's waiting on something."

"Knowing that man, it could be anything." Ajuka said. "And, if it's still wet, then that blood may very well be empowered with the full power of a sacrificial technique, possibly two of them."

"Uwu, scary." Serafell hummed. "Something to do with her Peerage, likely."

"Or the others who came after them." Sirzechs said. "Their enemies were not shy in announcing themselves."

"I'll set wards up to monitor this." Ajuka said. "Keep others away as well. Supervise clean up afterwards."

"Mmm, I'll go talk to some people who let it get this far without chastising their children." Serafell hummed.

Sirzechs almost wished her victims good luck. Serafell was not gentle with her chats, not when that tone of voice was in play.

"Zechy?" Serafell asked, turning his way.

"I need to go console my wife." Sirzechs said. "Unless you'd like help, Serafell."

"Hmm." Serafell put a finger to her lips, tapping for a moment. "Nah. Grayfia would just break them all. That's too easy for these idiots. You okay if I rough up some of your aunts and uncles?"

"Be my guest." Sirzechs said. "As long as it doesn't involve Sairaorg or his mother."

"Mmhmm." Serafell nodded. "He's too cute anyways. And he likes my outfits!"

Sirzechs and Ajuka let that by without comment, by dint of long practice.

"What?" Sirzechs asked once Serafell had left.

"The Meticulous Gambler was expecting someone other than me." Ajuka said.

"Expecting?" Sirzechs asked.

"That man was prepared for a drag down, knock out fight." Ajuka said. "And I don't think his King was supposed to be part of it. Even if Octavius and his Peerage had somehow escaped what Serena did to herself, they weren't going to escape what he'd already done to them. I felt things twist, when I announced the start of the Rating Game."

"Ideas?" Sirzechs asked.

"I can only hope it wasn't her father or brother." Ajuka said.

Sirzechs pursed his lips, nodding. As much as he despised attitudes like that of the former Bellator, he knew that some of Octavius's hatred had originated in fear. Serena Bellator's father and other half-brother had large reputations in the underworld.

The Huntsmen were supposed to be long dead, but then again, the Huntsmen weren't supposed to lay with the foes they were sworn to kill. Reyjin Thyr had proven the exception to both suppositions. The Huntsman and his son had recently escaped their confinement at the hands of the Bellator. Nothing had been heard in months, but they'd been captured in the first place trying to kill Serena Bellator at the age of four.

"Unlikely. They don't possess the magic to teleport, and they'd never bargain with any devils." Sirzechs said. "Who else, then? Not one of us, if he wasn't expecting you."

"I'm uncertain." Ajuka said. "She made a great number of enemies, political and personal. Any of them may have used the opportunity, and none stand out as more vengeful than the others. Octavius was merely the most outspoken."

"Something to consider." Sirzechs said. "I'll have my people keep an eye out for her Peerage. Unlikely as it is that they'll return to the Underworld."

"I agree." Ajuka said. "Standing aside from the politics and withholding the offer to examine her child was a mistake. If we knew who the father was, we might know where they'd flee."

"They wouldn't go to him." Sirzechs said. "Her entire Peerage was human, or living on Earth itself for long periods of time. We both she didn't get pregnant for love. The child's would be father will be the last place they'd go."

Ajuka raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"They'll go to ground, here." Sirzechs tapped the ground with his foot. "In a territory where devils have no influence, or in a neutral zone. Scattered across it, to avoid attention. They know they'll be hunted."

Ajuka nodded. "You feel it too."

Sirzechs nodded. His cousin's fading energy was overwhelming to most, but Sirzechs possessed a mastery of the Power of Destruction that surpassed all his relatives by magnitudes. Despite the blinding remnants of power still lingering to the north, he could feel the fading death knell to the south. It was of no surprise that Ajuka could as well; his fellow Maou had designed the Evil Pieces. It was impossible he didn't know the signal given off when a King died.

Three Kings, in this case.

"An angry Lagoon Dragon is not something to be trifled with." Sirzechs said. "Any angry dragon, but they were the fools that decided to provoke a Lagoon Dragon near a large body of water."

"Two angry dragons, technically." Ajuka said mildly.

"They didn't get close to the dangerous one." Sirzechs said. "As Octavius found out."

Ajuka nodded. "Go to your wife. I'll gather the survivors."

Sirzechs nodded, shaping his power. As the magic circle, glowing red, lifted from the ground, he saw his fellow Maou staring at the bloody spot on the ground with an intent look on his face.

()()()()()

---

()()()()()

"Dammit!" Hayden kicked the boulder.

Even in his rage, he didn't forget the old man's teachings. He knew there were others nearby who were vulnerable to shrapnel, and his magic billowed outwards, catching the shrapnel less than an inch from the crater he'd made in the boulder.

"Renfried-san." Yumi said quietly.

Hayden hauled back on his anger. He knew his temper was a vicious thing, which was part of the lessons the old man had imparted on him. Unleashing his wrath towards inanimate objects and enemies was far more acceptable behavior. Doing towards a friend –

Maybe more, given what the old man said.

Hayden took a deep breath, turning to face Yumi and Yukari. Yukari had the newly named Marcus Bellator in her arms, wrapped up in fresh cloth she'd already cleaned twice via magic.

"Sorry." Hayden muttered, clenching his fists.

Yumi got up from where she was seated next to her sister. Hayden tensed for a moment when she hugged him, then relaxed. He knew Yumi meant no harm.

Even in the years it had been since Mistress Bellator had taken him away from his horrid situation, she and Yumi were among the few women with whom he could suppress his instinctive reactions.

And she's gone, now.

Hayden had felt it, even after Yumi's and Yukari's initial teleport. Everyone's Evil Pieces had been removed, the entire set in the case on Yumi's hip due to Mistress Bellator's last orders. The lingering echo of the connection had still washed over him as he waited for the sisters to coordinate their next teleportation destination.

He had failed to protect her. Her, and the old man both.

"You mourn, as do we." Yumi said, not releasing her hug. "If it wasn't for young Bellator-san, I have no doubt Yukari would be far more destructive than you, right now."

Hayden couldn't suppress a snort at the way Yukari frowned their way. She didn't voice any disagreement.

"Can you-" Hayden swallowed, wrapping his own arms around Yumi. "Takari-san, can you track them still?"

"Fleur-san, Trout-san, and Hjorn-san are heading this way." Yukari said, a blue circle appearing in front of her eyes. "Long-san and the others still haven't-"

The way her face went pale spoke what words couldn't. Hayden clenched up on Yumi, who held him tighter in return.

Dammit Shu. You and I were supposed to…guess you were doing the job we swore to do.

Hayden felt Yumi's tears wetting his shoulder as they stayed clenched together. They only released when the other three finally arrived.

The Lagoon Dragon still glowed, a murky green coloration around her that the nearby grass stretched towards. The French beauty – and Hayden's first crush – had fury writ large on her face. The former Knight was clutching at her bident with whitened knuckles, her posture rigid.

"Mademoiselle is gone." Remi snarled, her accent thick to the point that Hayden once would've struggled to interpret it.

"Old man too." Hayden said.

Yara let out a whimper as she landed beside the dragon. Hayden found himself walking over to her before he could process it. His arms wrapped around her as the devil burst into tears.

"They're dead." Yara cried, clutching at Hayden's sleeves.

Hayden didn't know what to say, how to comfort her. He could only shift when Yumi approached as well, hugging Yara from behind. Beth joined a moment later, wrapping her furred tail around their group hug.

"Everyone latch onto them." Yukari said, her voice brittle. "We can talk further when we're farther away. Bellator-sama's...her sacrifice won't confuse things forever."

Hayden felt Remi's hand on his shoulder. A moment later, blue washed over his vision. It was immediately followed by seafoam green. Then blue. Then seafoam green.

Only after a last flash of blue did the alternating magics fade away.

The sounds of waves lapping at the shore drew Hayden's attention visually. He looked out of the slowly dissolving group hug to see that they stood on a beach. Casting out his senses, he felt nothing magical or supernatural within his perceptions. Glancing at Yukari as she stepped away with Marcus in hand, he saw two magic circles pulsing in front of her. A moment later they winked out.

"We've evaded detection, I believe." Yukari said.

"Where are we?" Beth asked, the nekomata's eyes red with tears.

"Home." Remi said, her voice quiet. "Southern France."

Hayden glanced at the Lagoon Dragon. She had taken a few steps away and was slowly sinking to her knees. The bident was still in one hand, but the other scooped up a handful of sand.

"Mage territory." Yukari said. "Teleportation is nothing unusual, and anyone who detected our passage is unlikely to investigate with any speed. We didn't bring anything that would rouse the ire of any of the associations here."

"They will still come after us." Beth said. "Mage territory or not. I killed the Valac King. Remi killed the entire Oriax Peerage with Yara's help. They won't let that go."

"We might've crippled a few as well." Hayden said, looking down at his burnt jacket that Yara still clung to. "I thought we got a kill on the Astaroth, but I can't be sure."

"They'll have a difficult time of it." Yukari said. "Tracking any of us will be difficult, and they won't get it from our teleportation. Yumi and I made certain of that, and I'm fairly sure I felt Tinari-san's magic interwoven in it as well."

"We need to go lick our wounds." Beth said, the blood on her arm and torn dress apparent. "There's little we can accomplish without healing up."

"Heal, and find a place to hide." Hayden agreed.

"No." Remi snarled, rising to her feet. "I will not stand by while Mademoiselle's killers are still breathing."

Hayden felt the pulse of anger off of the Lagoon Dragon as her murky green glow returned full force. There were days where he'd wondered just how Mistress Bellator had managed to bring her into the Peerage with only a Knight piece. Then he'd seen it, when Mistress Bellator had withdrawn her Peerage into the case. There were Mutated Evil Pieces, and then there mutated Evil Pieces. Hayden had seen the former, but never the latter until that moment.

"Fleur-san." Yukari said sternly. "Rein yourself in. Young Bellator-san can't withstand your Semblance."

Remi flinched and the pressure withdrew. The anger on her face remained.

"We owe Mademoiselle everything." Remi said, looking at all of them. "I will not let her stand unavenged."

Hayden could almost agree with her. "And what, leave her son behind for dead?"

The Lagoon Dragon flinched again. She glanced towards the infant, whom Yukari was busy casting on.

"It need not be all of us." Remi said. "But I will have vengeance, for the Mademoiselle. Even if none of you follow."

Glancing around, Hayden saw there wasn't support for the dragon. Yukari and Yumi had verbally heard Mistress Bellator's last orders, Yara was still in shock, and Beth looked forlorn and lost. Scared.

Hayden knew the former Knight well. He knew that the lack of support wouldn't stop her. Wouldn't slow her down.

He went with a different tactic. "We all will, Remi. We all want it. But…stay with us, help us. For a bit, at least. Make sure that we can raise Marcus here, so that he can grow up, be the child his mother would want. Of everyone here, he will need you the most, given what his father may have passed on."

"I…" Remi's anger receded somewhat, her glow lessening. "I-"

"Not forever," Hayden said, praising Mistress Bellator for her instructions, "just until we can be sure if he's inherited anything from his father, or even his mother's Sacred Gear having any long term effects. Once we have that, I'll lend you whatever support you may need. I won't abandon him, not until he's old enough to fend for himself, but if you can't wait that long, give us some time."

Remi looked torn, her eyes lingering on the baby.

"Please, Remi." Beth asked softly, stepping up and putting a hand on the dragon's shoulder. "Give us time to mourn, be our guardian. Protect the child until he's older. Then…I'll go with you, if you still want your vengeance."

Remi's shoulders slumped, bident falling to the sand. "Fine."

Hayden let out an inner sigh of relief. "Yumi, where should we-"

"America." Beth said, turning to face Hayden directly. "Northern California, specifically."

Hayden blinked a few times. "California? Why?"

The nekomata let out a deep breath. "Because I have family there. Family that we can use to get started."

"You want to go to the Wilds?" Yukari asked doubtfully.

"U.S. is pretty wild, but it isn't the scary place the devils make it out to be." Beth said. "They just call it that because there are too many supernatural groups all smashed together for them to gain much of a foothold. That, and Uncle Sam puts the kibosh on anyone establishing large territories that don't also answer to them."

"The US government knows about the supernatural?" Hayden asked in surprise.

"I forgot how young you were when you were taken out." Beth smiled wanly. "Most Earth governments do. Most of them have deals with devils as a matter of fact, along with other measures in place. The US went a different route, but they have their methods of making it unpalatable to set up territories, or groups of territories, beyond a certain size without their permissions. Blame the Illuminati."

"That's a thing?" Yara asked, pulling away from where she was clinging to Hayden. "I thought they were a joke."

"They are now." Beth said. "My grandfather still has scars from driving them out. The point is, the US is a pretty safe place to go, to avoid the larger supernatural powers. We just have to respect the system in place, and my family can help us adjust to that."

"Is it near water?" Remi asked.

"Can be." Beth said. "Might be a little cold for you, though."

"I'm a dragon, I'll be fine." Remi replied.

"I have no objections." Hayden said after a bit of thought. "Anyone else opposed?"

Yara shook her head mutely, while Yumi and Yukari looked at each other. The sisters swore they weren't telepathic, but Hayden wasn't entirely sure he believed them.

After thirty seconds of intense staring, Yukari shrugged, shifting the baby slightly. "It's fine with us. We'll have to travel mundanely. Yumi and I have never been to the mainland."

"Mmm." Beth frowned. "Miss Bellator took you to Hawaii right?"

"Yes." Yukari said. "Why?"

"Arriving via plane can be a bit of a hassle." Beth said. "Hope no one gets seasick."

()()()()()

---

()()()()()

Marcus blinked with confusion as he looked around.

"The hell?" Marcus said, lost for words.

He appeared to be, for lack of a better descriptor, at the bottom of an amphitheater. It was a half bowl, with a stage on the bottom where Marcus was currently located. There was a set of stairs off to one side, leading up to a small balcony set over the stage proper.

"Speak not of hell, good man." Marcus turned to see another man. "Pluto is never one to tempt, unless you're cursing him."

Blonde haired, blue eyes, and surprisingly short with a spark plug build. Most interesting, the man wore what appeared to be leather armor. A lion was embossed on it, and there were what looked to be metal studs set throughout, most located over important organs. A skirt of some kind, with coppery plates interspersed in the weave, hung to the man's thighs. His pants were rough, perhaps cotton, with coppery greaves and a strange set of sandals on his feet.

"Heh." A second voice drew Marcus's attention. "Nice cosplay, dude."

The second speaker was almost rail thin. His face was poorly shaved, his dark hair greasy and slick. Acne scars covered his face, including a nose that could only be described as beak like.

"I do not know what cosplay is, but I accept the compliment nonetheless." The blonde said, nodding.

Marcus's eyes widened, realizing the blonde had what looked like a very real sword on his belt, along with a shield strapped to his back.

"Hehe." The greasy man said. "This is why I probably shouldn't have agreed to take acid."

"I don't think you're the only one tripping." Marcus said, frowning.

He attempted to access his magic, frowning at the absence. It wasn't as if he was being blocked; the sensation of drawing power from his soul and body was utterly gone.

This is…not a great place to be. What happened? Last I remember, Dava was setting up for the latest round of experiments, but there was nothing translocational nor soul altering involved.

"Welcome." A stentorian voice boomed.

Marcus spun, pointing his hand at the source. The expected magic circle failed to materialize.

In the corner of his eye, he saw the blonde with shield on one arm, blade drawn and laid across the flat top. The greasy guy was just staring.

The glowing ball of white light simply floated. It hadn't been there a moment earlier, but Marcus noted it was in the exact center of the stage.

"Welcome to The Advisory Council." The ball pulsed. "You three have been chosen as the Firsts."

"First of what, sphere?" The blonde asked, strafing to one side. "Which god do you serve?"

"Holy shit, I think that's magic." The greasy guy said.

"The Advisory Council is a Sacred Gear, gifted to a newborn human." The ball pulsed. "You are the firsts of the Council that will inhabit this Sacred Gear, the three leaders."

Marcus's eyes narrowed. He had no idea what the sphere was taking about.

"Sacred Gear?!" The greasy guy's voice broke an octave up.

"You would have us as a Triumvirate." The blonde said, scowling. "Triangles are notoriously unstable. Ask my ancestor."

"Considering none of you may die yet again while occupying this Sacred Gear, worry not about fatal betrayals, Marcus Aurelius." The ball pulsed.

Die yet again…are we dead?

"Speak clearly, godsworking." The blonde Marcus growled. "I've dealt with too much dissembling to trust something such as yourself."

"You three are the first of the dead souls collected within this Sacred Gear." The ball pulsed. "Given a unique chance to better your next attempt at life."

Marcus frowned. That sounded an awful lot like reincarnation theory, which he and Dava had been fairly certain was an impossibility. The growth of magic users that they'd acquired data on spoke to such things.

"We're dead?" The greasy guy asked, his voice trembling.

Marcus noted the faint British accent in his voice, warbling in the tremble.

"You, Marcus Renard, died in a motorcar accident." The ball pulsed. "You, Marcus Atweiler, died in an explosion that consumed your magical theory lab."

"And you, Marcus Aurelius, died on the sands, your tormentor gasping his dying breaths in time with your own." The ball pulsed.

Our lab blew up? Shit. Hope Dava survived.

Also, we're all named Marcus. That doesn't seem coincidental.

"Why should we believe you?" The blonde Marcus snarled. "I've had plenty of men and monsters claim my death prematurely."

"A demonstration, then." The ball pulsed.

The blonde Marcus disappeared in a circular beam of pure white annihilation. Marcus, even with his magic seemingly removed, felt the concept of oblivion within the attack. It was the kind of magic he and Dava had earmarked as research material for the people picking up their work hundreds of years in the future. Far, far beyond Marcus's own abilities or understanding.

When the beam faded, the blonde Marcus was gone. He faded into view a moment later, back in the spot Marcus had first seen him. His face, which had been hard, was neutral, though Marcus saw a look of uncertainty in his eye. He patted himself down, his sigh of relief loud in the otherwise silent amphitheater.

"Consider me…persuaded." Aurelius said.

"Excellent." The ball pulsed. "More of you will populate this Sacred Gear over time, but it is under the guidance of you three."

A rumble rolled through the amphitheater.

"Ah." The ball's pulse seemed…hesitant. "I suppose, if you were to exit the amphitheater, you would see that your neighbor. Do try not to antagonize it. It can die no more than you can, but I suspect it might make your lives rather miserable, should it feel the need."

"Guide this human well, and your next life will be rewarded." The white ball pulsed strongly, Marcus having to blink away white spots in his vision.

The hall of white faded out of existence.

"Sacred Gear." Renard mumbled. "Holy shit, I've died and become part of a Sacred Gear. You gotta be shitting me."

Marcus ignored him, turning to the blonde. "The ball called you Marcus Aurelius. As in, former Imperator of Rome, Marcus Aurelius?"

"Aye." The blonde frowned. "I know not whom either of you are. Nor do I find myself appreciative of this atonement, or whatever else it might be called."

"Wouldn't expect you to." Marcus replied. "You died nearly two thousand years ago, from my perspective. I'm just a magical theory researcher, not anyone particularly special."

And wasn't that a half truth if Marcus had ever said one.

Aurelius raised an eyebrow. "A researcher? With those scars?"

Marcus glanced down; his usual tattoos were covering his scars on his arms, but he'd apparently been put in this place without a shirt.

Dammit. Wonder if it stole how we picture ourselves. Been a long while since I've been in this attire.

The remnants of Marcus's deployment uniform made a fairly decent tank top, but peeking out from his chest were three jagged scars that couldn't be anything other than claw marks.

Marcus tried not to think about that moment in his life.

"It's what I think of myself as." Marcus shrugged. "Not nearly as important as a man remembered over two thousand years after he died."

"Self image is important, or so I have been told when it comes to magi." Aurelius nodded.

The blonde turned to Renard. "And you, man? Who are you?"

The greasy man blinked, shaking his head. "I gotta be tripping. That ball thing said Sacred Gear, right? Tell me I'm wrong."

Marcus glanced at Aurelius. They shared a look, turning back to Renard.

"You're not wrong." Marcus said. "What do you know of them?"

Renard let out a bark of hysterical laughter. "I know they're supposed to be from a story. Make believe."

"I dealt with godsworkings and magi in my day, and Atweiler here seems to be a magical theorist." Aurelius said, cocking his head. "While there are a great many things I am unaware of, declaring anything as make believe is a dangerous proposition."

"Nah, man, you don't get it." Renard said, his eyes wild. "Where I'm from, magic doesn't exist."

"He may just be one of the populace at large." Marcus said when Aurelius looked his way. "Most mundane are entirely ignorant of the supernatural."

"A change indeed." Aurelius murmured.

"That's not it!" Renard shouted. "Sacred Gears are from some stupid doujin, a story! They can't be real!"

Renard collapsed to the ground, shaking his head.

"Whatever this is, things will be significantly more challenging if he is incapable." Aurelius said.

"Mmm." Marcus nodded. "What should-"

"I want to wake up!" Renard screamed, lunging to his feet. "I wanna be back in my apartment, not some hell world full of boobs and battle maniacs! Harem or bust my ass, get me out of here!"

Marcus and Aurelius both swiveled when they saw the white sphere reappear.

"Marcus Renard, you wish to depart?" The sphere pulsed.

Marcus winced at the tears on Renard's face. "Please. We're probably some standby character that's gonna get annihilated. Get me out of this freak show!"

"Touch me." The ball pulsed.

Renard took a few steps forward, then paused. Marcus met the greasy man's eyes.

That's not the look of someone completely sane.

Renard let out another laugh. "You fellas should leave too. Trust me."

Then he laid his hand on the ball.

Marcus winced as Renard was lit up from the inside out. The man's face contorted into surprise, then a rictus of agony before the light growing within exploded outwards. When it faded, Renard was gone.

"Nature rejected: isolationist." The ball pulsed. "Seeking opposite."

Marcus glanced at Aurelius.

"I think one will need to be very committed to departing, after seeing that." Aurelius said.

"You've seen some shit, haven't you?" Marcus asked.

"I could say the same of you." Aurelius replied.

Fair. Never seen a man consumed by light before though. That looked nasty.

"Whoa." Another man phased into existence.

Similar to Renard, he possessed a beak like nose, but their features diverged from there. This man immediately struck Marcus as Arabic or Egyptian in descent, with liquid black eyes and slicked back black hair. He was taller than Aurelius but shorter than Marcus.

"Welcome." The white sphere pulsed. "Markus Damir, you have been chosen as the third of the firsts of this council. Lead your chosen human well and reap the rewards in your next life."

Damir blinked a few times as the white sphere faded. His eyes landed on Marcus and Aurelius.

"Hello." Damir waved. "Either of you have any ideas what's happening here?"

"We're dead, apparently stuck inside of something called a Sacred Gear, and need to guide a currently newborn human to have a chance at a better reincarnation." Marcus said.

Damir cocked his head. "Ah. Shit. I'm dead?"

"Presumably." Aurelius said. "From what we've learned, harm doesn't seem to be permanent here, with a single exception so far."

Damir furrowed his brow. "How'd you learn that?"

"Your predecessor asked to be let out." Aurelius said. "He was granted his wish, but it was…exquisitely painful and damaging, if my eyes told the truth."

"So…no backing out of this new gig." Damir nodded, then frowned. "Wait, back up a moment. Sacred Gears?"

"That term was what made Renard choose to depart." Marcus said. "You recognize it? Aurelius and I have no idea what freaked him out."

"Well…" Damir rubbed his chin, drawing Marcus's attention to a neatly trimmed beard. "I'm not the biggest otaku, but even I remember my ecchi gateway. Hell, was almost my shounen jump off point, if it weren't for the big three that drew me in as a kid who liked violent television too much."

"I suppose it is a lost cause to ask if that made sense to you?" Aurelius asked with raised brows.

"Not a damn clue." Marcus agreed easily. "I know violent television, but that's about it."

Damir chuckled. "Sorry. Just…wait a minute, introductions. Markus Damir, software engineer. Former, I guess. Who are you gentlemen?"

"Marcus Aurelius, former Imperator of Roma." Aurelius said.

Damir turned to look at Marcus. "He's kidding, right?"

"Don't think so." Marcus said. "Given the weirdness that's going on, I don't blame you for being skeptical. That blade on his hip isn't some prop, if that's what you're thinking. That's a tool of death right there."

"Uh-huh." Damir looked back at Aurelius. "Not everyday I get to meet royalty. Or…is there a term for emperors?"

"Sovereigns, I suppose." Aurelius shrugged. "As long as the address was respectful, I never much cared for formality. That was the territory of my wives and chancellors."

"Right." Damir looked back at Marcus.

"Marcus Atweiler, magical theory researcher." Marcus said.

"Okay." Damir nodded. "So…we're all named Marcus? Or perhaps Markus, like myself, depending on spelling."

"I had noticed that." Aurelius said.

"Maybe we've got a newborn named Marcus." Marcus said. "Wouldn't be terribly surprising, with how weird things seem to be. Damir, you were saying earlier, with the babble about Sacred Gears?"

"Of course." Damir nodded. "I…hmm. Mar- no, I guess surnames are likely to be better. Atweiler, you were in the modern era? Cars, television, video games, the internet?"

"People tended to call me a fossil, but I know what those are, yes." Marcus replied.

"I will do my best to explain simply, for your sake Aurelius." Damir frowned. "Sacred Gears come from, for me, a story. One told via manga and anime, which are essentially very high detailed picture books, with words filled in for specific places, and drawn versions of plays, where people voice characters that are not actual people, but two dimensional artistic representations of them."

Aurelius frowned. "They are from stories. Renard said something similar. Is the medium of those stories in any way relevant?"

"Not directly, I suppose." Damir scratched at his beard again. "Their specific genre of story does play something of an effect, presumably, but that's not something for us at the moment. Sacred Gears were, in the stories at least, a system put into place by a singular god and his followers, to help empower humans to fight against the supernatural. A bit of evening of the scales; they also conveniently functioned as a way to imprison and repurpose the power of dangerous foes."

"I think I like this god of yours." Aurelius commented. "Resourceful fellow."

"Think he's dead, at least in the stories." Damir said. "There are all sorts of Sacred Gears. Some are pretty useless, while others could essentially elevate their wielders beyond godlike. All sort of depends. Did that white orb enlighten you on what this Sacred Gear is?"

"Called it the Advisory Council, I believe." Marcus said.

Damir frowned. "And what it's powers are?"

"Us. I think." Marcus said, shrugging when Damir gave him a confused look. "I'm not really sure. It didn't talk too much about that sort of thing. Why?"

"Because the story that Sacred Gears were found in had a bunch of terrifying powerful individuals running around." Damir said. "I'm talking like cracking continents in half, as warm ups."

Aurelius grunted. "Sounds familiar."

"Roma had a pantheon similar to the Greeks, yes?" Damir asked.

When Aurelius nodded, albeit with a frown, Damir pursed his lips. "That's a good example. Imagine the Greek version and Roma version of the pantheons running around. Now add every other culture's pantheons. Now add multitudes of other supernatural races, including some called the Winged Races, all of whom have various competing interests and at least a few champions who, as I said, could crack continents as a warm up before any serious utilization of their powers."

That got a full frown out of Aurelius. "Ah."

That…that sounds like a shit sandwich force fed down our throats.

"That seems like a rough place." Marcus said. "So we're what, back in the Stone Age?"

"No." Damir shook his head. "If we're actually inside a Sacred Gear, I have no idea where we could be in the timeline. There was a war basically to end all wars, and Sacred Gears were created somewhere in the middle of it, but that's like…hundreds, possibly thousands of years before the time of the main story that I know of. We could be anywhere in that interval."

"Problematic, but also potentially useful." Marcus mused. "If the kid needs to succeed, if we are way back in the sticks and stones eras, our knowledge could help him out a lot."

"Or get him burned for witchcraft." Damir shot back.

Aurelius cocked his head. "Your people burned witches too?"

"Apparently we have even more to thank the Romans for." Damir muttered, before chuckling ruefully. "A lot of ups and downs happened after your empire collapsed, Aurelius. Sent most of the world you conquered into a bit of a death spiral that took centuries to pull out of."

Aurelius nodded proudly.

Not a good thing, dumbass. Eh, whatever.

"We shall figure out a way forward, though information will be vital." Aurelius said. "Presumably you are both familiar with axioms about information as the crux of battle?"

"Knowledge is half the battle." Marcus nodded. "Heard it a time or two."

"How do we acquire information?" Damir glanced around. "This place seems…pretty empty. Can we even leave?"

Another rumble, this one louder, shook the amphitheater. Damir nearly lost his balance, while Marcus and Aurelius retained theirs with relative ease.

"The white ball said that we're sharing the kid's soul with something else." Marcus said once Damir had recovered. "Heard of anything like that in that story of yours?"

"Too many things, really." Damir shook his head. "I…have rather limited knowledge. I could likely name a few Sacred Gears and their abilities, along with the capabilities of most of the main characters of the story, but that would be most of my knowledge. This story was something of a guilty pleasure, one I put down a long time ago."

"I know those." Marcus nodded.

"Sounds like my third wife." Aurelius agreed, walking to the edge of the stage. "Was such a shame I had to cut off her head for trying to have me assassinated."

Marcus shot a look at Damir, who's eyes had gone wide. "Welcome to the fun, Damir. You sure you're up for this?"

Damir's eyes snapped to Marcus. "I…have to be, I think. Especially given what you spoke of about how my predecessor departed."

"Good." Marcus smirked. "Now we should probably follow the blonde sparkplug there before he wanders out and maybe gets himself eaten. If we can leave."

Marcus caught up to Aurelius fairly quickly. The blonde had stopped at what looked to be the only exit visible within the amphitheater. Marcus came to a halt too, upon seeing what Aurelius was focused on.

"That…is a damn big lizard." Marcus said.

"Holy shit that's a dragon." Damir said, jaw dropping as he darted up.

"Reminds me of the steeds of Mars's chariot." Aurelius said.

"Your god had a chariot pulled by dragons?" Damir asked.

"Roma does not believe in weak gods." Aurelius said matter of factly. "I presume this is the thing we're sharing the child's soul with. I am no expert in dragons, but that one seems odd."

Marcus could see what Aurelius meant. While his initial impression had been awe-inspiring ferocity and power, a closer look showed an entirely different beast. The dragon wasn't malformed, but much of its definition seemed to be robbed. Nor was it nearly as big as the initial impression. Marcus didn't know whether his mind had magnified it out of terror, or if something about it being observed had shrunk the beast. Far from being the size of a stadium, it was merely the size of a small horse. Maybe a Shetland Pony.

"Like a drawing bleached of color and blurred with water." Damir said.

Marcus glanced over.

Damir shrugged when he noticed Marcus's look. "Software engineer for a video game company. Saw enough art assets to pick up a few things."

"You say so." Marcus turned back to the dragon. "Whatever's up with it, it's still apparently strong enough that its snores are shaking this whole damn building."

"We'll have to start its training early." Aurelius said.

Marcus saw Damir shoot the blonde a look of incredulity. "Training?"

"We do not know our purpose, nor what powers might be at our disposal within this Sacred Gear." Aurelius said. "But we have established that we are immune to permanent harm within the confines of the Sacred Gear. While we search for a purpose, bringing the dragon inside and training it would certainly strengthen our host. A child needs all the strength they can grasp, especially if this one inhabits a world where there are far too many pantheons."

"I think I'm beginning to see why you were picked for this." Marcus drawled. "Training a dragon, huh? You have any idea how to do that?"

"Not a clue, but starting with what I know of warhorses and war hounds may provide a solid foundation." Aurelius said. "You were a magical theorist, perhaps you can peer into the possibilities of it utilizing magic. Ladon was said to know magic enough to strip the bones from an army with merely a wave of its claws."

"I'm afraid to ask what my responsibility might be." Damir muttered.

"Figure out how to gain information on the outside world." Aurelius said. "We cannot act if we do not have it. That, and what the nature of this Sacred Gear is. If they are such things as to give humans an edge against the supernatural, I cannot imagine a collection of dead men's souls sitting around inside doing nothing is the intended purpose of Victor Senatus."

"Victor Senate?" Damir asked, brows furrowing.

"Victorious Senate, in this language we seem to be speaking." Aurelius said. "Much better than Advisory Council. No?"

"It is catchy." Marcus mused.

"Yeah, whatever, not going to fight over a name." Damir said, shaking his head. "Better than the Council of Marcus. The first time I saw someone in a lab coat, I'd start looking around for evil robots and masterminds disguised as inept grandchildren."

Marcus frowned at Damir. "That seems awfully specific."

"Another show, don't worry about it." Damir said, waving a hand. "I'm going to go explore. You two have fun with the dragon, try not to get this place torn to pieces."

"We're going to need bait, to draw it in." Aurelius said when Marcus turned back his way.

Fuck that noise.

()()()()()

---

()()()()()

Marcus was five years old when he realized he was different.

Two years prior, he had been given a very stern lecture by his parents, about things he should and shouldn't do. That included when and where to practice magic, exhibit any of his nonhuman traits, or anything really to do with the supernatural.

He hadn't understood much at the time. The house he lived in with his parents and his aunts wasn't near anyone else. He mostly played by himself, or with his family. Sometimes his Aunt Beth's family came over and he played with her family. But they all knew, so it was fine if he did his normal stuff.

Now, he sat on the porch outside of his house. Mom Yumi, Mom Yara, and dad were inside. They'd asked him to go outside for a while. He didn't like it.

Normally, when his moms and his dad asked him to go outside, they had smiles on their faces. He usually ran pretty far from the house to play, Rover tagging along, to make sure he couldn't hear the weird noises they got up to.

They weren't smiling this time. Marcus had decided to stay on the porch, worried about his parents. He was pretty sure he could hear Mom Yumi inside crying.

Marcus wasn't sure what to do. Whenever one of his moms was sad, he liked to hug them. He knew that made them feel better. But they'd made him go away when they were sad this time.

Did I do something to make them sad?

The presence of Rover was sorely missed. He'd gone with Aunt Remi, Aunt Beth, and Aunt Yukari for some trip. Marcus hadn't really wanted him to go, but he'd seen how upset all the adults were. He knew Rover made Aunt Yukari really happy, so he'd encouraged the dog to go. Translation magic was the only magic he'd really figured out so far, but he'd had to work really hard at it to talk with Rover.

Rover had been gone for a while, nearly two months. Marcus hoped he'd come back soon.

After a while, the sounds of crying went away. Marcus waited for one of his parents to come find him after the tears had stopped, but they didn't. When the sun started setting, he had a hard decision to make: follow the rules and be in by sundown, or stay outside where his parents had asked him to stay?

In the end, Marcus figured that his parents could always ask him to go back outside. He pushed himself to his feet, dropping the stick that he'd been using to draw in the dirt beneath the porch.

Opening the door, he found the living room empty. There were pieces of paper on the table, but he ignored those for the moment. He could see splotches of wetness on them as he walked by.

Climbing the stair quietly, he found his parents' bedroom. Peeking inside, he saw dad seated with his back against the headboard. Mom Yumi was curled up against him, clinging to him like the koalas in Marcus's favorite book. Mom Yara was slumped over on his dad's other shoulder.

Oh. It's quiet time.

Quiet time after crying time is weird, but okay. I'll go downstairs.

Going back downstairs, Marcus frowned. With his parents asleep, there was no one to do the nightly chores. He racked his brain, trying to dredge up what he could remember.

"First is shutting all the doors and windows." Marcus mumbled to himself, moving toward the back of the house.

From there, Marcus drug out the stool, getting to the third shelf on the pantry. He wasn't allowed to touch the stove or the microwave – Mom Yara had been really mad when he accidentally blew up that lasagna she'd made – but he was hungry. The protein bars his dad ate were tasty, so Marcus had two. Once he figured out how to open them.

Fixing himself a glass of water, Marcus contemplated his plate. It wasn't too dirty, but Mom Yumi said that any dish that got pulled out had to be cleaned up. Marcus had helped his parents with the dishes a few times, but he'd mostly been playing with the bubbles in the sink. He got the sponge out, scrubbed the plate, then ran some water over it. The bubbles were missing, but Marcus didn't know how to create them. He put the plate on the drying rack next to the sink.

After that, Marcus knew he was supposed to let Rover out. Rover wasn't there, so Marcus decided he could probably skip that step. Filling Rover's bowl wasn't necessary either.

"Um…" Marcus looked around, his eyes alighting on the wall mounted desk next to the kitchen door. "Oh."

Climbing up on the desk chair, Marcus pushed aside the papers that were piled up. He'd read those before, and the numbers didn't make much sense to him. He could do addition and subtraction – Mom Yara was teaching him multiplication, which was really hard – but the numbers on the paper were too big.

Instead, Marcus put his palm on the smooth surface of the desk.

Willing his power to the surface was tricky. His moms and his aunts had taught him about the different types of powers, and how to draw them out. He knew about Demonic Power, Draconic Power, Magical Power, Ki, and Chakra. Marcus couldn't use all of them – or at least, if he could, Mom Yumi had put her foot down after he'd knocked a hole in the wall while playing tag with Aunt Beth – but Magical Power, Demonic Power, and Ki were pretty easy. The hard part was making sure he only pulled on his Magical Power; Mom Yumi wouldn't be happy if he cracked the desk like he did her favorite coffee table.

Feeding his Magical Power into the desk's surface, Marcus saw the magical circle shimmer into existence. It was a pretty seafoam green, the color Mom Yumi's magic always made. As Marcus continued to push his Magical Power in, he saw the bright yellow circles of his dad, and a few dark purple of Mom Yara, shimmer into existence around the main circle. Marcus's eyes glowed as he saw shoots of seafoam green branch out from the main circle, connecting to the smaller circles around it.

He didn't know what it did, but one of his parents did it every night and Marcus always tried to sneak a peak. It was so pretty to watch the colors spreading out.

When the main circle started spinning, Marcus pulled his hands away. He wobbled a bit where he knelt on the desk chair; using so much Magical Power took it out of him.

"Um…" Marcus hummed as he got down from the desk chair. "Not supposed to touch the washer or dryer. TV?"

Walking into the living room, Marcus turned on the television. He didn't get to watch much television; the only times his parents ever let him was when they were watching with him. He didn't mind; his dad and Mom Yara liked these bright and flashy shows with lots of shouting and lasers. Mom Yumi didn't like those, but she was always watching the cooking shows. Marcus liked to sit next to her and guess what the food tasted like.

Turning on the television, Marcus flipped through the channels. None of his dad's and Mom Yara's shows were on, so Marcus found the Food Network. It only had the weird guy with the spiky hair going to different places, but Marcus was fine watching that. He missed having Rover laying his head on his lap, but Marcus knew he was patient. Mom Yumi had told him that a lot. He could wait for Rover to get back.

After the episode finished, Marcus looked down at the coffee table. More accurately, his eyes landed on the papers. He remembered seeing wet splotches on one earlier, but they were gone.

Marcus picked the half crumpled paper nearest to him up.

Sister, if you're reading this, I'm sorry.

You know the spell. We created it together. I'd hoped it would never activate. Not for me, nor for Fleur-san or Trout-san. We didn't want it to.

As of the last update, we were successful in our venture into the Underworld. We've yet to find a King, but that will change soon. In the meantime, we've been hunting the old Astaroth and Balam Peerages. I had hoped their deaths would slake at least a little of Fleur-san's thirst for revenge, but it seems to have only invigorated her.

Fleur-san and Trout-san are currently scouting approaches to the Bael. I don't know precisely what they'll find, but our goal is clear. Fleur-san wants Aserta Bael's head, on her bident and mounted in front of the Bael manor. If I try to dissuade her, she and Trout-san will go in alone.

Again, if you're reading this, I'm so sorry. I'd hoped to come back, to help Marcus-kun grow up to love his mothers and his father. It's of small comfort, but I am glad you're still there for him. You were always the motherly one of us.

I love you Yumi. I've loved you since the day Kaa-san adopted us, after Bellator-sama brought us in off the streets. You have been my sister, my rock, my constant and best friend. I regret that I can only leave you this letter, and sorrow. You deserve so much more.

I love you Yumi.

I'm sorry.

Nee-chan.

Marcus stared at the letter for a moment, trying to puzzle through its contents. Mom Yumi and Aunt Yukari made sure he could read and write in hiragana and kanji as well as he could in the other languages he'd been learning. Some of the words were a bit confusing, but he thought he knew what they meant.

But…I don't know why this made moms and dad cry.

Something clicked oddly in Marcus's head.

Hello, can ya hear me?

Marcus jerked, looking around for the source of the voice. "Who's there?"

Woah kid, calm down. You can hear me right? Sounds like I'm echoing in your head?

"Yes?" Marcus got up from the couch, putting the paper down. "Where are you?"

Sorta…inside of you. Listen, you know what a Sacred Gear is, right?

Marcus blinked, stopping his eyes from scanning back and forth. Instead, he closed them, concentrating.

Mom Yumi had said that if he ever got a Sacred Gear, he had to make sure to focus on it fully. Learning to master it was important, critical even.

"Who are you?" Marcus asked. "Why are you in my head?"

Because…well, that's complicated. I'm not actually your Sacred Gear. I was…waylaid by it.

"Waylaid?"

Uh….I died. A few years back, I think. Time's a bit fuzzy in here, we're not entirely sure.

"If you died, how are you talking to me?" Marcus asked.

He knew dead people typically didn't talk. Nor did he see any magic that indicated necromancy was in use.

Heh. Smart kid. Look, you've got a…weird Sacred Gear. It's called the Advisory Council, though most of us have started calling it Victor Senatus. Blame the Roman.

"So…I don't get it." Marcus said.

Me either, kid. Look, I didn't even know magic existed when I died. I don't think I even died in the same universe as you, because there's no way some turnip from France is running Hell's Kitchen rather than the real deal. The others and I have been rattling around in here for a bit, not really sure how much time passed. But I know that you've got Victor Senatus.

"Anyone tell you that you talk weird?"

Kid, you're thinking in five different languages. I'd be amazed if I sound normal to you in any of them. Not to mention the three Tribunes are way weirder than me. Can we accept that I'm dead and got chosen to chat with you this time? It might be someone different next time. Might havta establish a position for it.

Marcus didn't particularly like the idea of a dead person, or more than one, hanging out inside of him. Still, if it was a part of a Sacred Gear, Marcus knew he didn't have a choice.

Maybe the next one will not sound so weird.

That works. Look, despite the weirdness of it, we are here to help. We have as much to gain from helping you as you gain from our help. So…trust us not to be malicious, at least.

For the moment…you can read the letter in front of you right?

"Mmm." Marcus nodded. "Don't really get it though."

The voice in his head sighed. Then it started explaining things.

Another click sounded. Marcus didn't entirely understand the conversation he'd just had with a voice in his head, but he was glad it was gone.

Then he looked at the letter again. The voice's explanation ran through his head again.

Sometime later that night, his dad came downstairs to find Marcus curled up, whimpering softly as he clutched the blanket that his Aunt Yukari had given him for his fourth birthday.

---

Welcome, in a little more depth!

This is, in all honesty, one of the side projects I use to vent some creative steam whenever I run into writer's block on my main story at the moment. Don't expect regular updates, but when I have the material for it, I'll get it up here.

That being said, I do like the DxD world. I'm not the most knowledgeable about it, but I like the way it's built. I plan to muck with that, of course, because it's rare I see a concept and don't tinker with it, but I hope to do so in a fun manner. The magic systems are rather vague, which just invites tinkering.

It also has a fairly compact plot. I'll be...expanding on that. Primarily by keeping the power growth on a much more gradual scale. I don't like reading about unearned power scaling, and that taste carries over into my writing sensibilities. Don't get me wrong, the main character - an OC that has had little time on screen, at least in this opening chapter - and the others we all know and love from the main cast will still be broken as hell, but weeklong training camps resulting in [insert arbitrary percentage power boost here] won't be a thing.

You'll also note that I'm not likely to cleave too closely to canon. It's the butterfly effect, just writ far larger. If I introduce a change, I do my best to interpolate how that will ripple outwards and create other, unintended changes. Considering that in just this introductory chapter, I've introduced multiple OCs who clearly have been doing impactful things pre-canon, the plot might get more than a little wild. Which feels appropriate for this world.

I will tell you, as a free-time author who dreams of one day being paid to do the whole wordsmithing thing, I greatly appreciate constructive criticism. I want to know what you think of my story, good, bad, and ugly. Hit me with it, please.

Not much else to say, so I hope you enjoy, and have a great day!