Please Be Normal (DOOM GUY in Highschool DxD x AU!Fate/Go Chaldea)
By: DanzyDanz
Summary:
A World-hopping Custodian carries the burden of deciding the fate of countless Worlds. Those he sent to perish cling to him like stubborn tumors. Now sent to this boob-infested Universe, he nonetheless yearns for a day of normal problems. Like a leaky faucet or a grumpy neighbor, or his adopted Kitsune kit to quit getting her tail tangled up in yarns.
Status: ongoing
Published: 2024-06-07
Updated: 2024-06-10
Words: 56867
Chapters: 12
Original source: https/forum./threads/27251
Exported with the assistance of
Please Be Normal (DOOM GUY in Highschool DxD x AU!Fate/Go Chaldea)
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 4-Extra
Chapter 5
Chapter 6.1
Chapter 6.2
Chapter 6.3
Chapter 6.4
Chapter 6.5
Prologue
( ͡ʘ ͜ʖ ͡ʘ)
Oh, shit, yeah, here comes danzy,
he's starting a new story on his fucking Ducati
pray one day i'll give other fandoms other than dxd a shot
Also, keep in mind this is downgraded Doom Guy with a different look. For a good reason. At Chapter 4 he gets his powers back
〖Prologue〗 ⦕
Cloaked in Confusion: When Devils Unveil Themselves Literally ⦖
In the Land of the Rising Sun, Kuoh Town nestled like a quiet shadow among Japan's bustling contrasts. For Speirs, its dullness offered a rare reprieve from the chaos he wrangled daily. A paradox, but a comforting one.
Normality was a rare luxury in his line of work, this one and his previous, and one he'd been taught to cherish until Fate decided to shake things up.
If he was sent to this specific world and into this specific country and specific small town without a specific purpose other than to sit back and relax, then he'd have considered this 'vacation' as a backhanded compliment to his services.
A fireman is expected to put out a fire, except they'll get thanked afterwards. Even if they fail, they'll get a complimentary gratitude for effort. Maybe with some helpless waterworks. But people like him didn't get compliments. Custodians like him operated in the shadows, unrecognized and unthanked. Such was the lot of those beneath the divine.
His employers, these supposed gods, wielded power and ego in equal measure. They dictated, Custodians obeyed.
If they hadn't thrown in dental, health benefits, and a fat lump of pension money in the form of an ideal World all for himself, he might have bailed ages ago. Bouncering seemed like the next big thing, but he'd had his fill of chatty customers. If waiters had a choice and didn't need the cash, they'd vanish faster than you could say "tip." There'd be none left on Earth. Human Realm, Overworld, The Upside, whatever they called it, it was all the same.
Retirement? Maybe. Truck driving through frozen wastelands of Alaska or Siberia, flipping off Mother Nature along the way. Sounded like a blast. No flashy powers needed, just good old human grit and a healthy dose of spite.
He craved a bit of chaos, the kind he'd been dishing out for the past decade, and the eternity before it.
Today was his tenth years as a Custodian. His reward? A new assignment shoved in his face directly from Chaos. One with a Hell, yet not one he was allowed to directly invade.
Oh joy. What a treat. Such benevolent overlord he served. But, he supposed, this was better than sitting around doing nothing when knowing he could drive his fist in a demon's face.
Outside of work, his employer's children were tolerable at best, as long as they weren't in the same room.
Gaea wanted to bring the entire planet back to nature 'where it belongs', and that means getting rid of everything that isn't plant-based. She said that with a warm, sweet, innocent smile on her face. Erebus and Nyx wouldn't mind that, as long as the whole land was covered in eternal darkness 'as they were before they are', whatever the hell those night-intoxicated duo meant. But as most plants required light to breathe and look pretty, Gaea firmly refused.
Gaea
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Meanwhile, Eros, that horny Primordial, wanted Humans to embrace each other and then some. As humans couldn't see in the dark because they were not owls and required oxygen produced by trees to survive and also thrive, while eventually, flatten down forests to make space for their factories or to supply their megacorps, it's really not that difficult to understand why these Primordial siblings hardly get along with each other.
With such conflicting desires, it was a wonder the Universe hadn't imploded already. That's why The Order of Custodians was formed by none other than their Father.
In his lowly human perspective, their extreme ambition arrived due to parental neglect. If Chaos hadn't swam around in the Void, getting lost like the senile old man he was, birthing Creations like it was nobody's business, and instead had taught his children how to behave better, explain to them why dreams and goals were nice but consideration to other living entities should not be stepped over like a bump under a rug, then…
Well. The Slayer would be jobless for one. No Hell to shut down and no homeworld to return to - because it simply stopped existing. He saw it disappear. Trillions of lives, gone in a magnificent supernova.
The Custodian was a profession passed down through selection. Normally they wouldn't take the mantle until they reached 27 (when our brain is most 'ripe' according to these weirdos), but desperate times called for desperate measures, and the Doom Slayer, albeit two years younger than the standards due to his timelessness, was the desperate measure willing to stay available.
He had a single job to do, and that job was to prevent any Universe from blundering themselves and messing up the Auditor's prided 'natural Order of things'. Which was extremely vague as is.
Be it due to a single misstep, a collaboration effort of doom-engineering individuals, or someone influential to the balance was tripped by someone who deemed themselves as the manipulative asshole. The ostensible Big Bad Evil Guys who worked from the shadows to annoy the living out of the light and make ordinary people's life a living hell.
He had asked why couldn't they just get rid of those kinds of evil, and The Auditors of Realities laughed at his face for his naivety. Went full on philosophy on him about the usual 'there are certain Order of things' drivel and all of that Balance Scale crap, but he truly believed they didn't believe any of that.
He believed that deep down in that thing that was closest to be considered as a heart, they wanted to prolong the show.
Gods were strange enough as is. The Auditors of Realities, with their philosophical justifications, were inconsiderate pricks.
Babysitter to divine toddlers, that's what he was. Yet, amidst the cosmic absurdity, The Slayer found a new purpose, however begrudgingly. Someone had to keep the cosmic drama in check, even if it meant dealing with nonsenses day in and day out.
But he had no time to moan and complain when there were times to make others moan and beg, and now was neither of such time. He had a trackfield to tend.
Currently, he worked alongside grade two highschoolers to tend the running track of Kuoh Academy. Though having been here for three days for the sake of recon, "Speirs" had found a peculiar little band of misfits. Truly the bottom of the rung. The Perverted Trio that was despised by the girls for clear reasons, and loathed by the guys because they ruined their images.
Matsuda, with his bare scalp, Motohama, whose glasses doubled as dinner plates, and Issei, the Captain of Perversion himself. But at least the view from the bottom is… well, not great, but he's been at the other end of the spectrum during his zany misadventures, and the company down below is much tighter than up there.
Amidst the banal mayhem of gods and primordials, Speirs found solace in the simplicity of human companionship, even if it came with a side of raging teenage hormones and mischief.
As the trio's eyes roamed, tracing curves and lingering where they shouldn't, Speirs felt his patience wear thin. Their leers, as subtle as a sledgehammer, grated against his senses. He straightened up then, his rugged appearance adding to his presence. His deep-seated eyes bore into the Miserable Trio, and his steely black gaze stiffened their shoulders.
"Enough of that, you lot. Eyes front and get back to work."
Matsuda and Motohama, caught in the act, quickly averted their eyes, while Issei, the ringleader, flashed a sheepish grin.
"Sorry, sorry," Issei muttered, scratching the back of his head, his hair looking more like a nest. "Just admiring the view, you know?"
Motohama, the supposed brains of the trio, chimed in, "But S-san," he pleaded, because Speirs was apparently too difficult of a name for their Japanese tongue to pronounce. "I mean… have you seen Rias Gremory-sama? They're so… captivating."
"Captive your eyes before I do it for you," Speirs warned. "And I'm an adult you dingus, and you three are here to work, not to leer at girls. Get off your asses."
"Y-You can't do that!" Baldy stammered. "That's child abuse! That's gotta be illegal or something!"
"So is peeking at girls." It's a miracle how they're still able to study here. Welp. There's always a reason behind peculiarities, and this time, he knew it was a diabolic one. "Back to work!"
Reluctantly, the trio got back to work, grumbling under their breath about the mean foreign maintenance worker. Speirs watched them for a moment, then went back to raking the field. Their perversion should be the least of his worries, but he was once a teenager too. Fell into the wrong sort of crowds because no one was there to set him straight.
But there was another reason. While he was genuine, being a Custodian, Speirs had an innate talent to sense who would make an impact on this world, for better or worse, and Issei was one of those individuals. Funny that.
And, as per usual, he couldn't resist the sense of duty to keep an eye on this brat, even if it meant tending to a high school running track with a group of juveniles who couldn't stop thinking with their dicks.
In spite of their fear and intimidation, the Perverted Trio was nonetheless curious about the gruff-looking handyman that stood one head taller than them. They knew he had a slick motorbike, a rarity in his occupation, and they couldn't help but be nosey as most bored teenagers do.
"Hey, S-San," Baldy called out tentatively. "Do you… uh… have any girlfriends?"
"No."
Emboldened by the conversation, Glasses chimed in. "C'mon, man. You must be pretty popular with chicks with that kind of sweet ride."
"Married to the road," he replied gruffly. It wasn't a lie. "Why? Don't tell me you got a thing for me. I'm telling you now, Four-Eyes, I'm straight, and I don't dig brats."
"What? C'mon. I don't look half-bad, right?"
"Yeah. Maybe," Baldy muttered. "If I'm blind."
Just then, Captain Pervert joined in the conversation, a hesitant smile on his face.
"Say, S-san," he started, "how do you erm… y'know. Get that bike? I-I'm not implying anything bad! Just curious! I mean I want one too!"
"Stole it," he replied blandly.
"What?!" Issei exclaimed, his eyes wide, before leaning in conspiratorially. "… For real…? Is it true? Did you really come out of prison…?"
The guts on this brat… If it wasn't for the fact he had caught Issei and his lackeys attempting to find a peephole at the back of the Kendo Club's clubhouse, he might even respect him.
So instead, Speirs lowered his head, his eyes shadowed over the dull gray janitor cap, flashing Issei a dangerous grin.
"Wanna find out?" His tone was playful yet menacing all the same.
"N… Not really, no." Issei quickly backtracked, and Speirs couldn't help but chuckle at the boy's nervousness
"You think a fancy school like yours will just hire criminals?" Speirs grunted, shaking his head while the trio weren't entirely sure if it was okay to laugh. "I saved for it, just like anyone else. Less talk and more work. This track won't clean itself."
"Alright, alright… yeesh… you sure you're the handyman and not a drill sergeant?"
Giving them no response, the Perverted Trio groaned, though somewhat reassured by Speirs' humor. If it was humor.
They continued their work, the conversation lightening the mood as they tended to the track under Speirs' watchful eye. Just a group of guys trying to navigate a world that seemed determined to drown them in an ocean of bright hair colors and tits that defy gravity.
Across the distance, overlooking a window of the old school building, a couple pairs of eyes leered at him. One a pretty shade of blue and green mixed together, hinted a curious mind, the other a set of violet as purple as an aubergine - his favorite veggie especially when fried, the instance he met the Devils' gaze, he knew instinctively.
He wasn't the only one keeping tabs on Issei.
The intensity of those blue-green eyes spoke of a deeper interest, likely even a hidden agenda. As the figure behind those eyes continued to observe, in this shitshow World of Gods, Devils, Fallen Angels, Angels, and wayward teenagers, he knew one thing for certain: trouble was brewing in Kuoh Town.
Glancing over at the boy seeking refuge from the mild heat beneath a nearby tree, muttering about banishing the sun entirely-a sentiment surely approved by Nyx-Speirs realized he had arrived too late to stop what was already set in motion.
There was a chance Issei had become a Devil.
⦕⦖
Chronos, bless her mechanical heart, meant well with her time-traveling contraption, but The Slayer knew better than to mess with timey-wimey shenanigans.
Sure, a quick jaunt through time could've solved this predicament, but time travel was never a walk in the park. Each Jump created a new Universe, adding to his plate of responsibilities. Secure Issei from that place, and the one here would remain a Devil nonetheless.
'One Reality at a time', as someone wiser than him had told him.
His wristwatch, a sleek silver timepiece bearing the faint inscription 'Kronii,' was as inconspicuous as they came. It morphed into whatever brand the locals were familiar with, in this case, Seiko. Motohama had pointed out the match once, an observation Speirs met with a noncommittal grunt.
As the school day ended and the afternoon sun dipped towards the horizon, Speirs trudged towards the school gate, his bike beckoning several tedious steps away. It was his own after-school ritual, not one he relished but preferable to the sweaty masses on the train.
Navigating through the emptied corridors, Speirs was not surprised to find Rias Gremory and Himejima Akeno waiting for him at the gate. Their presence still irked him. Demons. Devils. Except he couldn't drive his fist through their faces. At least not yet.
Not until he knew.
He just wanted to go home and fetch his rowdy Kitsune.
"Hello, Speirs-san," the Fallen-Human-Devil Hybrid read his nametag as she, along with the red-haired she-Devil approached him. Akeno. This one was hard to miss. Not with that gigantic orange bow and her ridiculously long ponytail that qualified for tripping hazard.
"Mr. Speirs, if you wouldn't mind sparing us a moment of your time," Rias spoke, her tone polite but firm.
"Yeah? What can I do for you?" he asked, trying to sound more cordial than he felt. "I don't speak Japanese."
"We're fine with English," Redhead smoothly interjected, her nimble arms folded under her huge mammaries, her puffed uniform sleeves dangling by her elbows. "You don't have to strain yourself when you're not used to Japanese."
"Right." Speirs nodded, his demeanor as dull as a worn-out pencil. Custodians had little concern for the nuances of language-what one Reality hailed as English might be another's ancient hieroglyphics. But he played along, needing to blend in with these beings. The polite exchange did little to ease his suspicion.
He had dealt with enough devils-both literal and metaphorical-to know that a friendly demeanor often masked ulterior motives. For the time being, he had to remain vigilant, observing them closely to determine their true nature.
Were they the malicious sort, seeking to disrupt the natural order? Or simply devious, playing a game of manipulation for their own gain?
Were they genuine, with intentions unrooted despite their nature as Devils? Or merely putting on a show, masking their true intentions behind a facade of politeness?
"I'm Rias Gremory." She handed out a smile. It was pleasant. It was kind. It smelled like she wanted something from him and he did not appreciate that, no matter how nice or pleasing her voice might be. "And this is Akeno. Himejima Akeno."
He nodded at the two. "Speirs."
"… Just Speirs?" Rias asked.
"Speirs," he said again, more curt.
"Charmed," the ponytailed girl whirred, her smile subtly seductive, her gaze attempting to pierce right through his heart and loins.
"What do you want," he repeated, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. "Got a kid I need to pick up."
Rias and Akeno exchanged a brief glance before Rias spoke again, her tone businesslike. "Of course, Mr. Speirs. We won't keep you long. We… were just curious. Thought we'd introduce ourselves."
Speirs narrowed his eyes. "… To a handyman?"
Rias chuckled lightly, her demeanor still polite but with a hint of amusement. "Well, we heard you're new in town. Thought we'd extend a welcoming hand, so to speak."
Speirs raised an eyebrow, his skepticism evident. "Just trying to be neighborly, huh?"
Akeno, who had been quietly observing, spoke up with a soft smile. "You could say that. Kuoh Town is a small and peaceful place, but it's always good to know who's around. We don't always get foreigners, you see…"
"Well, you've met me now," he retorted, sensing that their intentions were anything but casual. "Anything else I can do for you, or can I finally head home?"
Rias nodded, her smile unwavering. "Actually, yes. Where are you from, Mr. Speirs? I'm a foreigner as well. Maybe we once lived in a similar country."
As if. She might pose as a European, but he knew better than that. Of course, they knew where he was from; Rias was the daughter of the school's founder, and Speirs had read their profiles. Rias Gremory, Himejima Akeno-or was it Akeno Himejima?-Kiba Yuuto, Tojou Koneko- all neatly gathered up by Nyx and her Moirai that spindled threads of fate.
Nyx
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"From down under," he replied, successfully resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
"Down under? Is that Australia?" Akeno hummed. "Must be a long way from home."
He was talking about Hell, but sure. "Bout as far as you can get."
"How are you finding Kuoh Town so far?" Rias asked. "Must be quite the change of scenery, I imagine."
"It's a town," he shrugged. "People live, people work. Not much different from anywhere else. Anything more you need to know? My favorite color?"
Rias tittered at his retort. "No, no, that won't be necessary. Maybe in another time when you're nowhere as busy. Thank you for your time, Mr. Speirs. We just wanted to say hello and welcome you to Kuoh Town."
"I feel welcomed already. If that's all, I'll be on my way."
Without letting them ask any more prying questions, he gave the two girls a nod and a flat scowl-his standard expression-and waltzed out the exit since they didn't say anything else. He didn't care why, but if he did, then it was due to the fact he left them stranded without looking back.
Speirs pondered their true intentions as he made his way to his motorcycle. Once he was certain they were out of earshot, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Dealing with Devils was always a headache, one he preferred to avoid whenever possible, even if he knew it was impossible.
It never felt normal chatting with them.
⦕⦖
Rias Gremory was, without a better word to describe it, stunned.
"Did he just…"
"Walk away from us," she completed her Queen's wonderment. "Yes. Yes he just did."
"And my Charm didn't have any effect…" Akeno giggled. All the students who attended Kuoh, minus the Devils and Reincarnated Devils, and a select few staff members specifically hired by the Devils, had fallen under Akeno's spell at some point.
Yet this mysterious handyman resisted, perhaps without even realizing it. It was an intriguing sign that he was, as Rias had suspected from the moment she laid eyes on him, a potential.
With a fleeting giggle, she asked her King, "What do you think?"
Returning to the school, a thoughtful expression remained latched on Rias' face. "I think he's interesting, Akeno. Very interesting indeed."
"He's definitely not like anyone we've encountered before," Akeno agreed. "Did you try to Charm him as well?"
"I did," Rias nodded. "His resistance suggests he's either incredibly strong-willed or immune to Magic. And given that neither of us sensed any Divine Energy or a sliver of Mana from him, I'd say it might be the former."
"Maybe he's an Exorcist?" Akeno suggested.
Rias shook her head. "Unlikely. Exorcists typically have some level of Divine Energy. Our maintenance worker doesn't seem to have any. No, I don't think he's an Exorcist. He didn't resist the charm because he had divine protection or magic resistance… I think he's just… immune. Somehow."
"Perhaps he's a Hunter," Akeno mused, referencing a group of humans who specialized in hunting supernatural beings. Theirs included.
Rias considered this. "Possible, but again, Hunters usually have some sort of magical ability or equipment. He lacks the telltale signs of one."
"Maybe he's just a normal human," Akeno suggested, though her tone hinted at skepticism. "… I didn't know he had a kid, however."
"Whatever he is, he's caught my interest," Rias stated.
"In case you wonder, I think he's perfectly impassive. Acute amnesia? No parents? No relatives? And in spite of all those tragedies…" Akeno shuddered as she hugged herself, "Ahn~… those stern eyes… I want to see them truly writhe in despair…"
"You need help," Rias dryly commented, suppressing a shiver at her Queen's morbid fascination. Akeno's taste for sadism was well-known, but sometimes it still managed to unsettle her. At least the priestess directed it towards their enemies.
Akeno innocently giggled as she sauntered inside the grandiose school building. "What do you think his Piece will be?"
"Hard to say, maybe a Rook, but as long as he's within the available Pieces then I'm sorted," she mused. Her new Servant would surely appreciate another male companion that wasn't-as Issei himself had begrudgingly put it-'handsome bishounen'.
While Speirs was not ugly by any means, he did not have the definition of a stunningly handsome person either. At least not the beautiful kind.
Dull gray eyes lacking warmth yet searing with distrust, tall and imposing stature, yet no easily noticeable muscle definitions… though that was likely due to his maintenance worker uniform. Still hard to determine under that biker getup.
Then there was his full beard. Dark and trimmed. It was a rarity among the staff, let alone among the male students. Rias couldn't imagine the female staff actively pursuing a foreigner with such a menacing appearance, especially one who wasn't particularly sociable. So he wasn't here for that either.
Curious, perhaps, but the Japanese people were not known for their warmness towards outsiders. Tolerate, sure, but offering more than mere hospitality and basic interactions required trust built over time.
Yet, despite his intimidating presence, or lack thereof magical-wise, Speirs possessed some unique physical traits. His long eyelashes added a touch of softness to his otherwise stern appearance. It was a stark contrast to the rest of him. Perhaps his most striking physical trait was his hair. It wasn't conventionally remarkable. Charcoal black. A boring black some might say, but they were wavy and full and looked so fluffy, and Rias couldn't deny the strange desire to run her fingers through it.
Sort of like being drawn to pet a puppy, or in his case, a particularly rugged wolf.
Speirs
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One day, she thought.
Still, he was a good handyman, easing her suspicion he might have been an enemy spy. Three days and there hadn't been any complaints from Sona, which was rather surprising. Rias did feel a pang of guilt, something she desperately tried to erase as it was the sole reason for her incomplete Servants. She didn't want to be manipulative.
It wasn't Rias. Just Gremory.
In truth, Rias wanted to spend her teenage days as normally. Cherish the time she had, let her Servants enjoy a bit of normalcy on Earth, before she had to dive back in Hell as a Gremory heiress.
Manipulating him felt wrong, even if she knew it was necessary.
Time was against her side. Sona had been on the watch to complete her Peerage, and her available Pieces were one Rook, one Knight, and three Pawns. Rias owned a Piece each for the Minor Pieces and one last Rook. No longer had the versatility of the Pawns, and despite she saw Issei's potential, he was still fresh and green and yet to understand their world.
That worried her greatly. She needed new fire power, and fast.
And as if the pressure from Sitri was not enough, her unofficial Rating Game against Riser that might forever seal her fate loomed in the horizon. Rias didn't just want to strengthen her Peerage. She needed it.
She knew she had to make her move, and fast. The pressure was mounting, and every decision she made or didn't make carried the weight of her future on her shoulders.
⦕⦖
His game of cat and mouse didn't simply end yesterday, much to his chagrin.
He could have skipped all of this needless wandering. He should be tending to a garden shed, not flanked by these two she-Devils, reasoning they had a leak on their fancy clubhouse. Yet they prattled on and talked about the school as if it was built on some hallowed ground to the point he didn't know when he stopped paying attention.
Because for some odd reason, everyone that was around always turned their eyes towards them, dropped their jaws, squealed, muttered 'Two Great Ladies!' with a look of awe, or death glared at him if they were male before shrinking back as Speirs looked at them.
He wasn't even actively chatting with them, he was just walking. He might just be their hostage or their bodyguard, but no. They believed that he was a threat to all mankind because their school idols decided to talk to him for reasons unclear to them.
Speirs didn't catch it, but his flat stare had stirred something within the hybrid. Akeno had subconsciously swallowed her spit when she caught his glare.
She so wanted to make him break.
"Do you have any questions, Mr. Speirs?" the Gremory asked with a bit of hope. She was kind, he'd give her that, but whether that kindness was fake to raise her favorability was yet to be determined. Speirs did not trust her as far as he could throw her, which would be very far.
But while she gave him the opportunity, he might as well capitalize it. "Yeah," he replied, "Other than the cafeteria or courtyard, where do students weasel off to during lunch?"
It was a simple question, one that pertained to his duties as a maintenance worker as he wanted to know the hotspots, yet of course, the Devils couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it than met the eye.
Akeno was quick to suggest and just as suggestively. "Well… depending on how daring they might be, although there's this one famous spot in the back of the old school building…"
"Akeno-" Rias was prepared to yank Akeno's leash as she didn't want him to feel uncomfortable, but to her surprise, he spoke before she could.
"Where's that?"
'Oh my,' Rias thought. She didn't think he was the type, but perhaps Akeno might be onto something here… Perhaps he already knew who they were… and he was simply waiting for their offer, or testing them to see how far they were willing to go…
After all, there existed talents who cleverly waited, auspiciously hiding their gifts, waiting for a decent offer to worth their while. Sona's only Knight managed to do just so, and Tomoe was given leniency over her Student Council duties as long as she kept it a secret among her peers.
If that was the case, it meant he was confident in his abilities. He wanted to see how far they'd go for him. Typical ego-centrical male.
Rias curled up her lips. Very well.
Challenge accepted.
"Well," she began, her voice low and inviting, "it's a bit of a secret spot, but if you're interested, I could show you. It's nothing scandalous, just a quiet place where students go to relax away from the crowds."
⦕⦖
'This spot?' was the imminent thought that flitted by his mind upon staring at the empty backyard of the smaller, older school building.
The grass was trimmed but not properly. Choppy at some spots. Greener at some patches than the rest. The old rustic school building, though weathered, held a nostalgic charm, like a forgotten memory waiting to be rediscovered. It could easily be transformed into a cozy elementary school or a charming kindergarten, tucked away in its own little wood.
Gaea would love this place. She would have seen this place not as a neglected backyard but as a canvas for her green dreams-a nursery for her little saplings, as she would say. She would plan out a whole botanical garden, complete with native plants, a quaint little pond and educational signage. And knowing her, she would have roped him into helping, whether he liked it or not.
Still… there wasn't much for him to fix. The students rarely went into this place either. Something about the old school building spooked them enough. Myths and whatnots.
Speirs felt a bit redundant, standing there with his hammer in hand, a small pouch of nails in his tool waist bag.
"Where's the leak?" he finally asked, irritation growing on him. If these Devils just pulled a prank on him… he might actually consider hammering one of his nails in their pretty face.
"Ufufu~"
He made a face, wondering what kind of forced laughter was that, before turning around to see the source.
His expression twisted into another face of confusion altogether when he saw the girls in the middle of untangling their shirts from their torsos. Rias was already half-naked, her black-red brassiere unhooked, while Akeno waited for him to look at her as she dropped her bra to the grass. Her neckline, cleavage, and the smooth plain of her stomach were emphasized by the pillar-like frame created by her dangling white shirt.
It was a scene straight out of a fantasy. For most, at least. Right now, The Slager was blaming Eros. It must be his influence.
"Great…" Speirs muttered under his breath. Once. Just once. Just one Universe where everything is normal including its residents. One.
As he approached them, they smiled seductively, knowingly, only to gawk at his back as he walked past and turned around a corner.
"H-Hey wait!" Rias hurriedly called out, not minding that her upper half was bare naked. The breeze bothered her a little though, and she had to cup her breasts so they wouldn't bounce and strain her back, and most importantly, lose their youthful perkiness. As Venelana's daughter, she must ensure her-- wait, not important right now.
Speirs waved her off, his frustration mounting with each step he took away from them. "You don't have to mind me," he replied tersely, "Pretend I see nothing."
"I said wait!"
He waited, crossing his hands, his eyes never veering of hers or showed a semblance of embarrassment, just plain annoyance expressed by a scowl.
"Put some clothes, missy. You're spilling."
Maybe this was a normal thing in this Universe. He'd been to one where public orgies were welcome and nudity was preferred but not compulsory. And they were Devils, anyway. No matter he'd gone to, Devils tended to be more shameless of certain things and were generally unable to keep their cocks nor clit in their panties. Granted, he had been to a Universe where Succubi found the very idea of hand-holding could embarrass them to death.
Pathetic. The lots of them. But he preferred that over a bunch of adolescent stripping down. Perhaps this was the moment he fully saw them no longer as humanoids, but as Devils.
Although considering her muddled look and her partner's, he might have misunderstood something.
"…" So Speirs waited, keeping his silence, realizing it would be very unfortunate for him if someone dropped by. Nothing the Devils couldn't fix with their magical bullshittery, he mused.
On the other side, Rias had just found out her hypnotization and memory erasure refused to work on him either, which exponentially increased her wariness of his true power. She decided that she must have him. Now or later, but not never nor too late.
And rectify this misunderstanding. "Come back here, Mr. Speirs. There's been a misunderstanding…"
"I'm not stripping down."
Rias blushed. "Y-You don't need to strip…"
"I'd rather not watch either, thanks."
"Not that!"
"No, I'm not filming you either. I'm 25, Missy, and I still want to work here."
"There's no filming! A-And you'll keep your job, I swear!" Rias wailed, and she stomped her way towards him and yanked him by his wrist - if Speirs didn't jerk his hand back.
"No touching," he cautiously said, both his hands up. "I don't know what you want from me, but I'm fully clothed, while you and your friend are wearing nothing but your birthday suit. Not a great sight."
Rias deliriously shook her head. "Just- come here! I know you know who we are and I'm done playing your game!"
"What?" What in the thousand Hells was she on about? "What d'you mean 'game'…? Of course I know who you are; you introduced yourself yesterday."
Her black-haired friend popped by, a hand on hip, the other hanging idly on her side. She was completely naked. "Ara? Would you prefer to do it with an audience? Mhmmhm… I wouldn't mind as we can always wipe their mind clean… but your mind is awfully degenerate."
His mind was full of fuck. "Who're you calling degenerate, you degenerate," he griped, his brow lowering. He wasn't going to let anyone talk smack at him. Clothed or not. To his mild discomfort, she looked deliriously happy. With a flushed expression, Akeno coiled her hands around her arms as she shivered in sinful delight.
"I think your friend is getting cold," Speirs blandly said while Akeno started to crack up. "I don't give a damn with you lesbians, alright? Fuck who you wanna fuck, but leave me out of this-"
Rias cut him off, "Quit assuming and let me explain! This is all one big misunderstanding! Please! "
Last edited: Friday at 8:19 AM
do not read my shitposts on my Fanfic page
check out my glorious Eminence in Shadow shitpost instead
Or this one, the NotToji in DxD
Chapter 1
〖Chapter 1〗 ⦕ What Makes a Custodian ⦖
After the rather unexpected strip tease debacle, and a commendable attempt from Rias to assure him they didn't normally strip down in front of complete strangers that he started to feel bad for her, Rias dragged him to a fancily furnished clubroom, if it could classify as one. He rarely had to work in a school setting, but this was nowhere near a normal clubroom. Closer to an exclusive VIP lounge for a sports club than an after school hangout.
Like a secret society's headquarters, complete with leather-bound chairs, Victorian-themed furniture and paintings, and dimly lit lamps casting eerie shadows across the room. Felt like stepping into the lair of a Bond villain, except instead of world domination, they were peddling demonic deals.
It was in this room that Speirs was seated in a plush sofa that felt oh so divine on his butt, unfazed with all the occult paraphernalia decorating the room. Ancient tomes, odd-looking souvenirs and artifacts that hinted at a deeper, more mysterious purpose.
They were Devils, yes, straight from the biblical kind, just not the pitchfork-wielding, horned creatures from the depths of purgatory as the King James version depicted. These teens were more like the high society devils, the kind he'd expect to find sipping cocktails at a black-tie gala. Otherwise, they'd tempted him into committing far worse sins than looking at their exposed flesh. It was a good thing he was pretty much desensitized to sudden exposure due to the shit he'd seen that had indeed made a Satan wince out of disgust.
Maybe it was a bad thing.
Speirs, like most Custodians, wasn't unfamiliar with moral ambiguity. They had all witnessed and done their fair share of questionable decisions and did indeed thrive in the gray areas. But forsaking morals entirely? That was a line he wasn't sure he was ready to cross, even if it would simplify his job so much more.
And in his eyes, Rias and Akeno were just teenagers with slightly askew moral values. Not the first, and certainly wouldn't be his last.
Didn't mean he'd let his guard down completely. In too many Universes, Devils were the bad guys, and he did enjoy partaking in the crusades.
For now, however, despite Akeno's suspiciously flirty behavior raising some red flags, Speirs didn't feel any malicious intent from her. Writing it off as another case of a girl infuriated by her first rejection. Rias, on the other hand, was peculiarly pushy with her explanations. She came on as strong as a used car salesman trying to offload a lemon.
"In short," Rias stated formally, "I'd love to employ a man of your skills."
"You and your friend started an impromptu striptease out of nowhere. I'm an adult. Both of you are barely legal. So I walked away," he retorted in the sort of tone one would expect from a man exasperated with their rowdy kids. "If common sense is a precious skill in your eyes, then… I don't even know where to start."
"Yes I understand that, and I do apologize for jumping into conclusions, but that's not what's important here! It was all a big misunderstanding! That's it. I swear. Can we get past that?" Rias blubbered, not realizing she was only reinforcing his innate desire to annoy the living out of her. The prim and proper types had always been fun to tease. Almost too easy to get under her skin.
But he got a job to do, things to learn and relearn, so Speirs shoved his guilty pleasure down if only for the moment.
"Alright. Go on."
Rias exhaled heavily like an overpriced red balloon losing its air. "… The most and only crucial aspect here is your apparent resistance to our Magic, potentially more. I can't stress enough what a game changer you are."
As Rias paused, Akeno took the cue and leaned forward. "You see, Supaisu-san-"
"Just call me Speirs."
"… Supaisu-"
"Nevermind. Carry on." Looked like having an active translator in their head didn't exactly help their pronunciation.
Akeno stared at him for a moment, confused at first, before simply moving along, "… What we're saying is, most normal humans are like putty in our hands, easily manipulated by our Charms and Spells. Charming them is the quickest way we determine a potential. But you? You're different. You resist our influence, which means you could be invaluable to us. We don't use it to force them to do everything, of course…"
"Why not?" he asked pointedly.
"Gods won't appreciate that," Rias answered. "We are Devils, Mr. Speirs. Even with your passive reaction, I'm sure you're aware we're rarely, if ever, depicted as upstanding citizens."
"Are you?"
Rias blinked. Once, twice, wondering how on earth she became interrogated, and he did so upfront and offhandedly as well.
In truth, it really wasn't that deep. Speirs just asked the first thing that crossed his mind. He hated subtlety. Unfortunately, the piled up stress and the blunder earlier made Rias overthink everything.
"That's… highly subjective-"
Speirs waved her off. "Don't give me that crap."
The words bounced and died on her lips, taken aback by his bluntness. "Alright," Rias admitted. "Fair enough. No, we're not paragons of virtue. Yes, at the end of the day, we are self-serving-but who isn't?" Speirs nodded at that. "While we are Devils, we do abide by certain guidelines."
"Guidelines." he repeated, skeptical.
"Yes, guidelines," Rias affirmed, leaning back in her chair, watching her untouched tea go cold. "… We have our own set of rules and principles that govern our actions. While we may not always adhere to human standards of morality, we do have our own code of conduct."
"Sounds like a convenient excuse for doing whatever you want," Speirs said.
Damn him. Why must he be so insufferable yet right at the same time. "Perhaps," Rias conceded, "but it's more about maintaining balance and order in the supernatural world. Chaos benefits no one, not even us."
Speirs mulled over her words, nodding slowly. "I can respect that…"
Rias breathed a sigh of relief inwardly, doing her best to remain composed even if she was aware she was slipping. She seemed pleased with his responses, mistaking it for confidence. Perhaps a bit too much confidence, but she had found overconfidence to be preferable than the lack of one. Easier to humble a man than to instill pride in a boy.
"Alright. I get the gist, and I'll be straight here, your whole Peerage System sounds terribly similar like slavery to me except tied with a pretty ribbon. Becoming a Devil and serving you, or any other devils, for the rest of my life? Even the terms. Master and Servant. It's like you want to be hated."
"W-Well…" Rias fidgeted. "… Well…" and sighed as her shoulders loosened. "Yes. There's no point trying to justify that. It is a form of binding service, and while not all Masters are cruel, there are indeed those who exploit their Servants, treating them as mere tools. But I swear on Runeas' Name, the First Gremory, I am not one of them. My Peerage are my friends. They're my family. Never my slaves."
Speirs leaned back, arms crossed, his dull gray long-sleeved uniform creasing. "Nice words, but words are just that."
"Im different." Rias met his gaze, determination burning in her eyes. "Look at my Peerage. Ask them yourself. Kiba, Akeno, Koneko… they chose to stay with me, not out of obligation, but because they believe in me as much as I believe in them. I will do everything in my power to ensure their well-being and happiness."
Speirs glanced at Akeno, who gave a small nod. He turned back to Rias, considering her words. "… You said there's… fifteen Evil Pieces. Evil Pieces?"
Rias winced. "… I… prefer to call it Pieces myself," she muttered, evidently embarrassed with the rather suspicious nomenclature.
"Uh huh," he huffed. "And there's only four of you?"
"No. Recently we've gained another addition… and there's a Bishop that… Well, I'll introduce you later."
Speirs paused, mentally wondering if Nyx had forgotten about this mystery Bishop. "Alright, I'll bite. Say I believe you're different. What exactly do you want from me?"
"I need your skills, your strength. My first Rating Game is fast approaching, and I really can't afford to lose. It's more than just a game; it's my future on the line. If I fail, I lose my freedom. Help me win, and I promise, you won't regret it."
He scratched the side of his beard with his knuckle. "What's in it for me?"
Rias smiled. "Freedom. Independence. You wouldn't be bound by the same rules. You'd be a part of my Peerage, yes, but with privileges and autonomy. And if you ever decide to leave, you have my word, you'll be free to go."
"That's a tall promise."
"I'm well aware," she replied solidly, "but it's one I intend to keep."
He paused, considering the options not for him as Rias held her breath. "What happens if I die as a Reincarnated Devil?"
"If you die, you're gone. Just like anyone else. We're not invincible, Speirs. Devils can die too. Reincarnated Devil or not, your soul returns to the Realm of the Dead overseen under varying Gods of Death. A Limbo, I suppose… As for the afterlife itself… that's a concept I'm not entirely sure of myself… Honestly," she gave him a wry smile. "I'd rather not think about it."
Speirs took a silent breath, weighing her words carefully as he now confirmed Issei must not die again. "And what if you die? What happens to your Peerage then?"
Rias hesitated, the question striking a chord of vulnerability as Akeno thinly narrowed her eyes. "If I die, my Peerage would be released from their bonds. They would no longer be tied to me or anyone else, though they'll stay as a Reincarnated Devil. They'd be free to live their lives as they choose."
"What about Stray Devils," he added.
"A term for criminals, that's all. Servants who betrayed their Masters."
"Too loose of a definition."
Rias sighed, her frayed patience evident. His conscientiousness was justified, impressive, even, that she couldn't get angry with all his valid questions so far.
"Stray Devils are those who abandon or betray their Masters and choose a path of crime. They become dangerous, rogue elements that need to be dealt with."
"Another convenience. Label them troublemakers."
Rias met his guarded skepticism with a steady gaze. "It's not about convenience. Stray Devils pose real threats. They disrupt the balance and put innocent lives at risk. We're obligated to stop them."
"You mentioned there are cruel Masters? What if they rebelled? Do you hunt them too?"
Rias nodded, her expression grave. "Yes, there are Masters who abuse their power and mistreat their Servants. It's an unfortunate reality within our society. But labeling someone as a Stray Devil isn't just about punishment. It's about protecting others from their potential harm. If a Stray Devil proves themselves to be a danger to others, they must be stopped."
Speirs arched an eyebrow, considering her words carefully. "Who decides who's a Stray Devil and who's just misunderstood?"
Rias took a moment, carefully choosing her words as she had been, feeling her back being pushed against a wall. "It's not a decision taken lightly. There are protocols in place, investigations conducted by higher authorities within the Devil society. But like any system, it's not perfect. Mistakes can be made, and innocent Devils can be unjustly labeled as Stray. It's a flaw we're constantly working to address…"
He grunted, nodding, acknowledging the complexity of the issue. "Fair."
Speirs studied her for a moment, weighing her words. He could see the genuine care in her eyes, but the system itself still didn't sit right with him.
"And you want me, because?" he asked again.
Hook, line, and… sinker? Rias straightened herself. "Because I believe you're experienced. I told you the things we do as Devils. Of our side of the world. Of our enemies; Angels and Fallen Angels and your reaction is lukewarm at best. You're not fazed even once when we revealed to you we are Devils. Am I mistaken to assume you're already cognizant the supernatural side of things, far before our introduction?"
Speirs just shrugged noncommittally. He wanted to see their reaction. How they approached someone who was allegedly 'experienced'. It simplified his job if they thought he wasn't a novice; he didn't need to hide or come up with bullshit lies to assure them of his amnesiac background.
If they misuse this confirmation, however, if they hamper his work, stall his progress, for the sake of roping him into this little slavery thing, then Speirs knew these Devils simply couldn't be trusted to watch over the kid. One of his Key Performance Indicator as the Custodians' was to always ensure the 'Chosen One(s)'--a silly notion that even Speirs simply didn't buy--didn't fall into the wrong crowd, becoming the first domino to fall which would end in spiraling their entire Universe's fate to the gutter.
Rias smiled. "The way you calmly handled all of this information is also proof enough."
Well. Duh. Nyx gave him their general profiles for him to work with. Keyword on 'general'. Name, gender, age, a colored portrait of them, and an extremely brief bullet points summary.
He couldn't disclose that information, however, and a shrug was always the simplest nonanswer that rarely raised suspicion.
"Guess so. Maybe I'm just being cautious."
"It's reasonable," she nodded. "Then do I have your agreement?"
"Hm?'
Rias blinked. "That you'll… join my Peerage?"
"No." His response was blunt, rejecting her offer as if turning down a pamphlet. "It all sounds…" he pursed his lips, wrinkling his nose as he searched for the right word. "Too complicated… I prefer my life uncomplicated."
"I… see…" Rias visibly wilted. Not the answer she'd hoped for. "… That's unfortunate… Thank you, nonetheless. For your honesty." She forced herself to smile, even if she felt like crying. Her first rejection always hurt. "I assume the reason you came to Kuoh is to find peace."
Speirs pursed his lips, nodding subtly. "You can say that."
"All those questions, all her patience, and you reject her in the end…" Akeno giggled. "My, my… what a cruel man you are…"
"Cruel?" The foreigner raised an eyebrow, mildly amused by Akeno's teasing tone. "Practical."
"It's fine, Akeno."
"But--"
Rias firmly stared at her Queen. "Akeno."
Akeno looked like she was about to say something. The words were already bouncing on her lips, but she swallowed them back. It wouldn't do for a Queen to enter an argument with their Master in front of an outsider.
Speirs took special note of that. One he kept to himself like so many things he'd gained from this negotiation.
"Now if you ladies excuse me…" He pushed out of the sofa.
"Of course." R
ias nodded, her expression remaining tight. "I appreciate your time, Mr. Speirs."
He dipped his head, showing a semblance of respect. He didn't need to be a constant jerkass--they were kids in his eyes.
As he made his way to the door, Akeno's voice trailed after him, tinged with a playful edge.
"You know where to find us if you change your mind…"
Speirs offered a small, noncommittal grunt in response, already halfway out the door. "Best don't get your hopes up. Best of luck to you both."
Rias tried to hide her disappointment behind a mask of professionalism, though Speirs easily saw the flicker of frustration in her eyes.
He wasn't here to make friends or join some exclusive club. He had a mission to be done, and getting entangled in devilish affairs was never part of his plan.
His plan was to confirm Rias and her friends were competent and trustworthy enough to keep an eye on Issei without ever realizing the true extent of his involvement; that'd just stagnate their growth. The last thing he wanted was to draw unnecessary attention to himself or his duties as a Custodian. They were only teenagers, after all. Demons or not, princesses or paupers, he didn't see the necessity of burdening them with the knowledge that a single boy held one key to their Universe's fate.
There were other key players he still needed to secure. But if these Devils could keep their eyes on one, great. If not, he'd find someone else.
Speirs strode down the dimly lit corridor of the old school building, his shoes tapping softly against the aged tiles. He paused by a window, gazing out at the clear blue skies bathing the campus.
The skies of Earth used to be just as blue. Before the flames and smokes. Before the ashes rose, carrying billions of souls.
Pushing that reverie aside, glancing back at the ORC clubroom, Speirs caught sight of the ponytailed girl standing by the door of her clubroom.
Akeno's violet gaze fixated on him like a curious eagle eyeing its prey, and Speirs responded with a nonchalant nod in her direction, and continued on his path, navigating through the labyrinthine halls of Kuoh Academy, where even the skirt regulations seemed to have a mind of their own.
Exiting the building, he crossed the track field and made his way through the grand halls of Kuoh Academy, the strange skirt regulations a passing thought in his mind. Speirs didn't even bother to sign out. His focus already shifted to the tasks ahead.
Once out the school gates, his --strangely comfy-- gray maintenance worker uniform dumped in a trash bin somewhere, Speirs fished for his phone. It was time to play the game of resignations and rearrangements, a routine he knew all too well. His brief encounter with the Devils had been like dipping his toes into a pool of unknown depths. They seemed tolerable, but he wasn't about to trust appearances in this supernatural circus. For now, they got their extra time with Issei.
His next move? Address their so-called nemeses and Rias' constant headaches.
Fallen Angels and Angels.
Two sides of the same celestial coin, regularly at each other's throats since the dawn of time. The Fallen Angels or The Grigori, in particular, seemed to have a bone to pick with the Devils. Back when he asked Rias why they were letting these winged troublemakers roam free under her watch of Kuoh Town, she gave him some spiel about White Peace and avoiding all-out war due to the existence of gray zones; no man's land that not yet owned by either Devils or Grigori, as those zones were overwatched by the Shinto Pantheon.
Translation? She didn't want to rock the boat and risk starting a supernatural World War II.
Apparently, those gods didn't care what happen between Hell or Grigori or Heaven as long as their followers were untouched. If he put himself in their perspective, he'd let these 'Major Factions' claw at each other while keeping his hands clean.
From that response, it became clear to him that Rias, with her doe-eyed innocence and violin-playing aura and her elegant demeanor, was not yet embroiled in the political intrigues that often plagued their kind. Good for her as a person, but as an Overseer? Not exactly reassuring.
He kept his thoughts to himself as per usual, playing the role of the impartial observer. After all, billions of lives were at stake again, and he couldn't afford to jump to conclusions faster than a kangaroo on caffeine.
Getting on his roadster, before diving back into the murky waters of supernatural politics, Speirs decided to take a brief detour. To clear his head. Clean his palate. To ensure he remained objective.
With a quick call to the Watamelon Daycare Center, he arranged to pick up Kunou early. No better way to clear his head than a quick spin with his little troublemaker.
⦕⦖
"Oh! Kunou-chan, your guardian's here!" The daycare attendant's voice was cheerful, a stark contrast to the perpetual scowl on Speirs' face. She didn't seem fazed, however.
"Uncle!" Kunou's exuberant shout was like a burst of sunshine in the room. She ran towards Speirs with the speed of a bullet train, launching herself at him with all the force of a small child's enthusiasm.
"Mhmm. Yep. How was your-" Speirs winced as Kunou's weight pressed against him, but he quickly recovered, returning her hug with a gentle pat on the back. Her glossy golden hair tied in a neat ponytail, her bright amber eyes shining with excitement, and her lithe figure, even for a six-year-old, all contributed to her charm.
"Let's go home!" she declared, stretching up her small arms. "Uppies!"
"Right." Her eagerness was normal. He could do with some normalcy.
"Weee~!"
Allowing a small smirk, the grizzled Custodian of too many conflicts and not enough peace gently lifted Kunou as she squeed in delight. He swiftly placed her over his broad shoulders, and in return, Kunou clung to his head like a koala, much to the amusement of the cute daycare personnel.
The Watamelon Daycare Center was a bright and cheerful place, with colorful walls adorned with children's artwork and shelves filled with toys and books, its mascot being a sheep-girl wearing a watermelon helmet cut in half.
Whilst being surrounded by an army of ankle-biters that thought Speirs was a bad man, one of the caretakers, a young woman with a warm smile and pale yellow hair, bid them goodbye with a smile.
"Bye-bye Kunou-chan!" she beamed. "See you tomorrow~!"
To which Kunou responded with a giddy giggle and an energetic wave. "Bye-bye, Watame-sensei!"
"That has to be the softest voice I've ever heard from a sheila," he said aloud, sharing the thoughts with the pint-sized runt riding his shoulders.
"Mhmm~ Watame-san is very fluffy. Fluffier than Kunou. Walk to your bike faster!" Kunou demanded from her perch on his shoulders. "It's uncomfortable outside!"
Of course it would be for her. She had to hide her pair of fox tails and ears. Adjusting his grip on her, they made their way to his sleek black roadster parked nearby.
"You wanna hit the beach first?"
"Eh? Right now?"
"Yea."
"Can I show my tails?"
"No."
"Then no!" Kunou fervently rejected, needing no further thoughts or accepting no sort of bribes, "Let's go home! It's stuffy!"
With Kunou settled onto the passenger seat, Speirs straddled his bike and kicked the engine to life. The powerful roar of the engine echoed through the air as they sped off, leaving behind the daycare center and venturing into the vibrant cityscape ahead.
The Universe where Speirs found her was a desolate, barren place. One of those rogue planet whose star had grown too hot. The world's once vibrant colors faded, replaced by a bleak landscape of dust and decay. The ground cracked and parched beneath his feet. Speirs had been on a routine mission, tasked with overseeing the transition of that dying World to its final rest. He had given it to Gaea in under a week. A decision he had made countless times before.
When he had wandered through the desolate landscape, he came across her-a tiny figure, barely four years old, standing amidst the ruins with wide, confused eyes staring at him, hugging her muddy tail while everything around her was turning green, vines creeping unnaturally quickly as nature began its reclamation.
Her brain had been hardly developed enough to understand the gravity of the situation, but Speirs saw in her the innocence and vulnerability that had long been absent from his own life.
For a Custodian like Speirs, attachments were dangerous. They only led to heartache and despair, especially when the other party couldn't retain their memories once they finished their assignment. But there was something about Kunou, something that tugged at him and refused to let go. His daughter, and her innocence, who he lost when his old home was overran by demons.
Speirs followed Kunou as she excitedly led him to a cave, her small feet kicking up dust as she ran. Her tiny hand tugged at his, urging him to hurry, her eyes shining with anticipation.
"Here we are!" she exclaimed, pointing towards the dark opening of the cave. "Mommy's inside. She's sleeping, so we have to be very quiet."
The cave was dimly lit, the faint light filtering through the cracks in the rock casting eerie shadows on the walls. And there, lying on a makeshift bed of moss and leaves, was Kunou's mother, her once beautiful nine fox tails now limp and lifeless.
"Shh!" Kunou, oblivious to the finality of death, giggled as she played with her mother's tails, the soft fur slipping through her fingers.
"Mother, hm?" Speirs nodded at the dead Kyuubi, thoughts racing in his head. "How long has she been sleeping, kiddo?" He asked, his deep voice rumbling in the cavern.
"Huh? Umm… seven nights I think?" Kunou replied, keeping her voice quiet, her tiny hands gently caressing her mother's nine fox tails, a look of childish wonder on her face. "But Kunou wipes mommy now and then, just like mommy did to daddy!"
"Where's your father, kiddo?"
"Umm… Mommy said it's called a Better Place."
"Better place eh?"
"Mhmm!"
"Right… I need to make a call."
"Oooh! Is that a cellphone?"
"This is Speirs. I want to propose an adoption," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "No I'm not joking. I need to call Arla as well so be quick about it."
The moment Speirs stepped into his house and closed the door behind him, Kunou wasted no time in reverting to her true form. Her animalistic traits emerged, with fuzzy golden ears twitching atop her head and two lustrous golden tails swaying behind her. With a swift dart down the corridor, she left her small red backpack and shoes scattered across the foyer.
"Hey, young lady-!" Speirs began, but Kunou cut him off with a determined declaration.
"Toilet!"
Speirs sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. He had thought Kunou might be as clueless as the rest of her kind from that strange Reality, but she proved to be surprisingly quick-witted, even adept at deflecting his scolding with a sensible reply.
He gathered up her shoes and bag before following her into the house, a modest two-story abode that felt lavish for its size. The master bedroom was his domain, while two guest bedrooms were available for Kunou if she ever worked up the courage to sleep on her own-or if Speirs felt the need to entertain a friend closer to his own age.
But what bothered him most about his new living situation was the prospect of being surrounded by teenagers who thought they knew everything. In his previous adventures, he had at least had the company of seasoned knights and rough-and-tumble bandits. Here, he was stuck with a bunch of hormonal teens and a rowdy furry kid.
Groaning in resignation, Speirs muttered curses under his breath as he shuffled over to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey, his companion for the rest of the afternoon, and made his way to the sofas. Collapsing onto the cushions, he stretched his legs out, seeking a moment of respite from the day's events.
With a flick of the wrist, he uncorked the bottle and took a long swig, relishing the burn that spread down his throat. He knew he needed to rest his mind, but that seemed like a tall order with Kunou around. The little fox had a knack for finding trouble, and today would likely be no different.
As he settled in, preparing to drink his way to tomorrow, or at least until evening, when he would have to prepare dinner for the "brat," Speirs considered his options.
Ordering food seemed like the best course of action; rice bowls would do, as Kunou was not picky and would eat anything with meat. Speirs himself had endured much worse, having eaten bugs and rats to blend in. Surprisingly, Kunou had too, simply to live a little longer in that doomed World of hers. A fact that never ceased to amaze him.
He heard the bathroom door swing open and the sound of rapid, yet light footsteps approaching. Sure enough, Kunou rushed towards him, interrupting his moment of relaxation by leaping onto his lap. She settled herself like a cat, staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
Kunou From Another World
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"G'day!" Kunou chirped, her golden tresses shining in the soft light of the room.
"It's you again." He ruffled her golden fur affectionately, silently grateful for the unexpected companionship, even if it came with its fair share of challenges.
"It's Kunou again," she beamed a smile that could melt the blackest of hearts. "Did you miss me?"
"I miss the peace and quiet," he said, earning himself a petulant pout. "What did you learn in that place anyway?"
"Numbers and stuff," Kunou shrugged. "I made a lot of friends."
"How many did you make?"
"More than this many!" She held up all her fingers, looking smug.
"That's a lot of friends. I didn't even make a single one today," he said, taking a big gulp of his drink. He couldn't get intoxicated, unfortunately, but Speirs liked the taste. Simple things kept him from getting angry.
"That's okay, Uncle, you'll make one someday."
He allowed a smirk. "I sure hope so."
"But you have me, Uncle, so you're not alone!" Kunou suddenly exclaimed, her lustrous vulpine tail whipping side to side, wiggling like a fuzzy golden flame.
Even Speirs cracked a smile at her words. Despite his initial reservations about taking care of Kunou, he was warming up to the idea of being her guardian. She may be a handful at times, but her unwavering loyalty and infectious energy brought a sense of joy to his otherwise solitary existence.
He knew he couldn't keep her with him permanently. If this Universe proved to be good, better, welcoming to little ones like her, then he would leave her here for her sake, and perhaps his. She was too young. She needed friends. A home. But until that time, he would care for her, protect her, and find a way to give her a future worth living for.
"I guess you're right," Speirs replied, tousling her hair. "What do you want to eat tonight? Fish? Chicken? Sheep?"
"No! No sheep! They're fluffy!" she declared, her face expressing sheer terror in a second, then a sweet smile the next. "Let's have chicken. They look silly anyway."
A sinister way to decide which creature deserved to be eaten, but Speirs wasn't going to argue with a kid. "Alright. Chicken it is."
"How was your school?" Kunou asked eagerly, her tails swaying side to side just as eager as her.
"It sucked. I quit."
Her tails stopped swaying. "Whaaaat?"
"Mhmm," he replied, holding the brown tips of her ears with his fingers as it repeatedly attempted to swat his hands away. "Too old for school."
She frowned sadly. "You can come with Kunou tomorrow to the daycare. Everyone is welcome there. Watame-san said so."
"Still too old," a soft chuckle carried his reply this time. Bless this ray of sunshine incarnate. "That's fine. You go on back there tomorrow and have double the fun to make up for me."
"Where will you go?"
"Work."
"Oooh… wow. Sounds boring. Okay! Kunou will make sure she plays twice as hard tomorrow!"
"Just don't cause too much trouble."
"I won't!"
"Good. Now get off me."
"Nuh-uh!"
"You need to shower - you stink of sweat."
"Nuh-uh I don't!" she wailed, then sniffed her baby pink shirt. "… Oh I kinda do…"
"Now shoo. Take a shower. You'll get flies all over."
That immediately sent Kunou scampering off to their bedroom, her excitement evident as she rummaged through the cardboard boxes for her clothes. Speirs watched her go, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He hadn't had the time-or the inclination-to unpack his own things yet. There was still too much to learn about the Fallen Angels and their mysterious Watchers of humanity. Creepy stalkers, more like.
Creepy stalkers, more like.
Taking another swig of whiskey, Speirs let the liquid burn his throat as it passed through. He scratched his bearded jaw thoughtfully, his mind wandering until he was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
With a reluctant groan, Speirs pushed himself off the couch, whiskey bottle still in hand. It was likely a neighbor wanting to welcome him or engage in some menial pleasantries. He'd rather be avoided and gossiped about than pestered.
Peering through the door's peephole, Speirs noted the suited man standing outside. The fish-eye lens distorted his features, making him appear chubbier than he likely was. But what caught Speirs' attention was the girl in the strange black dress standing beside him. Neither of them looked like they belonged here.
He pressed the button on his intercom. "What do you want."
A sour tone. If they didn't immediately scram or notice his lack of willingness to socialize with weirdos, then he might consider calling the police to get these solicitor off his porch.
But they either didn't get the hint or didn't care. The burly man with a fedora walked up to the door and spoke, "Are you associated with Rias Gremory?"
"No. Go away," Speirs retorted firmly.
"We'd like to have a word with you, sir," the man persisted.
"Denied. Fuck off," Speirs reiterated, his patience wearing thin.
"Unfortunately, that was not a request," the man replied, a grin spreading across his face. He held out a white-gloved hand, and to Speirs' disbelief, lights began to gather around it, forming into a glowing spear-like object.
Before Speirs could react, a pale blue lightspear pierced right through the wooden door, leaving a gaping hole in its wake and stopping just short of his abdomen. He stared at the odd object, realizing it was indeed a spear, but made of some neon-like material.
Dohnaseek also stared at his lightspear, confused that it had stopped instead of fully penetrating through.
The Slayer's nostrils flared as he cursed underneath his breath, "Great. You ruined my door."
Learning the lost mafia had just attempted to take his life, Speirs only saw red. Without a moment's hesitation, he lunged forward, gripping the lightspear with all his strength. With a powerful wrench, he yanked tt, bringing Dohnaseek's body forward, smashing his face against the door. At the same time, Speirs flung open the door, sending the man tumbling back.
With a swift and precise motion, he smashed his glass bottle into Dohnaseek's confused face, shattering it upon impact as the amber liquor spilled to both his jacket and the Fallen Angel's suit.
Ignoring the yellow chick's horrified gasp, Speirs swiftly jammed the broken bottle through the man's neck. Gurgle gurgle gurgle-- Speirs dragged his supposed assassin by his tie, as the man grasped for his collar. One kick to the jaw, and Dohnaseek saw stars spinning, before he realized his head been positioned between the door and its metallic frame, he saw it zoomed towards him, as Speirs repeatedly slammed the door.
Each impact bent the door and crushed Dohnaseek's skull further. Blood spattered, mixing with the shards of glass and pieces of shattered skull.
"Jesus fucking Christ-" Mittelt's voice trembled with shock and fear as she witnessed her compatriot's body go limp, his head now a pulpy mess of blood and skull bone. "Y-Yo-You said he's just a normal nobody!"
The door swung open fully, revealing Speirs in all his intimidating glory-six-foot-two, blood-spattered, utterly unapologetic, and plain livid.
"Stay. You're explaining everything," his voice was a low, menacing baritone that sent shivers down Mittelt's spine.
She couldn't help but notice the ease with which he dispatched a Fallen Angel, and a sinking realization crept over her. Speirs was not just powerful; he was so immensely strong that neither she nor Dohnaseek had been able to detect his true strength. His power level must be astronomical, or he was a master at concealing his true abilities.
But the truth was far simpler, far more primal, than any elaborate theory Mittelt could conjure.
A fundamental law of the universe that even the most powerful beings dared not challenge. Custodians wielded authority that transcended the multiverse, granting them the unfettered right to dispense judgment with unyielding force. It was a power born not of strength, but of purpose, a mandate to ensure the stability and integrity of the cosmos. Where rank and power crumbled to dust. Kings and emperors, angels and demons-all bowed before the absolute authority of those tasked with maintaining the balance of existence. It was a power that knew no limits, for even the mightiest of beings trembled at the mere whisper of a Custodian's name.
For they held the authority to mete out violence to anyone. And in the hands of The Doom Slayer, that authority was wielded absolutely. He embodied not just the wrath of a single man, but the inexorable force of a universal truth.
Mittelt watched in stunned silence as Speirs stood before her, a menacing figure bathed in the crimson glow of his own brutality. She felt her legs weaken, threatening to give out beneath her as she slumped to the floor, her mind reeling from the shock of it all. The disappearance of Dohnaseek's lightspear, which had moments before been lodged menacingly in the door, only added to her sense of bewilderment.
"Sh-Shit, I-wait, don't kill me…" Her voice faltered, barely audible above the pounding of her own heart. "I-I can explain…"
"In, brat," he seethed, his right hand still holding the smashed bottle, dropping crimson droplets. Oddly enough, his hand was visibly bleeding, some shards sticking out.
Speirs was beginning to wish he could confirm this Reality's nonsense. The sooner he did, the fewer restraints.
"You even think of acting smart, I'll run your arm through a blender."
'Ohmygod he's a psycho!' If it was possible for her face to be paler, then she would be bleach white. As Mittelt scrambled to her feet and stumbled inside, Speirs followed closely behind, his gaze never leaving her.
"Explain."
"I-I was just following orders," she blurted out, desperation seeping into her words. "Dohnaseek said it was a simple mission, that we just needed to talk to you. I-I didn't know he would… would…"
Her words trailed off as she glanced at Dohnaseek's lifeless body, lying in a pool of his own blood. Speirs watched her closely.
"Who sent you?"
"M-M-Mast--Mistress Penemue!" she squeaked, her eyes wide with fear. "Sh-She said… w-well she suggested you were a threat, b-but that's all! We're just recon grunts! Attempting to kill you is his stupid idea! W-Was his stupid idea!"
Speirs's grip on the broken bottle tightened, his knuckles turning white. "And what did you think?"
"I-I didn't know what to think," Mittelt admitted, rivulets of sweat streaming down her face. "I just… I just… Please oh please don't kill me… ! But if you gotta, you gotta… at least make it quick…"
Speirs considered her words for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialed a number saved simply as "N." The call connected almost instantly, and he wasted no time in speaking.
"Arla. Speirs," he began, his eyes never leaving Mittelt's quaking form. "I'd like to make a donation." He paused, a hard glare in his eyes as he regarded Mittelt. "Potentially a minor one as well… Yes, one's alive. Quit asking and come here, or I'll ask for Hastur instead."
Mittelt's heart sank as she realized the gravity of her situation. She cursed herself for getting involved in this mess, wishing she had stayed in bed that day. But it was too late now. She was in the clutches of a man whose connections reached far deeper than she could have ever imagined.
A deafening screech shattered the air, a sound so piercing it seemed to claw at reality itself. Mittelt's heart pounded in her chest as she witnessed the arrival of an entity that defied all laws of nature and reason.
From the swirling mass of the black gate emerged a shape-shifting monstrosity that twisted and contorted in ways that made Mittelt's mind reel. It had no fixed form, its body shifting and changing with each passing moment. Three legs became four, three hands became four, and a mouth the size of her body lined with razor-sharp teeth seemed to materialize from thin air, detached from its body.
The creature's flesh seemed to writhe and pulsate unnaturally, as if it were alive and aware. It had deskinned wings that flapped erratically, a halo hovering over its misshapen 'head,' which was adorned with bleeding eyes that stared out at Mittelt with an unblinking gaze. The creature's presence alone was suffocating, gripping her lungs with dread and hopelessness. And as it shifted and changed before her eyes, Mittelt could hear the sickening click of bones and squelch of flesh rearranging themselves, followed by the eerie flute-like tune of countless lost souls echoing in her mind.
She watched in horror as the abomination descended upon Dohnaseek, devouring him whole in a grotesque display of violence. It consumed him with an insatiable hunger, leaving nothing behind but a chilling silence that hung heavy in the air.
Mittelt was frozen in place, her mind unable to comprehend the sheer horror of what she had witnessed. She felt as if she were teetering on the edge of madness, the sight of the Outer God threatening to unravel her sanity with each passing moment.
But for Speirs, Nyarlathotep had the form of a striking, dark-skinned woman, her appearance both alluring and intimidating. She wore a sleek black suit that accentuated her slender yet curvaceous figure, paired with a white dress shirt and a frilly black tie with neon green stripes. A golden brooch in the shape of an eight-pointed star, the Star of Discord, adorned her lapel.
To the untrained eye, it might have seemed like nothing more than a fashionable accessory, but to those who understood its significance, it was a subtle reminder to her true nature as a representative of Chaos.
The permanent, slight smuggish smirk on her face never left as she placed a hand on her hip, eyeing him with her gleaming seafoam green eyes. Her long, lustrous black hair cascaded down her back, each strand seemingly infused with a bright green glow from within.
'Like the insides of a cave filled with glowing mushrooms' was what this imbecile once said to her. An insult she deeply despised amongst all the praises she'd received from most Custodian clients who hired her "clean-up service", but nevertheless one that stuck to her like a stubborn tumor.
"Ah, if it isn't the one and only Slayer," the Outer God purred, her sultry voice like venom coated in honey. "Getting violent so soon? I thought you'd have grown to be more… imaginative with your approaches."
Ny"Arla"thotep
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Last edited: Friday at 1:17 PM
do not read my shitposts on my Fanfic page
check out my glorious Eminence in Shadow shitpost instead
Or this one, the NotToji in DxD
Chapter 2
〖Chapter 2〗 ⦕
Star-Crossed ⦖
"Ah, if it isn't the one and only Slayer…" Nyarlathotep purred, positively seductive and yet infinitely dangerous. "Getting violent so soon? I thought you'd have grown to be more… imaginative with your approaches."
Arla's voice had always dripped with sinister allure. Everything that slithered out her tongue was an insidious caress. The more unbreakable the Custodian, the more attracted these Outer Gods to them; they wish to be present when their sanity finally plummeted.
"I disagree. I can get very imaginative in the application of violence," Speirs unceremoniously shrugged, his gaze hardening as he turned away. "Take the runt to the living room and don't mess with her mind yet," he added, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken threats, though he was simply giving standard orders.
"Of course, of course," Arla replied, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She turned to the little runt, Mittelt, she assumed, who was still reeling from the sight of her mind-fraying form. "Come along, dear. You wouldn't want to keep your gracious host waiting."
"E-Eep-!"
Any intelligible word that came out of Mittelt's mouth was reduced into whimpers as Nyarlathotep carried her with their tendrils. From Mittelt's eyes, the abomination had changed shape again. This time to what looked like a starfish with too many limbs and too many fangs and too many fleshy clusters of trypophobic. How that freak of a human was able to communicate with the garbled sounds this Thing let out was a complete mystery to her, but at the moment, Mittelt was both too terrified and too freaked out to ask.
To put it into 'inferior beings' perspective, it'd be the same as moths trying to understand human speech. Any cooing sound or cutesy voices human make would be a garbled mess for mere moths.
The Crawling Chaos, did, in fact, crawl from Mittelt's perspective. But Nyarlathotep did walk to the living room, the small girl hovering behind her - she refused to touch such 'ilk' - creatures bred by 'gods' that thought they were the apex of everything when in fact they were less insignificant than a mote of dust in the entire Creation.
Taking a seat by the sofa, Arla placed the girl next to her, retaining the illusion that her 'tendril' remained coiled around her for the time being for entertainment's sake. Arla then sniffed the air once as she lifted a leg over another, her green stockings a stark difference against her darker skin, and made a face.
"Such a charming little hideaway you have here, Speirs," she called out, her voice carrying a hint of mockery. "It's positively quaint."
Speirs ignored her, currently occupied with plucking the brownish glass shards off his palm, rinsing his bloody hand in the sink.
Nyarlathotep circled Mittelt like a vulture eyeing its prey, her gaze penetrating, dissecting. She reveled in the fear emanating from the little bird, savoring the taste of her delicious unease as though a seasoned connoisseur sampling fine wine. The miscreants of this world, she decided, should be delightful appeasements to the Blind Idiot God.
Nyarlathotep's form continued to shift and warp in ways that defied all logic and reason. Mittelt was forced to watch in horror as the entity's body twisted and contorted with each passing moment, morphing into grotesque shapes that made Mittelt's blood run cold.
Wings sprouted from her back, unfurling like the tendrils of a Kraken yet imperceptibly blacker than moonless midnight skies. Eyes blinked open and shut all across her twisted form, staring at Mittelt with a malevolent hunger that sent shivers down her spine. Dark appendages stretched out, coiling and reaching beyond the walls and ceilings and floors as if they were made of nothing but shadows and nightmares.
It was as if reality as she knew was being shredded, bending and warping to accommodate the eldritch monstrosity that had invaded her world.
Each new appendage seemed to serve no purpose other than to unsettle and terrify, and Mittelt could feel her mind slipping under the weight of the incomprehensible sight before her. She tried to shut her eyes, to block out the nightmare unfolding in front of her, but even in darkness, the image of Nyarlathotep's ever-changing form burned into her mind's eye. And even she couldn't hear her own thoughts as whispers of lost souls echoed in her ears, a cacophony of voices that seemed to speak directly to her soul, filling her with a deep, primal terror.
As Mittelt sat in the living room, Nyarlathotep circled around her, studying her with a predatory gleam in her eyes.
"Terrified, aren't you, little Fallen Angel?" she whirred, her voice low and dangerous. "As you should be."
Mittelt went from pale to ghost white, feeling the weight of the unintelligible words pressing down on her despite not comprehending a slick of it. It was as if the garbled mess that came out from the Thing forcibly shoved its meaning straight into her brain. Mittelt knew she was fish out of water into the Sahara, caught between two entities she couldn't understand.
She had a sinking feeling that things were about to get much, much worse.
Each second felt like eternity, and even shutting her eyes couldn't help. Whatever this Thing was, it could mindfuck her. Mittelt forced herself to listen to the sound of running water, gradually wishing for Speirs to come back soon. With him, at least her brain could understand, even if he was a fiend by his own right.
Satisfied with her mental torment, Arla sniffed the air once as she lifted a leg over another, her green stockings a stark difference against her darker skin, and made a face once she smelled the fox kit.
"Hmm? Still keeping the child? Kunou, was it?"
"Be nice." Speirs sat back with one wrapped hand, and almost melted into his couch as some of his rage dissipated.
"Hmm… fascinating," Nyarlathotep hummed huskily. "I could've sworn you hated children."
"Still do," he said, amusing her but ended the topic there. "How are things in The Sanctuary?"
She didn't miss the veiled threat. He'd put her in that prison again if she crossed the line. The line he drew, obviohsly.
"Same old, same old…" Nyarlathotep-'Arla' and sometimes 'Carla' if Speirs wanted to push her buttons-replied unenthusiastically. "I'm surprised you'd be placed here of all places… This world doesn't seem to be the most…" She took in the air, closing her eyes, tasting the brewing chaos, judging the level of imminent doom of this world… and found it disappointingly lacking. "… prone to catastrophe. Were you wrongly posted?"
Speirs shrugged nonchalantl. "Maybe they just wanted to give me a break. Let me enjoy the quiet life for a change."
"A break? Please." Arla chuckled, the sound like shards of glass scraping against each other for Mittelt. "From what? Keeping the balance of the Universe? Saving countless lives?"
"Something like that," he replied cryptically, eyes directed on his phone.
"You don't get 'breaks'. You hate breaks." Arla tilted her head, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "What trouble is brewing here, in this quaint little Universe?"
"Who knows," he said, not looking up. "Maybe the Fallen Angels getting a bit too ambitious. Or Devils stirring up trouble among themselves. Maybe even something more otherworldly."
"Hm? Are you referring to little ol' me?" Arla's smile widened, revealing rows of sharp, glistening teeth. "You flatter me, Speirs. But rest assured, I'm not here to cause trouble… yet."
That took the attention away from his stupid phone. "Yet?"
Arla's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Let's just say, I like to keep my options open. Who knows what the future holds?"
Speirs set his phone down, his gaze piercing as he locked eyes with the Crawling Chaos.
"Keep your options open all you want," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I take all threats seriously. If you so much as think about causing trouble in my jurisdiction."
Arla's eyes widened at his promise, her smile faltering for a moment, yet her eyes shining with a perverse excitement. She had seen firsthand what Deathworlders like him were capable of. The memories sent a shiver of excitement down her spine, but also a tremor of fear.
"My, my, Slayer, such bravado. I must say, I'm positively thrilled by the prospect of facing off against the likes of you…" she purred, her voice dripping with venomous allure, though there's an unmistakable undercurrent of nervousness. "But I have no intention of causing any trouble. I am your chosen Associate, no~? Wherever you go, my quota is secured for the coming dawn… so I'll play nice."
"Then assist me and quit playing games." He settled back down on his seat, and his eyes went back to his phone for a moment. Without looking up, he sent a cold stare at the Fallen Angel that was trying to make herself disappear.
"You. Gothic Imp."
"M-M-Me…?" Mittelt stammered, unsure how to talk to someone who just threatened an abomination. "I-I guess that's not the worst nickname I ever got…"
"Who are you people," he demanded, "where are you people from, what do your organization want, why did you try to kill me, and where can I meet this Penemue of yours."
Mittelt could hardly comprehend his first question, let alone a flurry of five. "W-W-Well we uh… w-we…"
Understandably, trying to retain her composure or at least be composed enough to respond was quite a mountainous task when she was sitting next to a creature that looked like it created nightmares. Understanding this, Arla let out a sigh of disappointment as she appeared as 'normal' as she once was to the poor Fallen Angel.
"W… Was that an illusion…? Hah… haha… That was some neat trick… You're… You're surprisingly easy on the eyes, M-Miss…"
"It was and it wasn't," Arla chuckled as her face contorted into one of her many faces all at once, then amalgamating into Dohnaseek's face as she spoke with his burly voice. "Dare you dig deeper, Little One?"
Mittelt nearly fainted when Dohnaseek's face suddenly collapsed, complete with the violent cracking of the skull and the popping of eyes.
"E-Eeep!"
"Quit it. Whatever you're doing to her," Speirs grumbled, and Arla stopped wracking the girl's sanity as she laughed.
"So grouchy~" the Outer God droned, adding more crease to his brows as Speirs furrowed his eyebrows. "Always a delight whenever you grouch and grump and scowl and rage… You're like my extended family's burly dobermann."
While he appreciated the fact Arla was not as apocalypse-thirsty or an ignorant genocidal maniac as things like her could have been, she was nonetheless inclined to evil. Anything that derived their satisfaction from tormenting the minds of 'lesser beings', to induce madness and mental suffering for their own sadistic pleasure fit that bill in his book, even if she was an Associate. And he did not appreciate the fact that he was being compared to a dog breed.
"Answers, kid. Talk."
Shaky as she was, Mittelt still had some fear of Kokabiel left in her that was preventing her from telling him everything all at once.
"And… If I refuse…? You're not… gonna run my hand through a blender, right…? I-I mean that'd be completely inhumane. A-And not to mention savage. You're a reasonable man…"
"Look at him," Arla tittered, entertained by the lesser beings and their tendency to clutch desperately at a thin rope called hope. "Look at what he did to your colleague. Stomped his face to bits--and he's done much, much worse, Little One, to things much worse than you."
Nyarlatothep slithered towards her, grinned and bared her fangs-millions of needle-thin fangs. "As a matter of fact, I am the inhumane being in this room, even if I'm a humanitarian. I love the texture and the taste . As for him? Well… how can one be inhumane if they are not human?"
Mittelt swallowed her spit.
"I suggest you tell him anything he demands you to tell, including the things you know he'll want to know even if it didn't occur to him to ask… lest he boils a pot of water and forces you to drink it while I heal your throat and lungs~?"
Mittelt huffed heartlessly. Her hope and dreams gone and shattered, taken over by a mountain of regret.
"… I really should've stayed in bed…"
Bit of an exaggeration on Arla's part, but at least that got the brat to spill everything so Speirs didn't bother correcting her. Of course he wouldn't force her to drink some piping hot liquid. Although, admittedly, it wasn't that bad of an idea should he come across such a tough as nails individual, so Speirs jotted the idea down in his memory. He might need it someday, someplace, in a different Universe.
"You found me pretty fast," Speirs started without preamble, causing the girl to flinch. "Bit too quick even for an agency… What sort of organization do you belong to and what's their aim here?"
She didn't waste any time answering. "The Grigori Research Institute - GRI or Grigori for short."
Speirs cocked his head. Not the first time he heard of that term. The Watchers from the Book of Enoch, except they took a more active role in this Universe.
"Everything you know."
Mittelt nervously fiddled with the hem of her black goth dress. "We're uh… our job is to… watch over humanity's progress and ensure they won't unintentionally or intentionally bring ruins to this world. Sacred Gears possessors, you know…"
"Right. Sacred Gears, is it?" he asked as she hurriedly nodded. "You know anything about Hyoudou Issei?"
"Him?" Mittelt wanted to bite her tongue for immediately responding, because it earned her his suspicion and his glare and Arla's smile. She quickly looked down again. "Wh-What about him…? I-I mean he's just… a nobody."
"I'm assigned to keep that 'nobody' becomes 'somebody'," he grunted. "Who told you to kill him?"
"W-Well I… I erm… F-Fuck, I can't tell you that!"
Speirs narrowed his eyes. "So you, or at least your organization, did have him killed. A kid."
Mittelt's blood ran cold. "… Y-You don't know that…"
"I want names."
"I can't! If I tell you, I won't have any place to return!"
"Oh?" Arla hummed, "You still expect to return? How adorable."
Mittelt wilted like sunflowers in winter. "I-I-I-I had no hand in the boy's murder!" she quickly defended herself, fearing his ire. "A-A-And, those Devils brought him back!"
"Not what I asked."
"Wh-Which will you pick? The fate of many or the few?"
"Still not what I asked. Go ahead," he dared. "Deflect one more question."
Mittelt swallowed. She'd never been this sweaty and her throat had never felt so dry. "… But… But if I tell you, then… Then where can I go…? I mean… it's not like I'm filthy rich… If I wasn't desperate, I wouldn't have taken this field job…"
Speirs leaned back, his gaze piercing as he considered Mittelt's dilemma. She was scared, a low-ranking mook caught between a rock and a hard place, but he needed answers. He had little sympathy for her predicament. She had willingly involved herself in schemes. Desperate or not.
But beneath his rugged exterior lay a sense of pragmatism, a recognition that extracting information required a balance of coercion and incentive.
"Look, kid," he said, his tone softer but no less firm. "You're in deep waters. You're already knee-deep in this mess. If you want any chance of getting out, start talking. Those you worked for can't protect you here. They're the least of your concern."
"I-I can't…" she began, her voice faltering as she struggled to find the words. "I can't betray them… they'll…"
"Your loyalty is commendable," Arla interjected, her tone, while seductive, was devoid of empathy. "But misplaced loyalty can be just as dangerous as betrayal."
Arla leaned in closer, tipping Mittelt's chin with a finger. "Tell him what he wants to know, dear," she purred, "and perhaps I won't have to rip out that information from your brain, turning it to mush in the process."
"I…" Heavily, Mittelt sighed. "Oh alright… Screw it. It's Lord Azazel's command to my Captain, her name's Raynare."
Azazel… Yet another familiar name. But the Azazel he met before was a chick and an angelic researcher gone… not as much as mad, just obsessed with the way of devils and demons.
"We're holed up in that abandoned church," Mittelt further explained. "We're playing double agents for our Mistress Penemue, working for some warmongering brute named Kokabiel."
"Double agents?" Speirs asked.
"He uh… broke off from the Grigori…"
"A splinter cell already. Great," Speirs grumbled. "What do you mean by warmongering?"
"K-Kokabiel, he…" she whimpered, "… He… erm… betrayed the organization. Said he wanted to finish an unfinished business… Look, I don't know the deets- I-I mean, details! It's Raynare you want, not me! I'm just a squaddie!"
Speirs crossed his arms. "You don't sound all too excited working for her."
"B-Because I'm not! I didn't ask for any of this crap!" Mittelt complained, immediately quieting down because she mistook Speirs' normal stare as a glare and thought she was being too loud. "… I… happened to be working under him before he went rogue, and… because of that, I got plucked. Familiar face, y'know?… Raynare said something about promotion so I just sorta went along…"
Nyarlatothep snarled. "Hmph. Pathetic."
"Fair enough," Speirs interjected, and Arla looked slightly offended. As if it was a crime to have differing opinions than this Eldritch entity.
It was evident she wasn't satisfied by his reason, but Arla folded her arms and crossed her legs, pouting a little. Mittelt would think she was cute if not for the mindfuckery she'd shown her prior.
"You're not finished yet. How did you find me that quick?"
Mittelt gulped. "W-Well… I mean… we're… doing an operation in this town and… we have lots of eyes. Don't know if they've told you about this, but where Devils excel in might and magic, we're far superior in intelligence gathering. Subterfuge and sabotages… Though that doesn't mean all of us are small fries! It's… it's all about evolution, you see…"
Speirs leaned back, finding this rather interesting. As per usual, Custodians were given little information regarding their assigned Universe. There were simply too many Universes to spectate and there were only five Primordials and fewer who were willing to gather the details.
So he urged, "Go on."
"Devils or Demons, they grew up in Hell. It wasn't the easiest place to live… lots of man-eating monsters, hazardous climates, inimical biospheres and so and so," Mittetly awkwardly cleared her throat. "… Uh… we, on the other hand, stayed on Earth after the Great War. Blended in with the humans while we learn how they operate and… pretty much… try to copulate?"
"Fair," he said. "So why did you try to kill me?"
The lone Fallen Angel paled. "… Uh… right… that, huh? W… W-Well… We weren't explicitly told to kill you… just observe you. B-But Dohnaseek- that bozo, he thought you were being a bit too chummy with the Devils so he considered the chance you might be a Contractor. In which case, I wouldn't have bothered because that's way too risky and might ruin the White Peace, but… since you're not contracted with them yet… he… uh… he… thought it's fair game…?"
She had the face of someone that was hoping he wouldn't get irate over her answer and was unsure if she said the right thing.
Frankly, it didn't matter to him. He just wanted to know the reason as to why someone would want to kill him. It was a pretty big deal on a personal level.
"That's it?"
"Y-Yeah… That's it." Mittelt stiffened. "… I'm… Sorry…?"
His fingers drummed his elbow, his mind working on his next steps. "Where can I see Penemue."
"… A-At the hotel in the red light district; our territory. A four star hotel. B-Blue Velvet is the name… !"
"Tell me everything else you'd want me to know," he told her. "Cooperate, and I'll see that you're not left out in the cold."
Mittelt's eyes widened with a glimmer of hope, a flicker of relief dancing across her features. "You… You mean it?"
He narrowed his eyes. He didn't appreciate having to talk more than he had. "Doubting me?"
With a hurried nod, Mittelt began to spill the secrets she had guarded so closely. She revealed the hierarchy of the Grigori, of those who had orchestrated the plot against Hyoudou Issei as well as lots of Sacred Gear welders, divulging their motives and objectives with a sense of urgency born from desperation.
As she spoke, Speirs listened intently, absorbing every detail with a keen eye for deception. Arla, too, watched with merriment in her ardent eyes, her amusement evident as she relished in the unfolding drama. Every words Mittelt spilled was like a firewood to The Slayer's dormant pyre, and Arla could see it burn.
⦕⦖
"Surprisingly compliant, don't you think?" Nyarlathotep remarked, a coy smile playing on her lips as she settled herself beside Speirs on the couch. "Not the usual response we get from mortals. Perhaps there's more to these miscreants… something worth a closer investigation…"
Speirs gave a noncommittal grunt. Trust Arla to find intrigue in the most mundane of situations.
Mittelt's sudden willingness to serve was indeed unexpected, but Speirs understood the allure of safety in the face of the unknown. He had seen his fair share of individuals grasping at any lifeline they could find, even if it meant aligning themselves with the most unlikely of allies.
Aligning with a being as formidable as Nyarlathotep offered a semblance of security. Mittelt had been thrust into a situation beyond her control, and becoming Nyarlathotep's retainer provided a sense of stability in an otherwise unpredictable existence.
Despite his hardened exterior, Speirs did possess the capacity to feel a twinge of sympathy for those who found themselves caught in the crossfire. He understood the primal instinct to survive, to cling to any semblance of safety, even if it meant aligning with beings far beyond their comprehension.
Arla, on the other hand, lacked such understanding. To her, the concept of survival was as foreign as the depths of The Sanctuary she hailed from. A prison, simply put. The Outer Gods reveled in chaos, danced with madness, and cared little for the struggles of mortals. The concept of survival was alien to them.
Their existence was absolute, and the idea of needing to survive seemed trivial and incomprehensible.
"Now, with that little bird out of the way…" her voice dripped with mischief as she slinked closer to Speirs, a predatory gleam in her eyes. She positioned herself on his lap, a stark contrast to the warmth of Kunou's earlier presence. Arla's touch was chilling and much less pure.
"What will you do next, my dear Custodian?"
He flicked his eyes at her, and that was it. He was preoccupied with requesting an Assistant. One who was capable of taking care of Kunou and protecting her when he was out preferably one that came from a World without magic so they'd be immune to the magic of this Reality.
So far, not much luck. Already busy assisting other Custodians. He was, after all, just one in a million of active Custodians.
Despite his unimpressed coldness, Arla poked around him, watching him play with that silly little device of his. A toy that never broke. Even when he once flung it into her face - the damn bastard. Put him anywhere barren and still he'd find a way to turn anything into a weapon.
But that was what placed his kind of Custodians above the… boring ones, she could say.
Speirs' default resting face featured a permanent scowl and a persistent glower, his deep-set eyes bore into everything with the intensity of a hunter eyeing its next prey. Even the faintest hint of a smile seemed an alien concept, as if his lips had signed a non-compete agreement with happiness. He gave everyone the general idea that he'd beat someone up if they so much as farted in the wrong general direction.
His demeanor said he was ready to unleash hell at a moment's notice, but those who bothered to see beyond external appearances understood that this was just Speirs being Speirs, no-nonsense and straight to the point.
As most Deathworlders tended to act.
Nyarlathotep's personal favorite.
She'd "cleaned" so many souls from their imaginative approach. Most tended to be minor, the least important players, like the one she just devoured. But occasionally, she got fed with the true gems. The ones resistant to fear… it was so appetizing watching them finally squirm and be consumed by madness. Either because of her, or because they incurred the wrath of a Custodian… the universal janitor.
In Arla's eyes, the Custodians were divided into two distinct categories: those who were plucked off from a Death World, and those who weren't.
Reapers and Sentinels. Two sub-factions that distinctly hated working with one from the opposite. The Reapers called the Sentinels as Fortunate Sons for their background, while the Sentinels deemed Reapers as Forsaken Ones.
The Reapers, like Speirs, hailed from Death Worlds - planets teeming with danger, where survival was a constant battle against the elements, against other inhabitants, against oneself. Forged in the unforgiving crucible of their homeworlds, honed by adversity, tempered by bloodshed, and wield violence with extreme prejudice. They understood the true meaning of sacrifice, the value of every breath and every heartbeat. Their very existence was a testament to their ability to endure, to adapt, to overcome.
And slightly unhinged. They were the ones who'd dance in the valley of death with their ribs open and guts spilled over the streets.
On the other hand, the Sentinels, born in less harsh environments, were often viewed as privileged by the Reapers. Sheltered, lacking the grit and determination that defined their Death World counterparts. Yet, while they lacked the visceral edge of their Reaper counterparts, the Sentinels possessed their own strengths, excelling in diplomacy and strategic thinking and patience, traits that were sometimes lacking in the Reapers.
They were the ones who viewed the world through rose-tinted glasses, who believed that diplomacy and compromise were the keys to maintaining order. They were the ones who recoiled from conflict, who sought to avoid confrontation at all costs.
To her, the rivalry between Reapers and Sentinels was as ancient as time itself, a clash of ideologies that spanned across Creations. Two sides of the same coin, each believing themselves to be the true protectors. And while their methods may differ, their ultimate goal remained the same: to protect and preserve all that was dear to them, or others.
Now Speirs' reputation for getting 'extremely imaginative' with violence, coupled with his overall imposing stature and aloof mannerisms, he wasn't exactly Mr. Popular among the Order of Custodians. He carried an air of barely restrained brutality, even if he was terribly effective with his past assignments. The dignified Sentinels looked at savage Reapers like him with disdain in their eyes, while ensuring the newer recruits gave him a wide berth.
Speirs had his own clique, of course. Those who just wanted, as they had eloquently put it, "Get shit done". They shared an unspoken understanding forged through relentless danger. Their presence alone was enough to make the new Sentinel recruits rethink their life choices. They always looked perpetually pissed off while keeping the universes from spinning out of control.
But for Nyarlathotep, for all the Outer Gods who emerged from The Outer Void, a realm of nothing where no one dared to dream apart from Chaos, with their fondness for chaos and disdain for anything resembling peace, they were drawn to these misfits Custodians like moths to a flame. Unlike the peaceful Sentinels who droned on about diplomacy and negotiation, these Deathworlders spoke their language-swift action and unapologetic brutality.
Ultimately, both groups got their jobs done, but the Reapers did it quicker. Kept things simple. They brought a necessary edge to the Order, a reminder that sometimes, violence was not just an option, but the only applicable solution. They were the go-to for the more challenging assignments.
In Arla's eyes, the Reapers were the true Keeper of Balance. The ones who understood that sometimes, chaos was necessary to preserve order. They were the ones who stood on the front lines, facing down the horrors of any Cosmos with grim determination and unwavering resolve and an angry glower in their eyes.
But that was just a bullshit lie. She much preferred them because they were a delightful contradiction-beings of order and duty who created the very chaos she thrived on. They were the perfect instruments in her symphony of madness, each note a beautifully destructive force that kept the Universe teetering on the edge of sanity. And in this twisted musical, she was more than willing to get the front seat, watching the line between order and chaos remain as thin and fragile as ever.
Nyarlatothep's voice broke through his thoughts, a silky venomous whisper. "Your kind always gets the fun assignments. Tell me, do you ever tire of bloodshed?"
Speirs' permanent scowl deepened. "No."
"Mhmmhmhm~" Nyarlatothep's laugh was a dark melody. "Oh, Speirs, your hypocrisy is almost charming. Almost."
He ignored her, focusing instead on his phone, still trying to find a glorified babysitter.
Nyarlatothep watched on with a simple smile. She loved the chaos they created, feeding off the discord. For Speirs and his kind, they were a contradiction of chaotic violence and immeasurable sense of duty. Watching them up close was like witnessing a masterpiece unfold-one that she was all too eager to add her own brushstrokes to.
"The One Who Lost it All," she hummed, her words slithering out, coiling the air like a black viper. "Ender of Reality, Abysswalker, Demonbane… The Last Argenta. Scourge of Hell! Dooooom Slayer… " A mirthless titter accompanied that last moniker. "One has to wonder the legend you will shape in these rocks…"
"They're just words," Speirs muttered dismissively, his tone as flat as a pancake, his attention still fixed on his phone. He had about as much interest in her grandiose titles as he did in counting grains of sand on a beach, and he had no interest in indulging her twisted fascination with his past, nor did he have the patience for her mind games.
He had more pressing matters to attend to, matters that didn't involve entertaining a cosmic horror with a penchant for chaos.
"But oh, what words they are," Arla crooned, her tone laced with amusement. "They speak volumes of who you are, what you've done. Your history. Your very essence. Each 'meaningless titles' are proofs to the lives you've touched, the Worlds you've protected and destroyed… The blood you've spilled… The symphony of your sorrows. the chorus of your conquests. The echo of your regrets." She laughed softly. The Doom Slayer didn't budge. "Tell me, 'Speirs', what keeps you awake at night? The screams of the innocent or the ghosts of those you couldn't save? How do you sleep, knowing the things you've done?"
Speirs clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face twitching with restrained emotion. "Like a baby."
She scoffed, the sound like the hiss of a snake coiling around its prey. "Ah, the classic denial of a Deathworlder… Always so stoic, so unyielding. But at what cost, Slayer? How many pieces of yourself have you cut away to maintain your facade of invulnerability?"
"Plenty," he grunted. "And plenty more to give."
"Is that so?" Nyarlathotep's voice was a whisper, carrying the weight of centuries of malevolence. "Tell me, Slayer, when was the last time you truly felt alive?"
"Right now." He responded with a palm to her face, shoving her away with ease despite her struggle.
This damned 'Authority' of his was… infuriatingly annoying. No humans should be able to reach for her without losing their sanity, let alone plant their palm on her face and push her away as if she was but a mere child. Not even the dumbest Custodians dared to treat her or her own kin as such, and yet he did just so.
Unflinchingly. Infuriatingly.
But Arla wasn't done. "You've brought death to millions to save billions, billions to save trillions… savior, conqueror, hero, mentor, betrayer. You are all these things, Slayer, yet still you are nothing. How do you live knowing you will forever stand alone?"
"Not interested in your game," he told her like he would tell a kid to piss off and find someone else to bother. "Pick your moments better, Arla."
She smirked, taking his words as a challenge. "You see yourself as a monster but we both know you're not. You're still human… on your skin or deep down… You retain your sanity in spite of every genocides… And that irks me greatly."
Speirs's scowl deepened, his eyes narrowing at her audacity. "Save your psychoanalysis for someone who gives a damn."
Her smirk grew into a dark sneer. "But there will be a time when even you will crack. When that time arrives, I will be there, and even you will wish to be mine, much like our little yellow friend."
He gruffly huffed, getting off his seat, deliberately pushing her off of him. "You need a hobby."
Her guiltless look was almost laudable. "What's wrong with turning beings of lesser significance insane? Don't measure my nature with your mortal ways. It'd be like-"
"Yes, yes… 'like an ant trying to decipher a human tongue' or 'fish mystified over a crow's squawks'. I don't need your analogies. I also don't need you here anymore. Leave."
She scowled, but she kept it subtle. "Oh, I think I'll stay a while longer. There's so much more to see, don't you think?" Her dark lips curled to a darker smile. "I need your permission to bring me here, but I don't need you or their permission to linger and stay. Mhmmhmm~ this time, I'm sure your sanity, whatever left of it, will slip…"
"You'll have an easier time convincing the sky to fall," he driveled, but noting that she wasn't going to leave anytime soon, he took out his phone. "If you don't piss off, I'm calling Hastur."
"…" Nyarlathotep glowered, skewering him with her glare. "You dare replace me with that yellow dirge…?"
"Yes."
Even for a being classified as an Eldritch God, Arla could be cute by human standards when she was petulantly upset. Predominantly by this certain Custodian who had seen enough and raged through various Hells to be excused for being perpetually grumpy.
"How is it possible for me to both adore and loathe things like you at the same time."
"Maybe because you're an eldritch abomination with the emotional depth of a puddle," he retorted, his tone dry and devoid of any amusement.
"Yes… and there are no other things like you. Only you. The Eternal Crusader indeed…" Arla's expression shifted from annoyance to amusement in the blink of an eye. "But isn't that what makes our interactions so entertaining, Slayer? The eternal dance between burning light and chilling darkness, barely restrained sanity and an alluring madness?"
He grunted, not dignifying her question with a response. Instead, he dialed a number on his phone, his expression stony as he waited for the call to connect.
"… Who're you calling?"
He ignored her.
"Answer me, you cretin. IF you call that fool in yellow, I swear I'll-"
He cut her off with a challenging glare. "Turn me into a gibbering mess? Try me."
"… You…" Arla shuddered at the thought. 'Arrogant fool…'
Other Custodians had lost their minds and needed vacation when they dreamed, let alone entered The Outer Void, the first ever Universe that Chaos created. They were beings of nightmares. Unfortunately, the Slayer was the one sent to hunt down nightmares, before and after he became chosen as a Custodian.
He was peculiarly upset that day, and outer gods or inner gods be damned, he spared no one from his anger. He was the first most fascinating existence that had taken the interest of many other Outer Gods. That the presence of those that should have rent his sanity was nothing more than an annoying glob of tentacles and or eyes. That from his perceptive, they were no different to any demons or icon of sins. His absence of fear was the reason no Outer Gods could flay his mind.
So when faced with an audacious threat from a being that should have instilled fear in the hearts of mortals, The Slayer instead threatened to wake Azathoth, the Blind Idiot God, the core of their Reality, the one who kept it afloat by simply dreaming it, from his slumber and destroy their entire Reality completely.
…
His audacity thrilled her like no other could.
"Very well," she whispered, "I shall leave you alone. But remember; you called me and now I am here. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I'm always watching… For now though," a wicked smile smeared her lips. "Perhaps I need to teach my new retainer several lessons… Such as the fragility of a mortal mind… the easiest way to dismantle their sanity…"
"Fuck off," Speirs snarled as Arla left the way she arrived; through a wormhole that shattered the time and space continuum, potentially alerting all of this Universe's gods that were sensitive to such violation of their rules.
Not his problem for all he cared.
Once she left, the call connected, and he spoke into the phone. "It's Speirs. You're available?"
"I will soon," said the woman in a steady contralto. "How can I assist you? What do you need?"
"A nurse," he stared at his bandaged hand. The blood had dried, but he still needed some stitching. "And a babysitter."
"Understood, Sir. I'll be there in ten."
He heard the clicking of a door, and leaning his head back from the sofa, he watched as an upside down Kunou was making her way towards him, her steps and face no longer as bubbly as before. She was hugging her frizzed up tail like she would a pillow.
Right. Now this little lady was his problem.
"Is it okay to come out now?"
Speirs chucked his phone back into his pocket. "Come on out."
Kunou cautiously approached, her ears drooping slightly as she glanced around the room, taking in the remnants of the chaos that had unfolded moments ago. She hesitated for a moment before gingerly settling down beside him on the sofa, her tail curling around her legs protectively.
"Are you hurt?" she asked softly, her eyes wide with concern. "… You are."
He shook his head, though the throbbing ache in his hand suggested otherwise. "Just a scratch."
Kunou nodded, though her worry didn't dissipate entirely. "What happened?"
"Nothing you need to worry about," he replied, knowing she wouldn't be satisfied with such a vague answer.
"But…"
"We had a nosey neighbor," he interrupted. "But they're gone now. Everything's fine."
Kunou seemed to accept his explanation, though she still looked troubled. "If you say so…"
Speirs sighed inwardly, feeling a pang of guilt at the sight of her crestfallen expression. He wasn't used to dealing with children, especially ones as perceptive as Kunou. And he wasn't sure if Angel of Crimea would be any better. Kids tended to be scared of nurses and their needles.
"Come on," he said, "Get your brush and get over here. Let's fix that fur of yours."
Kunou's eyes lit up at the suggestion, and she eagerly ran back to her bedroom, bringing with her a huge brush. Luckily for him, she wasn't at the age where it would be difficult to brighten her mood this easily.
For now, though… he couldn't take her back to the daycare, which annoyed him a little more than a little bit.
Unaware of his inner pondering, Kunou quickly clambered over the couch and positioned herself so that her lower back was on top of his lap, handed him the brush, and pulled a cushion under her head to rest upon.
"Good. Now quit moving your tail."
"Kay!"
Speirs huffed, but worked on his magic either way, starting from the white tipped fur and all the way to its golden base. Her tail wasn't always as lustrous like this. It used to be dry and coarse, smudged with soot and dirt. The little fox herself wasn't always this healthy - but she had always been this cheery. In the middle of all that decay and destruction of her homeworld, Kunou had never let anything bothered her no matter how hungry she was.
Maybe because she was too young to understand. Some claimed it was trauma. That she couldn't register the fact of losing her parents at such a young age. Could be her youth that shielded her from the full weight of her experiences, or maybe it was her innate spirit. Whatever the reason, The Slayer did acknowledge the young fox's resilience.
And her innocence.
He watched in silence as Kunou slowly and surely drifted to sleep, mumbling the silly nothings as she did.
The first time they met, he had just sanctioned her entire World to an end. And small and young she might be, she knew. She knew it was him that did it. Maybe because of the guilt in his face he showed to her when their eyes met, or purely out of instinct.
"Hello."
Kunou was neither surprised nor anxious, it was her that called him out. She cocked her head to a side, before then prancing towards him, jumping off from the second floor of a crumbling building like she didn't know the danger gravity might possess. He remembered mistaking her as a small animal, before crouching down near her level, reaching out his hand, as she slowly and carefully inched closer, sniffing it, and then asked him with a hopeful look,
"Mister, do you have any food?"
No caution whatsoever. It was as if she'd trusted him. Maybe she was just desperate, but her eyes were too genuine for that. He never thought it would be the innocence of a child that made him break his self-imposed rule again, but ever since he took her in, he never looked back.
The knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to the present moment. Speirs set aside the brush, carefully peeling the kit off his chest, and rose to his feet. The knocks didn't come from his front door, but rather, his bedroom.
Opening the door, he was met with the sight of a young woman clad in a uniform. Pale pink hair tied in a long single braid. Blood red eyes, redder than her uniform. Bit too well-kept for his taste, but perhaps well-keptness was better for Kunou. She was a recent Sentinel recruit with hardly a year of service. A rookie Custodian, but Speirs took what he could get.
To her credit, she didn't recoil upon seeing him like most Custodians tended to do.
"Sir, Florence Nightingale," she began, looking up at him with an even stare. "An honor to be your Assistant."
[img: data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7]
"There's no honor in this job," Speirs said, his voice gruff and annoyed already.
"…" Maintaining her silence despite wanting to argue, Nightingale's gaze shifted immediately to his bandaged hand. She moved forward with purpose, confident despite her rookie status.
"Let me see your hand," she demanded, not waiting for a response. She grabbed his wrist, inspecting the bandage with a critical eye. "You've done a poor job wrapping this."
"No shit." Speirs raised an eyebrow but didn't resist. She unwrapped the bandage, her fingers working quickly and efficiently. The wound was deep, still raw and ugly. Nightingale clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"You should have taken care of this sooner," she scolded, her tone firm.
Speirs cracked a smirk. "Didn't have time."
"Well, you're making time now," she retorted, reaching into her bag and pulling out supplies. "This needs proper treatment. You're lucky it's not infected." After a while, she added, "Sir."
He watched her work, his mind drifting back to Kunou. He had learned to trust instinct and skill over appearance. Nightingale's abruptness was reassuring. He much preferred bluntness over feigned courtesy.
"You," he said, catching her attention. "I need you to look after the girl," he said, his tone softening slightly. "Kunou needs more care than I can give right now and in the foreseeable future. Protect her when I'm away."
Nightingale glanced at Kunou, asleep on the couch, clutching her brush. "Understood, Sir. I won't let you down."
She finished bandaging his hand with clean, precise wraps.
"Can you cook?"
"I can cook rice gruels. I'm a medic, Sir, not a mess attendant."
He paused, and raised an eyebrow.
"A battlefield nurse," Nightingale said firmly, matching his detached stolidness. "Sir."
"You can drop the 'sir'," he said, curiosity lining his eyes. "You're a Sentinel, aren't you?"
"I am, but my homeworld is not without wars. I prefer to be in the frontline. That's where the fighting happens and where the wounded lie."
Speirs nodded subtly but approvingly, studying her face, noting the steadiness in her gaze. "Can you fight? Handle a gun?"
Nightingale's expression didn't waver. "Yes, I can fight and shoot, though I prefer saving lives over taking them."
His gray eyes narrowed slightly as he continued his assessment. "I'm not running a charity here. You need to pull your weight when it counts."
"I understand." She kept to his gaze. "I'm here to assist in any way I can."
"Have you faced the Outer Gods?"
"No, I haven't," she admitted. "But I've studied their dangers extensively."
Speirs grunted, somewhat satisfied with her responses so far. "You know what to do if you encounter one?"
"Yes. Remain calm, assess the situation, and follow protocol," she replied promptly.
He nodded, then shifted his line of questioning. "Sentinels or Reapers?"
Florence shook her head. "My loyalty lies with the Order and our mission to protect the Multiverse."
"Good. You're hired." That was all he needed to hear from her. "Your room's next to mine."
Nightingale stood a little straighter, barely able to keep her smile from breaking her stoicness. "Thank you, Sir."
He never cared about Reapers or Sentinels. She'd do him just fine.
Last edited: Friday at 7:07 AM
do not read my shitposts on my Fanfic page
check out my glorious Eminence in Shadow shitpost instead
Or this one, the NotToji in DxD
Chapter 3
〖Chapter 3〗
⦕ Sound of Extreme Violence ⦖
As the morning sun filtered through the windows, shooting warm rays across the kitchen, Florence Nightingale moved her skillet with purpose. She cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them with practiced efficiency before adding them to a hot skillet sizzling with butter.
Not much, but it was honest work.
The aroma of cooking sausages filled the air, mingling with the comforting scent of scrambled eggs. Her movements were smooth and efficiently precise, a reflection of her years of training and dedication to her craft, where a split second could save a soul. She took pride in her cooking, not for any desire for recognition or advancement, but simply because she wanted to provide a good meal.
As she cracked another egg into the sizzling pan, she pondered the path she had chosen. Becoming a medic had been her dream, but the peaceful World she had trained on hardly ever needed her skills. One war was all she participated in, and it had changed her in ways she couldn't imagine.
When she was invited to the Order of Custodian, learning Worlds where the cries of the damned was the only constant, Nightingale didn't hesitate. She believed she could make a meaningful difference.
It wasn't until a senior Custodian, a well-respected Reaper named Jardani Jovanovich, called her under his wings during one of his assignments. Only then did she finally experience the nightmares not even the Crimean Wars could hold a candle.
Nightingale's thoughts drifted back to that fateful mission with the famed Reaper, simplified to John by the Reapers, but she referred to him as Mr. Wick, since he didn't like being called Sir. It took him back to Earth.
After all, he was far more experienced than her, and respect was due.
John had been assigned by The Archivist to a remote city on the outskirts of a war-torn planet, where reports of a contagion had been spreading and the risk of contaminating their entire World.
The city was in ruins, buildings reduced to rubble and ashes and soots. The few remaining inhabitants were sick and dying, their bodies contorted wrongly. The atmosphere was thick with the putrid stench of death and miasma of decay, and the ground was littered with the bodies of those who had succumbed to the strange illness.
As they scoured through the city, Nightingale saw sights that would take her straight back to Sevastopol, straight to the thick of the Crimean War, yet inevitably worse.
Men crying like children, the children shellshocked, unsure of what had happened to their home, their bodies wracked with fever. Mothers cradling lifeless infants, their eyes empty yet filled with despair. The elderly lay motionless, their breaths shallow and labored, skin as black as the ashes scattered around them, yet they were alive.
And the stench. Gods, the stench…
But what disturbed her the most were the 'Afflicted'. They walked like reanimated corpses; zombies, was the common term, yet there were signs of intelligence behind their eyes. Of fear and dread for being unable to control their own body, forced to watch their own hands maul those they once had shared a laughter.
She remembered the horror of facing one of these poor souls. A woman, her eyes filled with terror and sorrow, her body moving with unnatural, jerky motions. She had tried to scream, to beg for help, but only guttural sounds emerged. Nightingale was frozen when her arm was bitten, until a bullet to the head from Jardani prevented her demise.
In the end, all she could do was offer comfort in their final moments, holding their hands and whispering words of solace as they slipped away. No medicine could ease their pain, and she was not to develop the cure; it had to be the World's own sons and daughters who made it. The World must not rely on a Custodian-a Custodian's primary task was to ensure the World stood on its own foundations.
The 'Key Characters', as the Archivist would say. Some Worlds had them. Some didn't.
This one didn't have any.
A doomed World.
Curiously, before he made the final call, Mr. Wick would walk off into the trees untouched by the Affliction. He'd visit whatever lakes they had camped out for the night. Unbothered by the dozens and dozens of deceased Afflicted that had hounded them constantly and he dispatched proficiently.
Often, she'd found herself at a complete loss towards this Reaper. Where most were brusque, hateful, Mr. Wick was calm. He was hardly the conversationalist, however. Whenever he spoke, it was always to the point. No feeling in his voice whatsoever. He carried himself almost robotic in nature as though he was weary of the world around him, or perhaps afraid of allowing himself to feel.
Yet he had taken moments to look at things. Things like trees, plants, animals (especially dogs), the clouds in the sky, the moon(s) at night. He'd stare at them as if he hadn't seen them for an eternity, or he feared they might suddenly vanish.
And he would request an Adoption for a stray dog or the entire pack.
Most notably, Mr. Wick dispensed death where it was needed, killed without malice. A grim reaper with a human face. His eyes, though, told a different story. One of focus. Determination. Sheer will.
Once it was made clear the World was simply beyond saving, Mr. Wick handed the withered World over to Nyx and her husband, Patrons of the Reapers, where Nightingale then first witnessed an all-consuming darkness estinguishing the system's binary stars.
When they returned, Mr. Wick swiftly carried on to his next assignment with a detached efficiency that both bewildered and impressed her. For him, it was another day at work. For her, it was a revelation. An experience forever changed her perspective on the matter of life and death, and cemented the importance of the Custodians.
She had to take a week off, seeking solace and understanding in the quiet confines of a therapist's office. The Order's seasoned psychologist, Sesshōin Kiara, once a former Reaper, listened as Nightingale tried to put into words the horror, the helplessness, her overwhelming need to do more.
How the elderly clung to her hand, their breaths rattling like the last gasps of a dying wind. Children, wide-eyed with terror, reached out for comfort, their small hands trembling. Mothers held their lifeless infants close, rocking back and forth in a macabre lullaby. The sight of it all haunted her dreams for days to come, replaying the agony she could do nothing to soothe.
But the Therapist helped her arrive at the realization that the World needed more than just hands to hold and words to soothe. It needed change, structure, a foundation strong enough to withstand the chaos that lurked at its edges. Nightingale knew then that her true role as a Custodian was not just to heal or offer solace, but to help build a World capable of healing itself.
The sights, the sounds, the smells of that decaying city would stay with her forever. But so would the lessons. She would carry them with her into every new assignment.
As she sprinkled salt over the sunny-side eggs, she glanced over her shoulder at Speirs, currently seated at the table. His gaze was a constant glower, not very much unlike Mr. Wick's and most Reapers.
Steely gray eyes bore into a laptop in front of him, with a holographic projection of Kuoh City's layout hovering beside the screen. The laptop displayed details of Florence Nightingale's profile, monikers such as "Angel of Crimea," and past experiences. Speirs appeared deep in thought. Likely assessing her capacity and capability, where he could make the best use of her skills, planning their next move.
Hovering above him, wearing a detached amused smile, was the Crawling Chaos. Nightingale didn't engage much with the Eldritch; she knew her limits and didn't dare overestimate her ability to handle her like Speirs could. She had seen the Sentinels who were put out of commission for weeks, often months, hollowed husks for underestimating the madness the Eldritch entities were capable of unfolding.
She tried to distract herself by thinking of The Slayer, comparing his morning (or just eternal) grumpiness to rival even the most caffeine-deprived Reaper. She could almost picture him growling at the sunrise, "How dare you, you glowing ball of gas?" And that thought made her stifle a chuckle.
His dull-gray eyes caught her leering scarlets, however, and Speirs sharply glanced up from his screen, catching her gaze.
Live Nurse Reaction
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Nightingale smoothly turned back to her eggs and sausages, hoping he hadn't noticed her amusement. It wasn't just his stern demeanor that unsettled her; it was the constant fear of not living up to his expectations. Failing him seemed worse than any battlefield she had ever walked through.
"Are you always this cheerful in the morning, Speirs?" the entity hovering above him asked.
He didn't look up. Didn't respond either. He was in the middle of reading something; and had been briefly distracted by a mosquito. He'd no idea why the Nurse looked away, but that seemed to be the trend whenever he was around so he never thought about it much.
Arla rolled her eyes for being ignored once again. "If you keep glaring at that thing, it might just combust."
He ignored her again.
"So this… 'Angel of Crimea' is your Assistant, hm? Oh- she's a Sentinel. How dull."
"Shut your mouth, or I'll have her sew it."
"Boo~ you're no fun, Slayer."
He grunted. "You still have that dead mafia wannabe?"
"Hm? What about him?" she inquired. "I still do, but no takesies-backsies, mind."
"I'm borrowing it," he stated, leaving no room for argument.
"Ooooh…" A wicked glint flashed in Nyarlathotep's unnatural green eyes. "What for?"
"Business."
As Nyarlathotep prodded on his patience, eventually receiving a huge bandaged right hand that engulfed her smiling face, threatening to crush it, prompting her to disappear in a smolder of black smoke, Nightingale tried to focus on her cooking while suppressing a grin. The Slayer might have had the demeanor of a brooding thundercloud, but his no-nonsense nature had its own kind of amusement.
And yet, he had a clear sense of purpose, a clarity of vision that set him apart from other Custodians. After all, he was the only Custodian who had destroyed not just his home of origin, but the entire Universe he hailed from, much to the shock of the Sentinels, the ire of the Auditors, and the respect from the Reapers who'd wanted to do the same for their own Death Worlds but since then forbidden.
One Calamity was one more than enough, and no Custodians were given assignments to their homeworld or any World in the same Universe.
As she set the table, Nightingale knew that she had big shoes to fill as his Assistant, and she was determined to prove herself worthy of his trust and respect. To show that there would be one more soul capable of standing shoulder to shoulder with The Slayer in the face of whatever challenges lay ahead, even if it meant starting with something as small as preparing his breakfast and watching over the Little Fox.
She plated the food neatly, arranging the scrambled eggs and sausages with care. "Breakfast is ready," she said, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her stomach.
"Hm. Thanks." Was his flat response, distractedly jabbing a fork at his breakfast, eating without so much of another word.
She didn't mind. She had expected less.
Nightingale poured two cups of coffee and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice for the Little Fox, currently watching the TV. A live-action show about men in peculiar beetle-themed armors fighting against other men dressed as monsters. Not a show she imagined a little girl would enjoy, but Kunou seemed engrossed, and who was she to judge?
The deep timbre of his volcanic voice almost made her flinch with its suddenness.
"You worked with John," he said. "John Wick."
Memories of that Death World flooded her mind, but Nightingale had grown stronger over the months.
"Yes," she nodded, setting down the cup of coffee in front of him. "I… admired him."
He gave her an appreciative nod and took a sip, unfazed by the scalding temperature.
Nightingale waited for hers to cool down, feeling a tad annoyed her tongue and throat evolved to taste better, not digest better.
Though he dropped the topic there, saying that more as a statement than to start a conversation, she wished to keep it alive for a bit longer. Nightingale recalled the times when she had seen Mr. Wick and Speirs at the bar, off duty, chatting and drinking like old friends, talking about their pet bunny and beagle who shared the same name "Daisy".
Suffice to say, it had been a strange sight, considering their usual aloof demeanors even towards other Reapers.
She could sense his connection to Mr. Wick, the shared experiences. Rarely, if ever, a Reaper could get a fellow reaper as an Assistant due to their self-enforced tight schedule. Peace made them antsy. But whenever they did, their assignment would be done in a matter of weeks, sometimes days.
"Did you know him well, Sir?" So she asked.
"Well," he said, and put a bullet to the topic. "And you don't need to call me 'Sir'."
Nightingale felt a pang of disappointment but decided to push a bit further.
"You and Mr. Wick were quite friendly, I noticed. There's… not much written in the Archives, about you. Nor him. Excuse me for being curious."
He gave her a crude stare. "Whatever isn't written there is his story is his to share, just as mine's mine, and yours is yours."
She swallowed, and dropped the topic there. "My apologies."
"You're here to assist me," he told her straight, allowing himself to soften the blow as Speirs remembered he was dealing with an aspiring Custodian. His hatred was aimed somewhere else. "Keep it strictly professional."
Nightingale dipped her head, understanding what he meant. Considering the nature of their work, getting too familiar with her new foreman might not be the best idea.
She decided to broach another topic. Hesitancy and self-doubt was not a quality Reaper admired. "Did I pass the test?"
"You haven't burned breakfast yet," he replied. "That's a start."
Nightingale allowed herself a small smile. "What will you do today?" she asked, feeling braver, her words speckled with hope. "What can I do to assist you?"
"Look after the fox, watch the Issei kid. Notify me wherever he moves."
Hyoudou Issei, she deduced. She'd spent last night cramming everything she could regarding this World, and it appeared that Hyoudou Issei was one of the Key Characters. The rest were yet to make a significant ping in the Archivist's discerning eyes - which meant they were free for the Custodians to ignore or fix, for they held little significance in this Reality's Grand Plan.
Nightingale hoped, though not daring to hold on to it desperately, that The Slayer wouldn't start a massacre. Significant or not, they were people in her eyes.
"Any other task?" she asked.
"Asia Argento," Speirs replied, eyes staring at the white-coded blimp in the holomap, showing the Holy Priestess crossing the ocean by plane. "Read the notes when you're able. It's about this World." He nudged his head towards Kunou and his laptop, not returning her eye-contact. "Devils exist here. Not the typical evil." Nightingale could tell he was disappointed. "Tolerable at best. Don't let your guard down around them but don't make hasty decisions."
"Understood," she nodded duly. "Where will you go?"
He scowled as he eyed the map, his annoyance no doubt directed at the Fallen Angels who had attacked him yesterday.
"Making sure those Fallens won't try anything smart. Until then, you're stuck with babysitting and watchdog duty," he said. "The Kid's safety takes priority over all else, but don't forget about her."
"Understood," she replied with a steady voice. "I'll keep an eye on Kunou and make sure she stays out of trouble."
He nodded. "Appreciate it."
Though she felt a twinge of disappointment at his brusque demeanor, she reminded herself that Reapers were not known for their warmth nor openness.
"YEAH! Get 'em! Kick their ugly monster butts!"
She glanced over at the young fox cheering excitedly as the heroes on the screen defeated the monsters. Despite the chaos that often surrounded them, it was moments like these that reminded her of the importance of their mission-to protect the innocent and ensure a better future for all.
Nightingale was taken by surprise, however, the moment she caught a glimpse. A crack of a smile on his rugged face. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
"I wish you luck," she said softly, more to herself than to him. Speirs rewarded her with a dull nod yet again, the smile already gone as he finished his breakfast.
⦕⦖
The twin engine's roar faded into silence as Speirs dismounted his motorbike, latched his gray helmet over its side mirror. He adjusted his black leather jacket, ensuring his weapon of choice was within easy reach. The basement was empty, save for a few parked motorcycles and cars, as well as a lingering sense of unease that seemed to permeate the dry air.
He made his way towards the elevator, his boots echoing in the empty space. He tossed a nod to the lone security guard who appeared on the brink of dozing off and toppling from his chair at any moment.
This place didn't seem concerned about security checks. Well, it made sense. Everyone in this place was probably equipped with supernaturals and their magical nonsense. And just like most places he'd been in, mundane, magicless weapons were likely the least of their concern.
The metal doors slid open silently, and he stepped inside the elevator, rising to the lobby of The Blue Velvet Club. According to Nyx's data, this was a brothel posing as a hotel known for its connections to the Fallen Angels and their not-so-mysterious information gathering operations. A place where secrets were bought and sold secretly like contrabands.
These sorts of places were right up his alley, except his currency was more often his words or the pair of brass knuckles nestled within his jacket's inner pockets.
His solitude was short-lived. Just as the metal box began its ascent, a faint, malevolent presence seeped through from the tiniest crack. Sewn by the Void itself, the Crawling Chaos materialized, her form coalescing into existence, complete with her suit and black and annoying green thigh-highs. She slinked her taupe arms around Speirs as her eerie green eyes glinted with amusement.
He let out a hefty sigh.
"Missed me?"
"Never."
Arla chuckled.
"Wouldn't expect me to miss this one, hm? You're heading to their nest, after all," she purred, her voice dripping with every ill intention. "I pray you a glorious slaughter. Or at least a few breaking of their sanity. Or at least a couple of new, willing recruits."
He kept his stare straight at the door. "I'm here for answers."
"Truly? Is that why you brought your weapons?"
This time he shot her a look, as if offended. "I could always use some brass knuckles."
"Ah, indeed." Nyarlathotep chuckled softly, her humanoid form shifting and swirling like smoke. "To force answers."
"If necessary," he said, not shutting out the possibility.
"But where's the fun in that, my dear Custodian? A little chaos and madness can be quite invigorating."
He ignored her.
The elevator doors opened with a 'ding', and Speirs stepped out into the lobby.
Infuriatingly extravagant and way too much blue. Bathed in the warm, inviting glow of ornate chandeliers, the room exuded an air of luxury. Plush velvet drapes adorned the walls, antique furniture occupied the spaces, and gilded mirrors stretched from floor to ceiling, reflecting the opulence back upon itself. The soft murmur of conversations added to the overall sense of secrecy that the space was basically stinking with it.
Arla remained by Speirs' side, her presence with her formal attire blending in seamlessly with the refined surroundings. But her form seemed to flicker and shift like a mirage, twisting as she caught stray glances from the flock of crows nearby. Her dark-skinned arms still wrapped around his thick arm as she observed the lobby with an almost predatory curiosity.
Speirs strode through the lobby, acknowledging the glances from other patrons but reacted no further. As he approached the reception desk, the concierge, a poised and impeccably dressed woman in a deep blue uniform, greeted him with a polite smile.
"Welcome to The Blue Velvet. How may we assist you today? Business or pleasure?"
"Business." Without any hesitation, he leaned in slightly and asked in his typically blunt manner. "Penemue. Where can I find her?"
His straightforward question sent a ripple of caution through the Fallen Angels on guard duty. Penemue wasn't just anyone; this he knew. She was the vice-leader of their Faction and not someone to be casually inquired about, especially since Speirs was an unknown human with no apparent affiliation.
But The Slayer couldn't care. The faster, the better. He'd been to this sort of 'professional' establishment way too many times to bother with its pretentious formality and procedures. The sooner he finish this Assignment, the sooner he might get assigned to a Shadow Realm. Hell. Wherever demons lie.
The concierge shifted her demeanor, her professional poise giving way to suspicion. "And who might you be, Sir?"
"Speirs," he stated gruffly as a flicker of recognition flashed by the concierge's eyes. "Tell her I want to have chat. About a kid named Hyoudou Issei."
"Very subtle," Arla murmured.
As the concierge stared at him, hiding her sense of unease as best she could, Speirs offered nothing more than a flat gaze, while his grip subtly tightening on the brass knuckles concealed within his jacket. Standing nearby, Arla grinned with anticipation, her unnatural presence easily piercing through the concierge's professional facade.
The tension in the room thickened as the Fallen Angels exchanged glances, unsure of how to proceed with this unanticipated visitor. The concierge nevertheless picked up a phone and made a call, speaking in hushed tones while keeping a watchful eye on Speirs and Nyarlathotep.
"Understood. I'll bring them there." Then the concierge placed down the phone, her suspicions masked behind a veneer of professionalism, and kept her voice steady and composed. "If you're looking for Master Penemue," she said, circling around the receptionist desk, "you may find her in the Velvet Room. Please, follow me."
Speirs offered a curt nod in response. Nyarlathotep's grin never faded, reveling in the tension that oozed the perfumed air.
Taking another elevator, they reached the door to the Velvet Room. Two double doors themed in blue. Speirs was already getting sick of the color.
The concierge opened one door and gestured for them to enter. "May you enjoy your time in the Velvet Room."
Speirs said a brief "Thanks," and followed her inside with Nyarlathotep moving smoothly behind him.
The Velvet Room resembled a large, VIP karaoke lounge bathed in a pulsating velvet blue light. Speirs, however, quickly noticed that it was not a room meant for a casual meeting. Filled with Fallen Angels, all bearing their light-infused weapons and casting grins on his way.
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Before he could react, the concierge gave a forceful push, propelling him and Nyarlathotep into the room. She pushed with such vigor that it seemed as if Nyarlathotep, in her smoky form, had been physically pushed as well, though her body remained incorporeal.
The door swiftly slammed shut and clicked behind them.
Eight armed Fallen Angels, all dressed sharply in suits, eyed him with a mix of suspicion and hostility. More on the hostile end of things.
"A welcoming party." His voice was tinged with a hint of resignation that was quickly replaced by a seething rage as he unveiled his silver brass knuckles. "Good thing I came here bearing gifts."
Chaos erupted as the Fallen Angels reacted, hurtling their lightspears, spears of radiant light meant to pierce and obliterate their foes.
Which fizzled out the moment it came in contact with the Custodian's skin, jacket, or gray eyes that refused to blink. Seizing their surprise, he hounded after the closest Crow, blasting three bloody teeth as his head snapped back and his consciousness drifted away.
"Who the fu-" the woman next to the fallen Fallen Angel was halted from finishing her sentence with a metal knuckle to her throat. She immediately toppled to her knees, clutching her crushed windpipe as blood poured from her nostrils and mouth. "Agkh-hrghk… !"
"First blood to the Slayer! As per tradition," Arla cheered, already taking a seat by a plush couch. "Two down, only six more to go."
The Crows nervously glanced at each other before their fallen comrade fueled their bravery, and piled on him like vultures to a rotting carcass.
Amidst the chaotic onslaught of fizzling lightswords and lightspears and the confused yelling of the Fallens, Speirs spotted a nearby table covered with ornate glassware and bottles. With a swift, aggressive sweep of his arm, he sent the fragile objects hurtling through the air. The shattering glass created a distraction, briefly disorienting these pissants.
Seizing the moment, Speirs lunged forward with primal ferocity. He grabbed the nearest Fallen Angel by the collar and rammed his forehead for an explosive headbut. The crunch of bone echoed in the room as the Crow reeled back, momentarily stunned, red rivers from their nose.
But there was no respite in this brawl, only an unrelenting rhythm of violence. Figuring out his apparent magical immunity, the Fallen Angels resorted to their fists. Surrounded by four of them, Speirs received a blow to his side, dull pain blossoming in his ribs and making him remember what it was like to feel physical pain, and the rush of adrenaline motivated him to retaliate tenfold. His brass knuckle embedded into a skull that immediately dropped his attacker.
Arla, meanwhile, continued to make herself comfortable on a nearby sofa, watching the unfolding chaos with a joyful grin. When one of the Fallen Angels attempted to hurl a lightspear at her, the projectile phased through her, and she offered a wave of her fingers before she twisted the assailant's mind, letting her experience what it felt like to have her brain squeezed.
The woman's scream echoed through the room as she crumpled to the floor, consciousness and sanity permanently lost from the imaginary agony that felt real to her.
"Ah, mortals… so delectably weak…" she hummed as the electronic music and violence picked up the rhythm, swaying her head left and right with the tune in harmony.
The fight raged on with Speirs taking on multiple Fallen Angels at once. His movements were rigid, a brutal show of destruction as he absorbed all attacks, not bothering to dodge, and deliver bone-crunching blows that left the Fallens battered and broken.
"Oh my!" Arla feigned a gasp as Speirs was tackled to the ground by the bulkiest Fallen Angel. "Such bravery… Come on, don't let him slip off your grasp. You got this!"
The remaining two immediately flocked the grappled Custodian, kicking and stomping his sides as he groaned. More from annoyance than pain.
Speirs reached out something and quickly smashed it against his grappler's head, only to realize it was a tambourine. The Crow grinned, but Speirs scrambled a glass ashtray, and this time, slammed it right to his grappler's cheek, shattering the tray, causing The Crow to wince as red spurted to his black jacket, before Speirs it back out, and shoved the makeshift shiv under his jowl.
Arla was visibly disappointed, but shrugged. More offering was always appreciated.
With a growl, Speirs shoved the now bleeding Fallen off him and made use of the moment of shock rippling down his ambushers to get back up and wiped his face, smearing his beard with the red hot blood.
As their companion struggled and clutched his neck, a wave of fear cascaded down the Fallen Angels like a wet blanket. They looked at each other for a moment, and with a nod, seemed to have found their lost courage to lunge at him again.
There was no finesse in The Slayer's fighting style, only raw power and a relentless drive to end the confrontation swiftly. He got hit; a fist landed on his cheek, but he didn't falter. It only made him angrier. Silently, never once cursing, he swung his arm in a punishing right hook that snapped the female Fallen's head back, sending her crashing into the room's decadent furniture. One guy left, and Speirs soon introduced a backless seat towards his stunned face, the force throwing him to the carpeted floor.
The bassy music ended just as the last Fallen Angel fell, groaning and defeated. The Slayer stood in the center of the room, his breathing normal and even. His once roguish appearance was marred by a slight bruise on his cheek, his fury evident over his bloody face.
Not his blood though.
One particular Crow was groaning in choked gasps as he clutched his family jewels. He noted that a kick to the nads was still more than enough to incapacitate.
"W-Wait… please!" In a final display of contempt, he lifted his boots high above the pitiful Crow's pleading face, casting a dark shadow over the whimpering Crow's pained features. The whimper turned into a high-pitched whine as Speirs brought his foot down with brutal force. The crunch of bone and the sickening squelch of flesh filled the air, each stomp delivering a clear, merciless message without so much of a word.
Red blood and pink brain matter splattered across the blue carpet. The Crow's eyes bulged before bursting under the relentless assault, turning into a viscous mess that smeared across the ground. Speirs didn't stop until the skull had caved in completely, reduced to a formless pulp. The Crow's body twitched once, twice, then lay completely still.
The Slayer paused, surveying his handiwork with grim satisfaction. The message was clear: defiance would not be tolerated. He stepped back, wiping his boot on the carpet with a casual flick before glancing around, ensuring that any other lurking threats had received the goddamn memo.
"Wh-Who the fuck is this guy?!" One of the girls cried, clutching her dislocated jaw, trying to back away but stumbled over her friend's body and stumbled on the floor. She tried to scramble away, but her efforts were as futile as a moth fleeing a flame, and she whimpered as he walked towards her. "Wh-What the hell do you want?!"
"Penemue," he growled, the name a venomous hiss on his lips. "Where is she?"
The girl's gaze darted around the room, her eyes lingering on the bloodstain on the carpet. Tears and dread prickled her eyes and neck, but defiance and fear of the consequences held her spine straight.
Speirs rewarded her gallantry by grabbing a microphone, only to realize it was wireless. He made do, because when you're in a pinch, any stick can beat a drum. One of the guys, nursing a broken nose, attempted an escape until he met the cruel truth: the exit was locked tighter than a miser's purse and sealed with magic.
"… Shit," he whimpered, slumping against the door like a sack of potatoes, trapped with a human more beast than man.
Speirs ignored him and pointed the gray tip at the woman's lips. "Sing, or this will go down your throat."
"You should listen to him," Arla urged from the couch, idly pressing the button on its arm rest before the couch started spinning. "OH!"
Meekly, the Fallen Angel refused, and The Slayer was never one to break his promise. Especially never towards these cretins who would kill a boy, a girl, anyone they deemed untrustworthy to wield Sacred Gear.
The last conscious Crow sang then, and Arla was more than pleased to feast on his fear. If there was one thing she appreciated from these supernatural beings, was the mere fact they didn't soil themselves after meeting their demise.
Once Speirs slammed his knee to his nose with a crack, knocking him unconscious, finally the slow clap. Clapping her hands in a deliberate, slow applause, Arla observed the aftermath of the battle with a wide grin on her face. She'd preferred if all eight were crushed, but, at the least, she got to twist one's sanity beyond fixing.
"Finally! Some progress." Arla's voice rang out, her amusement palpable as she continued to twirl on her spinning couch. "The harmonious blend of chaos and concussions," she purred, her tone dripping with fascination and sardonic humor. "Bravo, my dear Custodian."
With each twirl of her spinning throne that she would soon 'borrow', she added a new flourish to her commentary. "Your rendition of 'Fists of Fury' was truly captivating," she declared, gesturing dramatically towards the bodies he'd dropped. "I must say, you really know how to hit the high notes…" Another spin, another dramatic pause. "And faces."
Never one to appreciate her theatrics, Speirs rolled his eyes and approached the stubbornly sealed exit, his frustration mounting with each futile attempt to force it open.
"Care for an encore?" Arla suggested.
Speirs grunted his refusal as he took several steps back, and poised his shoulder.
"Ah, the elegance of violence," she mused, lifting a glass of dark liquor that seemingly appeared out of thin air. "May you never change, Slayer."
⦕⦖
Outside the architecturally and magically soundproofed room, the female concierge waited with an air of indifference, casually checking her perfectly manicured nails. It shouldn't take long, she mused. Soon, she'd be back at her post, and the day would continue as mundane as ever.
But her boredom and thoughts were shattered into a million pieces when the door exploded open with a force that sent her tumbling to the ground. As she lay there, momentarily stunned and confused, the empty hallways seemed to spin around her. Last time she checked, only the beds had that function installed. Rotating hallways were too confusing and caused far too many new recruits arriving late, and thereby efficiently scrapped in the year 1266 AD.
Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, a furious human loomed over her, his brass knuckles gleaming ominously in the dim light. Warm red droplets splattered against the foundation of her cheek as his intense gaze bore into hers, filling her with both realization and fear in equal measure. She cursed herself for taking a day shift.
"You've truly mastered the art of door-breaking, my dear Custodian. A skill that will surely open many… doors for you in the future."
The… girl's voice?
"Hello there, Ms…. Lamiel…? Ms. Lame," Looming above his shoulder was the previous lady with glowing pale green eyes. "I suggest you play nice and give him what he wants. Trust me, whatever secrets you're hiding; it's not worth getting your eyes gouged out."
The concierge stiffened. "Y-You weren't supposed to-"
"Penemue." Speirs' voice was cold as ice, his brass knuckles glinting dangerously close to her face. "Where. Is. She."
"The abandoned church!" The words rushed out of her throat, fear and desperation evident in her voice.
That got his expression to ease. "Thanks."
"Wait!" Her eyes widened in a last-minute plea, but it was too late. With a swift motion, Speirs retracted his fist, and darkness engulfed her vision as pain exploded through her jaw.
Nyarlathotep couldn't contain her amused titter. "Ladies or gentlemen… you never know no mercy."
"These hands are egalitarian," Speirs said, his tone dry as bone.
…
Arla blinked, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected philosophical turn. "… What?"
Speirs just shook his head, a faint smirk ghosting across his features before disappearing. "Never mind."
With all the ceremony of a sloth on a leisurely stroll, he rose from the unconscious Crow and made his way back to the elevator. Arla, left pondering his enigmatic remark, shrugged and melted into her own shadows. Must be some cryptic inside joke with his Reaper buddies or something. Who knew what lurked within the depths of his mind?
Certainly not her.
Maddeningly.
Last edited: Friday at 3:34 PM
do not read my shitposts on my Fanfic page
check out my glorious Eminence in Shadow shitpost instead
Or this one, the NotToji in DxD
Chapter 4
The name of the fourth is Penemue: who discovered to the Children of Men bitterness and sweetness;
And pointed out to them every secret of their wisdom.
She taught men to understand writing, and the use of ink and paper.
Therefore numerous have been those who have gone astray from every period of the world,
even to this day.
For men were not born for this, thus with pen and with ink to confirm their faith;
Since they were not created, except that, like the Angels, they might remain righteous and pure.
Nor would death, which destroys everything, have affected them;
But by this their knowledge they perish, and by this also its power consumes them.
[ Book of Enoch 1 68:9-16 ]
〖Chapter 4〗 ⦕
Unchained Predator ⦖
In the underbelly of the abandoned church, nestled in the outskirts of Kuoh Town, deep within the forest, lay the chamber of Saint Celestine's Retreat. Named after the revered Saint Celestine, who was said to have performed miracles in the area centuries ago, the church had a long and storied history.
Originally built by Catholic missionaries in the early 17th century, Saint Celestine's served as a beacon of faith and hope for the settlers in the region. Its remote location was chosen to provide sanctuary and spiritual guidance to those living on the fringes of civilization.
Over the years, the church became a focal point for the community, hosting weddings, baptisms, and funerals, and offering solace to those in need. However, as Kuoh Town grew and modernized, the church fell into disuse, its congregation dwindling as its people moved away in search of better opportunities. Chased away by both Devils and Agents of the Grigori.
With its doors closed and its halls empty, Saint Celestine's Retreat became a forgotten relic of the past, its once-grand architecture slowly crumbling under the weight of time. But while the world above forgot about the church, below its surface, a new congregation had taken root.
A flock of Fallen Angels had claimed the abandoned church as their sanctuary. Drawn to the desolate beauty of the forest and the solitude offered by the church's hidden chambers, they had transformed the once-holy place into their own domain. Turned the once sanctified place of refuge and peace into a place where they could gather in secrecy, away from the prying eyes of humanity.
Within its walls, they plotted and schemed, their black wings brushing against the cold stone as they whispered dark secrets and traded forbidden knowledge.
And the Doom Slayer, despite having completely lost faith in religion ever since he was ripped apart from his eternal crusade and thrusted into the role of a Protector of Balance, had no patience for the desecration of holy ground.
His gray eyes, burning with an inner fire that had long forsaken faith, surveyed the church's exterior, taking in the decay and neglect that had befallen the once-sacred place. To him, they were sanctuaries, havens of peace in a chaotic world, where the weak pray for someone to shield them from the relentless tides of Demons.
He still respected the sanctity of such places and the solace they once offered to those in need. And if he so much learned the Christian churches of this World were less than saints, he'd be the one to make them pay for their transgressions. Overtime be damned.
"A peculiar mechanical mount, Custodian, but the ride was pleasant."
Arla flashed a smirk as he reached his next destination, her black hair floating in the nonexistent breeze.
The dirt road leading to the abandoned church crunched beneath the 'steel steed' boots as he dismounted his bike. He parked the motorcycle near the church's entrance, where two imposing Fallen Angels in professional attire stood guard. They looked his size. Burly and surly. Clearly Penemue's personal bodyguards.
Each donned a charcoal black suit over a magenta shirt, and they had all their black wings out blooming. Four of them. He didn't know what they represented, but he could take a guess and assume they were stronger than the crows he'd fought.
As they eyed him with disdain, moving in to confront him, Speirs opened the compartment on his bike and retrieved a silver revolver with a long barrel, stamped with Hephaestus' signature emblem; two black hammers crossed in front of an erupting volcano.
This gun is brought to you by Hephaestus
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He'd prefer his BFG 9000 or any of his UAC arsenal over this standard issue flimsy peashooter, and his Praetor Suit over this measly biker jacket. His runes-inscribed body of this meatshell.
But over the course of his second and no less eternal and much more thankless job, he'd learned to settle for less. To blend with the locals, they said, so the natives wouldn't freak out instead of learning to trust him, they reasoned.
Why did he have to care how the locals think about him? They all forgot once he was done anyway. And all he could think of was how they could inconvenience him rather than convenience him.
Protocols and regulations. He wished he'd been assigned to another Hell World instead. A real Hell with real demons. Not a bunch of brats toying with bullshit supernatural powers.
The Fallen Angels' sneered at the sight of an obvious man-made weapon, and their sneers were met with his unflinching gaze.
"Where do you think you're heading, pal?" one of the guards challenged, an amused smirk on his face.
"Penemue," Speirs responded, his voice steady. "She in there?"
The two guards burst into laughter, clearly unimpressed by Speirs' presence and his demand. They exchanged amused glances and then, with a dismissive wave, tried to usher him away.
"Oh, come on, boys. Can't you see a man on a mission when you see one?" Arla sauntered closer, her gaze flicking between the two Fallen Angels. "He's only here for a friendly chat. Don't change it."
The guards exchanged a glance, their amusement turning into irritation at Arla's interference. "And who are you supposed to be?" one of them sneered, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
Arla's smirk widened. "A humble observer enjoying the fireworks," she replied, sarcasm dripping in her every word. Not, mind, because she was sarcastic. More because sarcasm easily annoyed people.
This entire World before her was nothing more than a fleeting spectacle-a mere distraction in her eternal existence.
The second guard, respectful yet firm, stepped forward. "Ma'am, if you value his safety and his memory, take your husband somewhere else."
Speirs scowled. "She's not my wife."
"Girlfriend, then."
"Why are you bargaining?" the Slayer grunted. The Shadow Realms had nothing they could offer to make his skin crawl, but the mere notion of becoming a husband already made him feel insulted, and being Nyarlathotep's husband? He'd burn more Realities before that ever happened.
"… Wife…?" Arla mused aloud, her gaze shifting from the guards to the Custodian. The concept of mortal love intrigued her-an ephemeral flame that consumed hearts and minds. She had witnessed broken-hearted Custodians, their devotion to their assigned Worlds leaving scars deeper than any battle wound.
How they crumbled when they finished their task-their purpose fulfilled, yet their hearts shattered. Perhaps she'd been looking at the wrong tools… Infatuation could be her weapon-a way to finally dent Speirs' unyielding will.
Love, she decided, could be her most potent weapon-a dagger forged not of steel but of vulnerability. There is always a madness in love.
Despite his barbaric nature, his dark charm was like a black hole. It pulled with the same ferocity. Even if they knew it would rent them, few mortals were able to keep their feelings buried like him.
They were not built like machines of slaughter. They thirsted for companion, not knowing the Slayer was practically married to his burning fury.
During his service across Worlds and Universes, much like the bodies he'd left, there were shattered trails of broken hearts, who'd always failed to carve their presence in his impenetrable lump of coal many mortals called a heart. Failing to let their presence seen in his eyes.
This time, now that she was here, here in this Reality whsoe denizens were not as hardened as him by nature, wanting useless things such as affection and companionship, Arla would ensure the Slayer would be aware of the hearts he'd ripped and tore apart.
With a dark chuckle, she stowed the idea in the recess of her kind as she addressed the reasonable, saner, Crow. "Afraid I can't tell him what or what not to do… But if you'd prefer not to let him through, I'm sure he'll find a way to make his own entrance."
They only scoffed. The first burly Crow shook his head while the other pinched his nose bridge. "Save yourselves some trouble and point that toy gun somewhere else, before you get hurt."
Speirs' response was succinct; "Move."
The second guard stepped forward, his four wings unfurling to their full impressive span. "Listen, Foreigner," he warned, "this is private property. No one walks here without an invitation. I'm doing you a favor here. No one has to get hurt."
Speirs remained unfazed, his gaze steely. "I'm here for Penemue. Not you."
"She's not receiving any visitors, especially not riffraff. How about you admire us instead?"
The Custodian remained unfazed, his revolver clicking once as he flicked the safety off.
"Move."
The Crow spat on the ground, leveling his eyes in a challenge 'make us'.
Arla couldn't contain her amusement at the guards' bravado. "It appears they've mistaken you for a lost tourist, Custodian, what will you do-"
In one fluid motion, a gunshot pierced the air, finding its mark in the thigh of the guard on the right. The man's pained cry filled the surroundings as he crumpled to the ground, clutching his bleeding leg. "AAARGH- SON OF A-! My… My leg?!"
"Ah, yes, of course." Arla tittered sinuously. "Action speaks louder than words, especially when it comes with a bang."
The guard without the bullet wound in his leg took a step back. "W-What the hell-"
Speirs' steely gaze bore into him. "Is Penemue in there?"
As the other guard's eyes flickered with recognition, his earlier confidence was entirely replaced by scathing dread. "Y-You! You're the Foreigner that wrecked the hotel!"
Arla chuckled, enjoying the sight of the once cocky guards now quivering in fear. "My. News sure travels fast. Almost as if they have their own wings… What about me though?"
The reasonable guard looked reasonably confused. "… His… woman?"
"She's a sentient tumor," Speirs, as per usual, ignored Arla's jibe and swiftly turned the revolver toward the remaining Crow, his aim steady and intent clear. "Why don't we both do ourselves a favor; you keep your brain in your head, and I get to save a bullet."
⦕⦖
Under the desecrated church, inside a repurposed room turned office, a woman stood tall, her gaze piercing as she glared at the figure before her. A black-haired Fallen Angel whose head bowed in shame.
Penemue's presence was a paradox: part warrior, part assassin, part mentor, and all-around mystery. Ariddle wrapped in an enigma and armed with very sharp spears.
Her hair cascaded like a velvet violet waterfall, each strand catching the flicker of candlelight. It bore the weight of countless battles, woven with strands of valor and the echoes of forgotten foes. A hue that defied simple description-neither red nor purple, but a twilight blend that whispered of otherworldly origins and a great amount of hair conditioner.
Like someone had spilled fine wine on a deep black carpet and decided it looked good.
Penemue's skin was pale, almost luminous, with just a hint of scars that whispered of battles fought and won, or at least survived with a good story to tell. The lines around her eyes spoke of wisdom earned through countless lifetimes, or maybe just too many late nights contemplating the mysteries of the universe.
Clad in sleek, dark attire that hugged her form like a jealous lover, Penemue moved with the grace of a dancer and the precision of a well-aimed insult. Her cloak swirled around her like the folds of night. The fabric bore intricate patterns: sigils of protection, glyphs of power, and symbols lost to time. Those probably meant something to someone, but to most, like Raynare, they just looked like fancy doodles.
Taut muscles hinted at relentless training, honed across ages. She stood tall, her frame both sinewy and feminine, just the perfect balance between strength and grace. Her hands had wielded the weight of countless weapons-the haft of a spear, the hilt of a sword, the curve of a dagger. All mastered to perfection.
Exuding a confidence that said, "I could kick your ass with one hand tied behind my back." and Raynare would very much rather not test that theory.
But it was her eyes that truly stole the show, twin orbs of scarlet that seemed to bore into her very soul. When she fixed her gaze upon Raynare, it felt like she was stripping away every lie and pretense until there was nothing left but raw, naked truth.
Penemue was a study in contrasts, a blend of beauty and danger that left those around her both in awe and a little bit afraid. A walking, talking reminder that sometimes, it's better to just stay on her good side and hope she doesn't decide to redecorate the room with your entrails.
Penny
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Or maybe Raynare was just overthinking things because she was scared shitless of Penemue since her last screw up.
The boy was alive.
"You were entrusted with a simple task, Raynare," Penemue's voice was a cold and unforgiving contralto, echoing off the stone walls. "One simple task, and you couldn't even manage that."
Raynare swallowed hard, her wings trembling with the weight of Penemue's disappointment. "I-I'm sorry, Mistress. I underestimated the situation. I thought I had eliminated him for good."
Penemue's eyes flashed with fury. "Thought? You were supposed to ensure it. Hyoudou Issei was to be eliminated permanently, not given a second chance at life as a Devil."
Raynare winced, knowing she had failed miserably. But Penemue wasn't done tearing her apart.
"Worse still," Penemue's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, sending shivers down the Agent's spine, "it was Rias Gremory who brought him back. You've made him practically untouchable."
Raynare's heart sank at the realization of her grave error. "Forgive me, Mistress Penemue. I-I… I never thought those Bats would be lurking nearby."
"Excuses."
Raynare trembled slightly, fear and regret mingling in her eyes, her sass had completely abandoned ship long ago the first moment she received the notification. She was knee deep. No- neck deep.
"Wh-What do I do now…? What can I do now to fix this, Mistress?"
In contrast, Penemue eased her glare, resting her eyes as she took a deep breath. Her mind was already racing with plans to rectify Raynare's mistake. Despite her disappointment, she knew that the fault ultimately lay with her for entrusting a task to someone-not so much incapable of completing it-but underestimating its crucialness.
Her velvet bangs swayed as shook her head. "None. And you and your Flock will not touch a single hair on Hyoudou Issei. Instead, focus on your current objective: secure the Holy Maiden, and ensure Kokabiel and Freed are none the wiser."
Raynare blinked in surprise, relief flooding her momentarily. "Thank you, Mistress… I'll do just that."
"And don't fail me again. Elsewise, you must be put on probation. Do you understand?"
The Junior Field Agent stiffened. "Y-Yes, Mistress."
"Very well," Penemue said, her voice firm but less severe. "You may leave."
Raynare bowed deeply before turning to leave, knowing she had narrowly escaped severe punishment.
As Raynare exited the room, Penemue's expression hardened once more as her PDA materialized in her hand.
A Messenger had contacted her minutes prior, which did soured her mood. A man donning a biker jacket had stormed Blue Velvet Hotel looking for her. A man impervious to the lethal lightspears wielded by the Fallen Angels, believed to be able to snap their bones as though their supernatural resilience had vanished.
She'd rewatched the surveillance tape back and forth, and still it didn't make sense. The supposed Foreigner shouldn't pose no threat to the Agents, and it was evident from the way he fought that he was only human. What she struggled to make sense of, however, was the fact the Agents moved slower. Almost pathetically sluggish, and the fact there was a black mass swirling on top of a sofa before the recording had been cut short.
She knew him. His name, at least, not his identity.
John Speirs - an obvious fake name. His profile deemed he had worked as a foreman for ten years, which earned him a spot in the Gremory's prestigious school, but she refused to believe that. Yet that was it. Not even Shemhazai, the Regional Director in charge of OCEANIA, had extra information about this presumed Australian.
No criminal record, no background, no history. It was as if he suddenly sprouted into existence.
Who was he? An Exorcist sent from the Church? Unlikely. They had little ground over Japan and absolutely none over Kuoh. A Hunter hired by Rias Gremory to stir the pot? Potentially. Yet no Hunters were suicidal enough to hit the GRI (Grigori Research Institute) and expect the Devils wouldn't throw them once they finished their job, let alone hitting one of their nests and leaving behind evidence.
She'd expect Raynare's Flock of Dohnaseek and Mittelt's recon could shine a bit of light regarding the mysterious Foreigner. Yet it appeared they both shared the same incompetency as the Junior Field Agent - Raynare hadn't received their response.
Likely dead.
Shaking her head, and as the rectangular device in her hands dissolved into darkness, Penemue pushed him aside from her thoughts.
She had a task to complete, and failure was not an option.
Hyoudou Issei must die, and the Devils must never learn of the Fallen Angel's interference. The Mistress of Shadows must do it herself.
A distant gunshot perked her ears, and her keen senses immediately alert. Not an expected interruption, and a twinge of curiosity mingled with alert bloomed in her chest as she focused on her hearing.
"Wh- who the hell are you?! What are you doing here!" That was Raynare's.
"You Raynare?" That was… a man's voice. Deep, almost guttural, and gravelly with a touch of duskiness. Like a distant volcano coated in honey.
"… Yeah? Who's asking… Oh, wait, you're the new guy in town. Spears, was it?"
"Penemue. Where is she."
"Who knows? The Underworld?"
"Don't lie and squawk nicely, little crow," Another voice. This time a woman. Dark and sultry. "And perhaps, consider finding something more refined to wear. You look like a common harlot."
"Yeah?! Like you dress any better. Black but neon green hosiery? Really? You look like one of those weird glowing slugs."
Penemue didn't like where this was heading. She didn't like the fact she couldn't feel a shred of his presence, even if she could hear his voice and steady heartbeats.
"My esteemed Custodian-may I have thine permission to, as you eloquently put, 'Rip and Tear' her wings from feather to feather?"
"No. I agree with her."
"Hah, a common ground…"
Summoning forth her armaments she wielded during the Great War; a pair of twin crimson spears, Penemue cautiously tread forth towards the door.
"So what are you doing here?"
A beat. And Penemue caught the sound of dull thudding of an object meeting the cracked marble floor outside the chamber. Followed immediately with the stench of blood.
"D-Dohnaseek?! Y-You bastard- where's Mittelt?! What did you do to her?!"
"I need to have a chat with Penemue."
Penemue felt the surge of Holy Power as Raynare conjured her lightspear.
"You need to fuck off! Who the hell do you think you are?! Who are you?! A Hunter!? A merc!?"
"It appears your attempt at negotiation has ended on a sour note, Custodian. Maybe next time consider not dropping her employee's dead body on her feet. It makes a bad first impression. Either way, the Crow you're looking for is in that room… and in exchange for my helpfulness, this bitch is mine."
"Do whatever you want with her."
"… Oh what the fu-"
Before Penemue could exit the room, the Fallen Seraph was left momentarily stunned when she watched Junior Field Agent Raynare destroy the door hinges, sending it flying across the room and smashed into pieces as it was slammed against the wall.
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Spinning her Gáe Bolg and its duplicate at the ready, Penemue rushed to stand before Raynare's groaning figure, and aimed her twin spears at the door as a pair of sickly green eyes pierced the darkness. In stepped the possessor of those strange eyes, a dark-skinned woman in a dark suit and - admittedly, questionable choice of stocking color.
"Oh no. It's not me that wants to speak with you," the lady in black purred with a smile, as the Foreigner stepped behind her, his body framed by the doorframe, and his dull gray eyes hinted at the unyielding spirit lurking within.
"Penemue?" he asked, dourly.
She narrowed her eyes. "Yes."
"You wanted to kill the Kid. Issei. That still true?"
"Who are you to him?" she countered, her grip tightening. Something was off with this man. He looked human but didn't feel human.
"Answer me," the Foreigner drawled. "Do you still want to kill Issei Hyoudou."
"He's not a mere 'kid', he's a potential disaster waiting to happen," Penemue responded. "Would you risk the safety of an entire country resting in the hands of one, inexperienced nobody?"
"Maybe. But he'll be somebody one day." As he eyed her spears, Penemue recognized that look anywhere. A calculating look that meant he was sizing her up. "And if you and your cronies won't leave him be…"
The room crackled with tension, the air thickened by the clash of wills and Raynare's unconscious mumbling.
Penemue's spears trembled, their ethereal points humming with latent power. The dark-skinned woman-no mere mortal, that much was clear, perhaps an Egyptian Goddess?-leaned against the doorframe, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Issei Hyoudou," she mused, her voice a velvet blade. "A pawn in a cosmic game…"
"Why protect him?" Penemue's voice cut through the charged silence. "What stake do you have in this?"
The Foreigner's lips curved into a half-smile. "He's a catalyst," he replied. "Chosen One. I don't buy it, but I don't want to extend my stay."
"Chosen One…?" What a joke. Uttering that phrase didn't make it sound any less ridiculous. "And you?" Penemue pressed. "What role do you play?"
"The scales tip, I adjust."
The lady in black chuckled. "You see, Penemue," she purred, and Penemue hated the way her voice managed to make her bristle. "you're all pieces on the board. Some move with purpose; others dance to chaos."
Penemue's resolve wavered. She had come to eliminate the threat, but now she hesitated. Was Issei truly a disaster, or a harbinger of change?
"Pick," the Foreigner said softly. "Kill or nurture."
"You speak of balance," Penemue hissed, her voice laced with skepticism. "But what balance can there be when the scales have teetered so far into one side?"
The Foreigner's eyes, dull and gray, met hers with an intensity that bordered on the supernatural. "Enough asking."
Penemue's heart raced, her mind reeling. This man, this… Foreigner, he spoke with a conviction that was almost convincing yet borderline audacious. But she had seen too much, lost too much to be swayed by mere words.
"And you?" she challenged, her voice rising. "What are you but another piece in this game? Another player claiming to know the rules?"
The lady in black chuckled. "Oh, Penny, Penny…" she cooed, "you still don't see it, do you? You think you're the players, and you are right, but he's the referee. You can either obey to the new rules, or… well, he'll make you obey it. One way or another."
The Foreigner stepped forward, his presence filling the room like a tangible force.
"Pick," he repeated, and the word hung in the air like a verdict.
But she couldn't believe him.
The room seemed to close in around her, the walls echoing with the weight of her decision. Her spears, once a source of strength, now felt heavy in her hands. The Foreigner's gaze never wavered, a challenge and an invitation all at once.
"I don't believe you."
"You will."
Penemue's eyes narrowed, her resolve hardening. She would not be swayed, not by cryptic words or enigmatic smiles.
"I choose what I believe in," she declared, her voice ringing with defiance. "And my belief is not one anyone can dictate."
The lady in black chuckled, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ah, the skeptic with a spear," she teased, materializing behind Penemue. "Willing to skewer a teen for the 'greater good'-how noble. Why not enlighten her the reliable, unreasonable way, Custodian? To Hell and back. As for me…" she whispered as she walked through Penemue's spear, and through her body, and stood before Raynare's unsconscious body. "I think I may find this whelp rather handy."
"Leave he--"
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"--r…?"
The transition was instantaneous, a jolting shift that left Penemue reeling. In an instant, she found herself Raptured into a realm that reeked of despair and echoed with the agonized screams of the damned. The world around her was a nightmare made flesh, a gauntlet of fire and brimstone with walls etched in the tortured expressions of those who had come before her.
The sky above was a sickly shade of red, littered with the debris and wreckages. Jagged rocks jutting out like fangs of a monstrous beast. The ground beneath her cracked and barren, each fissure a reminder of the Second Demonic War that had once ravaged this forsaken place. The air itself seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, a clammy heat that threatened to suffocate her with its oppressive weight.
There was no sign of life, no hint of mercy in this desolate landscape. Only burning ashes and the haunting howl of the wind, carrying with it the whispers of the tormented and the damned.
This looked too similar to the Hell she'd fought a thousand years ago.
And there, across the infernal domain, stood the Foreigner. Penemue clutched her spears to restore her conviction - even if she realized she was a mortal now, stripped of her celestial might.
Her heart hammered. She had faced Angels and Devils, battled across Realms, but this was different. This was raw and real, a fight not for the fate of worlds but for the simple, stark right to live.
"Where… where is this place…? Hell?" she finally asked once she gathered her resolve. Whatever was left of it. "You took me to the past?!"
"Home," The Doom Slayer said as his knuckles cracked, setting down his silver wristwatch by a broken pillar.
Argent D'Nur - his Terran homeworld, a cracked planet held by colossal chains keeping it from splintering further. A place where magic had no dominion, where magic had been rendered null.
"You're staying here," he declared. "Until you're on my side."
She pointed her weapons towards him, forced to put the imitation down as without her enhanced agility and strength, Penemue had to learn that her spears were quite heavy and unwieldable if held in pairs.
"Do I even get a choice?"
"On my side, or in my way."
Right now, she was aware where she stood.
First, she heard it-the rattling of chains. It started as a distant, almost imperceptible sound, but it quickly grew louder and more intense. The chains writhed and snapped, their metal links clanging together with a deafening cacophony. The sound was not just a physical sensation but a palpable manifestation of the suffering and torment that had consumed this World for eons.
The terrified wails of the condemned demons filled her ears, a chorus of anguish that seemed to reverberate through her very soul. It was a sound that spoke of endless agony, of souls trapped in an eternal torment from which there was no escape. The cries grew louder, more desperate, each one a dagger of despair that pierced her heart. And they all screamed the same word; RETREAT.
Then, she saw it.
A deep searing emblem, blazing with red and orange hues like molten lava. It consumed her vision, a symbol, jagged, angular, hieroglyphic, undoubtedly ancient. The central figure resembled an infernal rune, flanked by sharp accents that evoked the image of flames or barbs. It radiated a heat so intense that it felt as though her very flesh would melt away.
This was no mere symbol; it was a brand, a warning of the doom that awaited should he be unleashed.
Mick Gordon shredding his guitar in the background*
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The Mark of The Slayer was a sentence. A declaration that her Fate had been sealed, whatever Destiny she had had been ripped and torn.
The Slayer advanced in a measured stride, and Penemue could see it in his gait-the confidence of a man who had fought and survived in this hellish realm. Yet even without her supernatural prowess, without her Precognition, she still held complete confidence that she was as deadly.
She only had to adjust. Her foe was only human. He was no god. No monster. Just a human with nothing but his wits and his will.
Even if something primal stirred within her.
It clawed at her insides, a visceral warning. Her muscles quivered, every fiber of her being urging her to retreat, to flee from this man who was no longer a cosmic force but a mirror of her own mortality. No one wants to be the one who faces a man with nothing to protect but his own fury.
That was her own survival instincts urging her to fear the only thing Hells ever feared, and she ignored it.
Fighting the rising dread, Penemue marched forward, her grip on her spear tightening. She leapt, committing fully to her attack, the spear aimed directly at his heart. She gasped as he caught it mid-thrust, wrenching her towards him with a brutal, effortless pull. She barely registered his fist driving through her skull, the sheer force shattering bone and tissue.
Her vision exploded in a burst of pain and darkness, and the searing agony of his strike burned through her.
Her body failed her. Limbs went limp. The spear fell from her grasp, clattering uselessly to the ground. The strength she prided herself on vanished.
But not even death allowed her to escape him.
She gasped as awareness slammed back into her, painful and disorienting. She watched in horror as her lifeless body crumpled at his feet, blood pooling around her corpse. He wiped her viscera on his jacket, the motion unceremonious.
Her heart pounded as she found herself standing at the same spot seconds before, her body whole again but trembling with helplessness. Scrambling, she grabbed for her dropped imitation spear, fingers slipping on the slick weapon.
Panic clawed at her insides, the sheer futility of the situation pressing down on her. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, but the sight of her own death replayed in her mind. The Slayer watched her with cold, indifferent eyes, as if she were nothing more than an obstacle to be removed.
Her hands hands trembled as she realized the impossibility had been made possible within this hellish realm. That he was its only god.
She was no longer a fallen celestial warrior, no longer a Fallen Seraph. She was a mortal, facing a man who embodied death itself.
Her mind screamed in silent terror. This wasn't just a defeat; it was an annihilation of everything she believed herself to be. She was a warrior, a Fallen Seraph, and there on his feet was nothing more than a broken, discarded shell at the feet of a monster.
And for the first time since a millennia, she clutched her spear as fear gripped her heart.
Penemue lunged again, a desperate swing with her spear. The Doom Slayer caught it effortlessly, twisting her weapon out of her grasp and sending her sprawling to the ground.
"GHRK--! Ngh..gh…" Agony exploded in her chest as he drove his boot into her ribcage, shattering bones and crushing organs. Her vision blurred as darkness encroached her vision once more. The last thing she saw before blacking out was his cold, unfeeling eyes.
She awoke again, gasping for breath, standing in the same spot the moment she had been transported into. Every nerve screaming in protest as she now saw two of her bodies lying like discarded puppets in his feet.
Penemue's mind raced, the reality of her situation sinking in. There was no escape, no victory here. She was trapped in a cycle of death and rebirth.
She was at his mercy, and he had none to give.
"Why… Why are you doing this?" she managed to choke out.
"To make you see sense," he replied, his eyes never leaving hers.
Those eyes held no quarter. Gray like storm clouds gathering, and in their depths, Penemue glimpsed the abyss of a soul who had spent eons and ensuring no demons ever dare tread beyond Hell. Never the Protector of Balance; just a man waiting to be granted a reason to shatter his chains.
The Fallen Angels had just broken his last restraint, convincing him that the World he'd been assigned to was not Normal.
And as the last chain snapped, what was unleashed was an unstoppable force driven by pure spite and sheer unadulterated rage. A force of a man unbound by the chains of morality or restraint. A force of a damned soul who had stared against the Maker of his Multiversal and all its denizens, and made The Father blink in fear as the Slayer decided to make Him pay for all His mistakes.
A man who had became a force that could not be reasoned with, only endured. With the unyielding determination and the moral impervousness to shatter the shaky pillars that defined their World, and ensure it could hold on and never break once his mission had been completed.
Until that time inevitably arrived, he would stand not as a Custodian, but the Unchained Predator. To rip and tear, until it is done.
Last edited: Friday at 4:14 PM
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check out my glorious Eminence in Shadow shitpost instead
Or this one, the NotToji in DxD
Chapter 4-Extra
"He's a fanatic purifier. He doesn't see the complexities of the world, only his simplistic version of truth:
Black and white. Good and Evil.
To him, shades of gray is a blank canvas waiting to be coated red."
[Anonymous Knight Mentor, Sentinel Faction, Saber Corps]
Click to expand…
Click to shrink…
〖Chapter 4 - Extra〗 ⦕
Spotless ⦖
Penemue's resolve shattered as she neared her fiftieth deaths. Each rebirth blurred into the next, followed with a swift demise. The cragged field was slick with her blood, her very own bodies scattered over the ground, lifeless eyes staring into nothingness. Her own faces twisted in agony.
Kar en Tuk
The disembodied voices whispered in the back of her mind, and despite the language was foreign, she understood it's meaning and significance.
Rip and Tear.
"Stand."
His voice cut through the haze of her torment. He was breaking not just her body, but spirit. And though she couldn't feel exhaustion, the humiliation she endured cut deeper than any blade. Each time she rose, it was an act of defiance, a futile attempt to defy the inevitable.
Penemue's legs wobbled as she forced herself upright, each movement a struggle against the overwhelming disgrace. She reached for her spear, fingers trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps, as she held its point towards him.
She barely had time to grip it before he lunged again.
His blood-soaked fist burst through her chest, caving her ribs and crushing her heart. She fell to the ground, gasping, choking on blood until darkness claimed her, only to spit her back into the nightmare. She sank onto her knees, laying there, her body whole yet her spirit teetered on the edge of oblivion.
Kar En Tuk
But he offered no respite as Gáe Bolg was kicked towards her, clattering in front of her, staring at its master uselessly.
Another command, another death awaited.
"Pick it up."
She rose, barely able to hold the spear, her resolve crumbling. His pitiless gray eyes seared into her soul, stripping away any semblance of hope.
"Why…?" she whispered, her voice a frail echo. "If I have my powers, then-"
"Then this will be pointless."
She snarled and gritted her teeth. "Pointless?! What is it that you want me to see?! Sense?! Where's the sense in all this!?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, gripping her wrist with a force that threatened to shatter bone. She tried to pull away, but his hold was unyielding, an immovable object against her diminishing strength.
"Sense?" He leaned in, his breath cold against her ear. "That what you see when you kill a bunch of kids?"
He flung her aside, her body skidding across the blood-soaked ground. She struggled to stand, her legs weak, her mind a chaotic mess of pain and frustration. She looked up at him, eyes burning with defiance and desperation.
"I know what you did. For a thousand years. Countless other children who understand nothing to this," he continued, his voice a low, menacing growl. "You and your Fallen Angels are evil."
"Evil?! It was necessarr--"
In a blur, at an unnatural speed, he towered against her before his fist slammed upwards into her chin. The last thing she saw was her own headless body sinking into his feet.
Kar En Tuk
"Stand."
She rose again, Gáe Bolg nearly slipping from her grasp as her legs buckled. He was on her in an instant, his hand wrapping around her throat, lifting her off the ground. She kicked and clawed, but his grip was as indomitable as his rage. He squeezed, and her vision went black.
She awoke, gasping. She tried to move, but her limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. She looked up at him, his cold eyes watching her struggle. He'd stripped her of everything but the barest will to continue.
Again, and again, the cycle repeated. Each time, she stood weaker, slower, the spear slipping from her grasp more easily. The corpses bore the marks of his relentless assault, flesh torn and mangled, bones shattered and reformed in a grotesque mockery of life. Another body stacked on her own spear like a macabre totem.
After the sixty-ninth death, she could no longer rise. She lay on the ground, broken and defeated, her spirit a hollow shell. The spear slipped from her fingers, clattering uselessly beside her.
Kar En Tuk
The chorus of the damned Night Sentinels echoed in her head, reminding her of the only future in store for her. To be ripped and torn apart.
"Stand," he ordered, but there was no strength left to obey.
Her crimson eyes, once proud and stoic, now dull and lifeless as she stared up at him. She could no longer summon the will to fight.
The Foreigner loomed over her, and even though tears streaked her cheeks, his face remained impassive.
Penemue realized the true depth of his silence. There would be no end, no mercy. Only the unrelenting force of his will, grinding her spirit into dust.
Her fingers brushed against the spear, but she no longer had the strength to lift it.
And yet, she glared at him, but only for a moment before she looked away in fear. "And what? What do you want me to learn…?"
"You're Watchers, aren't you?" he told her.
His words hit her like a physical blow. This wasn't about her, but about the boy she had deemed unworthy, a weakling to be crushed. She had thought him insignificant, powerless. Now, she was the one on her knees, facing a force she couldn't overcome.
Her anger flared, but it was hollow, a shadow of the rage she once wielded. "I… It was the right thing…"
He shook his head.
She stared at him, the realization dawning painfully slow. She had been the birds of prey, but now she was only the prey, and the taste of her own medicine was bitter.
"… They were too dangerous. Too unstable. The risk they possess outshine their potential…"
"Excuses."
She flinched as he reached down, grabbing her by the collar and lifting her to her feet.
"Pick. Teach them. Or you stay here."
Penemue stood, the spear clutched weakly in her hands, her spirit a broken husk. She saw the truth in his eyes, the lesson he was forcing her to learn. The helplessness, the fear, the relentless power she couldn't hope to match. This was what she had inflicted on others.
She waited for the next blow, knowing that there was no escape from the unrelenting force that had become her tormentor.
"Get it now?" He released her instead.
She did. She understood all too well. And it broke her.
⦕⦖
Having delivered his lecture, Speirs idly put on his Kronii-branded wristwatch and returned to the abandoned church, where time had not passed a single second.
Arla was immediately on his case, slithering through the air as she immediately noticed Penemue's absence. Her tentacles lathered Speirs clean, their movements oddly soothing against his skin, making no sounds despite it lapping around his jacket and jeans like a dozen tiny masseuses working in perfect harmony.
Once he'd been thoroughly cleaned of viscera and gore that wasn't his, Arla prodded. "So, how many times did you kill her before she decided to comply?"
"If you're that curious, you could've just come and see."
"… Do you think I'm stupid?" Arla scoffed, genuinely offended. "I do that, and you'll never let me leave either." Not until she became a nervous wreck around him and joined his stupid Order, like what he'd done to Shub-Niggurath.
The Slayer didn't say anything. But Nyarlathotep hoped he would at least deny it. As tempting as it was to see him rend sanity apart, especially once as unflappable as that particular Crow, the Crawling Chaos preferred her own sanity intact, thank you very much.
"Where's she?"
"Rehabilitating," Speirs said, his tone giving nothing away. But he told her enough. By that, he meant he'd sent that Penny woman to his Custodian's secret club.
Arla scoffed, unimpressed. "For someone supposedly without mercy, you sound merciful enough to spare that broad."
"The Grigori has its uses. Through her, they'll learn to play nicer," Speirs replied evenly. "She's seen enough to understand. If she hasn't, I'll drag her back again. Her and her entire flock."
"Oh my… perhaps I was wrong," Arla chuckled, the sound like a chorus of whispers. "You're a real piece of work, you know that? I know what frayed minds looks like. One glimpse into the eyes of those you spared as a warning, and I know they'll never be the same again."
"They better." Speirs didn't bother to stay, having said his daily word quota. His thoughts were seemingly elsewhere as he walked out of the room. Always one to leave without lingering, that guy.
Shrugging, Arla glanced over at the unconscious Fallen Angel, still sprawled on the ground. She contemplated the best way to make use of this discarded whelp.
"Hmm… what to do, what to do…" Arla mused. By walking away, it meant this slutty Crow was not considered important to him nor this World's safety.
A thought struck her, and a wicked grin crossed her lips. Maybe she could give her a new purpose.
A little project of her own… Arla's invisible tentacles writhed with excitement at the prospect. She could turn this Fallen Angel into an agent, someone who would work for her and revere her as their patron god. It was the perfect opportunity to expand her influence and gather more followers, enough until she no longer had to deliver sacrifices to the Blind Idiot God. She had unknowingly started that project with Yellowhair-whatsherface-Mittelt.
Arla pondered the name for her new ventures. A waste management company for the Custodians, catering to the darker corners of existence, where blood stains and ectoplasmic residue were a common sight. It would be a service like no other, a blend of the mundane and the supernatural, all under her subtle influence.
"Dark Dusting… no, too obvious," she muttered to herself, hovering back and forth in thought while Raynare was still out for the count. "Shadow Shine… perhaps too poetic. Abyssal Abodes… too pretentious."
Her thoughts continued to whirl, each name discarded as quickly as it popped into existence. "Spectral Dusters? No, sounds like a ghost hunting squad."
She tapped a dark appendage against her smooth chin, considering her options. "'Eldritch Cleaners'? Too on the nose. 'Whispering Shadows Cleaning Services'? A mouthful."
Arla paused, her eyes gleaming. "The Sweeper of Stars?" she murmured, testing the name on her metaphorical tongue. It had a certain ring to it, a blend of mystique and menace that suited her intentions perfectly. And, it was a nod to her other nickname.
The Stalker Among Stars.
With a satisfied nod, she decided on the name, envisioning it emblazoned on a sign. Two brooms over a dying sun.
"Yes, that will do nicely."
She turned her attention back to Raynare, the unwitting or perhaps willing recruit to her cleaning cult.
Wrenching Raynare's consciousness from its slumber, Arla allowed a titter seeped through her lips as she regarded the Crow.
"Who…" Raynare croaked, the edges of her vision consumed by shadows that she could only see what Nyarlathotep allowed her to see. And what she saw was a woman, with thousands of dark appendages stretching over the room.
"What the hell are you…?"
The Crawling Chaos smiled. "Your new Mistress."
And so, the Sweeper of Stars was born, a tale of dark deeds and sparkling cleanliness, where even the darkest corners of Realities would shine bright regardless the mess left behind by Custodians (majorly Reapers)-through Eldritch spick and span.
Last edited: Friday at 6:26 PM
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check out my glorious Eminence in Shadow shitpost instead
Or this one, the NotToji in DxD
Chapter 5
〖 Chapter 5 〗 ⦕
What Breaks a Custodian ⦖
In the heart of a realm where the echoes of clanking armor mingled with the whir of advanced machinery, within the Headquarter of the Order of the Custodian, there lied an assembly hall that defies the constraints of time. A grand chamber where the noble traditions of knighthood were enlivened by the pulsing veins of futuristic innovation.
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The hall's vast expanse was crowned by a ceiling that arches skyward, its golden gothic ribs interlacing with the precision of a spacecraft's framework. The air was alive with a soft hum, perhaps the murmuring of ancient spirits or the gentle purring of hidden engines. Light filtered through a grand oculus, casting luminance that danced upon the polished floor, a checkerboard for giants.
Banners draped the walls, red and proud, embroidered with the golden shield Aegis of Champions, fluttering as though whispering secrets of valorous deeds and cosmic voyages.
Sentinels logo and badge
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At the chamber's end, standing on its podium, a figure commanded the attention of the newly recruited Custodians, backlit by a glow that seems neither entirely of this world nor the next. It was here, in this confluence of eras, where one might witness a knight sheathing a laser sword or a cyborg bowing to a former queen. It was here, in the great assembly hall, where Sentinels were born. And where the leader of the Sentinels, the Archon, was in the middle of giving her welcoming and inspiring speech.
she's so fukin majestic wtf
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"… The Slayer bears no insignia," she continued, and her voice resonated across the spacious room. "No uniforms, yet his presence looms large in our minds. The only Custodian who, instead of saving, doomed his own Reality instead. Trillions condemned into oblivion so that the Auditors would only have ashes to collect.
"Do not resent him for the lives and future burned that day, but for what he symbolizes: the abandonment of compassion and reason, the obliteration of what makes one's soul, every piece of humanity burned by a relentless pursuit of vengeance against the Auditors. Not excluding the very Primordials we believe in, who've tended the gardens of our Worlds, nurtured it full of life and love.
"To emulate him is to forsake all that defines our humanity and our purpose as Custodians.
"But you will not become him.
"Yes, you are yet to be a Sentinel. You are Squires, Recruits, Trainees - these are not mere titles, but insignia of your potential, your duty to uphold the tenets of compassion, wisdom, and courage. You are the hope of our Order, the torchbearers who will guide lost souls, protect the innocent, and maintain the balance between realms.
"There are no souls not worth saving. Your duty is clear; protect the weak, persevere against the temptation of spite, bring light to those who can't stand against the dark so they may rise and prevail. Remember that even in the darkest of times, a single act of kindness can illuminate the path to a brighter future. It is not the darkness that defines us, but the light we bring to it.
"Protect. Persevere. Prevail.
"Strive to embody these ideals that set us apart, that make us Custodians in the truest sense. Hold on to these words, hold them even if they burn your hands. Embrace this role with pride, with humility, and with an unwavering heart.
"Do this, and you honor not only yourself, but all those who have come before you, and all those who will come after."
The Archon's steady and resolute voice resonated through the assembly, her words embedding themselves in the hearts of the new Recruits. They stood a little taller, their gazes steady, their resolve solidified. They were ready to embrace their roles, to carry forward the legacy of the Sentinels, and to uphold the balance that was their sacred duty.
And that moment was when Florence Nightingale learnt of the Doom Slayer's existence, and the marks he had left during his years of service - for when the leader of the Sentinel Faction used him as an example, she couldn't resist the stir of curiosity.
What kind of human would be so notorious, so fearsome, that even the Archon used him as a cautionary tale? Nightingale had always admired the resolve and tenacity required of a Sentinel, but the Slayer represented something far darker, a path she had never considered.
Once the assembly was finished and the former King of Knights, now Archon of the Sentinel, stepped off the grand podium after a thundering applause, and instead of seeking her fellow assigned squad members, Nightingale sought out to slake her curiosity. She searched for those who might know more, to the Sentinels who had been granted the honor of a Knight Mentor-three ranks higher than a Sentinel, whose main purpose was to train a group of five Knights, who would train a group of five Guardians, who would oversee the training of Sentinels and a handful of Recruits.
The conversations were hushed, eyes darting nervously when his name was mentioned. Whispers spoke of a man who had forsaken everything, consumed by a relentless drive for vengeance, who had turned his wrath on even those he once swore to protect. But rumors wouldn't do for her. She was given sight of the truth; that there existed other Worlds than hers. And she was here to discover more of this truth and add it to her knowledge.
Nightingale approached one of the Vanguard who was leaning against a pillar. She knew he was part of the Rider Corps, basing from his golden, diamond-shaped pin alone; a horsehead set against a wheel.
The Vanguard was a stern-looking man encased in silver armor, with short, spiky green hair that looked like frozen blades of grass except for a peculiar bang that draped over the left side of his face. Upon closer inspection, she noticed the bird featured in his armorpiece.
He probably had his own legends as well, and she might have read about him if she was able to spend more time in the Archives.
Nonetheless, the Rider of Valor Company seemed approachable enough.
"Master Achilles, may I borrow your time for a moment?"
"Hm?" Achilles flitted his sharp, orange, hawk-like eyes towards her, seeing the leaf-emblem on her crimson uniform signifying her status as a Recruit. He allowed a smirk as he noted she didn't immediately shy away from him despite the disparity in their ranks.
He always favored the braver ones.
Acheeles
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"Sure," he said, his voice smooth. "What d'you need, Greenie?"
"I'd like to know more about the Doom Slayer," Nightingale asked, her voice steady despite the trepidation she felt.
The seemingly-young Sentinel's eyes darkened. "The Doom Slayer," he began, "he's… not like us. In fact, I don't think that guy sees himself as a Custodian either." He snorted gently. "Hell, he's one of the few people whose history is inaccessible. I think that says a lot-only those who aren't proud of their deeds have their records empty. But don't take my words as truth; I don't know much about him, much like anybody else."
Achilles took a moment to assess the Recruit's look; contemplative, disbelief and confusion mixing all at once.
"Just don't tick him off and you'll be fine, Greenie," he said then. "He's hard to miss. Big, grumpy, speaks in grunts, and the only person here that doesn't have any flashy badges on him."
Nightingale furrowed her brow. "Is he not a Reaper?"
Achilles shrugged again. "Nah… those sneaky Deathworlders wear their badges as proud as us." He flashed her a confident grin. "Any of them giving you a hard time; you know who to look."
"I'll keep that in mind, Master Achilles," Nightingale nodded politely. As a former noble before she chose the path of nursing in the heat of the battlefield, she hadn't completely forgotten her manners. But she wasn't concerned with scorn born from rivalry. Those things, she considered, without putting herself above others, were beneath her.
Instead she focused on her interest, "The Archon said he destroyed his own Reality? Why would he do such a thing?"
"Who knows?" His pale green bang swayed as Achilles shook his head, shrugging with both hands. "The guy's been here longer than I am. His Reality is apparently one among the first. Every time he completes an assignment, there's at least five new rumors about him."
He studied her, and could easily tell the Greenie was not at all satisfied with his answer. With a tiny smirk, Achilles decided to entertain her, "But the most famous one, or infamous… is that he's the guy who decided if he can't have his Multiverse, then the Auditors can't have it."
Her scarlet eyes widened slightly at the revelation. "… He destroyed his own Multiverse… willingly?"
"That's the story that's been passed around. Before you got here, and before me." Achilles nodded, a somber expression crossing his features. "They say he did it to deny the Auditors the satisfaction of claiming it, to deny them the Souls of his people. Some say it was a final act of defiance, others say it was an act of mercy, sparing his people from a worse fate."
The weight of the Doom Slayer's actions hung heavy in the air between them. Florence couldn't fathom the kind of resolve, the kind of sacrifice, it would take to make such a decision.
"He's the kind that writes history books," Achilles finished, "just not the good kind."
"… I see…" she muttered. If Achilles was attempting to dissuade her from this Slayer, he was failing miserably. It only made her heart bled with curiosity. "Thank you, Master Achilles."
"Don't mention it," Achilles nodded coolly, not because he thought he was cool, but he wanted to be an aspiration for these greenhorns. He'd let her make her own call though.
As she turned to leave, Achilles called out to her. "Hey, Greenie, watch your back out there. Some Realities are a lot darker than you think."
With those words echoing in her mind, Florence Nightingale left the Vanguard to his thoughts, her curiosity about the Doom Slayer growing with each step she took.
After that, she kept trying to dig more information about him without allowing her fascination to jeopardize her training nor responsibilities, yet her efforts yielded little more than what she already knew. Every attempt led to dead ends or cryptic warnings from her Sentinel elders, and even those from the Reaper Faction shared the same sentiment, though their responses were often sharper and more like a warning rather than caution.
She never let it bother her. Rude or polite, Reapers or Sentinels, they were all Custodians with the same goal, and her objective was to ensure these brave souls could go out there, and save the Worlds she was ill-suited to rescue.
For months, she let her duty take over her fascination. After all, she had almost never seen him. As many traditional Reapers, The Slayer did not see the necessity of a break. Once he completed his mission, he would seek out the next, and his stay at the HQ never lasted more than half an hour. Which, of course, gave birth to more rumors. As abundant as they were absurd.
Like he didn't live in the HQ like every other Custodians, but at a some sort of floating rock with a castle on it called the Fortress of Doom. Some claimed he was allergic to bureaucracy, breaking out in hives at the mere sight of paperwork. Others claimed he had a hotline to the Auditors themselves and was constantly on call to deal with interdimensional crises. Another theory posited that he was simply too intense for the rec room, his presence causing coffee cups to shatter and the VR machines to spontaneously combust.
A rumor suggested that the Slayer had a secret lover, a forbidden romance that drew him away from his duties to steal moments of passion in the shadows. With Jeanne d'Arc, out of all Custodians. A Sentinel and not just any Sentinel, but a Paladin - two ranks lower than the Archon Artoria Pendragon herself.
The reason of this audacious rumor? Simply because they were once spotted baking bread in the bakery, the fact she knew The Slayer liked guitars, the fact Jeanne had an action figure of The Slayer in his former Praetor Armor 2.0 in her room, the fact Jeanne was the only Sentinel who could hold eye contact with him, let alone conversed with him, and the fact The Slayer allowed only Jeanne d'Arc to enter his private quarters. It was also believed it was The Slayer himself who dragged Jeanne d'Arc from her pyre, and unleashed all hell to her captors for their transgression.
"Wh-Vhat are you presuming?! We're good friends!" so said Jeanne. "He trusts me to feed his pet when he's away, that's all!"
we're just friends istg
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This theory was quickly dismissed as outlandish by most, even denied by the Maiden of Orleans herself (her flushed face and stammered reply made it difficult to believe, but Nightingale could see Jeanne was only flustered). Nonetheless, it lingered in the minds of pretty much every Custodians, adding a hint of scandal to the Slayer's already legendary status. Perhaps they wanted to humanize The Slayer. That they didn't want to fear him.
One particularly imaginative rumor suggested that the Slayer had a menagerie of demonic pets that required his constant attention, explaining his frequent departures to tend to their needs.
That one was debunked. He only had one pet, and it was a coney rabbit named Daisy.
She learned of the truth when she overheard a group of Reapers discussing him and another man, Jardani Jovanovich. The Reapers, as per usual, shooed her away. She veered off not out of fear, but out of respect.
Of course, there were more mundane explanations offered as well. The Slayer simply had better things to do than waste time at the HQ. That as long as there existed evil out there to be slain, The Slayer would never rest.
The moment she finally caught a glimpse of him was during the first months of her training. A bearded man in black jacket, without a badge and a permanent glower, gruffly marching down the atrium, his intense gaze fixed ahead. Sentinels and Reapers alike gave him a wide berth, their eyes averting and bodies unconsciously moving aside to make way for him.
Nameless One, Hellwalker, Doom Marine, Scourge of Hell, The Last Argenta, Beast of Beasts, The Only Thing To Fear, He-Who-Rips-and-Tears, Chainsawman, Mr. Grumpy, and most famously The Slayer-a title that encapsulated his essence, his purpose, his very being. A relentless force of vengeance, a harbinger of doom for those who dared to threaten peace.
So many names, so many titles. Some inspiring, some dread-inducing. Some hinted at a portion of his deeds, while some like "John Doom" and "Doom Guy" sounded almost ridiculous in her ears.
Florence had to wonder what lay behind each of these titles. If he wore them like badges of honor, symbols of his defiance against the darkness. If they were burdens he carried, reminders of the countless lives he had taken in his quest for retribution.
Perhaps, like how she saw her own title of "Angel of Crimea", they meant nothing to him at all, mere words spoken by those who feared him, revered him, or sought to understand him.
Why, she had thought, or rather, what made him impossible to be understood?
Yet when she wanted to reach him out and ask him all sorts of questions, she was halted into inaction.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched him closing in, her legs poised to approach, the words bouncing in her lips, yet died in her throat. There was something about him, something primal and unsettling, a sense of danger that she couldn't quite place.
Despite the warnings, Nightingale couldn't tear her gaze away from him. There was a magnetism to his presence, a silent call that beckoned her closer even as her instincts screamed at her to stay away.
fuck you lookin at
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But as quickly as he had appeared, The Slayer walked past her, leaving her with more questions than answers. And as she exhaled a shaky breath, and though she longed to pursue him, to unravel the mysteries that surrounded him, she couldn't shake the feeling of dread that lingered.
For nearly a year, The Slayer remained a mysterious figure, a legend among Custodians enshrouded in rumors and speculation. Nightingale's curiosity gnawed at her, fueling a relentless pursuit of truth that bordered on obsession.
Nightingale regretted not reaching out to him, not because her questions were killing her, but because she was so frozen by uncertainty like everyone else. She was a nurse, trained to understand the intricacies of the human condition, to see beyond the surface and delve into the depths of the soul.
She had tended to the wounded, the broken, and the lost, offering comfort and solace in their darkest hours. She had seen the fear in their eyes, the pain etched into their faces, and she had always strived to ease their suffering, to bring them back from the brink of despair. Every soul was a patient in need of care, every heartache a wound in need of healing.
She believed that to truly heal someone, you must first understand them, understand their pain, their fears, their hopes. She believed that in understanding The Slayer, she could better understand all beings.
So when she saw a post requesting for an Assistant by the man himself, she took it in a heartbeat.
⦕⦖
In the present day, Nightingale strolled by the Kuoh Town's park, accompanied by the peculiar offworld Kitsune known as Kunou. It was a bright, sunny day, the gentle breeze rustling through the trees as children played on the swings and slides nearby.
She felt strange not donning her standard uniform, instead having to wear a black dress under a brown coat. Though she would've preferred to stay unseen, it was quite difficult when she was a foreigner from the local's perspective, and she couldn't simply let a bright spirit like Kunou be caged in Speirs' house.
CASUAL NURSE CASUAL NURSE
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Children needed to develop their bones and nature. If The Slayer decided against it, then she was fully prepared for the consequences.
Kunou scampered ahead, her fluffy tail kept hidden in a veil of invisibility as she chased after a butterfly that flitted through the air. Nightingale smiled fondly, watching the playful antics of the young fox. Though she had forsaken the idea of bearing a child when she was a battlefield nurse, and more so as she had taken the Custodian oath, Nightingale had grown quite attached to the little creature.
So pure and jovial. She wanted to ask what made The Slayer requested for an adoption, but, as per usual, she didn't dare to.
As they walked through the park, Nightingale took a moment to marvel at the peace of the world around her. Much better than her last assignment, she could tell that much. When they reached the park's center and main attraction; the water fountain, Kunou bounded ahead.
Nightingale followed at a more leisurely pace, content to simply enjoy the tranquility of the moment.
Reaching the fountain, Kunou's eyes sparkled with delight as she ran her hand across the falling water.
"Careful now, Kunou," she called gently. "Don't get too close to the water."
"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" she chirped with her bubbly voice. "I just want to see the fishies!"
Chuckling, Nightingale joined her by the fountain, watching as Kunou peered into the water, her eyes wide with wonder. Nightingale crouched down beside her, keeping a careful eye on the curious fox.
"Look, Auntie," Kunou said eagerly. "Lots of fishies! Like Mommy used to say and… and they all look very… pretty and…" Kunou swallowed. "… yummy."
Oh dear. Human-looking as she might be without the vulpine traits, the kit was quite beastly.
"Would you like to play on the swing?" So Nightingale said.
Kunou's sunset eyes lit up. "Swings? Where?"
Nightingale smiled softly, a rare expression that graced her features. "Yes, swings. Come, Kunou."
She led the way to the playground, Kunou's small hand in hers but only for a split second as Kunou eagerly ran towards the swings. Nightingale gently pushed her, finding it weird that here she was, a nurse and the Doom Slayer's assistant, yet she was being healed by the young fox girl's giggles and squeals of joy.
"Swing and play! Until it is dawn!"
As Kunou swung and played, Nightingale's thoughts inevitably wandered to The Slayer. What was he doing at this moment? Instilling fear on both Fallen Angels and Devils? Perhaps resting after a long day of duty? She hoped he was well.
Lost in her thoughts, Nightingale's gaze wandered to the sky, the sun casting a warm glow over the park, and felt a sense of peace wash over her.
Nightingale's attention was drawn from her thoughts as she felt it-a surge of Mana, a sensation she was keenly attuned to from her training in the Order of Custodian. So when she suddenly felt a surge of Divine Mana, a radiant energy that grazed her skin, Nightingale stood up.
It seemed different, more intense, more focused.
Her scarlet eyes scanned the surroundings, and her gaze set upon a figure approaching from the distance, surrounded by a faint Aura of radiance. A white veil over long and straight blonde hair, doe-like green eyes, dark green nun outfit-the Asia Argento matched Nyx's portrait of her. Magical-wise, Nightingale hadn't expected to encounter such a pure soul, not ever since meeting Jeanne d'Arc.
Other than the Maid of Orleans, there was not a single Custodian, not a single adult resident of this World, who possessed the purity that matched Asia Argento.
It was an odd thing, to be able to gauge the untaintedness of a Soul, but it came with the job. Made it easier for Sentinels to focus their efforts in keeping the light shine, while the Reapers ensured the protection of these pure Souls from the shadows.
Nightingale watched with interest as Asia drew closer, she knew better than to impulsively approach a Key Character without first discussing it with Speirs. One little misstep, and she might just ruin whatever fate had for these people.
However, Asia Argento looked a little… distressed.
Well, that was too strong of a description.
'Lost' would be more appropriate.
"Oh no…" She overheard the girl mumbling to herself. "… Where am I? This doesn't look like a church…"
Judging from the movements of her lips that didn't quite match the words that left it, she must be talking in 'Italian'. Or in her world of origin, Florentian.
Her senses were yanked away when she realized Kunou was swinging and giggling a little bit too intensely. Nightingale felt her heart jump into her throat when the Kitsune let go of the chains, leaping high into the air. Alert, Nightingale quickly moved to catch her as several onlookers gasped.
But Kunou was extremely nimble, extremely light, and extremely crafty for her age, and the Kitsune managed to twist mid-air, landing gracefully on Nightingale's shoulders instead of crashing to the ground. The Nurse caught Kunou mid-air with a gentle spin, much to the relief of the onlookers, including Asia who happened to see the spectacle.
Nightingale couldn't help but smile at the fox's antics, even as she adjusted her stance to accommodate the unexpected passenger.
"Are you alright, Kunou?" Nightingale asked, her voice calmer and soothing.
Kunou grinned mischievously. "That was fun! Can I do it again?"
Nightingale smiled, her stoic demeanor cracking just a little. "Perhaps a little less enthusiastically next time. We don't want other people to worry about you."
"Eh… but why? Kunou's fine. She's strong. Like Uncle!"
"I know, sweetling," she whispered as she set Kunou down. "But accidents can happen, and I don't think Spe- Uncle will be very happy if you get hurt."
The most bizarre experience she had so far was perhaps calling the Doom Slayer with 'Uncle'.
Kunou pouted, but it seemed she had gotten the message across as the Kitsune whined her reply, "Kaaay… Squirrel? Squirrel!"
"Oh!" Nightingale gasped as Kunou rushed away. "Goodness… There she goes…"
How did the Kit act around The Slayer? One had to wonder.
As Kunou scampered off towards the sand pit, successfully swaying the local children who were clearly younger than her and clearly impressed by her stunt, Nightingale's attention returned to Asia.
Who had chosen to approach her.
Nightingale held her breath. She didn't want to cause Asia's path astray. Even something as menial as pointing her to the right direction could lead the exiled sister astray from her destined path.
Asia Who Didn't Trip
[img: data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7]
"Excuse me." Asia's voice was as soft as a flute, and the blonde girl fiddled with her small journal, scribbled with Japanese phrases. "U-Umn… I'm… lost. C-Can you speak English…?"
"Yes," Nightingale replied. "How can I help?"
Asia's green eyes widened in relief as she looked up. "Oh! Thank goodness- um, yes, please. I seem to have lost my way. I was looking for a church… But I can't seem to find any here…"
There shouldn't be any church in Kuoh Town, at least none that was active. Unless the HoloMap for some reason didn't update, which was highly unlikely. The Order always scanned the layout of the whole Realms before sending a Custodian.
"And um… my… my… my erm- il accompagnatore erm…"
"Your escort?"
"Yes!" Asia breathed, eyes filled with wonder. "You know Italian as well?!"
"Only a little," Nightingale lied carefully. Was this a mistake? She couldn't tell. She only had three assignments to her name, and all three had been violent Worlds.
"Umm…" Asia fidgeted as she placed her journal into her brown sling pouch. The Holy Maiden was as tall as her nose, Nightingale noticed. Quite short. The Nurse inside wanted to ask her if she ate well. "So umm… A-About the church…?"
Nightingale snapped into attention. "Yes, I'm… afraid I'm not certain- sure where it is. I haven't stayed in this town for very long." Asia visibly wilted. Her similarity to a fawn kept on growing; skittish and shy. "… Perhaps I might have seen your 'escort' instead? What do they look like?"
"Oh um…"
While Nightingale had yet to completely understand the millions shades of human emotions, fear and hesitation, however, was one she was most familiar with. Seen it in the eyes of many soldiers who didn't want to let down their brethren, yet too scared to return to combat.
"Yes?" she prodded.
"They're um…" Asia mumbled. "… I… I don't know what they look like."
A clear lie. Motive? Uncertain.
"Perhaps you can ask one of the locals," Nightingale said instead. "You'll find they are quite willing to help. Don't be scared. They're friendly people."
Hearing that, Asia gathered her courage and took a deep breath. "O-Okay! Thank you very much, um… Miss…"
"Night… Florence," she decided.
"Miss Night Florence?
"Just Florence."
"Oh! Like the city in Tuscany? That's a pretty name…" Asia beamed sweetly. "I'm Asia Argento. A blessing to meet you, Ms. Florence."
"Likewise," she replied, managing to smile without forcing. "Shall we?"
First time she'd gathered there was a city with her name. Nightingale vowed to study this World deeper tonight-a single night didn't even scratch the surface. The Three Major Factions, in which the Fallen Angel was the weakest and least numerous and Devils, ironically, the most prosperous ever since the Great War.
The Kingdom of Heaven led by the Archangel Michael, aimed to maintain order and protect humanity, and yet their dwindling influence had been felt since their 'God' fell in the Great War, with their Sacred Gear System poorly maintained. The Grigori Research Institute directed by Azazel operated from the shadows, often with ambiguous motives. The Underworld Empire, dictated under Four Great Satans, housed various Clans who sought to expand their influence and power now that they had claimed a majority of Hell.
The Gremory Clan, with Rias Gremory as its heiress, was particularly prominent in Kuoh Town.
She had to familiarize herself with key individuals. The Devils of Kuoh Academy, Rias Gremory and Sona Sitri, especially Rias Gremory, were central figures as the town's Overseers. They operated within a delicate political landscape, balancing their duties as students with their responsibilities as Devil nobility.
She'd also deeply studied the perils associated with Hyoudou Issei, a human with a particularly potent Sacred Gear, the Boosted Gear. His potential impact on the factions' balance of power was something she needed to monitor closely.
But that was not all. Various Sacred Gears, the dwindling Pantheons, the elusive Yōkai, the grudging Vampires, various supernatural beings made this world a complex web of power dynamics and hidden agendas.
And she could not help but wonder-how would The Slayer act? She wished he'd trust her, but even she knew, compared to him, she was a nobody. But it wouldn't dissuade her from her cause.
"Miss Florence?" Asia's voice pulled her from her thoughts. The Holy Maiden herself seemed plagued with her own thoughts as she gingerly asked, "Umm… Do you think I'll find my way back?"
Nightingale sensed Asia's underlying need for a reaffirmation, even from a stranger.
So she nodded. "I'm certain you will. Just take your time and ask for help if you need it. This town might seem confusing at first, but you'll get used to it."
Asia's gratitude was evident in her eyes. "Thank you, Miss Florence. You've been very kind. I think I'll be fine now! I… think…" Her confidence wilted, but she quickly straightened her posture. "I-I don't want to trouble you and your daughter any further."
Nightingale's scarlet red eyes met Asia's pristine greens, and she felt a pang of… something. Sadness and happiness? For the young nun's purity and innocence, which were rare qualities in this World as it was in other Worlds than this.
"Stay safe, Asia," Nightingale told her. "I hope we meet again."
The girl looked almost touched. "M-Me too!"
Once the Holy Maiden walked a little straighter and stood a little taller, Nightingale watched her for a moment as she approached a mother and her baby. Perhaps her maternal instincts winning over, the mother patiently listened to Asia's broken Japanese, offering directions with a smile. Satisfied that Asia would be alright, Nightingale swiftly sent a message to The Slayer regarding the Holy Maiden's arrival, before returning her attention back to Kunou.
The Kitsune kit was busy demonstrating her nimbleness to a group of younger children, climbing up the jungle gym and hopping from one platform to another with ease. The children around her were now giggling and clapping, their nearby mother tittering to themselves as they recorded the scenery before them.
Nightingale's hardened heart warmed at the sight. Moments like these reminded her of the importance of her mission. Protecting the innocent, ensuring their laughter and joy could continue uninterrupted-that was worth every effort.
Whatever dark force lurked beneath this World, she hoped this World, or at the very least, this small Town of Kuoh may continue to prosper in peace. She acknowledged The Slayer was an unstoppable force, a Custodian of unmatched might and unbending will. The storm after the calm.
But if there was a way she could assist him in maintaining the balance of this World, she would do so without hesitation, even if it meant aiding him in ways she never imagined.
And, if possible, should he allow it, to bring a touch of humanity and care to his relentless ways.
For now though, Nightingale allowed herself to enjoy this moment of tranquility, to savor the simple joy of watching a child play and share her own joy with others.
Because deep down, she knew this moment would not last forever.
Otherwise The Slayer wouldn't have been assigned here in the first place.
As Kunou continued her antics, captivating both parents and children alike by her sunny spirit, Nightingale kept a watchful eye. Maintaining this facade of normalcy was crucial, not just for Kunou's sake but for everyone around them. The people here deserved their quiet moments, fleeting as it might.
The alert on Nightingale's phone shattered the tranquility of the moment like a stone through glass.
New information regarding the Key Characters' Destiny. Sent directly by an Archivist who was aided by Nyx's Fateweavers. Due to the hundreds of Custodians in active duty, scattered across Worlds and Universes, not even the Moirai or the Fateweavers were able to monitor every single individual's Destiny at all times.
The words blurred before her eyes, but their meaning seared into her mind with a cold, chilling clarity. Her heart sank.
Asia Argento was to die and be reborn again as a Reincarnated Devil.
Nightingale stood still, her phone clutched tightly in her hand, her eyes frozen at the text, the knowledge pressing down on her like a cloak of lead. She scrolled through the details of the report, and yet each word was another dagger to her heart.
For the first time after that experience as Mr. Wick's Assistant, Nightingale felt a sense of overwhelming helplessness.
To prevent Asia's Destiny from being fulfilled would mean tearing the very fabric of the Universe itself, risking the stability of the entire World in the process.
Nightingale's mind raced with questions, doubts, and fears. Was there no way to spare Asia from this Fate? Was she destined to become a Reincarnated Devil? And if so, what did that mean for Nightingale herself? Would she be forced to witness the transformation, to stand by and watch as Asia's Soul was twisted and corrupted?
She upheld an oath, dedicating her life to protecting others, to preserve their light, to preserve their hope. But how could she do that now, knowing that she was powerless to change the course of Destiny?
She had always known that being a Custodian came with its share of burdens, but this… this was different. The weight of knowing the fates of others and being unable to interfere. The burden of knowing the future, of understanding the consequences of her actions and inactions.
This was the cruel reality of their existence as Custodians, that no matter how, they could not alter the course completely. This, she realized, was why the Sentinels were trained both body and soul, to endure this harsh truth. Why the Archon instructed to keep hold of those values, because right now, Nightingale felt those words searing every fibre of her being.
It was a somber realization, sobering in its implications.
Nightingale finally comprehended why Reapers preferred to be assigned to Death Worlds, why Sentinels hoped for Worlds without Key Characters. There, the lines were clear, the choices straightforward. She saw now why some Custodians, especially the most experienced ones, carried a hollow look in their eyes, as though they'd comitted something they couldn't forgive themselves, no matter necessary.
As she stood there, lost in thought, Nightingale asked about her own future.
Asia was her first, and certainly far from being the last.
The question was; how long could Nightingale last?
Would she become like those seasoned Custodians, carrying a hollow guilt in their eyes? Living while knowing they could've changed the outcome? Would the weight of her responsibilities crush her spirit, hollow her humanity, shatter her ideals, leaving behind a mere shell of the person she once was?
Last edited: Thursday at 11:58 AM
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check out my glorious Eminence in Shadow shitpost instead
Or this one, the NotToji in DxD
Chapter 6.1
Gonna be posting bite-sized chapters for more frequent updates, hope ye don't mind!
"So you walk eternally through the Shadow Realms, standing against Evil where all others falter.
May your thirst for retribution never quench, may the blood on your sword never dry,
and may we never need you again."
[ Corrax Entry 7:17 ]
Click to expand…
Click to shrink…
〖 Chapter 6.1 〗 ⦕
The Eternal Crusader ⦖
Speirs' phone buzzed just as he reached for the ignition of his 'metal steed.' A text from the "Nurse/Foxsitter" blinked on the screen.
'Asia Argento has arrived in Kuoh Town. Current location: Kuoh Town Park. She's looking for a church.'
A slight quirk of his eyebrows, and he tossed a sidelong glance towards the only building that could even remotely pass as a church, which was already under the thumb of the Fallen Angels. He wasn't surprised they had already wrapped their grabby hands around the supposed 'Holy Priestess', already circling like vultures over fresh carrion.
That Gothic Imp spilled plenty.
'Keep her there.' so he replied.
Speirs scoffed as he shoved his phone back, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface like a dormant volcano. He had rolled his eyes when he delved into this Reality's history of Kingdom of Heaven overnight, and the absurdity of the situation almost made him laugh.
Almost.
In his eyes, the whole system of Sacred Gears was a joke, a malfunctioning mess created by bumbling celestial bureaucrats who couldn't manage their own divine laundry, let alone guide the lives of mortals. The Archangel Michael and his Seraphim cronies were supposed to be the custodians of these artifacts, yet they seemed content to let chaos reign while they twiddle their thumbs in the celestial waiting room.
Their possessors, if not Christians, were often left in the dark, fumbling their way through life like blind mice doused with oil in a fiery maze, where both Devils and Fallen Angels lurked in the corners.
Millennia to get their holy shit together, and this was the best they could come up with? It would be laughable if it wasn't so infuriating.
As for their malfunctioning System, he had his own solution: turn it off and on again. If it still didn't work, destroy it. Unfixable things were to be discarded, not kept.
'Babysitting duty,' he thought with mild frustration as he shoved the phone back to his pocket. 'Again.'
A Holy Priestess to un-exile. It didn't matter if he hadn't met the girl, it didn't matter if she was a 'Key Character' or not. The girl was innocent, and she was good. Plain and simple. Had he arrived in time, he would've freed Hyoudou Issei from the Devils' hands as well. Overtime be damned-he could deal with it. Got plenty of time to kill as an immortal.
His plan? Find the girl, a quick trip to the Vatican, then maybe knock a few halos crooked.
Speirs was just about to ride into action when another notification interrupted him, causing him to reluctantly fish out his phone once more, wasting more of his time. Enough that Arla had started floating over his shoulder like a stubborn wraith.
'heya doom guy, bad news :c'
The message, from "S. Novella," foretold the fate of the Holy Priestess, destined to die and be reborn as a Devil.
Speirs snorted, unimpressed by Fate's ironic sense of humor, and pocketed his phone without missing a beat.
"A pristine soul, destined for damnation. Fate's a lame bitch, but its sense of irony never fails to amuse," Arla whirred, floating over his shoulder like a ghostly backseat driver. "So, what's your play, Custodian? Will you let her fry, or will you add another Assignment to your mountain of obligations-"
Speirs silenced Arla's prattle with the roar of his engine, drowning out her words as he revved the bike and tore away from the scene, leaving the Eldritch God behind in a cloud of dust and disbelief.
"Tsk. Ignorant brute…" Arla grumbled, sinking into her shadowy realm with a disdainful huff. "You could've at least let me finish my sentence."
He wasn't listening. For cases like this, his decisions were easily made.
Fate and Destiny were about as reliable as a wet paper bag in a hurricane, and he had long since decided it was stupid, and they both could take it in their prophetic ass.
As his bike thundered through the forest, matching his irritation with its growl, Speirs reflected on the sorry state of the Three Major Factions. The Angels were incompetent, the Fallens' bright idea was to kill any Sacred Gear wielder who might destroy a city with a sneeze, and the Devils with their Evil Pieces, trying to catch them all like some demented collector game. Like that one monster-catching game Jenny showed him--what was it?
Whatever. It was something.
No wonder this Reality was a gigantic circus.
The state of the Three Major Factions was enough to make Speirs want to roll his eyes and ride off into the sunset. And if he had to hear one more excuse or some 'Grand Plan', he might lose it. The idea of turning both Hell and Heaven off and on again seemed more appealing by the minute. Destroying it didn't sound too bad either-and while he wanted to bury them all, destabilizing their Reality wasn't on his to-do list.
So he couldn't. Not when there were innocent lives at stake, caught in the crossfire of celestial idiocy and infernal greed. He would play their game, for now. They were all just pieces on the board, and he was more than ready to knock them off.
Speirs remained focused on his mission. He had a job to do, and he would see it through until it was done, always prepared to take on whatever the celestial and infernal realms threw at him.
Because when it came down to it, The Slayer only abided his own rules. Fate and Destiny were mere concepts to him, lines drawn by beings he cared little for.
Chaos, however, was different.
Infuriatingly so.
The lazy Protogenoi had been surprisingly astute in his decision to assign him to Worlds like this. Speirs couldn't deny the cleverness of the move, even if it grated on his nerves like sandpaper against skin.
By tethering the Unchained Predator to a Reality teeming with Key Characters, Chaos ensured that The Slayer would be constantly compelled to intervene, to disrupt the predetermined paths of others and reforge their own narrative within their Destinies.
And each Fate or Destiny of a Key Character that Speirs broke, it added another Assignment to his name. A tally of his rebellious acts against the cosmic Order of Things. A constant battle against the Auditors and their rigid system. He despised being a pawn in their game, never able to adhere to their rules and guidelines willingly unless it happened to align with his.
Chaos understood this rebellious nature and his extreme sense of good and evil all too well and used it to his advantage.
And as much as Speirs hated to admit it, he had fallen right into Chaos' trap.
Again.
Did The Slayer ever regret making The Pact with Chaos? Never.
It was the only way to ensure that none of his kind would ever fall into the hands of the Auditors, to prevent them from imposing their will upon those he'd protected for eons. To ensure his kind would never fall into the hands of these cosmic fuckers who did nothing but watch while his very own world was left burning and be constantly ravaged by demons.
When he was pulled from his sarcophagus, when he was needed yet again, when another Dark Lord ultimately spawned yet again, another Hell to invade, another fight to last eternity - Chaos decided eternity to last only several hours before he finally intervened, while The Slayer's armor was drenched in demon blood--as per usual.
All Creations were frozen while Chaos revealed to him the existence of Realities untouched by the Shadow Realms. Showed him a Universe where his World could have been spared, where his people could have thrived. Told him about The Auditors of Realities.
This revelation filled him with a deep, seething spite. The Auditors' indifference to the suffering of his people, to the destruction wrought by legions of hell and its Dark Lord, was unforgivable. It was then that he realized that his Reality with all its trillions of lives had been consigned to oblivion by the Auditors' negligence. They cared not for the agony of his people as they fought against the forces of Hell. To them, it was all part of the grand design, a design that he refused to accept.
Yet in the abyss of despair, there was clarity. In the chaos of destruction, there was purpose. And in the face of cosmic indifference, there was rage.
So he took Chaos' offer. Sealed The Pact. Traded his service for trillions, ensuring that those who died in the following Cataclysm would be reborn in a Universe where there was only peace. A World where the horrors of his Reality would never again be repeated, where no Doom Slayer would ever be needed.
The price he paid was to become Chaos' enforcer, bound to serve and keep his unruly children on leash. There was no turning back, no salvation to be found for him.
His kin liberated, their future assured forever.
His Crusade remained Eternal.
And when his Pact was made, all The Slayer had thought was, ' What a steal.'
Last edited: Saturday at 7:40 PM
do not read my shitposts on my Fanfic page
check out my glorious Eminence in Shadow shitpost instead
Or this one, the NotToji in DxD
Chapter 6.2
〖 Chapter 6.2 〗
⦕ Altered Courses ⦖
'Keep her there.'
Nightingale hesitated. She was certain tampering a Key Character's Fate was strictly forbidden, a rule Custodians had always followed. Yet, here was a direct order from The Slayer.
She glanced at the message once more, making sure she didn't misread.
Keep her there.
The words stared back at her with an urgency she couldn't ignore. It was a simple command, but the implications were profound. What did Speirs know that she didn't? Was he going to kill Asia himself? Or, dare she hoped, defy Fate and alter Asia's Destiny?
… Was this even an option?
Nightingale's mind raced with possibilities, but refocused herself straight to the present as she searched for Asia. Fortunately, she had just left the mother and her baby earlier. The lost sister's green eyes were filled with determination, about to head off in the wrong direction. She needed to act quickly, but with subtlety.
With a determined nod to herself and with a quick step forward, Nightingale intercepted Asia.
"Asia, if you don't mind," Nightingale began, her voice calm and clear as Asia turned around, her green nun attire swirling.
"Yes? Miss Florence?"
"Would you…" Nightingale paused. Admittedly, she didn't think this through. What topic did she normally discuss with others in the Order's Headquarters? "Would you… consider a brief medical examination?"
Both blinked in surprise. If Nightingale wasn't so stoic, she would have blushed furiously from embarrassment.
"O-Oh… But I feel fine?" Asia furrowed her brow, suddenly terrified of a nonexistent illness. "… Am I fine?"
"… I…" Nightingale cleared her throat, her eyes glancing over towards Kunou and her new friends, and quickly changed tack. "… What I mean to say is, how about you take a little break? A small detour before you continue your search for the church?"
Asia's eyes lit up with curiosity. "A detour? W-With you?"
Nightingale furrowed her brow. She was pretty certain her offer was directed only at Asia.
"… Yes?" she said, half-unsure.
"Oh! Where to?"
"How about lunch with us?" She nodded towards Kunou, still in the sandbox, currently amassing an army of sandmans. "We were just about to have a bite to eat. Considering you're new here, I thought you might appreciate some familiar company.… Even if we've just met."
"Really?!" Asia beamed, fingers clasped like she was about to enter a sermon. "I was just thinking about trying out the local food first… I've always wanted to eat a hamburger."
"… Hamburger?" Was the unhealthy junk food considered a local delicacy? No… Impossible. Nightingale was certain this World had fast food restaurants and takeaways. "You've never had any?"
"No," Asia shook her head, her cheeks flushing a tinge, honest to a fault.
"Admirable," Nightingale approved, nodding. "You should limit your intake of such… culinary. They're not exactly conducive to maintaining peak physical condition."
"Really?" Asia tilted her head, a small frown creasing her lips. "But I hear they taste so good…"
Nightingale hesitated, no longer torn between her duty as a Custodian and herself but by her instincts as a nurse. "Well, I'd… assume as much, but… since it's your first time, I suppose a little indulgence won't hurt. Just… don't get addicted. Moderation is key. "
"O-Okay," Asia nodded her head, slightly nervous now as she wondered if eating a hamburger was a sinful thing. "S-So… erm… where to go, Miss Florence? I still would like to taste one, i-if it's okay…"
"Right, burgers…" Nightingale replied, her tone lightening slightly at Asia's enthusiasm. "I know just the place."
No she didn't. But nothing a quick browse of her phone wouldn't be able to fix.
"Are we going to eat borgars?!" In a flash, Kunou had rushed towards Nightingale's side, already sated her thirst for play and now looking forward to slake her hunger for good food.
did somebody say BORGAR?
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"Oh!" Asia gasped. "H-Hello there."
"'Lo," Kunou waved her sandy hand at the stranger, her golden eyes swiveling to inspect the blonde girl standing before her new aunt. "I'm Kunou. Are you hungry too?"
"Hello, Kunou," the Lost Sister greeted with a warm smile, her nervousness melting away in the presence of the sunny young Kitsune. "I'm Asia. And yes, I'm feeling a bit hungry too."
"Yay! We can eat borgars together!" Kunou's eyes lit up with excitement as Nightingale wiped her hands with a handkerchief. "I love them with lots of cheese and ketchup!"
"Cheese? I love cheese too!" Asia's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she looked at Kunou. "I'd love to hear all about your favorite burger toppings, Kunou. Maybe you can be my guide for burgers?"
Kunou blinked. "Can I, Auntie?"
"Of… course." Though her agreement was reluctant, Nightingale ruffled Kunou's golden hair affectionately, inwardly thanking her for being here. "Shall we go to your favorite place then, Kunou? Do you remember the name?"
"-!" The reply was as imminent as it was cheerful: "FUBUKING!"
As Kunou led the way, Nightingale sent a text message to Speirs that they were heading to this Fubuking diner.
Questions and doubts still raced in her mind. What was The Slayer's plan? And how could she carry out his order without directly interfering with Asia's Fate, and most importantly, her Destiny?
"She's so cute… And very smart," Asia suddenly said, her eyes constantly swiveling from her new surroundings and Kunou who never strayed more than three steps away from Nightingale. "How old is she?"
"Six," Nightingale replied, grasping Kunou by her hand to prevent the kit from drifting towards a nearby takoyaki stall.
"Six?!" Asia gasps in surprise. "She already understands English so well! Is she homeschooled?"
"… Y… Yes," Nightingale nodded, hoping she wouldn't press for more regarding Kunou's apparent multilinguality. Good Lord. How many lies did she have to tell?
"You're her… aunt, Ms. Florence? I'm sorry for mistaking you as her mother…"
"I'm… her babysitter," Nightingale muttered.
"Oooh… Where's her father?"
"Foster-father," Nightingale said, hoping that would put a dam on Asia's curiosity. It did. The Sister looked guilty. "She's a strong child," so Nightingale assured her. "He'll be joining us as well. I hope you don't mind."
Asia gulped nervously. "O-Of course not… but… is it okay for me to join?"
"I'm sure he won't mind."
Nightingale certainly wished he wouldn't.
⦕⦖
The hall within Monastero Mater Ecclesiae was silent, the only light coming from the high, arched windows that overlooked the streets of the Vatican below.
Griselda Quarta stood by the window, her golden hair hidden beneath her sister's veil, blue eyes reflecting the turmoil of her thoughts. Next to her, a sister with her dark hair also concealed under her own veil, stared out at the courtyard with a tense expression. They both shared the same height. Same past.
Same thoughts.
"It is unjust," Griselda agreed, her voice low and measured. "Asia has done nothing wrong. She did it out of compassion, not malice."
"Too pure for her own good." The sister next to her nodded, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at Griselda. "And we branded her a heretic for it and exiled her."
"But without the high table's knowledge nor approval," Griselda muttered, sighing.
"So we've been had. Who was it?" the former Exorcist asked, eyes tapering to a glare. "Bats or Crows?"
"The Fallens are more likely," Griselda replied, eyes still in the bustling streets. "If it's the same Devil that has been kidnapping the sisters, however…"
"I can find her." the nun stated. "Bring her back. This time, directly to you, Sister Griselda, if you allow me."
Griselda's eyes hardened as he turned to her. "You know what they're capable of."
"And I know what I'm capable of," the nun stated, almost spitefully. "She deserves better than to be cast out. If you're going to make me sit in this cage and do nothing, then you might as well kill me, Sister Griselda."
Griselda stared at her for a moment. "Don't be rash. The White Peace-"
"Fuck the White Peace," the sister seethed, before calming herself down, chilled by Griselda's subtle shift in her eyes.
"Strada didn't bring you to the light so you can throw your life away on a mission born of anger. Remember your vow."
The nun clenched her fists, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "I didn't make any vow," she retorted, her voice tinged with frustration. "Not to them, at least. My loyalty lies with you and Vasco."
"I know. And I value your loyalty more than you know-as well as your life, even if you don't," Griselda told her calmly, but Roberta noticed she hadn't rejected the idea. "The Fallens have eyes everywhere, before Dulio can find the ones they bribed and prove it, any misstep could jeopardize this peace."
"Then let me be the one to find her. I'll do it discreetly. No one will know I was there until it's too late." The nun's jaw clenched, frustration building. "If you value this stupid peace and politics, then fine. Exile me."
Griselda's eyes widened just slightly. She wasn't shocked-in fact, she had always known a day like this would eventually come. She knew the nun's history. Understood the depth of her conviction-it never lied in Christ.
"Once you leave, you may never return."
"I know and I don't care. I can watch myself; she can't. She took me off the streets, Griselda." The nun persisted. "If none of you will act, I will."
Griselda Quarta continued to study Sister Roberta. Aware of the dangers of allowing personal vendettas to cloud one's judgment.
Formerly Rosarita Cisneros. Bloodhound of Florence. She understood the retired Exorcist's desire for justice, for loyalty to those who had shown her kindness. Griselda had also seen the fire in her eyes before, the same fire that had once driven her to hunt down heretics and Stray Devils with ruthless efficiency.
Roberta
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"Very well, Roberta," Griselda's voice was solemn, yet her gaze was as piercing as daggers as she looked at the nun before her. "If this is the path you chose, then I won't stop you. But under one condition."
Roberta braced herself, knowing that Griselda's conditions were always stringent. "Name it."
"You will do so discreetly and without resorting to your previous methods," Griselda stated, her tone leaving no room for argument. "If you go back to your old ways, if you shed blood in the name of vengeance, then all that you have learned here, all that you have become, will be for naught."
Roberta's jaw clenched, but she nodded. "I understand. I… don't want to disappoint you, Mentor. You or Strada."
"You never have. Never will," Griselda said softly, placing a hand on Roberta's shoulder, a rare gesture of warmth. "I'll talk to Vasco; he'll understand. May the light guide your path, Roberta."
With a final nod, Griselda watched as Roberta walked down the hall, her steps echoing softly against the stone floor. She knew the risks that Roberta was taking, the dangers that awaited her outside the walls of Monastero Mater Ecclesiae. But she also knew that sometimes, the path to redemption was paved with the hardest choices and the greatest risks.
As Roberta disappeared into the shadows, Griselda turned back to the window, her gaze once again fixed on the bustling streets below. In the silence of the monastery, she offered a silent prayer for Roberta's safety, knowing that her journey would be a perilous one.
None knew that The Slayer's interference had altered the course of events, including those who were not Key Characters such as Roberta.
Had it not been for his intervention, Roberta would have perished under Penemue's hands. However, by altering Penemue's path, The Slayer had unknowingly set off a chain of events that would impact not only Roberta and Asia but countless others as well. It rippled through the fabric of Fate, changing Destinies in ways no one could foresee…
None but one Goddess.
In the depths of Tartarus, Nyx watched with keen interest as the ripples of Fate spread outward, like tendrils of darkness creeping towards the skies. She sensed the subtle shifts of Fate, the unseen consequences of this… Outworlder's action. She saw the paths diverging, the Destinies of Roberta and Asia veering away from their preordained courses, guided by the hand of an unseen force.
She was intrigued by him, for he possessed a power that few mortals could comprehend-a power to alter Fate itself.
Fascinated by this mortal who could defy Fate, Nyx decided to observe him more closely. She wanted to understand his power, his purpose, to see why he was truly capable of altering the course of Destiny or if his actions were merely a temporary disturbance in the grand scheme of things. He held the key to unlocking mysteries that even she, in all her ancient wisdom, had yet to comprehend.
… Yet the moment she laid her gaze on him, Nyx was greeted by a grin that seemed to stretch unnaturally wide, revealing rows of sharp, glistening teeth, and noxious green eyes that glimmered deep into the Night's consciousness. As Nyx remained frozen in confusion, the being's grin widened even further, and with a voice that echoed like the howling of a thousand winds, it declared:
THIS ONE IS NOT YOURS TO TOY
Nyx's reaction was amusing, to say the least. The way she stumbled back, eyes wide with fear, was a sight Arla could savor for eternity.
Perched atop the Slayer's motorbike (much to his annoyance), leaning against his back to fray his sanity the littlest way she could, watching the road of Kuoh Town whizzed past her with a satisfied grin, Arla chuckled to herself.
She had dealt with her fair share of nosey lesser beings they called 'Gods' in any Reality, and this 'Nyx' was no more than another curious whelp getting a glimpse of the unknownable.
"This World is quite fun, Slayer," she mused, pressing her back against his, her voice reaching his mind even if it was drowned out by the sound of his peculiar mechanical steed. "How about you give god-slaying another whirl or two. Provided they gave you reason to break their divine spine."
A grunt was his curt response, and Arla was no less than satisfied.
He didn't say no.
Last edited: Saturday at 7:20 PM
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Chapter 6.3
〖 Chapter 6.3 〗
⦕ The Archive ⦖
The Archive, a vast repository of knowledge and mystery, was the envy of scribes and scholars across the Creations who were cursed with the knowledge of its existence. It was believed its shelves groaned under the weight of billions upon trillions of volumes, each containing the wisdom, follies, and fantastical tales of Custodians in their never ending journey across Worlds, Realms, Realities.
It was whispered that the Archive defied the laws of space and time, stretching endlessly into the realms of imagination. It was said that it stretched onto eternity. It was said that you could wander for days among the distant shelves, that there were lost tribes of interns somewhere in there, that strange things lurked in forgotten alcoves and were preyed on by other things that were even stranger and oftentimes tentacular.
Wise Custodians in search of more distant volumes took care to leave marker trail on the shelves as they roamed deeper into the Archive, and told friends to come looking for them if they weren't back by supper.
At least, it was how it used to be.
The grumbles of Custodians and staff regarding their tireless quest for elusive tomes echoed through the Headquarters, reaching the ears of the Archon of Sentinels and the Arch Inquisitor of Reapers. They brought the matter before The Council, and change was inevitable.
Since that petition, things have been modernized.
The Archive was now equipped with an advanced cataloging system that could pinpoint the location of any book or scroll within seconds. No longer did Custodians need to embark on epic quests through the endless aisles, risking encounters with whatever mysterious beings lurked in its depths. The Archive embraced order and efficiency with digital indexes, automated retrieval systems, and even a coffee shop for weary travelers.
Somewhere in The Archive, was The Archivist's office space.
The Archivist sat amidst a floating sea of ancient texts, her fingers deftly flicking through the pages of a particularly old manuscript. Across her table, one Priestess of the Ancient of Rites sat with an idyllic smile, twirling a tentacle that perked up from her shadow around her finger as she examined an artifact.
"Ina," the half-white-half-black-haired Archivist began, "Have you ever read about Doom guy?"
The Priestess glanced up from the artifact that would look like a 'Rubik's Cube' according to one Reality, and an Artifact of Madness to some that might rearrange the fundamental laws of their Reality instead of colors.
She raised her eyebrows. "Doom guy? You mean The Slayer? I have a whole forbidden section dedicated to him. Why?"
Without missing a beat, The Archivist continued, "You think he's got a thing for blondes?"
The Priestess blinked, her colorful tentacles twitching slightly as she settled the artifact down on the desk.
"What?"
"I mean… if you think about it…" The Archivist tapped her quill against her chin. The feathery part. "Jenny… Lily… oh her santa hat is so cute-- and Samus… Artoria-both king and tyrant-one of these people orbits him. Whenever he's around at least.
"Then there's Kunou, his Little Fox - and now…" The Archivist slid the book she'd been examining, one that detailed The Slayer's current tale, where words kept on inscribing themselves and pictures and scenes played like a live-recording. "… Asia Argento. All the Fates and Destiny he break have been blondes."
The Priestess blinked once. "Maybe he just likes golden opportunities."
The Archivist frowned, but pressed on. "You ever wonder if he's got a type?"
The Priestess' tendrils swayed slightly as she tilted her head. "You mean like… weapon preference?"
"Their hair, Ina. They're all blondes."
"Bright hair makes them easier to spot in battle," The Priestess suggested, giggling at her own joke. "We both know it's always about the preservation of innocence and/or virtue for him. Purely professional."
"Sure, professional. But you ever see him look at a redhead the same way?"
"You're reading too much into it," the Priestess tittered. "He just rips and tears demons."
"Maybe he kills demons to impress the blondes."
"Next you'll say he started the crusade for a blonde."
"Well his wife was a blondie. Ex-wife, I suppose." The Archivist pursed her lips in focus, returning to her current record. "Still, it's an interesting pattern. Coincidence? I don't think so."
The Priestess shrugged, her tentacles moving in a wave-like pattern. "Maybe he's just tired of the dark and brooding types. Trying to… shed some light on his situation."
"Alright, enough of that." The Archivist shook her head, smiling however begrudgingly. It didn't take long for her disarrayed mind to drift elsewhere. "What do you think his favorite color is?"
"Probably red," the Priestess said, shrugging. "Matches his, you know, aesthetic."
"Red for demon blood, or red for passion?"
"Both?" the Priestess assumed. "He's passionate about making sure demons keep bleeding red."
The Archivist was about to respond to that, but then her eyes drifted to a scroll detailing the ancient rites of a forgotten civilization. "Oh, look at this! Did you know that the people of Thal'Kar used to drink their tea with their pinkies extended, believing it granted them the ability to see into the future?"
The Priestess leaned back, her expression indulgent as she listened to The Archivist delving into the intricacies of Thal'Kar's rites. The Archivist was known for her tangents, each one a winding journey through forgotten histories and esoteric knowledge. As she spoke of yet another lost civilization, the Priestess' inevitably gaze drifted to the artifact on the table, her mind momentarily wandering to the mysteries it held.
Her role in the Order? The Archivist's steadfast companion, and no mere librarian's assistant. While others hushed noisy readers, The Priestess silenced the whispers of the Eldritch that threatened to seep into the minds of unsuspecting Custodians. Her task wasn't just to organize the index; she deciphered cryptic scribblings of ancient tomes and negotiated with entities from beyond the veil. Other than that, she kept the Archivist's mind grounded (or at least attempted to), for the Archivist's mind flitted from one Reality to another like a hyperactive butterfly.
Whenever The Archivist strayed too far, The Priestess would gently nudge the Archivist back on track when she starts waxing poetic about moonflower hats or the mating rituals of interdimensional jellyfish.
The voice of reason for the All-Seeing-Eye, also known as The Archivist. Capable of glimpsing multiple Realities simultaneously. This gift, however, often left her mind scattered, unable to focus on a single thing.
Since the Order's establishment, there had been only two overly curious and daring interns who navigated the labyrinthine corridors of The Old Archive unsupervised.
One emerged as its Archivist, her mind a kaleidoscope of Realities, and the other as its Keeper of Forbidden Knowledge, curator of artifacts that would drive lesser minds to madness, who was revered by millions of 'minions' as their Priestess.
Purple, tiny, octopus-like beings who were spawned by Shub-Niggurath when she was in her origin, less-humanoid, squishier, globular form. But upon their former master's… enforced conversion, they flocked to the Priestess, enticed by her allure and her promise, becoming housekeepers for the Custodians, as well as the unofficial mascots of the Order's coffee and cookie breaks.
Apart from ease of access, these two personnel's unfortunate, or perhaps fortunate, transformations were part of the reasons behind The Archive's modernization.
Last edited: Today at 3:52 PM
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Chapter 6.4
〖 Chapter 6.4〗
⦕ A Line Drawn ⦖
The Fubuking burger joint flaunted its bold red 'FBK' letters nestled between burger buns, a beacon of greasy indulgence.
Speirs parked his bike outside, its roar silencing the chatter momentarily. As he dismounted and entered the restaurant, the usual gawkers stared at the foreigner, eyes wide. They looked at him like he was an alien, then quickly turned away when he met their gaze. He shrugged, not paying attention to the attention he was receiving, and went along.
He much preferred the silent treatment than being hounded with questions he had no answers to. Like, "What exactly are you?" or "Do you ever take off that helmet?"
Of course he did. How else could he clean it.
And the ever-popular, "Is it true you once killed a demon with a spoon?"
His answer was a flat "No." There were no spoons in Hell. Just oversized forks.
One time a peculiar Reaper Initiate asked, "Do you think the universe has an edge, and if so, what's beyond it?"
He had simply grunted in response, resisting the urge to suggest that the edge of the universe might just be a very large sign saying, "You are here."
It wasn't that he disliked the questions, more that he disliked the lack of sensible answers and he wasn't the type to answer nonsense with nonsense. Explaining his existence to anyone who hadn't walked a mile in his blood-soaked boots was akin to explaining the concept of subtlety to a brick wall. It wasn't going to happen, and if it did, you'd both walk away feeling slightly more battered and a lot less enlightened.
"If you had to describe the essence of a soul in three words," the Archivist had asked, "what would they be? Oh, and you can't use 'dead,' 'gone,' or 'reaped.'"
Speirs had raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching as he muttered, "Heavy. Persistent. Troublesome."
The Archivist had nodded sagely, as if Speirs had imparted some great wisdom, and wandered off to ponder the mysteries of the universe or perhaps find another unfortunate soul to question.
One Sentinel, the Archon's brat who always insisted to call Artoria 'father', with the unerring optimism only found in people who had clearly never been on the receiving end of a demonic fireball, once asked him, "What drives you to do what you do?"
He had given the question due consideration and replied, "I kill demons."
"What if there's no more demons?"
"Something always needs to be killed."
That answer had led to a rather lengthy and (from his perspective) entirely unnecessary discussion about the nature of motivation and the human condition, followed with an invitation to join the Sentinel. It had ended with him silently wondering if he could get away with throwing the inquisitive Custodian out of a window.
He'd given up trying to understand the point of 'social breaks'. Or just breaks in general.
Millions of Realities constantly in need. Trillions to be saved. Demons to rip apart. Their job was to fix it. Not gossip or rivalry.
He much preferred the rare, blessed silence where he could simply exist without needing to justify his existence. It wasn't as though the demons asked questions. They mostly just screamed, and that was a language he could get behind. Silence never asked silly questions or led him into interactions that left him yearning for the comforting silence of a burger joint where the only questions were whether he wanted extra fries and if Kunou needed another napkin.
Unable to read his mind, invisible to all but those she considered significant-a handful few-Arla trailed behind. She fed off the minor fears their stares held, savoring each delectable morsel of anxiety. It was her own private buffet, one she relished with silent delight.
Seeing that there was no way The Slayer would rip and tear in a public place, Arla detached from him and strolled into the kitchen unseen, where she would cause her little bit of madness… such as swapping the salt and sugar containers, adjusting the thermostat of the sizzling fryer, not enough to ruin the food but just enough to make it cook a tad faster than anticipated.
Meanwhile, at a table next to the window, Nightingale fussed over Kunou, wiping ketchup from the fox girl's lips with a napkin. Her own plate of a half-finished salad sat forgotten. Asia sat across them nervously, eyes wide as saucers, confronting her grand order of the Great King Yeti burger: four beef patties and six Gouda slices drenched in white cheese sauce staring back at her.
It was nearly the size of her face, and even after she bit and chewed and swallowed, only recently learning 'borgar' was meant to be eaten by hands, courtesy of Kunou, the Holy Priestess was already regretting her ambitious order.
"Enjoying your meal?" Nightingale asked, arching an eyebrow, her tone laced with mild amusement.
"Uhm, it's… big," Asia managed, swallowing hard. "B-But it's delicious! S… So delicious I don't think I'll ever order it again…"
Kunou giggled, ketchup still smudged on her cheek. "Kunou can finish it!"
"No," Nightingale gently chided, worried about the gluttonous kit's daily calorie intake. "You've had two cheeseburgers and a sundae."
"Ehh… But I'm a growing girl!" Kunou protested. "Uncle told me to eat lots and lots."
"You'll turn into a butterball," came a voice that rumbled both Nightingale and Asia's chest as the two winced in surprise. Speirs pulled a chair from a nearby table as he sat down. He noted Nightingale's look of wariness, but his attention was tore away as,
"Uncle!" Kunou shouted, her voice filled with glee. She bolted from her seat and ran towards him, her small form a blur of excitement. She skidded to a halt just in front of him, looking up with bright, golden eyes. "Can I have more borgar?"
"No." Speirs grunted. Kunou pouted but didn't protest any further, before she climbed to his lap and crossed her arms in defiance. She was easily placated with several strokes on the crown of her head, her invisible vulpine ears twitching as she tittered.
"Speirs," Nightingale said, "This is Asia Argento. She's a… missionary from Rome."
"E-Erm… A lost one at that," Asia laughed shyly. "H-Hello, Mr. Speirs. I-It's um… nice to meet you."
Speirs nodded in acknowledgment, his gray gaze briefly flickering to Asia before returning to Kunou as she told him about her park adventure. He was content to let the conversation flow without much input from him.
Asia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, his aloof demeanor and imposing stature made her feel small and insignificant in comparison, and she felt like she was intruding on the trio that looked like a family. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, unsure of what to say next.
"Um, sorry to interrupt… I just wanted to say thank you for allowing me to join you for lunch. It's been… a while since I've had a meal like this," she said softly with a nervous smile. "I-I should probably… um, go. Thank you for the meal, Miss Florence, and um, it was nice meeting you, Kunou, a-and you too, Mr. Speirs."
"Eeehh, you're leaving?"
"You haven't finished your meal," Speirs said, eyeing her and her one pounder of meaty mountain. What he meant to say was 'don't waste food'.
"O-Oh…" Asia looked like she was about to cry as she slowly sat back down. "R-Right…"
Nightingale held back a sigh. "You don't have to finish it, Asia," she said. "He can finish it for you."
"Whæt?! Why not me!?"
"Because you've already had enough, Kunou," Nightingale replied, trying to keep her tone gentle yet firm.
Kunou pouted, crossing her arms. "Life isn't fair…" she huffed but relented, picking up a french fry and nibbled on it, her attention drifting to the window where people bustled by on the street outside.
Nightingale snapped her eyes in a flash as she caught a rare sound from the usually stoic man. It sounded like a chuckle and a snort. A grunt of amusement, dare she categorize.
Meanwhile, Asia tentatively took another bite of her burger, her gaze flicking between Nightingale and Speirs. She felt a bit more at ease now, though still very much intimidated.
"You're making her uneasy, Speirs," Nightingale suddenly dropped the bombshell. Leave it to her to be blunt.
Speirs furrowed his brow, which had the unfortunate effect of making him look angrier rather than confused. He glanced at Asia, who seemed to shrink even further into her seat. He grunted questioningly, a sound that was meant to be a question but came across more like a grizzly considering its lunch options.
"Why?" he asked, his voice deep and gravelly, like rocks tumbling down a mountainside.
"I-It's not your fault, Mr. Speirs," Asia stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're just… very, um…"
"Intense!" Kunou giggled, seemingly unaffected by Speirs' looming presence. "Uncle is always intense. He's like a big, grumpy bear!"
"Kunou," Nightingale admonished gently, though she couldn't entirely hide her amusement, even if she cast a worried glance at The Slayer.
Who gave a half-shrug, acknowledging Kunou's description without dispute. He wasn't exactly the cuddly type, but bears were fearsome creatures-or so he was told. He could live with that comparison.
"You can't help how you look." Nightingale said with a warm, reassuring expression that she rarely made. "Maybe try to… tone it down a bit? For Asia's sake."
As a man of action, he leaned back in his chair, trying to relax his posture even if he felt he was already relaxed. It was a small effort, but it seemed to make a difference. Asia visibly loosened up, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, even if her eyes were full of fear.
She took took another hesitant bite, trying not to meet his gaze. She chewed slowly, her eyes darting to Nightingale for reassurance.
Nightingale gave her a small, encouraging smile. "It's alright, Asia. He's really just… focused."
"Very focused," Kunou added helpfully. "Like when he's cleaning his guns."
Asia's eyes widened. "G-Guns?"
Nightingale held back another sigh, her tone slightly exasperated. "Kunou, maybe we should avoid discussing weapons during lunch."
"Oh, right," Kunou said, looking slightly sheepish. "Sorry, Auntie."
Even if Nightingale wasn't entirely frightened by him, she still couldn't get a read of his emotion. But Asia wore her heart on her sleeve; it might as well have spilled.
"… I think she'd be more at ease if… you tell her what you know about her…?" she suggested instead, and Asia became twice as nervous, her green eyes fixed at the burger as she contemplated the possibility she might get kidnapped.
Speirs nodded as he fished out his phone, pressing a few buttons before he turned the screen towards Asia.
"You know this girl?"
Asia flinched when she realized she was being interrogated by a scary man, and she averted her eyes slowly from her imposing meal to look at the phone, before her eyes widened in recognition at the profile of a scantily clad Fallen Angel.
"M-Ms. Raynare?" she muttered, hope filling her voice and eyes. "Do you know her, Mr. Speirs?"
"I know her boss," he simply said, pocketing the phone. "You're staying with us."
"H-Huh?" Her hope drained away, replaced by fear and dread. "B-But…"
"Oooohh… a sleepover!" Kunou cheered, somewhat relieving Asia as she refused to believe a kid like her would be so friendly with a bad man.
"S-Speirs…?" Nightingale whispered, leaning close to him. "… What do you intend to do?"
"Keeping her safe," he explained bluntly, grabbing Nightingale's paper cup which he mistook as Kunou's, and drinking it dry, slightly confused as to why it was water instead of her usual soda.
"Keeping her safe… how?" Nightingale pressed, her voice low with concern.
Speirs glanced at Nightingale, then back at Asia, who sat there like a fragile porcelain doll, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He couldn't quite understand why she looked so terrified; after all, he was offering her protection, not harm.
"You're exiled, aren't you?" he asked critically.
Despite the fact it had been days, hearing it still hurt. Lowering her eyes, Asia nodded meekly.
"Do you want to go back?"
For a moment, Asia hesitated, as if grappling with an internal struggle. Speirs could see the conflict playing out on her face, the uncertainty clouding her eyes. Then, to his surprise, she shook her head, her expression one of resignation.
Speirs frowned, his confusion deepening. What the hell happened to her in that country? There was something about her exile, something that didn't quite add up. He made a mental note to dig deeper, to find out what secrets she was hiding. A quick call with Novella should fix that.
He watched Asia closely, trying to read the fear and hesitation in her eyes. He knew that look all too well-the look of someone who had been betrayed, who had lost their sense of belonging.
[img: data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7]
Saw it in Jenny's eyes. When she reached out to her god and was left burning in that pyre. That was the time he thought Destiny was moronic. Fate can burn. She won't.
"Why not?" Nightingale pressed for him, eyes shifting to him once before settling back to Asia's. "It can be arranged, if you'd like?"
Asia bit her lip, hesitating once more before speaking. "I-I don't think… I belong there anymore," she admitted softly. "After what happened, I… I'm not sure I can face them."
"Face… Face who?" Nightingale asked again.
"The people… the ones I disappointed," the Holy Priestess replied.
Speirs nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. He had seen similar expressions of guilt and self-doubt before, in soldiers who had lost comrades in battle, in civilians who had survived when others had not. It was a burden that weighed heavy on the soul, one that could crush the spirit if left unchecked.
"Then you stay," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "At least until we figure out what to do with you."
Nightingale shot him a questioning look, but he simply shrugged, his mind already working on a plan. Whatever demons she was running from, he would make sure they couldn't catch up to her.
"Keep an eye on her," he said to Nightingale, placing down the empty cup as he stood up. "Make sure she eats."
Nightingale watched him go, her mind whirling with questions, but she accepted the task without question. She knew better than to pry into the experienced Custodian's motives. Instead, she focused on comforting Asia, offering her a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry, Asia," she said. "You're safe with us."
"… Thank you," Asia whispered. "Th-Thank you as well, Mr. Speirs."
Speirs halted his steps, glanced past his broad shoulders, and nodded, before heading outside to his parked bike.
"I wanna go with Uncle!" Kunou demanded, about to storm off before she was lifted by Nightingale's iron-like strength and placed next to her seat, bribing her not to make a scene by promising her a bedtime story or two.
Outside, The Slayer sent The Archivist a quick text for her to take a glimpse into Asia's records. It didn't take long. It didn't take long for him to get a plane ticket straight to the Vatican either once he figured out why Asia was so nervous to return, and started his bike to head into the closest airport.
By the time Arla emerged from the kitchen, with its staff questioning their sanity, her satisfaction was wiped away from her face once she realized The Slayer had left her behind.
Again.
"One day…" she griped, slowly being absorbed by the tendrils sprouting from her shadow. "I'll have your respect."
She halted her time-and-space-diving, however, the moment she set her eyes on a pair of amber eyes, belonging to a white-haired girl. A small girl. Smaller than the golden-haired ilk. A little Devil that… smelled like a cat? Lurking behind a car, muttering something to her phone.
"My, my… What have we here…" Arla giggled.
She'd imagine The Slayer would be quite aggravated once he learned the Devils were keeping tab of his small little "family"… Well, not the fox kit nor the nurse… but the recent addition.
Oh he would be deeply aggravated indeed. She understood all to well what might cause him to snap; pure and innocent souls caught in the crossfire of supernatural conflicts, being used as mere pawns in their silly game of power struggles. He had a code, a set of rules he followed, rigid as they may be. A clear line not even Arla would cross; why risk her own when she could let others do it for her?
Because when those rules were broken, when the innocent were harmed, that's when the real Doom Slayer emerged.
Arla had seen it before, the devastation wrought by the unrestrained power of The Slayer. The fear and dread of those that stood against him… Horrified as what made him bleed only make him angrier, what he killed only make him stronger. And he had slain a lot of 'evil'.
The Devils knew nothing of him. Him nor his codes.
Asia Argento fitted the innocent bill. A catalyst whose demise might just make things more interesting. All Arla had to do, was to ensure Asia Argento's situation escalated to a point where this peculiar Servant of… She sniffed the air-- Gremory? The camel-riding whelp? Strange. Whatever. What's important was her and her "Servants" would inevitably draw the attention of The Slayer by crossing that line. To commit an act that guaranteed The Slayer's retribution.
Without making it evident she was behind such discourse, of course. Arla was a consummate professional.
The Gremory household's actions would seem like their own, their choices leading them down a path of their own making.
Afterwards?… Well, hundred thousands Devils in this Reality's Hell. Paltry number compared to the ones he'd killed, almost pathetic. But he never cared for numbers. Never the amount of kills. Just plain ol' fury.
In due time, all would learn to fear him… Including those that he didn't want to fear him.
Last edited: Today at 10:53 AM
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Chapter 6.5
You walk eternally through the Shadow Realms, stand against evil where all others falter.
Your thirst for retribution never quenches, the blood on your sword never dries.
And yet they pray they may never need you again.
Great Slayer.
There are millions of Worlds. You will always be needed .
-Chaos, The Protogenoi, shamelessly paraphrasing the Corrax entry seconds before striking The Pact-
Click to expand…
Click to shrink…
〖 Chapter 6.5〗 ⦕
Occupational Benefits ⦖
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is a flight delay announcement for flight 444 to Roma. We regret to inform you that due to a technical issue with the aircraft, we are expecting a delay of approximately two hours. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause and we appreciate your patience and understanding.
We are doing our best to resolve the issue as soon as possible and we will keep you updated on the status of the flight. In the meantime, please feel free to visit our customer service desk if you have any questions or concerns. Thank you for flying with us today."
A chorus of disgruntled groans throughout Narita Tokyo Airport as the passengers grudgingly got off their seats to spend their time elsewhere.
The Slayer's patience had a reputation for being as non-existent as the mythical unicorn. A two-hour delay for a technical issue? He scowled at the loudspeaker, as if sheer intensity could fix the plane faster. The announcement barely ended before he clenched his fists. Patience and understanding, concepts that seemed to have little place in his world.
Custodian Protocol dictated that operatives obey the laws and physics of the reality they were assigned to. It was meant to maintain balance and avoid unnecessary attention. Speirs had initially adhered to this protocol by going to the airport, yet the delay pushed him to forget it.
He had no patience for bureaucratic constraints.
He grabbed his helmet from his side, a gunmetal gray full-face helmet. With a purposeful stride, he headed toward the exit, towards the runway. The passengers around him barely noticed, too absorbed in their own frustrations.
"S-Sir?! You aren't supposed to be here!"
The airport staff scurried towards him, their shouts lost in the din of the crowded airport. Speirs pressed the pusher on his 'Kronii' wristwatch.
Everything around him froze. The airport staff, mid-run, their faces contorted in alarm and annoyance, were now statues.
The Slayer placed his biker helmet over his head as its visor blinked to life.
Plates of advanced alloy slid into place, covering him from head to toe, the nanites responding to his thoughts, adjusting and fortifying his armor. The HUD blinked to life as it scanned the surroundings.
The Praetor Armor, now a seamless extension of his will, responded instantly as the Argent-infused nanites activated. The gray material flowed over his body, transforming the modern biker helmet into the rigid visage of his iconic helmet. The armor which was an artifact forged in the infernal crucible of Hellfire, designed to withstand the unimaginable. It had endured the UAC's most rigorous durability checks, laughing off their 2 megakelvin point-blank laser, a force equivalent to 334 times the surface of the sun.
Originally powered by Argent energy, which he despised with every fiber of his being, and refined by the " Nameless Wretch", the UAC had gone to great lengths to enhance its capabilities. Yet even their most advanced tinkering couldn't fully prepare the Praetor Armor for the trials ahead. So as part of his Pact with Chaos, The Eternal Crusader was granted access to the finest arsenal accessible to sweeten his end of the bargain.
And when it came to fulfilling his duties, Chaos had zero doubt in The Slayer's commitment. For as long as The Protogenoi hadn't hung up his Reality-gardening gloves, and as long as he refrained from pruning Free Will from any of his Creations, there would always be those who veered down the path of Evil.
Evil had a persistent way of cropping up like a stubborn weed in Chaos' Garden of Existence, and The Slayer was the relentless pruner, armed not with a hoe but with weapons capable of shattering the very fabric of Hell itself. He was the bane of the damned, the scourge of the wicked, and the nightmare of demons everywhere.
Hence there would always be a need for The Eternal Crusader to bring the light of justice, even if that light came in the form of blazing guns and roaring chainsaws and his silent contempt.
So the Praetor Armor's most significant transformation came from the finest smith.
Hephaestus, the God of Blacksmith and Fire.
Hephaestus had brought the Praetor Armor into the searing heat and crushing gravity of a dying star. She melded the infernal alloys with Adamantium and Promethium, where the godly smith immersed the armor in the heart of the black hole that was the center of the galaxy, where the extreme conditions fused the materials together with the Argent-infused alloys. Each strike of her hammer infused the armor with the essence of her own Astral energy, and the unyielding strength of the devouring void.
The transformation complete, the Astralite Praetor Armor glowed with an eerie, argent luminescence, its surface was sleek gray yet was enchanted with runes and symbols of power. One particular symbol at the top of his visor flared radiantly against the gray material, bearing the Mark of The Slayer.
The green tint was gone, replaced by a steely gray due to its reforging. Not that it couldn't change its color due to its VEIL function, which stood for Visual Echelon Invisibility Lattice, a feature rarely employed by the Doom Slayer. The V.E.I.L. render the Praetor Armor invisible to all, masking him from beings with supernaturally enhanced senses as demons normally did. However, The Slayer preferred to eschew stealth, opting instead to confront his enemies head-on, allowing them to witness the unstoppable force bearing down upon them.
Upgrades aside, his armor retained its purpose; help him kill better.
That was the only thing that mattered to him. Everything else was just semantics.
[img: data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7]
Good afternoon, Grand Crusader
A voice pinged as he readjusted himself to the Heads Up Display. No longer VEGA. Not after he discovered he was The Father. This piece of armor and his weapons would be the only remnants from his past.
Adaptive Tactical Heuristic and Enhanced Neural Algorithm - ATHENA had a voice that was both soothing and authoritative, a blend of human warmth and mechanical precision. Its developer? Athena herself, of course. The Goddess of Wisdom.
And Battle.
The Slayer grunted, acknowledging the AI which wasn't so much of an Artificial Intelligence but a fragment of Athena, but he wasn't going to sweat the details.
He adjusted his trajectory as nanites coalesced to the frame of wings, each pinions blazing with deep-searing Argent energy that doubled as mobile weapon pods in its wings, each feather-like pinions mounting a single Argent-fueled assault cannon and capable of emitting a plasma saber for close combat, in the likely case The Slayer thought The Crucible would be too swift and therefore merciful.
The HUD displayed a holographic map, charting the most efficient route to the Vatican.
Plotting course to: Vatican City, Italy, Earth, Solar System, Milky Way Galaxy, Universe Sector-6A
Distance: 9,935 KM
Calculating optimal velocity for planetary safety.
FTL
Hypervelocity inhibitors disengaged.
Engaging speed dampeners to prevent atmospheric destabilization.
The wings on his back retracted slightly, shifting position to accommodate the new speed. The armor's systems seamlessly transitioned from universal speed to a more controlled velocity. Their thrusters now emitted a steady, controlled burn rather than the overwhelming blaze that had once accompanied his initial takeoff in his previous Assignments.
Initiating slow takeoff. Engaging gradual ascent to clear normal aerospace.
As he took his first step, the propulsion units activated with a controlled burst. The ground beneath him vibrated but held firm, avoiding the potential crater a full-force launch would have created.
Rising steadily, The Slayer moved up through the air, the force of his ascent carefully moderated. The frozen clouds parted before him as he ascended higher and higher as the earth below shrank away, blurring as he climbed through the stratosphere, the curvature of the Earth stretching out beneath him.
Current speed set to Mach 5. ETA to Vatican City: 10 minutes.
Satisfied, he gave a nod, and rocketed into his next destination. Flames trailed behind him, a blazing signal of his passage rather than a destructive force.
Adjusting altitude to maintain optimal trajectory. All systems green. ETA to Vatican City 9 minutes 40 seconds.
The HUD displayed the rapidly changing coordinates as he hurtled across continents. Mountains, oceans, and cities blurred beneath him. He took a moment of levity to glance idly at a frozen satellite. As all mortals and immortals remained oblivious to the force of nature streaking across, a silent guardian that was now secretly wishing to take a detour to the closest galaxy.
Flying was fun. Not as much fun as slaying demons and making sure they'd never harm a single soul, but it was pretty fun.
Approaching airspace over the Mediterranean. Initiating descent protocols.
As the Italian boot-shaped coastline came into view, ATHENA's voice echoed one last adjustment.
Reducing speed to Mach 3 for final approach. ETA to Vatican City: 2 minutes
Might I suggest landing directly on top of St. Peter's Basilica? The structural integrity should withstand your arrival. Or not, if you so wish to make a statement.
He considered it. Briefly. He decided against it. He only wanted to discuss certain things.
Very well. May you find this brief trip satisfactory, Grand Crusader
As always, good hunting.
⦕⦖
Unbeknownst to him, a woman with a peculiar appearance of both maid and nun had just emerged from her terminal, her gaze locked onto him with an intensity that spoke of hidden motives. But before she could make her move, he had vanished from her sight, disappearing into the ether without a trace.
Roberta blinked in confusion, her instincts telling her that something was amiss.
[img: data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP/yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7]
The Bloodhound of Florence scanned the bustling airport terminal with a practiced eye, her senses alert for any sign of the elusive figure she had been tracking. And yet the man was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had vanished into thin air, leaving behind only questions and a lingering sense of unease.
Though she had lost sight of him (for the moment), she was not deterred. Her keen physical senses, honed by her lack of Mana, informed her that he had passed through here with his motoebik. There were traces of his extremely vague scent that only beings with higher smell sensitivity than dogs could have discerned.
Staring at the bike, she picked up on a faint yet distinct scent on him, one that she recognized all too well; Asia Argento. Her floral soap and shampoo, the nigh-odorless vial of holy water, mixed with traces of… whiskey… cleaning alcohol…? Crow's blood…?! And… fox fur…?
… Where on earth had he taken her?… Warehouse of a fox petting zoo?
Though puzzled, Roberta pieced together the puzzle in her mind. She knew that Asia had fallen in the hands of the Crows. Tokyo was unlikely. It was too big and too populous for the skittish little girl, not to mention lacking in Fallen Angel nor Devil control due to the ruling Shinto Pantheon.
No, it had to be somewhere… not remote as it was peaceful. Less crowded. Somewhere that wasn't directly governed by the Shinto.
And in Japan, few places were known for their unusual occurrences and supernatural activity between the Three Major Factions. The latest incident being what happened in Kuoh Town. A town where the Pantheon's grip was pretty much nonexistent apart from several minor shrines, and the Church absolutely held no grounds due to the whole Romeo & Juliet fiasco. A haven for both Bats and Crows.
Putting two and two together, she deduced that the man she was tracking had come from that town, likely with Asia in tow.
Gritting her teeth, Roberta briskly headed outside the airport and fetched herself a taxi.
Last edited: Today at 3:39 PM
do not read my shitposts on my Fanfic page
check out my glorious Eminence in Shadow shitpost instead
Or this one, the NotToji in DxD