Chapter 2 : Blood-red.

I step inside my house and close the door behind me, before letting myself fall against it with a weary sigh.

Turns out? Rias Gremory is clingy.

I mean, kind of expected that the sheltered heiress still in her honeymoon phase of her Japanese dream would be overly excited and happy to be here, but by god wasn't I wired to stoically endure that kind of behavior for a whole day straight.

Because, yes, she ended up pestering me for the rest of lunch break.

And at each one of the other breaks between classes afterward.

And even kept talking my ears off for a solid half-hour once school was finally done for the day.

I only managed to dip after apologizing once I told her that I had 'things to do at home'.

I mean, yeah, the girl barely got any notions of boundaries, and I should be annoyed by it, but she's kind of like an overly excited puppy, in a way.

And I don't really want to kick her away because she's genuinely honest and endearing, from what I've seen so far.

As for school itself, it was…

Well, there's no two ways around it: it was kind of boring.

Manageable-boring, but boring nonetheless. I think I get it now why I was so much of a slacker in the schoolwork that didn't really interest me the first time around.

But, well, I survived Uni, if only by the skin of my teeth, so high-school isn't that bad in comparison, and I had a feeling that I'll be able to pull this through with honors as long as I'm taking things seriously.

I had a new lease on life, after all, even if it had been thrown on me without my say so and with a few extra complications, and I was at least resolved to do better for myself this time around.

I could endure the boredom. Plus, the incidental exposure therapy to, what, a thousand and a half people in close proximity, was doing absolute wonders for my focus.

Bar this morning slip up, I had managed to keep tHe VoIcEs at bay successfully the whole day.

I not-quite hip-check -or is it dumpy-check, eh- my door, kicking my uniform's shoes off negligently because, fuck it, Japanese society is kind of stuffy and I'm done for today, and make my way toward my bedroom.

Let's review today's schoolwork, then I'm going to see if I can't find a gym nearby.

Clubs only properly start next week, after all, and I'm aiming for the Kendo Club, a smart move considering the big ass arming sword in my basement.

So I should start on that Touki project of mine as soon as possible.

Schoolday, followed by club activities, gym afterwards, schoolwork, rinse and repeat.

…God, I'm turning into a functional member of society, and all it took was literally getting sent ass over teakettle across a few dimensions.

I glare at the entrance of the gym I found nearby like it offends me on a profound, visceral, level, a little sports bag thrown over my shoulder.

Granted, it kinda does.

I never, ever, liked sports, physical exertion and I meshing badly as a rule of thumb.

I guess I just never really saw the point when all people generally said about it was 'it's good for your health, especially once you'll get old'.

Considering how 'getting old' was a nebulous concept to me at best, I never went further on the fitness path than 'runs a few miles every two mornings for a few months' before dipping out once I got done with the concept.

Now?

Now, well, my continual survival in this 'trap world' may or may not rely on my capacity to run away.

And when death is merely the less worse option, considering there's literally an entire race enslaving others to bolster their number traipsing around, I was now actively reconsidering that whole stance about 'sports being dumb'.

That was also part of the reason why I wasn't already running for the hills and staying in Kuoh: the devils here were a known quantity, and could take me saying 'No' to their face without throwing a tantrum before ultimately electing that my consent was entirely optional.

Technically, being a Psyker in a safe-ish environment was a guaranteed path to uberness down the line, if I kept training and improving.

And I was going to do that, actively, for the next few years.

Only, I had no idea how I actually scale on this world's power-levels, and my knowledge by osmosis of the setting had only tangentially made me aware that the bottom line was more or less '-and it gets worse!' and '-then, there is this asshole'.

My ignorance of the high-end baddies' true strength and the fact that I didn't want to put all my eggs in the same basket all guided me to one conclusion: I wanted the life-force manipulation bullshit that would allow me to facetank frontliners without moving an inch.

Alas, I knew, oh, I just knew, how much I was going to hate the whole process, every step of the way.

With a last, final, decisive, huff, once more managing to emote without throwing myself off-balance, I take the last steps toward my personal hellhole for the foreseeable future.

At least, it beats being captured and reduced to a cumdump by a bat-winged asshole every day of the week.

I step next to the counter, where a tall, bald, Japanese man, built like a brick shit-house, with muscles over his muscles, is busying himself tapping at a computer keyboard while squinting through comically small glasses.

My lips quirk up involuntarily at the image, before my expression turns flat once more.

"Excuse me, Ojii-san?" I wave at him, choosing to sidestep a few social conventions because, if the owner can't take it, I'm dipping out instantly.

No way am I going to spend time regularly here if the 'owner' isn't at least somewhat personable.

Japanese society is stuffy, especially for a 'local', and I refuse to get hassled by holier-than-thou pricks while doing sit-ups because my life depends on it.

He wrenches his attention away from his monitor, a frown forming on his face-

-before he blinks when his eyes land on me, his demeanor shifting from annoyed to a mix of perplexed and curious.

Well, looks like this will be a keeper, I guess.

"Yeah, shoujo-chan?" he starts, unknowingly raising his own estimation in my book a few notches by taking the bait and accepting to play my game, one of his hands coming to his face to put away his little glasses.

"I was wondering if it would be possible for me to set up a subscription." I start, in a no-nonsense tone, "I'm into fitness and just moved in. Do you happen to have some free spots?"

He barks a slightly incredulous laugh, before giving me a wide grin.

"That we do, that we do," he answers easily, clasping his hands with each other, "Not many gym-rats in this little town, I'm afraid, Shoujo-chan.

"Though, I'm curious, how old are you exactly?" he probes, an eyebrow raised.

"Fifteen-" apparently "-Ojii-san." I answer back.

"So young and already looking to take care of your body like the temple it is?" he asks, a little bit bewildered and his eyebrow, if anything, climbing even higher, "Kami, not many younguns like you, especially the girls.

"Say, you in that fancy-schmancy school two blocks away?" he carries on, jerking his head in Kuoh High-School's direction.

I snort a laugh at that.

"I'm afraid so, Ojii-san." I answer, a bit amused.

"Well, lucky you, I guess, 'cuz I'm legally obliged to give you a discount. Now, usually, I'd be annoyed," he explains even as he raises out of his chair, "But since you're actually the first from that school even bothering to swing by, I won't even get mad."

I chuckle, before ruefully shaking my head.

"That's actually a relief, Ojii-san. I'm afraid I'm not swimming in money."

"Is zat so?" he throws over his shoulder after gesturing for me to follow him around, giving me a hairy eyeball.

"I'm only here because I got a scholarship." I answer easily, "Ward of the state."

He pauses, his attention on me intensifying.

I halt in my steps.

"Well," he slowly starts, before nodding to himself, "Would be a shame if these old bones weren't giving it their all for a hard working young lass like yourself, Shoujo-chan. Follow me, we'll see where you're at, and what we need to work on."

He starts walking again, and my apprehension over the whole thing recedes a notch.

I guess I can be lucky, sometimes, and meet an affable fellow willing to lend a hand.

I settle down on my meditation mat, back in the Basement, my mood a strange mix of upset and satisfied.

Upset, because sports.

Satisfied, because, turns out, I was fit and relatively good at it.

…Which, considering I got sleeved in a younger, beautified, version of my game character, sort of made sense: it would've been pretty hard to haul ass away from Nurglite Cultists if she hadn't.

The short of it was that I had a decent baseline, for a human at least, even surprising Ojii- Toroko-san -the owner/coach actually gave me his first name at the end of the session, both because I had 'impressed him' and he 'had a feeling he would see me coming back soon, not like those posers who swung by two times a month'-, which meant I wasn't starting from rock-bottom at the very least.

Toroko-san still worked me to the bone -just my luck that I landed a slave-driver for a trainer, but I can't really complain here, at least I got one- and I had a feeling that I was going to feel it tomorrow morning.

Needless to say, the bath once I came back had been positively heavenly for my weary muscles, and now, after a well deserved dinner, I was back to what truly could make me a threat too big to bother with: Warp manipulation bullshit.

Skully, ever helpful, and apparently somewhat connected to me on some level since I didn't even need to ask for it to show me the page I wanted to look at, projects in its holographic, neon-green glory, the reference for the 'spell' I want to practice.

Fun fact: it took me a while to notice, but apparently, the whole training guide is written in Low Gothic, which is both kind of funny and useful, since it means that I won't have to encrypt the whole thing to keep it from prying eyes, in case I need to.

Granted, it won't stop the clever cookies -looking at you, Azazel, you man-whore of a fallen angel- to eventually crack this previously unknown language, but at least it means it is relatively idiot proof in case someone managed to lay their greedy paws on my servo skull.

How do I even know how to read Low Gothic? No fucking clue, even if it, once again, makes sense, so I suppose I'll add that to the 'list of things to freak about later' and deal with it when I have the time.

A few minutes later, I nod to myself, satisfied that I got the steps properly memorized.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, and opening myself a bit more to my connection with the Immaterium of the local universe.

Instantly, ThE vOiCeS get louder, but instead of letting them wash over me as if I'm a rock amid the current, I pull them closer, letting tHe WhIsPeRs take me for a ride, my right arm extended in front of me.

I expected to find this difficult, challenging even.

In fact, this is downright easy.

My eyes flutter open, my temples throbbing gently-

-only to land on the cyan pseudo-crystal shards, hovering, circling, around my forearm.

One of my fingers twitches.

One of the crystalline construct launches itself forward, going through the hologram Skully is projecting, flying through the air like it has been fired from a gun, a low, echoing, whistling sound accompanying it, until it embeds itself in the wall facing me with a dull 'thump'.

My lips curl up a notch in satisfaction.

Right, I can work with this.

I let the spell fade, the construct dissipating back into the local Immaterium, and tHe VoIcEs quietening-

-until my eyes land on a particular line on Skully's transcript.

Blood-red points?

I frown.

My constructs, my Shards of Hatred, didn't have any blood red-

I blink.

Oh.

Oh.

The guide was written for an in-setting Psyker, with an in-setting Warp.

Only, here, there was no Necron to fuck things up at the start, and no Eldarii to make an ever bigger mess of things later on.

Here, the sea of souls and thoughts is quiet, not quite like a still lake, but more like the normal ebbs and flows of a sea.

And blood-red is the color of War, Rage, Hate, of Khorn.

That's why this spell is colloquially called Shards of Hatred, after all.

Which means…

I open myself once more, tHe BuZzInG getting instantly louder, almost as if it knows what I'm going to do.

I form the spell, a second time, only, this time, I deliberately call to the darker thoughts of humanity.

War, Hate, Agony, Suffering, and so much more.

They wash over me, and I let them, only asking them to coalesce in the form I chose.

It takes but a moment, before my eyes open again-

-only to land on blood-red tipped cyan pseudo-crystal constructs, similar to the game, and I smirk victoriously at having succeeded in my gamble, not quite paying attention as I move my right arm a bit more than should have been safe-

-one of the crystalline construct immediately sailing through, way faster than the previous one, not quite reaching the speed of sound but nearly, screaming along its flight, the sound it makes as it embeds itself in the whole noticeably sharper.

I yelp, a bit surprised, instantly releasing my grasp on the energies I weaved together and letting the spell fall apart.

Wow.

Wow.

Dazedly, I raise myself from my meditation mat, making my way to the wall.

…Yep, the second one was noticeably more deadly than the first, no two ways around it.

One hand comes to cup my chin in thoughts as I look at the two furrows left behind.

The immediate conclusion I can reach is that, apparently, the Warp isn't that different from 'the Force' when taken outside of the original setting, and channeling the proper emotions can amplify or blunt a spell accordingly.

…This opens some possibilities.

It also ties nicely with the fact that the guide was suspiciously void of non-lethal techniques, bar a shield of sorts, which makes sense considering the state of the Warp in-setting: a rolling mass of chaos, and negativity.

Trying to channel something positive out of it would be a fucking chore, me think, and probably require a very deep connection to it, like the Sigilite or the God-Emperor.

But I can do it, even as a baby psyker, because I'm dealing with a more balanced Immaterium.

It makes me wonder.

What could I do if I manage to tap into the 'positive' side of humanity's latent psychic potential?