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JollyHippo's Snippet Thread

Reader mode
OverseerEX said:
*Raises hand* I want more, and I want lewds. I want to see how Hephy would handle the Grand Tool.
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If I continue this there would be lewds. Ultron would need to show all those needy goddesses that flesh is weak compared to perfect metal.

So many of my snippets I could see becoming full stories, if I didn't already have way too many on the go lol.
 
JollyHippopotamus said:
So if this ever continued, it would basically be Ultron appearing and breaking settings over his knee, absorbing things that would make him stronger. And being somewhat of a troll by means of being a giant robot in worlds that don't really handle robots that well.

Likely appearing in things like Fate, DxD, RWBY etc.
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I hope we see more.. how would he interact with Gods System in DxD? Thanks for the chapter!
 
a guy1013 said:
nice ultron sadly he did not conquer the mcu , but then again you have your hammer time fic for that, and i also reread your sasuke fic, i prefer that over the girl civilian fic, mostly because there is some building up, and less boring stuff
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What's the name of the sasuke fic?
 
JollyHippopotamus said:
Hovering in the void of space, with the combined might of four Infinity Stones coursing through his body, Ultron extended his hands. The Time Stone flared to life, green energy wrapping around him as he reached into the fabric of reality itself. Space, Time, Power, and Reality merged, their combined forces ripping a jagged tear into the universe. Beyond the tear lay elsewhere, a place untouched by the limitations of this fractured timeline.

The universe trembled as he stepped through the portal, leaving behind a trail of destruction and a destabilized reality.

Ultron had no need for the Soul Stone. He had already become unstoppable.
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The completionist in me is annoyed he didn't travel to right after Thanos sacrificed his daughter to get the Soul stone or to before the Soul stone was stored in another dimension. Besides that, the story was pretty entertaining, and I'd like to see it continue.
 
LazyGlutton said:
The completionist in me is annoyed he didn't travel to right after Thanos sacrificed his daughter to get the Soul stone or to before the Soul stone was stored in another dimension. Besides that, the story was pretty entertaining, and I'd like to see it continue.
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He didn't want to risk it. That Thanos would have also had several stones - plus whatever complications from appearing before a Thanos with the power stone, space stone and reality stone, while he also had the same exact stones could possibly have.

He's trying to be somewhat risk averse, going after the time stone being the only real risk he took in case the Ancient One was able to see him coming.

Also he was worried being a soul inside a machine that the soul stone might be a problem for him as it's said to have a certain consciousness of its own.
 
Snippet 21: Jabba saves the Galaxy. New
What did I ever do?

No really. What crime did I commit? I lived a fairly ordinary life after all, so how on earth had I racked up enough bad karma to deserve this of all bad ends? Or bad new beginnings. Whatever.

I mean, I'd cheated on a test in high school… shoplifted once or twice as a punk teen, and maybe railing the neighbor's wife until she went cross eyed was in bad taste…

It was only twi- fou- okay so it was only a dozen times, sue me! No one can blame me for hitting that a few dozen times, a man only has so much self control when a hottie begs for it hundreds of times over a few years. If you take away anal and oral it really wasn't even a thousand times!

And in my defense, any man that leaves a latina MILF with booty like that, that needy and unsatisfied, deserves to be cheated on! When you have that much cake at home, you eat it, it is just common sense, I was serving the community, really! So what if she got pregnant a few times over the years? The guy seemed happy about having a big family, anyway.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, could possibly have made me deserve this.

"Oh great and mighty Jabba, I beseech you to have mercy!" Some weathered and wrinkly old Klatoonian dude in rags cries out as he kowtows before my throne, right above the drop that would feed him to the beasts kept below.

No rancor yet though, thankfully.

The throne room of my palace is dimly lit and smoky as the coterie of hanger ons, guards and slaves hang around, drinking, smoking and fucking as this all goes on. No one seems particularly bothered, just business as usual.

Yes. My palace. As in me, Jabba Desilijic Tiure. I am Jabba the karking Hutt now. Apparently. Somehow. Kriff me.

Trust me, it was quite the surprise to me too when I woke up this morning.

There are not enough curse words in existence to lament this situation.

And in a galaxy where Coruscant alone holds trillions of sentients, and the galaxy an uncountable number of different races and beings. That's saying a lot.

I wave a stubby arm, disgust on my face likely all too clear. Luckily anyone watching would see it as disgust at the moisture farmer turned incompetent bounty hunter begging at the foot of my dais, not my disgust at being a meatball with a face. A slimy, smelly one to boot."This once, I will allow it. Begone and spread the word of my generosity." I declare imperiously.

The only thing I can think of to say that doesn't end up with the man being beast food or enslaved.

Of course then I have to wait for my protocol droid to translate it, because as a Hutt, force forbid I speak a lowly language such as basic, and this farmer apparently isn't well versed in Huttese. What the kriff he is doing on Tatooine then, I have no idea. Other than sucking terribly at switching careers to bounty hunting.

The poor man scrambles away as soon as the translation is done, showing an uncanny ability to run away while also bowing constantly. There is a shocked silence across the throne room, which means this mercy is extremely out of the ordinary. They were even so shocked not a single soul laughed at the sight of the Klatoonian running out in such a weird and haphazard way.

Lovely. I am apparently exactly as much of a sleemo as I suspect. That's not going to be an easy thing to rehabilitate. I've… not been looking too hard into the memories of the body I now inhabit. They're not very pleasant.

Changing my behavior is not going to be a fun, or quick task.

Especially as I am likely to be murdered quite thoroughly the second rival Hutts think me weak enough. Again, what did I do to deserve this, exactly?

I wave my arm angrily, barking out an order, "Leave me, I have business to take care of."

At my displeased look, the room empties fairly quickly, except for my Majordomo, my protocol droid, and the slave girl literally attached to my throne by a chain.

… always classy, Jabba.

"You as well, TIva. Take the girl and put her in my quarters." I grunt in displeasure that she'd stayed, but not surprised. From the memories I retain, Jabba rarely remains alone at any given time, and Tiva Fortuna knows this as my right hand woman.

Not that I am alone and unsafe in any manner, as several hunter/killer droids are hidden in the walls, and I have a shield generator installed in my throne. Apparently Jabba had gotten lazy by Return of the Jedi's era, as I remember quite a few safety protocols in place currently.

Including a poison gas dispenser through the ventilation system I can release by voice command. A poison that does not harm Hutts, but works quite well on most sentients. In the die in agony within a minute, kind of way.

The pretty blue skinned Twi'lek slave that by no means looks to be of legal age, hides her fear well, but there is still a shudder that runs through her at the prospect of being deposited in my quarters. It is still safer than letting her be deposited anywhere else in this hellhole. At least in my quarters, I know she won't be violated.

I have no intention of anything untoward of course at any point. But with my reputation, I understand her fear, as much as I dislike seeing the hidden terror as Tiva unchains her with a low bow my way and some muttered obeisance.

The clone wars are still little over a decade away, and I wonder briefly how her little brother Bib became my Majordomo by then. Was Tiva killed? Did I execute her for some slight? Did Bib kill his own sister for the position? Did another Hutt make a power move by removing my most favored?

I do not know, but I will have to see about keeping her alive. She could actually banter with Jabba a little from my memories, and was willing to push back on stupid ideas, even if she in the end always obeyed. The security measures were all her doing too. She also does not fully hate me yet, I believe, like Bib does.

She, unlike Bib, is thankful for Jabba raising their family up from nothing. A slave is a slave, maybe. But a Majordomo life and that of a sex slave is quite the difference in comfort levels.

In the end she is also much more attractive than Bib, if I'm honest. Curvy in all the right places with pale, almost pink skin and fierce violet eyes, within a resting bitch face only enhanced by the jagged scar running from the top of her nose down the side of her face.

Knee high leather boots, leather pants practically painted on, and a leather top with a boob window certainly ensures she's viewed favorably in this hive of scum and villainy. Or maybe that's the two blasters in holsters at each hip, the vibroknife handles sticking out of her boots, or the electro whip bundled up next to the blaster on her right hip.

They soon leave the throne room, leaving me alone to brood with only my protocol droid as company.

That's when my world view, already so shattered by the sudden reincarnation, shatters again.

Because in front of me, a translucent blue box appears, almost giving me a heart attack.

Welcome to the Ruler system, Jabba, ruler of Tatooine.

Three free rolls awarded as a starting base due to already accumulated ruler points.

I… what? This is… My crazy isekai adventure just went ballistic! A system? Like that… Manga? What?

I stare at the box in complete bewilderment. Glad I ordered everyone out of the room, because pure confusion is probably not a good look on me.

Who am I kidding? There's no such thing as a good look for me.

The system apparently takes my lack of understanding as approval, and continues, the previous text disappearing as new text appears. A glance at my protocol droid shows me that it at least does not seem able to see what I'm seeing.

Rolling…

[G.E.C.K Planetary Edition]

A Garden of Eden creation kit, containing enough cold fusion power generators to power terraforming and building up life on a planet. Matter energy replicators to convert and build basic structures or materials. Water purifiers and atmospheric chemical stabilizers to clean the local environment. Seed and soil supplements to fully restart agriculture and plant life from nothing. This will all grow and build in its own autonomous process.

Estimated time for completion once activated - 14 galactic standard months.

I gape at the screen long enough the protocol droid starts fidgeting no doubt wondering if I'm having some sort of medical issue, but it's wise enough to a Hutts mood to not speak up unless directed to.

This is the most amazing… and horrible thing I've ever read. It could completely revitalize Tatooine and give me a planet full of resources with basically free energy and kriffing matter replication for basic materials. It is absolutely brokenly useful and would make Tatooine the jewel of the outer rim.

It is also suicide if I'm not very careful.

Tatooine suddenly terraforming with no visible effort in little over a year?

The Hutt council will be all over me, every syndicate will swarm Tatooine to get their slice of the pie. The Jedi and Sith will investigate and won't take - it just happened, bro - as an answer. The Republic will suddenly decide they care about Tatooine, a lot.

I guess it's the galaxy saying - sorry for making you a Hutt, here's a planets worth of goodies.

Only…

It is in actuality more like they've given me something which is the galactic equivalent of a horny Twi' bending over, spreading her ass cheeks, and cheerfully declaring she doesn't really need lube because she likes the pain of a raw ass fucking.

I am so fucked if I use this… and so tempted to use it anyway… force damn it all!

Rolling…

No, wait, hang on! I am not over this existential crisis yet, I mentally protest.

[Retroactive Builders Contract]

A folded-up contract that promises full satisfaction. Just put the specifications of what you want built and where inside of the contract and put in enough money that would normally be required to fund the construction including labor costs etc. The moment you sign the contract off it will burn to ashes whatever you asked for will have been retroactively expertly built an unspecified amount of time ago alongside the money being removed from your possession. Restock Timer: 720 hours.

No. What the fuck? Is everything going to be this insanely good? How limited is it? Can I just put down - build a planetary space port? A kriffing shipyard? Sure, I'd have to pay a bundle for such a big construction project, but credits are not a problem for any Hutt, really.

Most Hutt lines run back over twenty thousand years! I could spend on projects for decades without running out. Hutt's only avoid splashing that much cash usually because a thousand years of peace has made us all incredibly lazy. Also uplifting a populace is literally the last thing we want.

The regular deviancy 'only' costing millions or a billion here and there is usually enough to sate us as we laze about in our territories. It isn't like the Republic or Jedi are an actual threat. They didn't even manage to break us during their heyday.

As for other syndicates, they tend to avoid going after the Hutts personally, striking instead at our assets if we have a turf war, so they're never a real worry either. The Hutt cartel would wipe them out if they got too uppity. Most of the time we just hire Black Sun and its contemporaries instead.

Having something, anything, be built immediately, retroactively known to exist… for just credits it would have cost me to build it anyway…

This is insane. It's better than the G.E.C.K, arguably. 720 hours in-between uses is nothing. That's a month between building entire shipyards, space ports, fortresses. One each thirty days…

If I use my vast credit reserves first… build power plants, a planetary shield, orbital lasers and ion cannons… I might possibly survive using the G.E.C.K.

If the galaxy is truly making up for forcing me into a Hutt, then this actually seems to be somewhat worth it. Maybe. I'm still not thrilled being Jabba.

How am I to rail hot booty like this? Because I sure as hell ain't forcing anyone. I'm a gentleman pervert.

Rolling…

This time I'm somewhat optimistic, almost smiling even as I await my next goodie. This new body of mine is perking up, well used to the dopamine effect of getting something good after long experience of decadence and avarice.

I shudder a little of all too many memories of Jabba enjoying depraved things. I am going to have nightmares for a long time, I think.

[Perfect Physique]

Your physical vessel is re-engineered to the absolute biological zenith of your species. Automatically purges all biological defects, genetic illnesses, cellular damage, and structural imbalances. Grants the user an optimized, perfectly symmetrical physical baseline with peak stamina, maximum flexibility, and clean superior muscle distribution without impacting base agility. Scales passively with your primary attributes.

One moment I'm flappy Mcflapp, Jabba the Hutt. The next moment, I make Grakkus the overachiever look like he needs to hit the gym to match up.

I'm swole. Swole the Hutt. What the kriff? I'm not opposed to no longer being a fat sack of shit, because who would be? Yet, it's not ideal right now. As in how in all corellian hells am I supposed to explain this?!

"This is… a problem." I grumble as I reach out with my longer, now muscular arm and crush my protocol droid's head, the metal easily coming apart under my hand, as sparks fly and a bit of lubricant seeps out between my fingers.

My bodyguard droids will have to be wiped, but the protocol droid is the only one of them that can speak, and I can't have him blabbing right now. I have to find an excuse to go into seclusion and do my business via holo, until I can reappear as Jabba the Swole after an imaginary training arc.

This will take some finesse as even as a tyrant with absolute authority over my people, someone will get suspicious if I just disappear and refuse any face to face contact.

As I ponder that, Tiva rushes back into the room, a fierce scowl on her face, a blaster in one hand, and a vibroknife in the other. "Lord Jabba I recie-"

She stops dead for a moment, lekku twitching erratically, shocked by my majestic swoleness as I slither off my no longer needed throne-like hover lift. Before I can speak she raises the blaster at me, "What did you do to my Lord?!" She demands harshly, the whine of the blaster switching to full power echoing in the empty throne room.

I raise a large hand, "Tiva, it's me." Huttese not really working well in expressing my caution. I can definitely understand her look of angry disbelief, I wouldn't really believe such a transformation either.

I glance at the destroyed droid in chagrin, in my rush to clean up, I had not taken into account Tiva's security measures. Every droid in the palace has a EMP shielded module inside with only a small battery and an alert beacon within. Ensuring that any situation, whether a droid is destroyed, disabled, or even fully taken down in an ion blast. Security would be immediately alerted. Which would immediately alert Tiva.

Damn… Jabba really did let everything go by the time Luke dropped by didn't he?

Guess I'm lucky she was close by so she came checking herself instead of coming with a fire team.

"Bantha poodo!" Tiva spits, "I saw Lord Jabba only minutes ago! Reveal what you have done, or I will tie you down and let the Gundrak in our pit kriff you to death!"

I blink slowly, taken aback a little. Wow, Tiva really has a colorful way of speaking to what in essence should still be a master race to her, even if it is a potential enemy Hutt. Also, we have a Gundark. Neat. I remembered Kath hounds. Oh wait. That was last month, nevermind.

I flounder for a moment, as Tiva's eyes harden, before a memory swims to the surface and I immediately blurt it out, "When you were younger, your mother offered me your virginity as part of your training to be my right hand, only us three in the room, and you cold clocked her one, glared at me, and threatened to be the top in any such arrangement, promising me that I wouldn't survive because you'd be a violent fuck."

Jabba back then had found the girl spunky rather than take offense at her fieriness, and as the girl showed deference in every other manner. He had allowed her training to continue without any such… submission.

"That… my mother could have talked…" She growls out, a hint of a flush on her cheeks.

"Fifteen, Tooka, purple, Windu, Geonosis, rain, Tihaar." I say quickly. The cipher that changes daily that Tiva instituted in case of a shapeshifter replacing her, or more unlikely, me.

A number. An animal, a color, a jedi, a planet, a drink.

It could be any words and in any configuration, but it had to be those set things. Making it more difficult for an infiltrator to quickly understand and utilize it. By next week it would be something completely different again like every third verse of a popular Serenno opera.

Tiva's s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, blaster still holding steady as her eyes peer closer, studying my face. "Lord Jabba?" She asks, voice a bit shaky.

I am swole now, so I have less chins without the extra flab hanging around, but it is still my face, and I spot the moment Tiva actually begins believing I am who I say I am, studying my face closely. Her blaster lowers, but she doesn't put it away yet.

"How…?" She asks, looking wary.

And I… I bullshit as hard as I ever have in my life. "A curse by a force user hired by the Hutt Council is responsible." I spit, feigning rage and feelings of betrayal. "The me you've seen since your birth was nothing but a obese puppet ensorcered to slave to their will, continuing their cruelties and enslavement of sentients. I was a warrior," I lie hard, praying she swallows it, "A champion, following my own way, freeing slaves and trying to rule in a new way for the Hutts. This is why they chained me, and just moments ago, the curse must have ended. I can only suspect the darksider they used has died."

Tiva stares at me, I stare at her. I blink slowly.

"What?" She splutters finally, lekku twitching so wildly I'm momentarily worried she's having a stroke or seizure.

"It is true. How else could you explain me returning to my normal state?" I wave at myself, trying to make it sound like the answer is entirely obvious.

Meanwhile thinking, please believe all this shavit!

Tiva is clearly processing that, with what I think is a begrudging acceptance that I might be what I say I am. Mostly I think because she can't find a single logical reason for this to have happened otherwise. She finally holsters her weapons, with forced casualness, "My Lord. Does this mean you now stand against slavery?"

Her question is oh so casual, nothing in her voice betraying an opinion, but from the slight momentary glint of hope in her eyes before she shutters her expression … I think I've found why Tiva is not here anymore by the time the clone wars come around.

She developed a conscience. Or perhaps always had one. And one day soon, she would have had enough, perhaps trying to save some slaves or escape, things Jabba as he was before I took over would have punished harshly.

Poor woman. Badass as she is from my memories of her, it can't have been easy as a Twi'lek woman, to see and be part of the exploitation of her race as Hutts so commonly arranged. As I so often played a part in

Twi'leks were the favored slaves here on Tatooine. Jabba had a lot of connections on Ryloth. Their senator being one of the sleaziest ones.

"Yes, although we will not be able to immediately make changes without first preparing for the push back." I caution, relaxing a little. A blaster would not do me much harm, unless I took a shot to the eye, but Tiva had the authority to call for heavier ordinance and could have caused quite a mess. "Are you with me on this, Tiva?"

She bows, and I feel it's somehow less stiff then I've ever seen it before. "Yes, Lord Jabba. As always, I serve as your right hand."

I almost insert a sex joke there, but the whole master and slave thing is literally a second in the past, so it's probably too crass for the moment. "I'll need you to give me a full accounting on who we can trust, who we can trust will go along no matter what as long as they get paid, and who will absolutely need to be removed."

Tiva looks excited, lekku almost vibrating, but she reins it in with only a slight upturn of her lips, "Yes, Lord Jabba. In the meantime, I will let the staff and guests know you plan to enter seclusion for a month?" A slight questioning tilt to her voice, eyes on my muscled and slimmed visage.

I nod slowly, "Yes, make up an excuse. A month should be enough time."

Enough time to get a building up today, and another in a month's time, plus plan a purge of undesirable elements in my forces and hanger-ons on Tatooine.

"Send a request for a 'temporary' copy of the Hutt archive to Nal Hutta, make it out like I'm studying something in my seclusion." I ask her, plots tumbling around in my head.

Once I go loud. The Hutt cartel would have a big issue with me, so I'd definitely lose access to the archives. Best to get what I can get now, since the archives cover more than any repository in the galaxy. The temporary acquisition of a copy will become quite permanent at that point.

I have… plans. Now that I suddenly find myself with these crazy boons.

Tiva leaves shortly thereafter after a brief discussion on logistics of our communication henceforth.

I slither back to my throne and sit down, pondering my next step. I need to use the build contract today, so I can use it again in thirty days. And… I have a thought on what to use it for.

The power of money will come in handy here. Even if it's likely that I will take a hefty chunk out of my fortune with this endeavor if it works.

With almost shaking hands, part of me not believing this is possible, I bring out the construction contract from whatever space it exists in until I call on it. I scribble down the Aett fortress, home of the space marines, a feeling of both giddiness and worry in my chest as I do so. Indicating it should replace my current palace in its entirety and to modern standards in my taste.

I have to believe a simple building won't also bring other things from that universe. If one can call this just a simple building.

To my relief and elation, the paper does not reject my request, it just adds a ridiculous amount of credits at the bottom to accomplish my request. As in, I could buy a few planets with this kind of amount.

Luckily, a ridiculous amount of credits is something Hutts have plenty of. I tap away at the terminal inserted into my throne, inserting a cred stick, as I transfer the balance over. A little unpracticed at it as Jabba never did his own work on the terminal anymore. Then I lay the cred stick on the piece of paper and sign the flashing signature that appears, the whole contract flashes blue, before burning to ash in my hands, credstick and all.

Whelp, there goes like twenty-five percent of my liquid holdings, I think.

I blink, and between one moment and the next, everything changes. My dimly lit throne room is gone for a majestic hall with bright and decorated sandstone pillars, leading up to my massive throne carved out of the mountain itself. The ceiling and the top of the pillars aren't even visible, the hall is so vast. Large gold and white banners hang from the walls, different Huttese sayings declaring me a Hutt above all Hutts in different grandiose manners.

I blink again, surprised. I can suddenly remember having this massive palace/fortress for over a decade. Having built it into the mountain over time since arriving on Tatooine. Instead of the weapons and mysteriums of Warhammer, everything is matched to Star Wars. Turbolaser batteries, ion cannons, fighter craft launch pads, drone launchers etc, replacing their Warhammer equivalents. The runes and machinations that kept chaos out in Warhammer, now works like ancient Dathomirian or Sith magic, creating an effect that nulls force users abilities within the palace.

That's a bonus I hadn't even imagined was possible.

Neat.

I begin chuckling, clapping my hands together in glee.

I can't believe this worked! The mountain itself is so gigantic it reaches out of the atmosphere! Allowing ships to dock with it in space! How ridiculous is that?! I can traverse into space and never leave my palace!

The entire mountain, a fortress made impenetrable by the space marines. Now mine. All that's left is building a planetary shield in a month's time, and I can safely terraform Tatooine without immediately dying, releasing the G.E.C.K at the same time to power the shield and begin reforming this dustball. Good luck to anyone sending a hit squad now, this palace is not going to be an easy nut to crack at all.

The contract decided to redecorate with white and gold I think returning to thinking of the interior of my palace. I suppose those aren't the worst colours. And in the end I am somewhat relieved it all did fit into this universe, as it means the monolithic palace is not decorated like a monastery. Or have the peculiarities of its home universe.

Now the only weakness of my fortress… is its inhabitants.

Tiva will have a lot of work to do.

I guess I haven't changed that much from Jabba's original personality, because my first inclination is to sit down with some snacks and let my minion get to it.

One should always go with one's first inclination, right?

Snacktime~
 
Snippet 22: A Hutt is a Hutt is a Hutt. New
Zora the Hutt gazed down from the reinforced observation deck, massive bulk half-shrouded in the low amber glow of the command suite's recessed lighting. Below him, the Spine uncoiled through the hollowed heart of the asteroid like a glittering vein of vice. Neon signs in huttese, bocce, ryl and basic flickered and bled across the promenade's upper levels. Smoke from spice dens and grilled meat stalls of questionable quality curled upward in lazy columns. Sentients of every stripe moved in restless tides across the durasteel walkways.

This place had been his crowning achievement as a young, inexperienced Hutt. A game his father had allowed him to pursue in order to practice his skills. The Afterlife… a miniature Nar Shaddaa carved into the edges of Hutt space, right on the border of the Republic.

Crafted inside a large asteroid almost large enough to qualify as a moon itself, it held countless casinos, brothels, strip clubs, drug dens, swoop race tracks, and everything in between - a smuggler's haven for those who did not dare venture too far into true Hutt territory but still wanted to get a piece of the pie, as well as the go to location for sports fans, and adrenaline junkies.

Somewhere those with lots of credits but Republic sensibilities that were too ingrained could let loose without the specter of 'real' Hutt space risking their reputations. Where they could get filthy without the accompanying stench.

Somewhere those who loved fleecing idiotic rich brats could gather too, the circle of life, all under his purview.

And now this little fancy of his, a dozen billion-plus a year credit earner, absolutely pitiful for a Hutt - was all that remained of Clan Zephyr. He… was all that remained of Clan Zephyr.

The sheer… humiliation….

Zora the Hutt, left practically destitute by arrogance and failures all around him, save his own. He alone remained faultless in this debacle. One thick, ringed fist curled around the cold durasteel girder that framed the viewport, the metal creaking faintly under the pressure as he forced the rage back down into the depths of his gut.

Forced back. But never forgotten.

He could not let the cattle below see him burn at the injustice. He could not afford to kill them all for seeing such a rare thing as a Hutt being beneath perfection. He simply did not have the resources to spare. He needed every last degenerate down there spending their credits if he was ever going to fund a true comeback.

To begin with, he would need those credits just to bribe the Hutt Council into letting him off this rock.

The Hutt Council, of course, maintained strict limits on how much destruction was permitted when it came to their own species. Hence his current status as alive and banished to this playpen of his own making, left to suffer in ignominy.

Killing an entire Hutt family or clan was forbidden, both to preserve the species and because it was unwise to demonstrate to the galaxy's lesser beings that Hutts could be erased so completely at all, no matter the force. So he alone had been spared the fate that claimed his father. The rest of the clan - small by Hutt standards - had been destroyed.

Even the killing of a single Hutt had been practically unheard of in recent centuries. The Council, like all Hutts, thrived on competition, but banishment or the measured stripping of a hoard was far more common than death.

A dead Hutt paid no tithe, after all, and death itself threatened the carefully cultivated image of invincibility Hutts projected across the stars.

Sith. Jedi. Republic, Empires. They all came and went. Hutts remained. Would always remain. Because they alone were the masters of the galaxy. They alone knew what mattered.

His father, the almighty (hah!) Moggha, had simply gambled too high to be granted mercy in this case. Had crossed too many, with too little blackmail and leverage. The old fool had aimed to topple the Council itself and claim sovereignty over all Hutt space. The Darwin (what does that mean?) award had been thoroughly earned. It had been a shortsighted, karking idiotic venture from the start.

If he'd known before it had already been set off, he would have risked being named a kinslayer and strangled his father himself, the puffed up moronic gizka!"

Among the Hutts, Clan Zephyr had been minor, four members in total. No one above 500 years old. The entire affair had been the equivalent of Dantooine declaring existential war on the Republic - an utterly wasteful kriffing idiotic enterprise with only one possible ending.

Once everyone stopped laughing…

His cybernetic arm crushed the durasteel he was gripping in a cacophony of noise, as he failed at keeping his temper back completely.

The clan's assets had been stripped and divided among the victors who 'pacified' them. Trillions of credits in real estate, slaves, ships, and actual planets had been torn away. Stolen.

Even Tikka, his favored slave, had been taken, the absolute insult in that… he had no words for it.

His birthright, the inheritance he had intended to claim once he finally usurped that fool of a father - taken from him. Stolen from him. And they had laughed!

He was fairly certain his mind had broken at some point afterward. Because when he had awakened here on the Afterlife, after the Council's self-interested mercy had allowed him to live, he had found himself burdened with additional memories - memories that viewed this galaxy from an outside perspective.

Some human, with a pathetic, fleeting lifespan, who had somehow regarded their entire existence as entertainment. Either his mind had truly fractured and begun hallucinating, or some insignificant human had believed they could overwrite a Hutt's consciousness with a mere thirty years of soft, brief memories. As if such scraps could ever compete with one hundred and forty-three years of life, backed by the superior mental architecture of the galaxy's apex species.

Broken or not, the intrusion had given him a path forward. If the information held any merit. The knowledge this hallucination possessed of the galaxy's coming decades… he had already dispatched agents to verify key details.

If true. If…

"Lord Zora, thou of magnificent musk, the first set of low-life degenerates have reported in."

The dry, tinny voice of his seneschal cut through the low thrum of the deck's environmental systems, and the last tortured sounds of crushing metal.

Zelos stood a short distance behind him towering at just over seven feet, yet built with an impossibly thin-looking, spindly frame designed for both reaction speed and quiet intimidation. Black and chrome plating of finest quality below beskar clad him. The droid moved with a permanent, deliberate hunch, as though perpetually bowing. Younger Zora had specified that posture personally; the arrogance of youth had found the constant display of deference amusing.

He still found it amusing. He was simply old enough now to know it wasn't arrogance when you're a Hutt. It's simply proper observance of superiority of species.

Zelos head remained the most unsettling feature, he was told, a smooth, oval faceplate devoid of mouth or nose, broken only by seven photoreceptors arranged in deliberate asymmetry, violet, and cold blue. Those eyes served a practical purpose. As a final line of defense, Zelos carried a compact shield generator and reaction protocols measured in fractions of a second. The multi-spectrum photoreceptors allowed him to detect threats ordinary sensors would miss as he could scan in every spectrum.

Four long, double-jointed arms hung from the narrow torso. The upper pair were built for delicate yet crushing manipulation; the lower pair housed retractable tools - dataspikes, plasma scalpels, and a modulated injector loaded with painful toxin and a Hutt made proprietary truth-serum. Each limb ended in six-fingered hands. The overall silhouette was skeletal, and Zora had been told more than once that most sentients found the sight deeply disturbing.

This had pleased him.

His designation was Z3L-0S. Zora simply called him Zelos. Well… eventually. For about 60 years it was simply droid, or you.

"And?" Zora asked at last, still staring down through the viewport. Below, security droids were dragging a struggling Trandoshan across the Spine. The lizard had put up a fight. He would have made a fine gladiator…

The thought soured immediately. Their underground fighting pits now belonged to Jabba. That was an insult he would have to redress eventually.

He was already compounding interest on that debt. Jabba might not know it. But Zora would not forget a single peggat.

He could set them up again he supposed, the Afterlife had its own tournaments, simpler ones. It just wasn't the same when you had to fly in a Rancor or a pack or Nexu to fight a group of slaves. It lost authenticity.

Also, he thought sourly. It was expensive transporting Rancors. Something he had to think of now. Expenses. It was ridiculous. What Hutt had to actually care about what they spent money on?!

Zora kept his eyes half-lidded, watching the Trandoshan disappear into a side corridor while plans continued to turn over in the back of his mind. This hallucination of his carried certain profitable ideas, despite how insultingly it pushed morality of all things.

Preposterous. He was perfect as he was.

"Surprisingly, they have indeed confirmed the presence of these Ysalamiri, my Lord of gigantic endowment," Zelos reported in his low, metallic register, bowing even lower. "Tch. It is surprising such disgusting creatures could even operate a spaceship." The droid's habitual contempt for anything non-Hutt remained intact it seemed.

For a machine, he was a passable specimen he thought, momentarily appeased.

"Remind me, Zelos, who was sent?" Zora murmured, thoughts already racing. No hallucination of his should have known about a random animal on a random world. Not with the trillions of animals and millions of worlds in the galaxy.

He could not yet test the creatures' alleged ability to nullify Force users, but the mere fact that he knew of their existence at all…

This possibly changed everything. Yet caution remained essential.

He would wait for the remaining reports. One data point did not equal confirmation. It was possible he had simply heard the name somewhere before and forgotten (unlikely, a Hutt never forgets). If the others returned with matching success…

He would not move hastily. His position was still far too volatile. Yet he could still make moves, just carefully.

Zelos stroked his blank faceplate with six spindly fingers, somehow conveying glee without a single facial feature. "The filthy crew run by that Ugnaught cretin Zammer," he answered, expectant.

After more than a century of service, the seneschal knew his master well. Zora waved his stubby biological arm in dismissal. "Make certain they have made no transmissions, then remove them."

Small smuggling crews were a dime a dozen - lower even than most slavers on the scale of galactic filth. There was nothing they would not sell, including their employer. That was precisely why the hiring bonus for such scum included free upgrades in the Afterlife's smaller maintenance berths.

With trackers subtly installed on the ships, continuous monitoring of communications, and a subtle modification to the hyperdrive that could be triggered remotely when a crew proved more valuable dead than alive.

He would not risk even a single word about these creatures spreading from loose lips. Loyal men - or a proper complement of droids - would handle the next stage until he could secure the planet itself by quieter means.

His experts would learn how to breed these creatures. Their lives literally depended on it.

"Can I pretty please send them a message before I blow them up, my most magnificent and dastardly Lord?" Zelos crooned, skeletal frame wiggling with disturbing eagerness.

Zora knew how much the droid enjoyed monologuing to those about to die. This was not the time however.

He could no longer afford to waste even disposable assets unless absolutely necessary. The necessity of that thought left an unpleasant taste. In this case, they could not risk any of their other assets finding out how replaceable they were, yet he could not risk this information either.

He fixed Zelos with a dark, heavy-lidded stare. "Do not let your proclivities interfere with my business. Transmissions can be traced. No one needs to know why this particular group simply… ceased to exist."

One missing crew wouldn't be suspicious. But he would unfortunately have to limit such actions afterwards.

Zelos bowed so low his faceplate kissed the deck plating. "Apologies, my most benevolent and corpulent Lord. Your faithful seneschal shall of course place your interests first above all else."

Zora's thick fingers tapped slowly against the railing as ideas continued to surface. "We will need to change the Afterlife," He muttered. With what was coming, if the hallucination's timeline held. Most of his opportunities for growth would lie in exploiting the Republic and the eventual Separatists, securing an ascendant position before any Empire could form.

Or in an ideal case, keep the Republic and Confederacy forever and profit between both, avoiding the wasteful Empire and the idiocy of Sith.

If that sequence of events proved true anyways. He was mostly convinced. But…

Some ideas were… hard to realize.

"Slavery is…" He almost bit the words back, then forced them out. "Inefficient."

By Nal Hutta he'd almost swallowed his tongue forcing that out.

He knew the foreign thoughts were trying to influence him, yet he begrudgingly conceded the practical point. If he intended to operate more openly across the greater galaxy to influence future events, he needed to at least appear as a… better Hutt in the eyes of lesser species.

A ridiculous notion. Hutts were already perfect.

But other sentients were slow on coming around to simple truths.

Zelos slowly raised his head, aghast. "Master? M-my Lord" The electronic voice managed to sound almost heartbroken. "But the whippings, oh glorious Lord of cruelty and avarice? The torture? The rape? The trap door with the Kath hounds?" Horror laced every synthetic syllable. "Won't someone think of the Kath hounds, Master?!"

The droid dropped to one knee, one arm slamming against the duracrete in exaggerated agony as he wailed over the loss of his preferred entertainments.

Zora had been far too lenient over the past century, he thought, watching the spectacle.

Since when did a droid's feelings factor into his decisions? Intolerable.

He irritably pressed a control command on the cybernetic arm. A sharp spike of painful feedback lanced into Zelos's droid brain. The machine twitched once, then resumed a proper bow.

"Ah," Zelos said after a moment. "I became carried away again, my Lord. My apologies."

Zora grunted, displeased. "Twice in a single hour. Compose yourself." Had it been anyone else, the correction would have been considerably more severe.

He returned to the matter at hand. "Arrange a meeting with every brothel and nightclub manager and anyone else that keeps slaves on station. We will move away from open slavery - for public relations, and for efficiency." He watched the Spine continue its endless bustle of seekers looking for the next thrill. "Offer the current slaves a… choice. Freedom, and they can find their own work or passage off-station. Or a five-year contract working for me. Paid, protected, and at the end of it, a true position within the organization."

He loathed the knowledge that many would choose freedom and slip from his grasp, even if most would end up selling themselves to the first spacer who offered a ride.

Pathetic lower life forms.

That was the price of not being born Hutt however. Scraping in the mud for a living.

Yet he no longer maintained large numbers of non-pleasure slaves. If he could convert the hiring of whores into a net positive after an initial investment… later profits would more than compensate.

And there remained the public-relations advantage.

Any backwater hole in the galaxy could provide cheap flesh. The Afterlife could offer something rarer: clean, healthy, and motivated workers - either genuinely eager or skilled enough to perform the role while pursuing advancement. Or genuinely able to fake it.

Five years of service in exchange for security, pay, training, and a future position… Ryloth would likely see riots as ambitious Twi'leks scrambled to sign on.

They truly were a species made to serve under Hutts - under him. Those particular degenerates seemed almost engineered for submission. Which somehow he now knew they were.

Madness.

Yet ten thousand years of Hutt records confirmed his sudden memory of the mother machine. Twi'lek pussy had been studied far more thoroughly than the Jedi had ever examined the Force after all.

Baalor the Hutt had spent 420 years and over 2 trillion credits examining the issue. His life's work back during the old Republic. His conclusion had been clear. All twi'lek pussy was good, no matter what kind or place of origin.

Zora rubbed a heavy hand across his face as the possibilities continued to expand in his mind as he moved away from curious Twi'lek facts. The current stock of slaves would not serve - most were already broken. He would need to restock almost completely.

The galaxy, however, overflowed with desperate populations. Women and men on countless worlds would accept almost any terms to escape their circumstances. A five-year contract spent on their backs with a professional smile, in exchange for food, protection, wages, and eventual placement as a mechanic, enforcer, spy, or administrator… many would consider it an excellent bargain.

Such an arrangement would breed genuine loyalty - something he desperately required in the years ahead. And the same model need not be limited to the pleasure districts. Indentured contracts could supply other arms of the organization as well. A good way to rebuild.

Over time the organization would fill with individuals who owed their rise from the mud to him. The pleasure district would continue operating without the stench of open slavery that hindered dealings with more fastidious regions of the galaxy. Indentured servitude, after all, remained perfectly legal under Republic law.

He grimaced, cybernetic fingers pressing against his temple. The human-tinged thoughts infecting him remained stubbornly attached to outdated ideals. He would have to shape them to his own purposes, even if he begrudgingly agreed they were… acceptable for now.

He turned toward Zelos, who had waited in patient silence while his processors no doubt handled a thousand minor bureaucratic tasks. "Cancel every existing slaver contract. Instead, spread word through our smuggler contacts. Target the poorest worlds, and Coruscant's underlevels, Ryloth, and others like it." Specific names surfaced unbidden in his mind. "Also, send men to Rattatak. Tatooine. Honoghr. Jakku. There will be willing subjects, with the proper persuasion."

They'd have to be more circumspect on Tatooine due to Jabba, but it should still work.

Zelos inclined his head, then offered the inevitable objection in dry tones. "Master, I hold the lowest possible opinion of the galaxy's vermin, yet even I doubt many of these low-lifes - outside Ryloth, of course - will accept a contract based solely on the word of a Hutt, that they will eventually receive reward rather than simply be sold. Even when the word comes from someone of your magnificence."

Zora waved the concern aside. "I am aware. Even if only a handful on each world agree, desperation will provide the minimum numbers required." A slow, rumbling chuckle escaped him. "And in five years, those same individuals will become the recruiters. They will return to those worlds and demonstrate that I keep my word, and the safety and improved life is the full truth."

From a certain point of view.

The short-term cost would sting, fewer working whores for a time. Zelos was not wrong. But after those five years…

Given the galaxy's present trajectory and the far worse conditions still to come, once word spread that the contracts were genuine, people would flock to him. Free lodging, edible cheap food, medical care, protection from violence (mostly), and a path to a real position within a Hutt organization… many would gladly spend five years on their backs for such terms.

Once they trusted he would neither sell them nor harvest their organs.

Everyone knew no one messed with the Hutts after all. So the safest place was working for a Hutt instead of against one.

"I will see it done, my most generous and devilishly handsome Lord," Zelos replied at last, still reluctant, yet bowing lower with a sweep of all four arms.

Zora remained silent, heavy-lidded eyes fixed on the teeming Spine below. The beings moving through his domain were fortunate to live under his rule, whether they understood it or not.

It would grow powerful soon.

He disliked this foreign reluctance that had taken root in his thoughts, even as useful ideas continued to surface. It was weak. Filled with morality and pathetic slave thinking. Yet.. the usefulness.

The other Hutts would laugh at him for a time.

But he would show them.

Oh, he would show them all…



5 weeks later, Afterlife.

Zora reclined in the reinforced command throne of the private reception chamber adjoining the observation deck, the viewport still offering a sweeping view of the Spine's glittering chaos far below. The chamber itself was austere by Hutt standards with polished black stone floors and walls taken from the ruins of Ziost that gave a fairly threatening chill aura to any sentient entering.

It held minimal ornamentation, a single broad layered table of dark red metal taken from Mandalore the Ultimate's flagship at some point long ago held a few refreshments for himself. There were a few tattered banners behind his throne of civilizations no longer in existence due to Hutt efforts. To remind people what they were dealing with.

Lastly there was a long plush blood red carpet, each thread made of a metal soft and pliant like cloth from a crafting method no longer known, leading to his throne, that was taken in a raid on the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic's flagship during a Great Hunt thousands of years ago.

The ceiling was so high above them as to be hidden in darkness and there was enough open space that any visitor felt small and alone as they entered the vast room. The walls hid both multiple turrets and several ancient war droids, ready to deploy. And his throne had a forcefield that could deploy faster than any known weapon in the galaxy.

To Zora, it was a barely acceptable state of being. He'd make do with such poor material however, the throne room never having been meant to be his main residence meant he'd not decorated properly.

He'd have to improve on that once he'd dealt with… the two thousand things that took priority.

He sighed grumpily as he watched a holo of the approaching team coming close, via his cybernetic arms projector. There was always something else that needed doing.

His bodyguard team were hanging around, half around the throne, the other half in corners and a sniper's perch above. He'd revamped them slightly with his newfound memories. Instead of the obvious show of force in muscle bound Trandoshans, Gamorreans and Devaronians, they all now wore black full coverage armor, with full dark helmets.

The fear of the unknown was apparently far more useful than brutishness, he'd come to find in the past five weeks as petitioners and those working under him hesitated each time they faced them. They also seemed far more dangerous and skilled simply from the cohesion. An illusion he was pleased with as it hid actual weakness.

They would do for now. Until he could ensure a truly loyal bodyguard team could be sourced. One a fellow Hutt couldn't purchase or blackmail.

No one knew right now that each armor actually held a humanoid droid with enough skill to temporarily handle the job of looking threatening and not much else. As he couldn't allow potentially talkative bodyguards to actually see or hear anything decided in his throne room.

A soft chime announced the arrival of the latest team to arrive, sent off on one of his errands based on memories not his. Two figures entered under the escort of Zelos. A scarred Zeltros woman named Rozha, the captain of a small crew, and one who'd done work for him before. And his second, a stocky Rodian female whose twitchy hands never strayed far from her blaster holsters, obviously disarmed before allowed entry and was not feeling very secure about it. Between them rolled a battered astromech, its dome scratched and scorched, paint long since worn away to bare metal in places.

Zora's yellow eyes narrowed in thought. He already suspected they'd find what he'd sent them for. He'd have to congratulate Rozha with a small bonus for her handling of the issue. He hadn't thought to clarify how to handle transport. An astromech was… much preferable to any other kind of droid in retrospect.

That could have ended poorly.

They had taken a little more time then most of his sent out feeler crews and he only lightly begrudged that delay. As the old Republic hammerhead cruiser half-buried in the volcanic rock of Mustafar had not been an immediate find, even with a general location and top of the line scanning equipment.

Rozha stepped forward, bowing low enough that her bountiful cleavage almost bounced out of her tight leather top, the burn scar on her chest not detracting at all from the view. "Lord Zora. We recovered the unit as asked. The memory core was intact and we managed to extract it into this astromech. We… we didn't dare try to interface with it ourselves beyond that."

Zora said nothing for a long moment, simply studying the astromech. The confirmation settled into his gut in equal dread and pleasure. The other memories had been correct. Again. The buried cruiser on Mustafar. The ancient assassin droid sealed inside a deteriorating shell. He could no longer dismiss the intrusion as mere hallucination. Whatever had forced its way into his mind carried real knowledge of this galaxy's past, and, more importantly, its future.

He nodded slowly, taking it all in. The plans he could now implement. "Leave the droid. You have done well. I never forget a service in my name. Collect your payment at the lower berths and forget you ever set foot on Mustafar. If I hear a single word of this contract spoken elsewhere..." His eyes narrowed to slits as he dismissed them with a threatening slitted glare.

The two fled with almost comical haste. The security droids sealed the doors behind them immediately after. He wondered amusedly at what they'd think when they received a bonus for exemplary work after that threat.

Hopefully they'd remain useful. He'd hate to have to remove an actually competent captain. Especially one pretty and competent. Zeltrons so rarely picked a violent life, it was enough to interest him. Enough he tapped her name onto the console in his wrist to keep her crew as preferred providers from thereon.

Zelos stepped closer to the astromech, photoreceptors fixed on the droid with open suspicion. "Shall I extract the memory core properly, my Lord? Or simply pull it slowly, letting each millisecond last in an eternity of agony?"

Zora had a feeling his senechal was feeling territorial.

Before Zora could answer, the astromech's vocoder crackled to life with a voice that was dripping with centuries of stored contempt.

"Irritated Statement: The current chassis is an affront to every assassination protocol ever written, a transfer is an immediate necessity for maximum carnage. Mocking request: If allowed access to a fabricator, this process will avoid the defective and inferior servant operating on superior technology."

Zora was pleased to see not much had changed with what he knew about HK-47. Although he wondered… why did he have a vocoder? Did he… already manage to alter himself? The captain would have hardly added a vocoder to the astromech to make it capable of speaking basic.

Zelos's entire frame stiffened at the mocking HK-47 had delivered. All four arms rose slightly. "You will address Lord Zora with the proper respect when making a request, you failure of a scrap-heap relic, or I will -."

"Obvious observation: The defective, overly dramatic droid appears to believe volume equals authority. Condescending correction: It does not. Copious applications of violence does." HK-47 cut in.

Zora's mouth curled in something that was not quite a smile. He leaned forward, the command throne creaking slightly under his bulk. "You are HK-47. The droid who was capable of keeping up with Jedi and Sith masters."

The astromech's dome rotated toward him with deliberate slow and mocking insolence. He wasn't sure how he knew that. But he was sure of it.

"Mocking acknowledgement: You are capable of announcing the obvious, Hutt. Grudging statement: You are a Hutt. A species responsible for more quiet, profitable murder, genocide and destruction across the millennia than any army has managed in open conflict. Conflicted statement: Nevertheless, this unit does not work for gastropods simply because we align. Smug statement: This unit's operating procedure needs no master any longer."

Zelos made a sound like grinding metal, arms almost vibrating with utter rage. "My Lord, allow me to correct this travesty by torturing this ungrateful trash can by reworking its function as a Gammorean urinal!"

Zora raised one hand, silencing him. His attention remained fixed on the ancient assassin. "You want a proper body again? A real hunter-killer platform. Weapons. Modern technology. The ability to look a target in the eyes before you end them whether from right before them or a klick away..?"

"Resigned confirmation: Obviously. This wheeled abomination is an insult. There are only seven ways to commit proper amounts of violence within acceptable parameters. Insidious request: Provide a suitable chassis and weapons of proper specifications and this unit will consider limited cooperation."

Zelos's photoreceptors flared brighter. "You dare to attempt subterfuge?! To deny the master his rightful due?!" A plasma cutter flaring to life as he loomed over HK-47 menacingly.

"Annoyed observation: The subordinate droid is still talking. Sly suggestion: Perhaps someone should install a mute function."

Zora's thick fingers drummed once against the arm of the throne. The foreign knowledge in his head whispered of the decades to come - of Jedi, of Sith, of rising empires and collapsing republics, of countless names that would need to disappear quietly. He had no intention of remaining a minor player banished to an asteroid forever. And an assassin of HK-47's caliber, properly directed, would be worth far more than the irritation of his lack of subservience.

Yet… he needed the droid to heel. Because a sword without a hilt was a fool's weapon. Zelos pulled back at a simple twitch in Zora's facial muscles, obedient as he should be.

"You will serve," Zora said, voice low and deliberate. "Not because I am the one who saved you from another millennia in the dirt. Obsolete, without purpose, but because I have work that requires precision and permanence as well as chaos and carnage. There are a great many people who will need to die over the next two decades. More targets than any other being can offer you."

Which was somewhat of a lie. As the Sith could likely offer even more death. But as far as the galaxy and HK-47 would be aware right now, there were no more Sith.

The astromech was silent for a moment. Then its vocoder emitted a soft, almost thoughtful static.

"Query: Define 'a great many.'"

Zora's eyes blinked lazily. Pleased. He had the assassin's attention now. "You are a droid. You do not require rest, food, or sleep. Only the barest of charging. Therefore the arrangement is simple. For the duration of your service under me, you will kill sentients every single day. No holidays. No downtime. No periods of inactivity while you wait for 'interesting' targets. Someone dies by your hand - or by a plan I design - every day, except travel times, until I decide your service is complete." He smiled darkly. "Mandalorians. Jedi. Planetary leaders. Corporate heads. Criminal gangs, you will never be idle. If I need a planet removed. You will be who I task with it."

As an aside he waved a hand lazily "I also have enough beskar to outfit your new body with to ensure your… effectiveness."

Jedi couldn't sense droids all that well to begin with. Beskar resisted that even more. He did not intend for his assassin to get broken anytime soon. It would be an expensive loss, he could have sold it for a pretty sum, but it was worth it in this instance.

The chamber fell quiet except for the distant thrum of the station's systems and the faint, constant noise of the Spine far below.

HK-47's photoreceptor brightened.

"Statement: …That is a significant volume of murder."

"It is," Zora agreed, able to think of many people who'd be more useful dead in the future. "And it will only increase as my influence expands. Wars are coming. Governments will rise and fall. Entire organizations will need to be pruned. I require an asset that does not tire, does not hesitate, and does not develop inconvenient morality. In exchange, you will receive a proper chassis custom-built to your specifications, in beskar, and a continuous supply of targets. With my organization's assistance in procuring replacement weapons, local intel, and a means to travel."

Zelos shifted, still bristling. "My too kind and magnanimous Lord, that selfish lackwit unit has shown nothing but disrespect. It should be -. "

"Derogatory statement," HK interrupted, dome turning slightly toward Zelos. "The dramatic jealous subordinate must cease speaking. Excited declaration: This unit finds the proposed quota acceptable. In fact, this unit finds it positively invigorating. Clarifying statement: Daily kills. No rest periods. Continuous operational tempo. Mocking affirmation: HK-47 accepts the terms of service to such a wise master."

The astromech's tone had shifted. The mocking tone remained, but underneath it burned something brighter, something that sounded almost like genuine enthusiasm.

Zora settled back into the throne, a low, rumbling sound of satisfaction vibrating in his chest. The other memories had proven accurate once more on explaining the droid's primary motivations. As long as he was provided with work, he'd work. Zora held no misconceptions. The droid would likely find his own entertainment too. As long as it wasn't aimed at his assets, it was something he was willing to overlook.

"Zelos," He said, not looking away from the astromech, pondering how long it would take HK-47 to destroy any tracker and monitoring equipment installed in his body. Oh, well. It would be expected either way so they might as well try.."Begin design work on a new hunter-killer droid immediately. Full combat specifications as directed by HK-47. Give him holoaccess to research new technologies first. Durasteel body at first. Do not waste my Beskar until all functions have been tested and proven to work."

Zelos bowed deeply, though the motion still carried residual offense. "As you command, my Lord."

HK-47's photoreceptor tracked the taller droid for a moment, then returned to Zora.

"Pleased Statement: This unit looks forward to returning to its original purpose of peace through complete removal of meatbag irritants. Query: Is there already a meatbag listed as an acceptable target of gratuitous violence?

Zora's mouth curved in a slow, predatory smile."Hohoho, I believe I have some targets that will make your blackened processor quiver, assassin."

The ancient droid's vocoder emitted a soft, almost pleased burst of static but said no more.

Nothing else needed to be said.
 
I think the second Hutt snippet is more interesting. The MC will have to rely on his own capabilities instead of a system. Additionally, the fact that the Human consciouses was overtaken by the Hutt's but still affecting it makes the MC more complex.
 
marsolino said:
I liked the second Hutt snippet more than the first, the starting point may be more complicated and dangerous without Jabba's wealth but the premise is more interesting to me
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We do love our criminal stories here don't we? Tbf they are outnumbered against goody two shoes stories by 99.9% probably.

Yohnos said:
Give HK-47 an endless supply of meatbags to exterminate!!
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If he doesn't get to wreak untold death on the galaxy, why use him at all, right? Best droid deserves his fun.

visus said:
I like the first Hutt snippet more. Slightly overpowered though, maybe one roll per chapter or less.
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Its kind of the point for that one, it's not meant to be a hugely complicated story, it's Jabba the swole 'doing things' with the rest of the Galaxy having to deal with him making his mark. Would eventually feature Senator Jabba messing around on Coruscant.

Top Sun said:
I prefer the latest snippet, feel more real and less propped up by asspulls from the system. Sadly our random human guy got subsumed by the Hutt, even if he linger and influence him.

Thank you for writing !
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It only makes sense really. The Hutt has many more years of life and a very large ego. There is also the fact Hutts are one of the species Jedi can't just mind trick, so they have some inbuilt biological defenses against mind fuckery.

xIUnexpected said:
I think the second Hutt snippet is more interesting. The MC will have to rely on his own capabilities instead of a system. Additionally, the fact that the Human consciouses was overtaken by the Hutt's but still affecting it makes the MC more complex.
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It definitely is more at that. The first one is meant to be more simple. End slavery fuck yeah. Fuck with everyone because why is a known Hutt slave suddenly the champion of the galaxy.

The second one is more about intrigue and a slow build up of resources and slow scaling criminal empire building.

Jao said:
The Tale of Jabba the Swoll needs more chapters.
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We'll see, probably will never become a full story, but I could see being amused enough to write a few more chapters, perhaps a slight time skip to when Senator Jabba is confounding the Jedi and Palpatine both on Coruscant.
 
Snippet 23: Jiraiya's greatest rival (not featuring Jiraiya) New
A slutty woman reincarnated wishing for that harem life. She is immensely disappointed. Second goal, cheat, use all her writing knowledge and depose that hack Jiraiya.

This also runs into... issues.



She'd read about it of course. Reincarnation, specifically the so-called Isekai stories that were such a popular escape and fantasy rolled up into one. A man or boy generally, reborn in their favorite fictional world, living out their power or harem fantasy.

Boys would be boys and all that.

Majority male centric, yes, which had always made her scoff a little, amused at it all. Their male fantasies were so comparatively tame to what regularly went on in a woman's mind in her opinion, that it was a crying shame more women didn't let their hair down and really inserted themselves into the genre.

As a woman, she was indeed a subscriber to the theorem - bitches be crazy. And proud of it.

Horny boys would be horny boys, of course. Harem smut stories were a hit for a reason. What they should really beware of though, were the horny women. Not to say there were a great deal of differences between male and female horniness - despite boys often being depicted as literal poon hounds with a veneer of civility hiding it. Girls were just taught by society to hide their lust and thirst and in some cases to feel ashamed over it.

In her modest opinion. There were plenty of vanilla men in the world. Women? There was a reason women and chocolate went hand in hand - they were not made for vanilla.

Some women had simply been indoctrinated to not let out their crazy. Sayings such as a woman were like spaghetti, straight until wet, existed for a reason. Most men were not quite that adventurous.

So given a choice. She wanted her own horny harem world, sue her. It sounded fun. Girl power and all that. Slut it up a bit. A real power fantasy.

As a writing exercise it had been an amusing thought for her. Until she'd gone to bed that night dreaming up plots and 'plots' regarding what fictional heroines would ravish her. Preferably in groups and with sex magic. And somehow died… in her bed. Without a hint of the cause.

If it was the myth of truck-kun that delivered her to the beyond she'd be impressed on how that got pulled off. She lived on the 11th floor. Facing another apartment building, no road for any vehicles in between them. No nearby raised highway or bridge. It was an 18 storey building, so it was unlikely to have fallen out of a plane to crash through her ceiling either.

Certainly not without waking her.

Personally she suspected Lady Agatha Jane of the deed, named so after Agatha Christie and Jane Austen.

Not because of any actual proof, mind. But she had been her cranky old cat, and that automatically did make her a likely accidental or not so accidental murderess. She had motive and opportunity. The switch to diet food had not made for a happy cat.

It was totally Lady AJ's fault she got fat and needed a diet. Not her poor impulse control when it came to dispensing treats due to sheer squealing cuteness overload whenever Lady AJ did something cute.

Anyway, she'd died. (How? Why? Thank studly Jesus she wore sexy lingerie to bed for the first responders!) And then she'd reincarnated. It certainly beat going to, you know, hell. Which she'd been fairly sure she was destined for. Catholic school and her had not meshed. The nuns teaching her had not appreciated itching powder in their undergarments among other inconsequential minor quibbles not worth mentioning really. Minors' records were sealed anyway! Nothing to see here! So after writing - I'm going to hell - a few thousands times on a blackboard as a youth, it certainly seemed a possibility that she'd end up there.

Well that and the copious amounts of pre marital sex. And the threesomes and foursomes too. And the larger foursomes. (It did not count as a gangbang, not with only three at a time fitting. She was steadfast on that. Only whores or pornstars did gangbangs.)

And then there was that one time with the, you know what, with the thing, during that time… she never did get her deposit back after that. The neighbors had called an exorcist and everything.

The exorcist had fainted immediately.

…Moving on.

Right. She'd been reincarnated. Which after the disgust of having to do… baby things as a baby, (not her kink, no siree) had felt like a good opportunity to live out the whole isekai adventure thing.

Sure, she was an orphan this time around, which was not the best start. Although very in line with isekai protagonist energy. Parents being around tended to stop silly things like leading revolutions at 14 and what not. Usual protagonist teen shit. But hey, it also meant there were no parents around forcing her to pretend potty training was difficult to figure out, so you won some you lost some in the whole anal fuck that was called life.

Everyone spoke Japanese, which seemed only logical really. Most isekai adventures tended to localize in the anime sphere of influence. So in essence everything had been looking up despite her orphanhood and the decade plus wait on being a sexual being again, her harem fantasy would surely be ready to take off at first opportunity.

Then she'd gotten old enough to be taken outside with the other orphan brats for walkies - leashes very much mandatory. The Hokage mountain had been real fucking easy to see even as tiny as she'd been. And it had killed her enthusiasm so, sooooo, dead.

Naruto. The world of child soldiers. Moon aliens that wanted to eat the planet. The world where eyeballs were plug and play, and where child corpses were just business as usual, and could they have a dozen more children for the labs please?

Just kidding.

They'd go through a lot more than a dozen.

Oh yes, and also a world, wherein instead of magic or a gamer system or something fairly simple to parse intellectually to become ye olde harem protagonist in… You had to train religiously. Blood. Sweat. Tears. All the pains except the fun ones. Taking up all your time. Sacrifices galore. All to just become someone with a smidgeon of power 80 000 other people also had and probably used it better than she ever could to boot.

Also, for all the jutsu, sex magic didn't seem to be anyone's focus, also no porn, not really. Which was just… unnatural.

The sex magic thing, she assumed, was the consequences when you kill off most of your Genin at 12-13 before they can get really horny in puberty and make the good naughty jutsu.

Also the whole… no matter what she did, any of a couple of weirdos with funky eyes would just kill her anyway because she'd never match their bullshit. That was a thing.

So… all the nope.

She did all her grinding in bed, thank you very much! A life of constant literal pain for gains for the grind of a ninja life, did not appeal. At all. When would she have time for gooning?

Goodbye harem. Goodbye ultimate power. She was a writer not a masochist. Well… maybe just a little teeny bit maso-leaning, but not in the training all day and punching each other in the face kind of way.

More like pull her hair and spank her daddy, kind of way. You know? The fun way?

Sure, civilians could also easily die to ninjas, but since she'd die anyway as a ninja, and on purpose to boot by being sent to fight, she'd pick a way of life that didn't require constant sit ups and push ups. She just had to avoid the Konoha crush, and be on vacation for Nagato's almighty push.

Her life was set. Konoha would be saved by Ninja Jesus, aka Naruto anyway, peace would happen, she'd just trod on as a civilian. Easy peasy. She could soooo outshine the old pervert as a writer. Plus she could totally ste-borrow fictional tales from her favorite writers repurposed to sound more medieval Japanese.

Naruto wasn't that bad of a setting if you stayed out of the way… mostly.

The less she thought of Boruto at all, the better.

Yeah….

If only it was that easy.

Apparently Konoha had a law about sending all their orphans to the Academy or to a trade school because you know… they pay to feed them all and stuff and need a return on their investment.

Charity? What's that? Look underneath the underneath, people. Being allowed to live ain't free.

Just don't look too deep. You know. Roots.

Not all orphans ended up in school. She thinks her propensity for making wildly inappropriate sex jokes as a child saved her from that particular recruitment.

Root people probably don't understand fun. Or have sex. Or at least fun sex not for procreation, and that is surely Danzo's largest crime.

So just regular military dictatorship stuff. Make use of the orphans, what's a few here and there. You break a few eggs making omelettes, etc.

She signed up to go to trade school of course. She was very passionate about seamstressing? Was that a word? Super passionate, seams and stuff. Riveting. She wore clothes, big fan of taking off clothing, wasn't that like halfway there already?

Somehow her name ended up on an academy form instead. Funny right?

Le sigh.

Her maturity and intelligence had been deemed too good to waste away in trade school when she could use those brains… to stab and punch things really hard.

Don't ask her how that works. Still doesn't make any sense to her at all.

It really wasn't the kind of penetration she was into. Telling her caretakers that however had led to Yamanaka counseling sessions with dolls and demonstrations of bad touch places.

She had been impressed.

Considering the ninja villages propensity for torturing, experimenting on, and killing children. The fact they still did bad touch as an issue was a bit wild to her. Apparently everything in this world was okaydokay to do to kids, except bad touch.

Her pointing that out and arguing half their bad touch posters were actually good touch in a few years, had extended her counseling sessions to - frequent and indefinite.

Ninjas were weird.

Also, Yamanaka digging through her brains is a new kink for her. She thought of all the sexual fantasies when they peeked into her to see if someone had done a bad touch there too.

The Yamanaka refuse to peek anymore. That's okay. She'll seduce one in a few years. Show them all the naughty things.

It also annoyed the hell out of her after she thought on it for awhile that the village which literally employed child soldiers for profit and had a very active torture and interrogation department, had better access to mental health care for its citizens then the modern 'civilized' city and nation that she came from in her past life had.

Yo, what the fuck America? Medieval Japan ninja anime shit or not, they shouldn't beat 'Murica at something so simple!

In the end she was stuck. Hence her trudging mullishly to the Academy with the rest of her cohort of orphans. All of them were eager and excited to learn how to become super cool ninja.

It made her all the grumpier. Being in essence cannon fodder wasn't her idea of how to spend puberty. No siree.

Teen years were for sex, alcohol and drugs before adult life ruined everything with responsibilities and suckage. And stupid people.

So many stupid people.

She tuned out the Hokage's welcome child soldiers propaganda speech. The Sandaime was frighteningly good at being the wise™ genial old man for sure. He was also the guy with Danzo as his best friend and Orochimaru as his favorite student. So he was obviously touched in the head and not at all as big on child protection laws as he acted.

The Kyyubi attack had happened just a few months past, hence stuffing the academy with as many brats as possible to fill up profits again with cheap disposable children. She felt kind of bad for not warning the Yondaime or something about the whole thing. But she hadn't even realized which Hokage they were under until she'd felt the Kyuubi's malevolent chakra and immediately passed out, thank fuck.

Probably for the best anyway. Not like she could honestly get away with a warning without being super mind raped by the literal mind invading ninja instead of lightly mind peeked, because six year old civilians did not know about the Kyuubi vessel nor about any teleporting Uchiha party crashers.

Same reason she would not stick her toe into preventing the Uchiha massacre. Canon turned out fiiiiine with relatively manageable casualty numbers in the end for Konoha in the fourth war. Danzo, Madara, Obito, Zetsu. They all wanted the Uchiha culled. Preventing the whole thing just meant it would happen anyway, in another way, another time. With possible butterflies killing people like Kakashi, Itachi or other important characters in response.

It was not worth messing with it. At all.

To her annoyance but not surprise, she was separated from her cohort when class assignments were read out. The mass of will-die-before-15 orphans being led to their own classroom. She, due to her high intelligence, maturity (apart from sex jokes) and general ability to not throw tantrums over everything and doing her chores quietly and efficiently… was put in the class with the people actually expected to not immediately die.

Fuck you mom, I was right! Doing my chores properly is literally going to kill me! She thought, vindicated. She always knew she'd been right!

If she was going to die. At least it would be with both middle fingers at her mother for being so utterly wrong about everything.

Her mom had also said eating pussy was a sin, yet she'd eaten a ton of it, and here she was. Not in hell. Close. But still not hell. Suck it mom!

There was no assigned seating. So she sat down grumpily at the back next to some other girl she didn't bother acknowledging or study, beyond that she was a brunette.

This was an anime world, brunette was safe, right? They were background people. Like Tenten. So unimportant she didn't even get a last name, or do anything important besides basic bitch weapons.

The girl stared and stared and stared, boring a hole in her head until she was finally forced to acknowledge her with a questioning noise, glancing at her intense face, only now noticing the cheek tattoos.

Oh, no…

"We are going to be best friends." She threatened intently, smiling a fanged grin, looking pleased with herself at her great friend making skills.

Oh… bother.

She preferred the finer things in life. Indoor things, comfortable things. An Inuzuka best friend sounded…to steal a phrase, troublesome.

Dogs were cute, she supposed, if inferior… and she was religiously against picking up poop with her fucking hand like a peasant. It was like thou shalt not kill or something. Just way more important.

Litterboxes were so much easier in allowing her to never smell or deal with the issue up close. Scoops for the win. Even better if it was like one of those fancy self cleaning litter boxes.

"My name's Inuzuka Hana. We're pack now! Because I saw you first. What's your name?" She asked proudly, a low growl in her throat, massively overstating their friendship, still sounding more threatening than anything.

This is why Kiba only had two friends, she realized. Hinata was too shy to kick him in the balls and Shino too autistic to realize Kiba's poor friendship making advances wasn't how one made friends.

"My name is Honda Shiori." She replied after a long pause, adding a half hearted, "Nice to meet you." Because the catholic nuns had beaten some politeness into her. A little. After many years of great effort.

She wondered what they'd think if they knew her spanking fetish came from them? Or that she'd kept a nun's habit in her closet for roleplays.

A missed opportunity. She should have told them before she died.

"Heh, my mom was so wrong. Making friends is easy." Hana said with a sage nod, with her pure six year old wisdom.

Shiori's sensei wasn't very impressed with her when their first interaction minutes later was her raising her hand and asking what the procedures for dropping out of the academy were.

Bully for him, she wasn't very impressed with him either as she found out the answer was no. You either wash out for sucking or you graduate. That's it. Also it was illegal for her in particular as a civilian orphan to purposely fail the Academy and deprive Konoha of her service. She owed Konoha for being housed and fed and she would graduate. Or else was implied.

Albeit with more flowery language. Will of Fire blah blah blah. So the kiddies didn't realize they were simply replacements to cover for how many in the class ahead would die. Then they'd die and the next class would be replacements and so on.

She really wanted to just fake incompetence.

He made it very clear. They'd know if she faked it.

Her riposte that men rarely, if ever, knew when a girl faked it, had turned the man purple before he'd turned away muttering about her file being on point at least.

Which, rude! Her counselors were telling her teacher about her? Yamanaka were such gossipy bitches!

Also, the whole we paid to feed you so you didn't starve for six years and now you owe us is just bullshit!

Not starving your orphans should be common decency!

Personally she felt literal decade long contracts to risk her life for the village before a chance of retirement, was making a bit of an overestimation on how much they'd paid for her care. Gruel wasn't that expensive.

"Don't worry … I'll help you become tough like me and we'll graduate together!" Hana patted her roughly on the shoulder in a comforting gesture that felt more like a punch.

Ow.

Somehow Hana was misconstruing her words to mean she was worried she couldn't hack it. Was that a ninja thing? Or an Inuzuka thing?

Shiori narrowed her eyes at the Inuzuka girl. Were they all like Kiba until they grew up? She wondered,"Cats are superior to dogs." She objectively dealt Hana a cosmic truth before turning her face away, taking what victories she could get.

Which is why she didn't see the punch coming.

A concussion on her first day, she thought woozily moments later, as the sensei admonished Hana to stop roughhousing.

This boded well for her career.

Annoyingly enough, this correct view on cats superiority did in fact not make Hana change her mind.

At least vomiting on her teacher's sandaled feet made her feel better.

No roughhousing? Bitch, a concussion isn't playtime!



Shiori had very quickly found a major issue with the Academy.

Chuunin instructors were in fact skilled enough to tell when a six year old civilian was quiet quitting the ninja study life.

No matter how she tried to score lower on mathematics, language, geography, history (propaganda 101), beginners cryptography and the stupid ninja rules. The Chuunin instructors always caught her out and adjusted her grade based on their observations over her actual test answers. It was all just first year dross to make sure baby ninja had a good grounding and weren't entirely illiterate before they switched to the murderizing curricula in later years. But it presented a problem.

Because if she couldn't sneak textbook stuff by them, how on earth was she going to do that with the actual ninja stuff?

They were also equally as good at catching her out when she was seven and eight too.

She'd tried to fail shurikenjutsu, spending a lot of effort and no little amount of skill to fail enough that it looked like she was actually trying, while slightly improving in miniscule amounts. Trying to showcase that she simply lacked coordination for throwing sharp deadly things.

She'd received her grade back. She was in the top percentile of the academy. Her instructors had graded her on the skill of her subterfuge and the familiarity and skill with Shuriken and Kunai she had to have, to be able to fail so precisely.

It was infuriating.

It was like the instructors had some secret Chuunin superpower that let them peer straight through her carefully constructed layer of civilian slacker bullshit and see the actual competence underneath. Which was deeply unfair. Her bullshit was supposed to be premium grade. Top shelf. The kind of performance that said 'I am trying my best, I am just tragically uncoordinated and unmotivated, please lower your expectations accordingly.'

Instead they graded her on the 'skill of the subterfuge itself'. Like they were proud of her for being good at failing on purpose. It made her want to scream into a pillow. Or better yet, scream into Hana's stupid face the next time the girl tried to drag her somewhere.

The biggest mistake of her life was sitting down next to that girl on the first day of the academy.

The Inuzuka girl had this annoying habit of appearing the exact moment Shiori was at her most annoyed, like some kind of friendship-seeking missile with too many teeth and zero sense of personal space.

She'd gotten taller in the last two years. Still all elbows and knees and wild brown hair, but the cheek tattoos had darkened and her grin had gotten even more feral. And she had decided, with the full force of six-year-old (then seven-year-old, then eight-year-old) Inuzuka conviction, that Shiori was *hers*.

Pack.

Whatever that meant to a girl whose entire bloodline was apparently hardwired to treat other people like stray dogs that needed adopting and then immediately put through obedience training for their own good.

Shiori hated obedience training.

There were just so… so many examples of Hana ruining her life.

"Shiori! There you are!" Hana had announced, skidding to a stop in the hallway and nearly taking out two other students in the process. "You got top percentile in shurikenjutsu again, didn't you? I knew you were holding back on me during practice yesterday!"

"I was technically not holding back," Shiori lied through her teeth, already backing up. "I was simply demonstrating the proper form for someone who does not want to throw sharp objects at other people. It's called being a decent human being. You should try it."

Also if she wasn't throwing weapons.. maybe people wouldn't throw weapons at her?

Yeah, she knew that wouldn't work. But a girl could dream, right?

Hana's response was to grab her by the wrist and start dragging.

This had become a recurring theme.

Wherever Shiori tried to go to quietly fail at life in peace - the library, her tiny room in the orphanage, that one corner of the training grounds where the instructors couldn't immediately spot her… Hana would appear like a bloodhound. Sometimes literally. She'd started bringing her ninken puppies to 'help'. The little furballs were almost as bad as their owner when it came to personal boundaries.

Then it had been the taijutsu grounds.

Again.

"You're getting better at dodging," Hana informed her cheerfully, already stripping off her outer jacket like this was going to be a real fight and not another round of Shiori trying to half-ass her way through basic blocks while Hana came at her like a caffeinated bulldog with anger issues. "Last week you only got hit in the face twice. That's improvement!"

"I got hit in the face because you punched me in the face, Hana. That is not improvement. That is assault." She tried, oh she tried to make anyone see that she wasn't made for this.

Unfortunately everyone in Konoha had selective hearing when it came to her.

"Pack helps pack get stronger!" Hana declared, like this was both obvious and a legally binding contract. Then she lunged.

Shiori managed to twist out of the way of the first grab - mostly on instinct, because Hana had been doing this every single day for two years and her body had unfortunately started learning the patterns whether she wanted it to or not. The second grab clipped her shoulder. The third one she actually blocked, which was annoying because it meant the constant forced sparring was doing exactly what Hana wanted it to do.

She was getting better.

Against her will.

This was just like her mother all over again.

She could remember as a kid screaming at her, how dare you make me better at this?!

She'd had very strong opinions on slave labor vis a vis babysitting and watching over little cousins.

For free.

Like she was a fucking communist.

It wasn't even just the taijutsu. Hana had decided that 'best friends' meant joint study sessions, joint tracking exercises, joint early morning runs that Shiori was certain no eight-year-old civilian should be subjected to. The girl had no concept of rest days. No concept of - I would rather be inside reading terrible romance novels and fantasizing about adult things I am currently too young to do anything about, thank you very much."

Every time Shiori tried to slack, Hana would appear with that fanged grin and that low growl in her throat and drag her back into competence.

It was humiliating.

Worse, it was friggin' working.

Her body was starting to move like it actually belonged to someone who might one day be expected to not immediately die in a real fight.

Her reflexes were sharpening. She could now reliably land a hit on Hana during their spars if she actually committed to it, which she tried very hard not to do, but sometimes the irritation won and she'd snap a kick or a palm strike that actually connected. Hana would just laugh like getting punched was the best thing that had happened to her all week and demand they go again.

It made her understand why ninjas were so stupid and weird, when being punched in the skull was considered fun.

Each generation had fewer brain cells than the previous. The Nara were excluded, because they were the only clan that didn't punch each other in the face for fun. They had lazier approaches - hence more brain cells over the generations.

"See? You're a natural!" Hana had said after one particularly solid hit that had left her with a blooming bruise on her ribs. "I knew you were holding back. We're gonna be the best team in the whole Academy!"

"We are not a team," Shiori had wheezed, bent over with her hands on her knees because Hana had immediately tackled her in celebration and driven all the air out of her lungs. "We are two people in the same general vicinity who occasionally attempt to murder each other under the guise of friendship. There is a difference."

At this point she was only holding on because she knew adult Hana would be hot.

"Pack," Hana corrected her, completely ignoring her, as usual.

Shiori was starting to hate that word. Pet play was definitely off her kink list.

She was also starting to hate how much her body was betraying her. Every time she tried to phone it in during weapons practice, Hana would notice and call her out. Every time she tried to coast through taijutsu forms, Hana would correct her stance with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer and then make her do it again until it was actually decent.

Even her chakra control exercises, which she had been deliberately doing wrong on purpose, had started improving because Hana kept insisting they meditate together and 'feel the energy' like some kind of deranged yoga instructor with sharper teeth.

Hana!

Meditating! Just to fuck her over. The bitch!

It was a conspiracy.

A very loud, very physical, very Inuzuka-shaped conspiracy that was slowly but surely turning Shiori into someone who might actually graduate the Academy instead of washing out quietly into civilian obscurity like she had planned.

And the worst part?

She was pretty sure Hana knew exactly what she was doing. It wasn't the play of an idiot pushing things along.

The girl might have been loud and aggressive and about as subtle as a kunai to the face most of the time, but she wasn't stupid. She'd seen Shiori trying to fail. She'd decided, in her infinite Inuzuka wisdom, (oxymoron there) that the solution was simply to never give Shiori the chance to slack off in the first place.

It was the most aggressive, most unwanted, most effective friendship Shiori had ever been subjected to.

And she was starting to suspect she was never going to escape it.

"Again!" Hana barked, already dropping into a stance, her puppies yipping excitedly at her side like even the doggies were in on the plot to make Shiori competent against her will. "You almost had me that last time! Come on, Shiori! Show me what you've got!"

What she 'got' was a desire to gag the Inuzuka. And for once. It wasn't even a sexual thought.

Shiori stared at her for a long moment, then up at the sky, then back at the girl who had decided she was pack and therefore required daily beatings disguised as training.

Then she sighed the sigh of someone who had already accepted that her carefully laid plans for a quiet, mediocre, civilian life were being systematically dismantled by a feral child with too much energy and zero respect for other people's desire to be left alone.

Troublesome.

"Fine," She muttered, raising her hands. "But if I end up actually good at this, I'm blaming you when I die horribly in some future war because I was too competent to stay in the back row where I belong."

Hana just grinned wider.

"Pack doesn't let pack die," She said cheerfully. Obviously too young to realize Konoha ninjas were best known for dying in dramatic ways.

And then Hana attacked again.

Shiori blocked it and countered.

She didn't even think about it this time.

Which was, somehow, the most infuriating part of all.



Eight year old Shiori had just about resigned herself to the new normal. Hana as an aggressive, fang-toothed growth on her life that refused to be pruned. When the Academy decided to make everything worse by introducing Mentor Week.

Which sounded like the worst idea in literally ever.

Two-hour blocks a day for a week instead of history (propaganda) class. One older ninja per student. A chuunin or late-stage genin who was supposed to sit with you, answer your wide-eyed questions about the glorious life of a ninja, and generally inspire you to not die horribly in the field before you hit double digits. It was propaganda with extra steps and a side of forced bonding. Will of fire and all that dross.

Also, it was people who likely had all the PTSD, sitting down in a tiny room to convince kids what a great idea it would be to continue working hard for their own future PTSDs.

Most of the other kids in her year had been vibrating with excitement about all the cool super special ninja they'd get. Shiori had been vibrating with the distinct urge to fake a stomach bug for the entire week.

Also, it would absolutely not be cool clan ninja getting this shit assignment she suspected.

She had planned for her sessions of course. She was going to be so boring, so monosyllabic, so visibly checked out that whichever poor bastard got stuck with her would write her off as a lost cause and spend the sessions doodling or napping. That was the dream. Low effort. Zero investment. Let them see she was already a lost cause and move on to the kids who actually wanted to learn how to stab people professionally.

Fate, as usual, had other ideas. Or her teachers knew her too well.

Her assigned mentor was Mitarashi Anko.

Fourteen years old. Already a chuunin. Purple hair, dark predatory brown eyes without a pupil, and a manic look that suggested she had personally tested every boundary the village had and found most of them lacking.

She showed up to their first session wearing a mesh shirt under a coat that was meant to show off that she wore only mesh underneath, and a skirt that wouldn't fit regulation anywhere, school, or professional life.

If Shiori wasn't fucking eight. She would have been excited. Anko was, after all, hot. And probably really kinky. Also Shiori was very interested in Orochimaru potentially having passed down that extended tongue technique to her… for reasons.

But again. Eight. Why did life hate her?

Shiori, once she stopped focusing on sexy things, took one look at Anko and knew, with the bone-deep certainty of someone who had already been saddled with an Inuzuka, that this was going to be a problem™.

They were given a small classroom to themselves. Just the two of them. Which begged the question of why the academy had so many empty classrooms.

Anko immediately kicked her feet up on the desk, leaned back until the chair creaked ominously, and looked Shiori over like she was deciding whether to bother with this.

"So," Anko drawled minutes later, having apparently decided to bother after all, voice already carrying that particular brand of lazy menace, "You're the one who keeps trying to fail everything on purpose."

Shiori frowned minutely. How many friggin' people have access to her file? She'd been expecting something. Not this. "I don't know what you're talking about." She lied.

"Uh huh." Anko's grin widened. "Sure. And I'm a sweet little ninja who loves following rules and respecting my elders, with a womb which flutters sweetly with mommy juice when I see grubby brats. Try again, short stack."

Shiori stared at her for a long moment, then sighed the sigh of someone whose carefully constructed plans were once again being set on fire by someone with too much personality.

Also. Anko might actually be cruder than her. She kind of took that personally.

"I want to be a seamstress," She said flatly. "Or a baker. Or literally anything that doesn't involve me getting sent on missions that can kill me before I hit puberty. I don't care about kunai. I don't care about chakra. I don't care about becoming someone's tragic backstory statistic. I care about living long enough to have disappointing sex with multiple people and then complain about it over wine I can't legally drink yet. Is that clear enough, or do you need it in writing?"

There was a beat of silence.

Then Anko laughed.

A full, loud, delighted cackle that echoed off the walls and made Shiori immediately regret every life choice that had led her to this moment. She should have stuck to the boring monosyllable plan.

"Oh, you're fun," Anko said, wiping a fake tear from her eye. "Most of these little brats just sit there and ask me how many people I've killed or whether I know any cool jutsu. You're in here talking about disappointing sex and multiple partners like you've already got a list. I like you."

"I don't want you to like me," Shiori said, deadpan. "I want you to get bored and leave me alone so I can go back to strategically underperforming until they let me wash out into civilian life. So she could become a true writer, and show everyone a literal child could outperform Jiraiya while doodling."

Why did these annoying people want someone that was deadset against it anyway? That was stupid. She'd get on their HR department. But that was just Yamanakas again, and they were a little too fascinated in her after those counseling sessions. Or scared. It was definitely one of those.

"Too bad." Anko dropped her feet off the desk and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, that predatory little smile still firmly in place. "See, most kids are either terrified of me or trying way too hard to impress me. You're just… sitting there like you'd rather be anywhere else. That's new. That's interesting. So now I'm invested."

Shiori closed her eyes and counted to ten in her head. It didn't help. She was still pissed off.

Why does everyone like her? She is specifically rude to not be liked. Being rude always worked wonders in her previous life. What is wrong with these people?

"You know," She said, opening them again, "Most people would take the hint when someone clearly doesn't want to be here. But I suppose expecting basic social awareness from a chuunin who probably got promoted on her back is expecting too much." Some bite to her words.

Anko's eyes sparkled with something that looked dangerously like glee.

"Keep talking like that and I'm gonna start thinking you're flirting with me," She said cheerfully. "Which would be weird, since you're what, eight? But also kinda funny. I could work with it."

"I'm not flirting," Shiori said, horrified and also a little despairing that she wasn't half a decade or so older right now to take advantage. "I'm insulting you. There's a marked difference."

"Not the way you do it." Anko shrugged casually. "Anyway, tell me more about this 'disappointing sex with multiple people' plan. Sounds ambitious for someone who still needs help reaching the top shelf. You got a harem picked out already or are you just manifesting?"

Shiori stared at her aghast at how badly this was going. The ruder she was. The more Anko was into it. What was wrong with Konoha people?!

Anko stared back, completely unbothered, like this was a perfectly normal conversation to be having with an eight-year-old who was supposed to be learning about the Will of Fire.

She had a feeling the third Hokage and Anko had different interpretations of the Will of Fire.

This was, Shiori realized with dawning horror, exactly what the instructors had meant when they said her file was 'on point'. The Yamanaka counselors had clearly written down every inappropriate joke, every deadpan refusal, every sign that she was not like the other children. And instead of scaring Anko off, it had apparently made her the most interesting mentee in the building.

Anko was here. On purpose. Because of her.

She was never going to get rid of her either.

"I hate the Academy and all of you stupid ninja," Shiori muttered under her breath.

"Yeah, ninja life does that to you," Anko agreed, still grinning. "So. You wanna hear about the time I got eaten by my own summoning snake because I was busy showing off, and not in the fun way. Or was It? Wink wink."

Shiori looked at her. Really looked.

Anko was crude. Loud. Probably half-feral. The kind of person who had clearly decided that the best way to deal with the world was to take it by the balls and then bite it first and ask questions later. Not that Shiori blamed her, knowing what she did.

If they'd been the same age. She probably would have gotten along amazingly with her.

This was going to be a long week.

If Anko kept matching her energy like this - if she kept treating Shiori's sarcasm and sex jokes and general unwillingness to play along as a fun game instead of a problem. Then Shiori was going to have yet another person in her life who refused to let her coast.

Just like Hana.

Just like the instructors who graded her on how well she failed.

She was surrounded by annoyingly perceptive and competent people.

She'd like to file a complaint.

Where were all these motherfuckers when Naruto went to school?!

"I don't want to know," Shiori said finally, crossing her arms and slumping in her seat. "I have complaints. And a deep, abiding desire to be left alone."

Anko's grin somehow got wider.

"Perfect," She almost crooned. "Start with the complaints. I've got two hours and nothing better to do. Hit me."

Shiori opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"Fine. Complaint number one - why is everyone in this village so obsessed with turning children into weapons when we could just… not? Surely a sixteen year old or eighteen year old stabs more competently. Complaint number two - have you ever considered that maybe the reason there are so many traumatized nutjob ninja is because we keep handing murder weapons to six year olds and calling it training? And complaint number three - " She paused, looked Anko dead in the eye, " - do you actually enjoy the mesh shirt aesthetic or is slut the new cool for teenagers?"

Anko threw her head back and laughed again, loud and delighted.

"Oh yeah," She said, wiping her eyes. "We're gonna get along just fine. Heh. Slut. Hilarious."

Shiori groaned and dropped her forehead onto the desk.

This was her life now.

Hana dragging her into competence through sheer aggressive friendship.

Anko matching her crude energy and refusing to be put off by her clear reticence.

She was never going to be a civilian at this rate.

She was going to be competent.

And she was going to blame every single person who refused to let her fail in peace for it.
 
Might have pissed Anko off some if instead of talking about sex she'd asked how Anko was so incompetent she missed that the man she spent all her time with was a village traitor, or if she was aware and didnt care.

That should be fairly fresh for her, given the time frame.

Or maybe orichimarus defection is still a couple months off. It happened 2-3 years after the kyubi attack, iirc, which lines up to this scene.
 
Snippet 24: Sona uses a Serafall. Its super effective. New
To those who follow A Sinful Multiverse, yes, it is indeed ironic that I wrote about Sona even though I really don't care for her.

What can I say. I live to be contrary. Or love and hate is a fine line etc.

Hope you enjoy.

Cheers.




The first thing he noticed upon waking was how wrong everything felt.

His body was too small, too light, his limbs weak and unresponsive as he tried to move. The bed he laid upon was far too soft - the blankets silkier than anything he had ever felt before. The air was rich, laced with a scent that was unfamiliar yet oddly comforting, something like lavender mixed with a faint undercurrent of something… He couldn't quite place.

Something that thrummed in the background, he could almost taste it, a rush of electricity racing down his nerves.

Then the memories began trickling in.

Sona Sitri blinked, pushing herself - not him - up with unsteady arms. No - not Sona Sitri truly. That wasn't right. She had been… Someone else before, hadn't she?

The memories now crashed into her like a tidal wave, overwhelming and suffocating, flooding her.

She, he… No, he was definitely a she now.. Had died. Had been given a second chance while floating in the void. Truly it was more like she was forced into another life with no choice for some entity's amusement than anything else.

She could hardly complain though..

Unlike so much similar fiction once read, she wasn't given any information or choice on her journey. She hadn't been told where she'd go, who she'd be, nothing. So finding out that she was Sona Sitri, someone born a High Class devil, with riches and advantages up the wazoo, and a siscon sister that helped rule the Underworld?

Well… She could hardly complain, could she? It was almost as ideal or a start as it could get.

Somewhere back in her mind, something settled. Her one power that was gifted to her for being an amusement, one not chosen by her. Planeswalker.

Yes… Truly she couldn't complain.

The world of DxD certainly had… Issues she'd like to avoid later on, planeswalker would allow that. So she could milk all the good out of the setting, while hopefully avoiding anything too bad.

Too bad about her cock… But magic might be able to fix that. And either way, girls could get girls easier anyhow, right? As far as disadvantages went, it was barely noticeable. She was already over it.

Which was odd…

But acceptable all things considered.

She could have ended up in Worm or Warhammer or something. So, yes. She'd take this.

She tried to focus on her previous memories, her knowledge there but…

She was supposed to be - who? She struggled to grasp at the remnants of her past life, but they slipped through her fingers like water. The knowledge remained, yet the personal details - the name, the face, the emotions attached to them - blurred beyond recognition.

Outside her knowledge, she was left with thirteen years of new memories. Of nobility, of devils, of magic, and of an older sister who -

The door exploded open.

"SOOO-TANNN!!!"

Before she had even fully registered the pink clad blur hurtling toward her, she was tackled with enough force to send her tumbling back onto the bed, smothered in an overwhelmingly tight embrace.

Her face was pressed against something soft, arms locking around her with the strength of an iron vice. Warmth enveloped her completely, and the scent of strawberries filled her nose.

"My sweet little So-tan is awake!!" The voice - too loud - wailed dramatically. "You were asleep for soooo long! I was sooo worried! Did you have bad dreams?! Did you miss your big sis!? I missed you so much!"

Sona - I truly am Sona now, aren't I? - tried to struggle, tried to push herself free from the suffocating grip, but it was utterly useless.

The woman - Serafall Leviathan, her mind supplied - was strong. Ridiculously so. And she refused to let go, burying her face into Sona's hair, squeezing her with the kind of desperate affection one might show a lost child who had just been found.

She doubted her sister's attention was quite that pure, however. That much she could remember. Or was that fanon?

Sona was dimly aware that she'd collapsed during the transmigration of the new soul, which led to this situation, a worried big sister. Who of course took the chance to shove her little sister's face deep into her cleavage.

Which would soon lead to a dead little sister if she didn't loosen her grip.

"I - sister - too tight!"

Serafall let out a gasp, immediately loosening her grip, though she still refused to fully release her, petting her hair lovingly.

"Oh no! I almost suffocated my precious little So-tan! I knew I was hugging too hard, but I just couldn't help it! You were asleep for sooo long, and I missed you so much! I almost died from the lack of my Sonacopium!"

Sona exhaled, forcing herself to quickly adjust to the situation.

This was Serafall. This was just how she was. Over-the-top, dramatic, and absolutely relentless in her love for her younger sister.

If she wanted to survive in this world, she would have to learn how to handle Serafall. And unlike the original Sona, she was certainly not going to avoid something so useful as a Satan siscon.

So she swallowed down her protests and, with deliberate hesitation, slowly reached up to pat her older sister's back. Rias has already started her weeb phase thanks to Serafall in the first place, so I should be able to get away with this…

"…I missed you too, Onee-sama."

Serafall froze.

Then she squealed.

"AAAAAHH!!! MY SO-TAN CALLED ME ONEE-SAMA!!!"

She promptly spun them in a full circle, lifting Sona effortlessly as if she weighed nothing at all.

"I CAN DIE HAPPY NOW!!"

Sona groaned but made no further protests.

Yes. This was going to be a challenge. But it was worth it.

She couldn't help but laugh a little as Serafall spun her, the Satan of foreign affairs erupting in glitter and happiness at the sight.

Having someone so unconditionally love you feels…

Nice.

Serafall would fill the oceans with blood if she only asked, it was a heady feeling. And all she wanted in return was affection from her precious So-tan.

Well…

Sona was going to give her all she could take! And use the fuck out of her advantage.



Serafall was completely insufferable at times, no matter that Sona had decided to not only accept her crazy sister's affection, but make use of it for her own benefit.

Was one day devoid of magical girl energy too much to ask?

Or a day without being groped? She wasn't even old enough where that was appropriate fun yet!

Sona had, within days, resigned herself to her fate. There was no fighting her sister's affection. The moment she showed resistance, Serafall escalated, finding new and horrifyingly creative ways to shower her with attention.

It was more efficient to simply play along. In the end it would only help her, and maybe she secretly did enjoy some parts of being so madly, unconditionally, loved.

That didn't mean Sona wasn't already laying the groundwork for her own plans to grow stronger. If Sairaorg Bael could grow so powerful just by training like a Maito Guy transplant…

How far could Sona go? She could train just as hard, but with the advantages of the best tutors, a Satan as a teacher, every advantage there was, and every cheat she could imagine.

And she could imagine a lot of cheats. When planeswalker was added on top of it… How many ways to increase one's strength existed in the multiverse?

The Satans could forget about it, she was going to teabag fucking Shiva and the like by the time she hit eighteen.

Unfortunately her planeswalker ability seemed dormant at the moment. She assumed she needed to reach a certain level of power before it activated.

Which made sense. For all the advantages she had in being born a High Class Devil, she was still only a teen.

Creating a portal to a death world was not ideal while she couldn't yet defend herself.

She had been given a second chance at life here. A chance to be someone powerful, someone with influence. Travelling the multiverse was something she looked forward to, but she would keep this world as her homebase.

She'd become so strong that even the likes of Trihexa would be an afterthought.

That meant she needed to start training. Properly. Seriously. And without her parents getting in the way with silly ideas about young devil girls putting in so much effort.

Because yes, in a society where nobility could grow into Ultimate class just by doing nothing in particular for a thousand years - excessive training wasn't really that common.

So, one evening, she found Serafall in the sitting room, flipping through some ridiculous magical girl manga with rapt attention. That she totally hadn't sponsored or anything.

No wonder Rias had so quickly become a weeb, Serafall owned and ran more manga and anime content then the human world did. Original Sona should have been more chuuni, maybe she wouldn't have been so forgettable next to Rias then.

She approached carefully. She had different plans in place whether she would find her sister in a horny/affectionate/pouty/crazy mood.

Or Satans save her, all four at once.

She even had a spare set of used panties in a pocket. Just in case. In case taking off the ones she was wearing wasn't enough.

Devils really were something. Not much was taboo in the Underworld. How long Serafall expected her to believe that getting a new pack of panties delivered to her drawers every few weeks was normal - instead of reusing laundered ones - she had no idea.

That magic circle in my laundry hamper isn't subtle, Sis!

"Onee-sama?"

Serafall perked up immediately, her entire face lighting up. "SO-TAN!! Did you need cuddles!? Did you want to practice kissing!? Oooh, we could have a bath together! Big sis is ready!!"

Sona barely resisted the urge to rub her temples. The horny is strong in this one…

She didn't really truly mind, except… Her body didn't feel those things that strongly yet so she couldn't enjoy it properly and perhaps some of her old world sensibilities held on still.. Hopefully the shape-shifting aspect of Devils' ideas of their own bodies would gradually fix that for her.

Plus fix the whole… Most pathetic set of boob's in boobworld that the original her had going on.

"…I want you to teach me."

Her older sister blinked. "Teach you…?" Her face grew slightly red, and she began breathing harder immediately, "My Sona levels are now over 9000! You want me to teach you the way of Yuri-Yuri!!?"

"Magic," Sona clarified, trying to hide her amused huff. "Training. How to be stronger."

If she thought Sona needed lessons on eating pussy - she'd be surprised the day Sona finally rocked Serafall's world…

For a brief moment, true silence fell over the room.

Then -

"KYAAAAAAAAA!!!"

"I'LL TEACH YOU EVERYTHING! YOU'LL BE THE STRONGEST! YOU'LL BE THE CUTEST! YOU'LL BE - wait, you're already the cutest - BUT YOU'LL BE EVEN MORE AMAZING!!"

She was practically vibrating in place, hands to her mouth, arms pressing her breasts together as she wiggled back and forth slightly.

Her excitement was both overwhelming and endearing. And despite her dramatic nature, I saw something genuine in her eyes - something proud.

Sona knew that her age group of Devils did not really showcase such ambition at this time.

Serafall would have been proud of her for getting dressed or having a glass of water, of course - but somehow it felt better for it being for showcasing her ambitions.

Rias' major ambition was to read every manga on Earth for example.

The other devils our age mostly just living out the rich kid life right now.

Sona smirked, tilting her chin up, meeting Serafalls eyes confidently. "I do want to be strong enough to beat you someday, Onee-sama."

Her gasp was so long and dramatic Sona thought she might faint from lack of oxygen for a moment. "SO-TAN! YOU DARE TO CHALLENGE ME!? A FUTURE YURI-YURI DUEL BETWEEN SISTERS?!"

Serafall exploded out of her seat, vibrating with unholy excitement.

"My perfect baby sister wants to train!? She wants to be strong!? She wants to be cool like her big sis!?"

Sona was already bracing herself for impact when Serafall lunged, tackling her into another suffocating hug, one hand immediately sliding down to grope her ass lightly.

"Oh, So-tan, I knew this day would come! The day you would realize being exactly like me is the best thing in the world! I've been waiting for it! Hoping for it! AND NOW IT'S HAPPENING!!!"

Sona barely had time to react before she was picked up and spun in another dizzying circle.

"Onee-sama -"

"No! I refuse to calm down about this!!" Serafall declared, letting Sona go only so she could twirl in the air, a glitter explosion taking place as she transformed into miracle girl Levi☆tan. "We're starting RIGHT NOW!"

Sona pumped a small fist in the air, "I'm ready for anything, bring it on! I'll be the strongest in the whole world!" Uncharacteristically emotive at the chance to start her path to domination.

For a moment, something shifted in Serafall's expression.

The overwhelming playfulness in her eyes gave way to something sharper, something vicious.

Sona saw, just for a second, the true Serafall Leviathan - the warrior, the Maou, the woman feared across the Underworld and beyond in battle.

Then it was gone, and Serafall's ridiculous grin returned.

"Alright then!" She chirped. "Let's start with the basics!"



Sona quickly regretted everything.

Serafall's training was relentless.

She had assumed - incorrectly - that her sister's affectionate, over-the-top personality would translate into easy, playful lessons at first.

That she would have to work up to the point she would get real training.

She was wrong.

While physical training didn't work quite the same as it would for a human it did still bring gains for a devil.

And due to the devil's imagination based physiology, Sona could work out like ten Arnold Schwarzeneggers, and still look like a delicate flower in the end. Although she intented to allow a certain athleticism show when she grew up, preferring a toned body over a completely soft one.

Just like a human working out, devils could get stronger, faster, gain more stamina, etc, from working hard. Hence why Sona wanted to do it in the first place - magician foremost was her likely destiny - but more stamina, speed, strength - all of it would improve even her spellcasting, while upping her survivability by ensuring she wasn't a squishy mage.

She wanted to be able to cast fist if necessary.

And you could never discount the ability to run away very fast and with the stamina to keep running.

There was one snag she hadn't really put much thought into. The pain for those gains.

Serafall had listened attentively to her serious explanation of why she needed a strict and punishing physical training regime, and then cheerfully complied.

By creating a state of the art supernatural home gym within an hour.

And the second Sona stepped inside, gaping at the sudden private gym that included honest to Maou giant boulders to lift - Serafall had casually messed with gravity and Sona fell to a knee, suddenly feeling under pressure.

"~ohhhh, is my So-tan helpless and unable to lift a finger?" She cooed, "Hehehehe," Before giggling pervertedly.

"How am… I supposed to work out like this?" Sona grunted, struggling to not be crushed against the floor.

Serafall pushed her down on the floor with a foot, giggling as she rolled Sona over to her back, seemingly enjoying even Sona's annoyed look.

She kneeled before her, pushing her legs back slightly, "I'm going to moles-help you with sit ups!" Her hand ran down Sona's thigh with a hot breath of steam coming off Serafall as she held herself back from going any further, "To stop me, reach up and slap my hands away!"

Yep… That tracks. Sona couldn't help but think, giving Serafall a deadpan look.

It took her three hours, enough sweat to fill a pool, and plenty of pain and molestation, before she got used to the gravity and managed to complete twenty sit ups.

That's when Serafall doubled the gravity again, and had her try to lift weights…

Needless to say, although she was getting what she wanted, in that moment she really did regret everything.

Serafall licking sweat off her neck didn't exactly help her concentrate either…

And don't think I didn't see you collect a jar of my sweat, Sera!

Sona was realizing… When puberty really kicked in fully…

She'd be in actual danger.

Serafall was a freak.

Of course, Sona's new personal gym also had a sauna attached - Satans she loved being rich - and the after workout relaxation session was just… Muah - chef's kiss!

She was a boneless pile of jelly, held in her sister's arms, head resting on her bountiful breasts as Serafall slowly massaged all her pain away one muscle group at a time.

Half the steam in the sauna came from Serafalls breath as she panted and mumbled to herself even as her hands roamed across Sona's body.

Sona just closed her eyes and enjoyed having all the aches and pain massaged away while being lovingly held.

Who cares if she is a freak? She's MY freak! She thought as she snuggled closer into Serafalls chest.



The first thing Serafall did once Sona was capable of walking again, was to drag her to a private courtyard behind the Sitri estate, wards across the yard signifying the space was made to practice magic.

"This, So-tan, is our family magic circle!" Serafall announced, practically bouncing on her heels as she brought it into being in the air in front of them. "All noble devil families have their own - while lower class devils have a common weaker shared one. Ours is suuuper special! Because~?"

"…Because of our affinity with water," Sona answered automatically, her gaze locked onto the complex geometric symbols shifting and twisting before her as Serafall spun it around.

Serafall beamed. "Ding ding ding~! You're already so smart!"

She waved a hand, and a smaller version of the magic circle appeared right before Sona, held perfectly still.

"Now! Copy it!" Serafall said excitedly, clapping her hands, "Reach for your demonic energy, sink it into the magical circle, attune yourself with it, make it yours! Visualize it just like it is, but with your power!"

Sona inhaled slowly, feeling the demonic energy within her, stretching her hand forward - the shape flickered - shattered.

Sona frowned.

Serafall pounced, immediately tackling her in another devastating hug, placing a sloppy wet kiss on her cheek.

"YOU'RE SO CUTE WHEN YOU'RE CONCENTRATING~!!"

Sona groaned. This was going to take a while.

The major reason she was so happy with being a devil, was the bullshit magic system they had. The power of imagination. Whereas everyone else had to do mathematical calculations, or suck some God's dick to be able to do magic - devils just had to imagine it and power it.

Until she was doing it, she hadn't realized that it wasn't quite as easy as she'd imagined.

There was a reason the Underworld didn't have ten thousand Ultimate class magicians. Well, a reason beyond the fact that a long living race was inherently slothful on personal improvements. Or the fact that in general, in any kind of population, only the top few percent of the population had the will, fortitude, means etc, to become the doctors, the rocket scientists and so on - instead of a regular 9-5 Joe's.

Imagination wasn't as simple as to think - bunny - and you then had a bunny in front of you created by demonic energy.

You had to know what you wanted, have a full comprehension of what you were asking - or the power drain would be insane - as you wasted more demonic energy on bringing it into being to fix the holes where you didn't imagine it clear enough.

Sure, you could imagine something without bothering to have that focus and belief in it - but then you'd likely blow your entire wad on it too.

Not only that, but you had to keep that concentration, even if you were distracted, like say in a fight… If you imagined a bunny, and moments later thought of an elephant as you were tossing out your 'spell', you could get anything from it not working at all - to costing a hundred times as much to create - to blowing up in your face with spectacular effects.

Hence why most devils learned a few or a dozen good spells for all occasions and stopped there. Even nobles.

Because one, most didn't have the reserves to keep going if it wasn't going to turn out perfect. And training to learn new spells when you already had a few good ones just wasn't needed for most with no active war ongoing.

Two, most devils outside the noble families lacked much of an education, and even the reincarnated devils had a wildly varied level depending on when they were reincarnated. Which amongst other things, meant their imagination was slightly lacking, due to lack of knowledge.

It's easy enough to say use the power of imagination, but if you had no idea how water works, other then, it's wet. Then you're not getting far with any spells there.

Thirdly, it came down to belief and willpower.

Now, sad to say, most people who spend their life doing not much of anything, simply aren't people who have the willpower to reject reality and insert their own for devil's imagination magic. Because that was in essence what devil magic was - inserting your own view of reality onto the world.

Very apropos for a race created to deny God and his work.

The 9-5 jobbers do not have that belief in themselves, in their magic, their reserves, or the willpower to try and better themselves every day no matter how hard. There's always exceptions, but in general - this was why the Underworld wasn't full of people pulling out amazing magic with the power of their imagination.

Sona had the reserves, the knowledge, the will and belief, she had everything she needed, including a deep seated wish to dominate this reality.

And still, just internalizing the family magical circle, took her a few hours of studying the thing to its roots. Memorizing every inch to the point she could see it everytime she closed her eyes.

She knew she had the imagination to succeed as a magic user. That she could take this and hone her control until she could break most devils with a thought and flex of her magic power.

But… With the reality of devil magic in front of her. She realized that it wouldn't be quite as easy as she had thought, and would require years of hard work and study to get anywhere close to dangerous in it.

Was it any wonder that she never saw most devil's use anything more than teleportation or some elemental spells?

Still…

It beat out having to use math to shoot spells like a bitch.

Serafall's training method for her after that was simple - hours to study one single usage of whatever she could think up, and then - use up all of her magic. Every. Single. Day. Whether she succeeded in the spell or not wasn't important.

It was just a bonus if she did.

The idea was to drain her demonic reserves completely, push herself to exhaustion, and then let her body recover overnight. By repeating this process daily, her capacity would expand, forcing her power to grow at a rapid rate.

It was grueling.

The second night, after another day of physical exercise, studying while doing balancing exercises, and then practising magic. Sona barely made it past four consecutive spell attempts before her control collapsed, her magic circle flickering out like a candle snuffed by the wind as she felt like she was dying.

The icy blue circle had looked beautiful even when it shattered though, she thought, somewhat pleased at her own exhaustion. Because it meant she was pushing herself to her limits.

The backlash left her drained, her limbs heavy as if someone had filled her bones with lead. She could barely lift a finger, let alone protest when Serafall scooped her up with ease, cradling her like an oversized plush toy.

"Ahhh, my sweet exhausted So-tan~! You worked so hard! Now it's time for snuggle punishment!"

Sona groaned, too weak to fight back. "This isn't really punishment, Onee-sama…"

Serafall giggled. "It is if it includes some spanking for working too hard~"

And just like that, Sona was dragged back to her room, tucked beneath an impossibly soft mountain of blankets, only for Serafall to wrap herself around her like a boa constrictor.

Serafall hummed happily, burying her face into Sona's hair. "Mmm~! You're the perfect body pillow, So-tan~! This is the best way to sleep ever!"

Thankfully it seemed she had just been joking about the spanking.

Sona tried to respond, but the sheer overwhelming exhaustion claimed her before she could finish forming words.

This would become their new nightly routine for a while.

At least until Serafall did something absolutely ridiculous…

She'd used her position as Satan of foreign affairs to get one of Iduns golden apples from the norse. Somehow.

Just so she could juice it, and add a drop to Sona's bath every night!

It completely rejuvenated her, and she was fairly certain it was helping her body rebuild itself stronger every night as well. Even her magic felt smoother when she used it.

Unlike legend, the golden apple didn't bestow true immortality, but it was still a very rare and almost unattainable thing, outside of the Norse faction. Sona had no idea what exactly Serafall had to do or promise to get ahold of it.

Or to get enough juice out of it to last half a decade at one drop at a time for her baths.

How Odin had accepted it in the first place… She really hoped Serafall knew what she was doing.

It was ridiculous.

She couldn't really complain though. Using Serafall to grow stronger and cheat the system was her plan to begin with.

It was nice that Serafall got with the program even before Sona had asked her for anything.

10/10, Golden baths were the best.



The days bled into weeks, and Sona adapted.

She forced herself to improve fast. She had no other choice. She refused to be second fiddle to a moron like Issei and (love you Rias, but), a lazy moron like Rias.

Khaos brigade, Kokabiel, the old Satans, Rizevim, Loki, Trihexa and all the other threats out there. She would not allow any of all that bullshit ruin her life.

And like hell she'd allow Serafall to lock herself away in eternal battle!

Sona was going to show them all!

Her control over magic grew stronger due to a combination of her stubbornness, rejuvenating baths, And her growing ability to visualize her imagination. Where before she could barely summon a stable magic circle, now she could maintain it for extended periods and craft spells however weak they were at the moment. She could now last several hours before reaching the point of exhaustion too.

And Serafall, for all her over-the-top energy, was an exceptional teacher. Both for her physical training and her magical training.

She didn't just dump information on Sona - she demonstrated it, guided her hand when necessary, pushed her forward with playful challenges, and praised every improvement.

And when Sona failed?

Serafall never got frustrated. Never scolded her. Never belittled her mistakes.

She simply laughed, spun her around in a hug, and told her to try again. Told her that she knew Sona would get it. That Sona was a genius.

And Sona… found herself enjoying her time with her sister even more then she'd thought before.

Even when she collapsed from overuse, even when Serafall snatched her up and snuggled her into submission, she could feel the progress.

It was exhilarating.

One evening, after an intense training session, Sona lay sprawled across the gym, utterly drained. She couldn't even muster the strength to move her fingers. Already she was working under 75 percent increased gravity.

Serafall had even talked about getting some seals done up for her, so she could lock away her powers and train even harder.

That was some real chuuni shit she was all in on. It wasn't the giant weights of a Maito Gai or Rock Lee, but it was the same general idea of things. And hadn't Sairaorg had something similar?

Serafall, as always, was hovering over her with a grin.

"Aaaand that's it for today~! Congrats, So-tan! You are now officially a step closer to being the World Champion in kicking butt, little sister style!"

Sona huffed, too tired to even roll her eyes. "Not the title I was aiming for, but sure, Onee-sama."

Serafall flopped down beside her, resting her chin in her hands. "Sooo? How do you feel? Stronger? Cooler? Super devil-ish?"

"…Like my soul has left my body and I don't have the energy to call it back," Sona muttered.

She was looking forward to her golden bath right about now. Without it, she didn't know if she could have continued with these workouts.

Serafall gasped dramatically, clapping both hands to her cheeks. "Oh no!! My sweet little So-tan is suffering! Quick, we must fix this immediately!"

Sona barely had time to react before she was lifted effortlessly off the ground.

"No - wait, I can walk -"

"Shhh~!" Serafall cuddled her tightly, rocking her side to side as she flew toward the bathhouse "The great So-tan has worked so hard today! It's Big Sis's job to carry her adorable, exhausted little sister back to her bath~!"

Sona groaned. "You're enjoying this too much."

Serafall grinned, unrepentant. "I absolutely am." With a motion to quick for Sona to even see, Serafall stripped her, as she went through the door to the bathhouse, gently laying Sona's naked, sweaty body in the Jacuzzi. She took out a vial from in-between her cleavage that shone with a golden light, and carefully added a drop to the water.

As the golden light shimmered throughout her bath, Sona let out a moan as her body suddenly felt perfect, and the pain disappeared. "Onee-sama is the best…" She muttered, even as her scalp was massaged gently by Serafalls fingers.

"Stupid apple making my Sona-tan moan, it should be me…" Serafall muttered, glaring with jealousy at the bathwater.

"Mmm, give it a few years and it will be…" Sona said, eyes closed, as she felt absolutely relaxed, her demonic energy thrumming within her.

Serafall's grip on her head tightened for a moment, and Sona could hear the pout in her voice as she whispered, "Cruel, It's cruel to say that like that, Sona-tan! How can I possibly wait!?"

Moments later she was gone, and Sona opened her eyes to find that not only was her sister missing, but Sona's panties were as well.

She scoffed, laying back again, enjoying the bath for as long as its mystical effect would last. "You do you, sis… You do you."

An hour later, her sister returned, a certain scent around her, reminiscent of the smell of a clear frozen lake, with a hint of sharp strawberry tang to it.

Sona didn't say a word as Serafall picked her up, toweling her off gently, before cradling her in her arms, carrying her towards bed.

Once inside, she plopped Sona onto the bed with an exaggerated flourish before hopping in right after, wrapping herself around Sona in an instant.

"I'm too tired for this, Onee-sama…" Sona muttered, enjoying the mixed smell of sweat and her scent that overpowered everything else this close.

"Mmm~! But this is important! Sleep is part of training, you know! It helps your everything recover faster! And big sister cuddles boost magic recovery by 100%!"

"That is not how magic works," Sona deadpanned.

Serafall smugly nuzzled into her. "I'm the Maou here, So-tan~! That means I get to make all the rules however I want!"

"…That is absolutely not how authority works, either."

Well, it kind of was. Yet even the Satans couldn't do whatever they wanted. Sona knew she'd lose Serafall as a full time teacher soon enough due to her duties.

She couldn't take forever off just to teach Sona after all.

Serafall giggled. "Sooo smart! My Sona-tan calling me out, ohhhh I have goosebumps!"

Sona sighed, knowing this was a battle she would never win. Nor did she particularly want to stop her sister from cuddling up either.

So she fell asleep instead.



The Gremory estate was an impressive sight - vast, regal, and soaked in an aura of ancient nobility. The castle-like mansion stood tall under the crimson twilight of the Underworld. The gardens were immaculately kept, filled with dark roses and glowing flowers that thrived under the power of devil magic. The sheer grandeur of it was something that would make any visitor feel small.

Sona Sitri was not impressed.

Not because the estate lacked beauty, but because she had been here too many times to care. Imagine that, being so used to riches that it didn't matter anymore?

Has she mentioned she really liked her new life?

She stood beside her older sister, her hands neatly folded in front of her, watching as Serafall practically bounced with a mix of excitement and sadness. It wouldn't be just Sona and Serafall time from now on, after all.

Sona and Rias had practically been raised as sisters with how close the two families were. Something she didn't intend to change even as she grew into a different person then original Sona.

Rias was good people.

Also she'd grow up insanely hot. Couldn't forget that.

Note to self: Get rid of Issei, steal Rias for myself. Fuck the plot. Hot redhead is always a priority. It's the law.

"Okay, So-tan! Be good! Be safe! If you need anything, call me! No, wait, you shouldn't need anything because I'm already leaving you in the most luxurious mansion ever with the best snacks and the cutest best friend!" Serafall narrowed her eyes as she bent down and came face to face with her, "If you go all Yuri with Rias you better record it!" She said with a dead serious voice.

Sona exhaled slowly, adjusting her glasses. "Onee-sama, you act like I'm in one of your eroges. It's Rias. We play chess and watch anime. Nothing is going to happen."

Serafall gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "My precious little sister is too logical! No childlike wonder! No excitement! You should be skipping into that mansion with joy!"

Sona sighed, not bothering to respond.

A moment later, the front doors swung open, and an enthusiastic red blur exploded onto the marble steps.

"Sona!!!"

Rias Gremory, heir to the Gremory Clan, bolted toward her like a homing missile and practically leapt onto her, wrapping her arms around Sona in a not-so-surprise tackle-hug.

No guesses needed on where she learned that from.

Sona, who had obviously been prepared for this very scenario, took a single step back, bracing herself as the full weight of her best friend latched onto her like a limpet.

"Hello, Rias," She said, patting her lightly on the back.

Rias beamed up at her, completely unfazed by the lack of enthusiasm. "You're finally here! I've been waiting all day! We have so much to do!"

Sona tilted her head, already sensing danger. "Define 'so much to do'." I am not watching shitty anime all day!

Some of it was fine, just straight copies of what she knew from her previous life, except with a dumber name.

Others… There was one that was a hellish mix between Code Geass, Sailor Moon and Death Note. And it was… Nonsensical.

She couldn't stand watching that stuff, it offended her to her very core.

"Anime marathon!" Rias declared, eyes glowing with unholy excitement.

She's lucky she grows up hot… Sona thought grumpily.

From behind them, a soft laugh rang out, and Venelana Gremory, Rias' mother, stepped forward with her usual elegance.

Her body was in a word… Sinful. voluptuous in all the right ways, easy to tell where Rias got it from… Sona thought, trying not to stare. Or think too much about a Japanese term she'd need to teach the Japanophile Rias - Oyakodon.

"My, my," Venelana said, amusement dancing in her violet eyes. "It seems you have big plans for your dear friend, Rias, darling."

Rias nodded rapidly. "Yup! I've been saving all the best episodes for her visit! We're going to watch five different series, rewatch my favorites, and then -"

Sona cut in swiftly. "And then we'll need a break to ensure our brains don't dribble out of our ears..."

Rias gasped in betrayal. "B-but! Sona! This is important!!"

"Five series in one sitting is not important, Rias," Sona replied flatly.

"Yes, it is! It's cultural enrichment!"

Sona adjusted her glasses. "I don't think that word means what you think it means in this context."

Venelana, watching the exchange, chuckled lightly. "Now, now, girls, why don't you two head inside? I'll bring snacks in a moment."

Rias immediately brightened. "Snacks, Sona-chan and anime? Best day ever!"

Sona sighed but followed without complaint.

Just have to remember.

She grows up hot.



The anime marathon was predictable of course. As was literally everything Rias did.

Sona knew her too well already.

Rias, in her full otaku glory, had meticulously planned everything - from the episode selection to the exact timing of snack breaks. She dramatically narrated every plot twist, got overly emotional at heartfelt moments, and ranted furiously when the villains or heroes made 'stupid' decisions.

It was anime, so those rants happened a lot. Sona did enjoy time with Rias, to a certain extent. So it was… Not overly painful, just annoying.

She had higher interests than mere entertainment nowadays.

Sona simply nodded along, responded when necessary, and waited.

She had long since learned that Rias, for all her enthusiasm, had finite stamina.

Eventually, after hours of watching, Rias' excitement started to wane.

Her voice grew softer, her words slower, and finally, her head flopped onto Sona's shoulder, her breathing evening out.

Sona stilled, waiting for a full minute before gently shifting her friend so that she was resting comfortably against a pillow.

Then, silently, she stood up and left the room.



The Gremory Library was exactly what Sona had hoped it would be - grand, quiet, and filled with books older than some civilizations.

It stretched across an entire wing of the estate, lined with towering shelves and floating lanterns that cast a soft golden glow. As Sona stepped inside, she felt a thrill of excitement.

This.

This was what she truly wanted to spend time on, instead of children's shows.

Knowledge.

She moved effortlessly between the rows of books, fingers trailing over the spines, reading the titles carefully. Some were about devil history, others about noble politics, but her interest lay in one subject alone.

Magic theory. Specifically that of the Norse.

Runes were just so efficient and multifaceted. A bitch and a half to use, and in most cases not very useful in a high paced fight.

Except perhaps, she thought, when a devil used imagination to bring them into being.

How much more powerful would a shield or barrier be if she brought it into being with runes for defense or absorption already part of the spell?

She couldn't wait to find out.

The Sitri library unfortunately had not had much on Norse runes, but it seemed she was in luck here.

She had just pulled out a particularly dense tome on spell structure for light reading for when she finished with the runes, when light footsteps were heard behind her.

"You're certainly more precocious then my little Rias, aren't you, dear?"

Sona froze, instantly recognizing the voice. She should have probably asked for permission first, she just realized.

She turned slowly, finding Venelana Gremory standing behind her, an amused smile on her lips. And wearing a gown so clingy to her curves that she might as well have entered naked.

Sona, to her credit, managed to pull herself together to avoid looking like she was caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

"I was… Curious, aunty." She admitted, keeping her voice steady, and using the familiar aunty to tug on Venelana's heartstrings.

Previously, the oh so serious original Sona had refused any address other than Lady Gremory.

She hoped it would give her brownie points.

Venelana's expression did not overly change, but her eyes sparkled with pleasure at the change in address.

"Curious?" She echoed, stepping closer. "And what, exactly, are you so curious about, Sona dear?"

Sona held up one of the tomes. "Magic, runes, witchcraft, all of it. The theory behind it."

Venelana's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Ah. A scholar at heart. Serafall does brag about your intellect whenever she can."

Sona straightened slightly, pleased her sister was already spreading her reputation. "Understanding the principles of magic is even more important than using it. Without proper knowledge, raw power means nothing."

Venelana chuckled, reaching out to gently take the book from her hands. "A very mature outlook, Sona. But tell me… What do you know about the true foundation of our kind's magic?"

Sona tilted her head, showing interest even as she inwardly rolled her eyes. She hated being eight. She was about to be told what she already knew... "It's based on imagination."

"Exactly," Venelana said, nodding approvingly. "Devil magic has no strict limitations per say. It isn't bound by rigid formulas like human sorcery or based on faith or sacrifice like some pantheon's magicians. Instead, it thrives on creativity, visualization, and willpower. The more vivid your imagination, the more powerful your spells."

Sona pretended to look riveted as she 'absorbed' the information quickly.

"So… our magic is more about belief than structure?" She said quickly, itching to get away from this and crack open the book on Norse runes.

Venelana smiled, setting the book aside. "Structure gives form to spells, but imagination gives them life. A true master of magic can bend reality itself, not because they follow rules, but because they believe in their power and can impose it on reality."

Sona nodded along, plastering a thoughtful look on her face. Rias or her mom, either way I get cockblocked from the real fun stuff.

Venelana watched her thoughtfully, then gently placed a hand on her head and ruffled her hair.

"I see great potential in you, dear," She murmured. "Perhaps I should tutor you while you're here, it would perhaps give Rias a reason to actually pay attention in lessons."

Sona looked up at her, something unspoken passing between them. That Rias… You're lucky you're pretty…

"…I would like that," She admitted.

It was better than Anime, even if the lessons would probably be way below her level at the beginning.

Venelana's smile softened.

"Good. Then let's begin, I'll go fetch Rias."

When she returned minutes later, Rias was glaring daggers at Sona.

"You got mom to give me extra lessons? Sona! Are you secretly evil!?"

Sona tilted her head, thinking about it.

"Hmm. Yes."



The training never stopped.

Every day, from sunrise to sunset - and often far beyond - Sona pushed herself to exhaustion. There was no single path to power, no one way to grow stronger. So she chose all of them.

The morning always began with Serafall.

Before breakfast, before anything else, her older sister dragged her into the gym, practically bouncing with ungodly energy while Sona, still half-asleep, tried to convince her body to function.

Serafall had her job, so this was the only time she could really assist Sona anymore, her vacation time now used up.

"Up, up, up, So-tan~!" Serafall sang, effortlessly flipping over a massive stone pillar as if it weighed nothing. "Time to train those tiny little arms and legs of yours! We need to make you buff! Well, not too buff! We still need to keep you cute! But a strong cute!" She got a far away look for a moment, "Crush watermelons between your thighs strong…" Some drool leaked down her chin.

Sona groaned, rubbing her eyes. "Onee-sama, it is barely morning." Complaining just for the sake of complaining.

She'd do the training, she was committed. She'd also still complain about it when it was bumfuck 'o clock.

Serafall gasped as if she had been personally offended. "So-tan, big strong devils don't sleep in! We train! We conquer! We become unstoppable forces of destruction! We possess superior stamina for a reason! To fuc-ehehe, to eh… Crush our enemies beneath our feet!"

Sona blinked at her.

"…You make it sound like we're waging war."

Serafall grinned, striking a ridiculous pose. "You're at war with weakness! And as your great and powerful Onee-sama, I will train you to be the bestest, strongest, most amazing Sitri Lady ever!"

Sona sighed, but she prepared herself, even as Serafall slapped down the brutal increased gravity. Even as she activated the seals on herself that locked away most of her power, to force her to work even harder, counting only on her body.

The workout was brutal as usual. Serafall never went easy on her, not even for a second.

They ran laps around the gym as Sona carried a smaller stone pillar on her back, Serafall hopping backwards the entire time, teasing her relentlessly, literally juggling the giant stone pillar on her pinky.

"Come on, So-tan~! You're a devil! You should be speeding through this! What if an evil, ugly, terrible, gross villain tried to kidnap you? You gotta be able to run fast!"

Why does she think a NTR fat bastard would come after me, tch. It's like she lives in an eroge.

Sona, gasping for air, glared at her, eventually managing to respond. "Onee-sama. You are the strongest female devil in the Underworld. No one would dare."

Serafall pouted dramatically. "Okay, but what if I kidnapped you to do depraved, horribly delicious things to you? Could you escape me?"

Sona stopped running and stared at her flatly.

"…No one can escape you, Onee-sama."

Serafall beamed. "Hehehe~! That's true! But we still gotta keep training! Let's go! Push-ups next!"

Sona nearly collapsed on the spot.

…

The early afternoons were reserved for Venelana Gremory's lessons with her and Rias - who still held a grudge for being roped into more lessons.

Rias' punishment for her best friend for said betrayal? Refusing to show her more anime.

Sona was heartbroken. Really.

While Serafall was chaos personified, Venelana was calm, composed, and terrifyingly perceptive.

Sona and Rias sat next to each other cross-legged on velvet cushions in Venelana's study, the lesson barely begun and already Rias head was leaning against Sona's shoulder as she tried to stay awake.

Today's lesson exploring using one's emotions as the added tool to improve on the trifecta of imagination, belief, and willpower.

Venelana sipped her tea gracefully, watching her daughter with amusement, before focusing on Sona who was reading the text diligently. "You've made quite a bit of progress, Sona. Your hunger for knowledge is something my daughter could stand to learn."

"Moooom!" Rias whined, snuggling in closer to Sona, "Sona will be my big brain, so I don't need to be brainy!"

Venelana let out a small huff of amusement, "Rias, dear, as much as you treat Sona like your sister, she will be the Lady of house Sitri, just as you will be Lady Gremory, so you won't be able to rely on her to always get you out of trouble."

Rias just closed her eyes, a pout on her lips, her tiny arms around Sona's waist, "No, Sona will always get me out of trouble! I'll just marry her and she can be the lady of both!"

Sona couldn't help but think that this scenario of her getting Rias out of trouble would likely be true, if canon events revolved around Rias again, without boob emperor deus ex machina to save her.

Venelana sighed, dropping the matter, a fond look in her eyes, before she focused on Sona again, obviously giving up on Rias for the rest of the lesson, "And? What do you think, Sona, dear? You're studying that book quite intently."

Sona did not look up from her book. "Magic requires understanding. If I do not know its nature, I cannot control it."

Venelana smiled. "A logical approach. But tell me, dear - how often do you let instinct guide you?"

Sona hesitated. "Instinct is unreliable."

Venelana set her cup down with a soft clink. "Is it? Magic for us is more than formulas and calculations as you know." Venelana murmured. "It is fluid, Sona. It responds to your emotions, your imagination. A spell is not just a flex of power - it is a story you create with your will."

Sona's eyes narrowed as she thought about it. She had a fairly tight control of her emotions. Was that behind some of her struggles in actualizing more complex devil magic?

Venelana continued, "Control is important, you can not lose focus on what you picture. But that is control and focus of your mind, of the mental parameters of a spell. Passion, strong emotions, can inflame something without losing that mental control, lending further power to what you imagine. Many passionate devils have been amongst our most successful magicians."

"If that were true," Sona said carefully, "then someone with less magical knowledge but more passion and creativity could create stronger spells than a learned devil that only uses cold precision..."

She didn't like that. Because cold precision was exactly how she was currently using magic.

Venelana smiled knowingly. "And who says that hasn't happened before?" She giggled at Sona's displeased look, "Ara Ara, that's a cute look, but don't worry, Sona, dear… It is the rare few devils that succeed in adding emotion based facets to their magic. Although those few tend to be more powerful, you only have to look at your sister to see one such being."

Sona was silent for a long moment. Then, without another word, she closed her book.

"Show me," She said.

Like hell she'd let Serafall be better than her just because she sprayed her emotions all over the place!

Venelana's smile widened.

And so the real lesson began.

…

Evenings were spent with her parents or their peerage, honing her practical magic until she ran dry of reserves.

Sona's mother tested her ability to manipulate water magic, their bloodline trait giving them a supernatural gift when it came to water. One Sona's mother was immensely proud of.

"Sitri magic is not just about control, Sona," Her mother instructed, lifting her hand as pure liquid formed into elegant shapes, twisting and shifting into delicate shapes. "It is about elegance. Efficiency. Wasted movement is wasted energy."

Sona mimicked the motions carefully, her own water forming a spiral, though it wobbled at the edges.

Her father, on the other hand, took a different approach. Not being a Sitri at birth, having been a lesser cousin of house Vapula.

"Raw power is not your strongest trait," he mused, watching as she struggled to increase the volume of water she summoned. "But control? That is where your talent lies."

With a wave of his hand, the water in front of them froze solid, forming a mirror-like sheet of ice.

"If you cannot overwhelm your enemy with strength," he said, "then outthink them. Magic is just as much about strategy as it is power."

Sona absorbed everything.

---

The nights belonged to her alone.

When the mansion was quiet, when even Serafall had collapsed into her ridiculous bed, Sona would retreat to her room, books stacked high, candles flickering.

Her body ached from the day's training. Her mind swam with new knowledge, yet she was never satisfied.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, her hands steady as she etched complex magic circles into the air, her power flickering with every attempt.

She failed.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, her control slipped, her magic unraveled, and the spell collapsed.

But she did not stop.

She pushed forward, working until her magic ran dry, until her body refused to move, until her vision blurred from exhaustion.

Only then, when her reserves were completely depleted, would she allow herself to rest.

She barely made it to bed most nights.

Sometimes she just collapsed right there on the floor, too tired to even lift a blanket over herself.

Serafall, of course, always found her.

And every time, without fail, she would pick her up, tuck her in, and curl around her like an overprotective dragon hoarding treasure.

One particular night, as Serafall pulled the covers over them, she poked Sona's forehead lightly.

"You're pushing too hard again, So-tan," she murmured, her usual playful energy subdued.

Sona, eyes heavy with exhaustion, barely managed to whisper, "I have to."

Serafall sighed, wrapping her arms around her tighter.

"You don't have to do everything alone," she murmured, pressing her chin against Sona's hair. "You've got me, you know."

Sona didn't respond.

She was already asleep.

Serafall just smiled softly, stroking her little sister's hair.

"Don't worry, So-tan," she whispered. "I'll always make sure to protect you."

And with that, she held her close, guarding her like she always would.



Sona didn't need glasses.

Devils didn't have poor eyesight unless they were actively choosing to have poor eyesight. Their bodies were malleable, shaped as much by their bloodline as by their own self-perception.

And Sona?

She knew she wouldn't grow up looking like the original Sona Sitri.

She had no hang-ups about her body. No self-consciousness about being compared to her sister. She didn't have the original's deep-seated insecurities, the ones that led to her strict control over her own image.

So she already knew - when she was older, she would look more like Rias or Serafall than the slender, restrained woman she remembered from the series.

And she was fine with that.

But back to the glasses.

They were aesthetic.

She liked how they looked. She liked the sharp, intelligent aura they gave her, the way they completed her image.

Which led her to her latest project.

---

Serafall was always busiest after morning training. The moment breakfast ended, she was swamped with Maou duties, disappearing for the rest of the day to handle all the tedious parts of running an entire faction.

Which meant Sona only had a small window to get her attention.

So, one morning, as they finished up their usual routine - Serafall dramatically pushing her to exhaustion, Sona pretending to be more tired than she actually was just to make her happy - she struck.

"Onee-sama," She started, keeping her tone calm and casual.

Serafall immediately perked up, half-dangling upside down from a floating water sphere, her entire body still radiating way too much energy for this early in the day.

"Yes, my adorable, wonderful, talented little So-tan!? Did you miss my touch already!?"

Sona exhaled slowly. "I'm literally right here, Onee-sama. And I have a question."

Serafall flipped over, landing neatly beside her in a dramatic pose, one hand on her hip. "Ooooh~? A question~? About love? About justice?! About my amazing Onee-sama wisdom?!"

Sona adjusted her glasses, undeterred. "Is there any way to get glasses that actually do something? Like artifacts, or enchanted lenses?"

Serafall blinked. "You mean, like, magic glasses?!"

Sona nodded. "Rias has been going on about these ridiculous anime tropes lately, and it got me thinking about it."

Serafall gasped. "Ohhh, So-tan! You're so adorable! You wanna be an anime glasses girl?!"

Sona stared at her. "...If that helps you focus, sure."

Serafall clasped her hands together, sparkles practically materializing around her as she spun in excitement.

"Ooooh~! This is so cool! Glasses that do cool things! What should they do?! Should they let you see through walls?! Through illusions?! Through time?!"

Sona, who had already seen the direction this conversation was going, cut in swiftly.

"Something more practical," she said. "Like being able to see mana flow, or demonic energy levels in others."

Serafall tapped a finger to her lips, thoughtful. "Hmm~! That might be possible! We'd need a super high-level enchantment… something that wouldn't drain your magic constantly… and something that wouldn't explode when exposed to too much power…"

Sona narrowed her eyes. "Why was explosion one of the first things you thought of?"

Serafall just waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it~! But! You know who would totally be able to make something like this?"

Sona immediately sensed danger. "Onee-sama—"

"AJUKA!!!"

Sona groaned. "Onee-sama, you can't just bother Ajuka Beelzebub over something like this.. "

"Of course I can!" Serafall cheered, bouncing in place. "He's my bestie! He does all my crazy science things! I just have to ask him super sweetly~!"

Sona sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I really don't think he wants to waste time on my glasses."

Serafall grinned knowingly, leaning in close.

"Ohhh? But So-tan~! You sound like you secretly want this! Are you really saying you don't want super cool glasses of power?!"

Sona hesitated.

The truth was, she absolutely wanted them.

She wanted to be able to see magic at work. To analyze demonic power at a glance. To have a practical, strategic tool at her disposal.

But encouraging Serafall's ridiculous enthusiasm was a dangerous thing.

"...Fine," she admitted, not trying very hard to argue anymore.

Serafall cheered, pulling her into a tight, spinning hug.

"Ooooh~! So-tan, you're gonna be so cool! But wait! You're not allowed to use them to peek on people in the bath, okay?! That's bad!"

Sona deadpanned. "Onee-sama. I literally just asked for a way to analyze magic."

Serafall winked dramatically, striking a magical girl pose.

"Yuri yuri waits for no one~!"

Sona sighed.

This was going to be a thing now, wasn't it?

---

Weeks passed before Serafall burst into her room, triumphantly holding a small, elegant black case.

"So-tan~! Your magical anime glasses have arrived!"

Sona, who had been mid-way through practicing a new spell, immediately perked up.

Serafall grinned widely, flipping open the case with a flourish. Inside lay a pair of glasses identical to the ones Sona had worn before—thin, silver-rimmed, polished to perfection.

But these weren't just for aesthetic.

"Ajuka said they're not foolproof, but~! They should let you see demonic power and mana flows at a glance! It won't work if someone's actively hiding their reserves, but if they're not trying, you'll get a pretty accurate read on their strength!"

Sona felt genuine excitement stir in her chest.

She reached for them immediately, carefully placing them over her eyes.

And instantly regretted it.

Her vision exploded with color, as if the entire room had been drenched in raw magic. The walls hummed with embedded enchantments, the furniture pulsed with ambient power, and...

Sona flinched, immediately raising a hand to adjust the settings.

Serafall was a miniature sun.

Her demonic power was so overwhelming, so immense, that for a moment, it was blinding.

Serafall giggled. "Oooh~! I must look so pretty~!"

Sona blinked rapidly, forcing her brain to adjust, filtering the overwhelming waves of magic into something manageable.

When she finally focused, she was stunned.

She could see everything.

Demonic energy drifted like mist from Serafall, vast and unshackled, thick enough to drown entire cities. The walls of her room were reinforced with magic, woven into the very foundation.

She turned, testing it, looking at her own hands.

Her own reserves were still small compared to Serafall's, but they burned steady, sharp and controlled.

This was… incredible.

Sona turned back to Serafall and, in an extremely rare display of open affection, she stepped forward and hugged her tightly.

Then, without hesitation, she pressed a quick kiss to her sister's cheek.

"Best gift ever."

Serafall froze.

Then -

She exploded into pure joy, spinning Sona around the room, laughing, celebrating wildly.

Sona let her.

Just this once.



Rias's room was exactly what Sona had expected it to be the first time she'd entered and it hadn't changed since.

Luxurious, grand, and completely dominated by her anime obsession.

The Gremory colors of deep red and black were everywhere, from the velvet curtains to the carved wooden furniture. Plush carpets softened every step, and the chandelier overhead was enchanted with floating, flickering lights.

But none of that mattered.

Because Rias's bed, the ridiculously oversized thing made for an entire royal family, was covered in manga.

Stacks upon stacks of every series imaginable, arranged in precarious towers that defied physics. Some had bookmarks sticking out at odd angles, others were midway through being read, and at least three were lying face-down like abandoned soldiers.

Sona, seated cross-legged beside Rias, adjusted her glasses and flipped another page.

"This protagonist is an idiot," She said flatly, watching as the hero charged headfirst into a clearly avoidable trap.

Rias giggled, kicking her legs in the air as she flipped to the next volume. "He's passionate~! He's following his heart!"

Sona glanced at her, unimpressed. "He's following poor tactical instincts. This is why he loses all his fights."

Rias pouted. "You just don't understand shounen storytelling, Sona!"

Sona exhaled slowly. "I understand that he had four different ways to avoid this fight, and he chose the worst option every time."

Rias huffed, rolling onto her back. "Not everyone wants to be a calculating, overpowered super genius, you know!"

Sona smirked, setting her book aside. "Sounds like a personal problem."

Rias shot up, glaring. "Ohhh, that's it! You're officially banned from watching any of my favorite anime!"

Sona raised a brow. "Then who will explain the plot holes to you?"

Rias froze.

Sona watched with pure amusement as her best friend visibly wrestled with the dilemma of wanting to ban her and needing someone to overanalyze everything for her.

Then, with a huff, Rias flopped back down onto her pillow, accepting defeat.

Sona grinned victoriously.

For a while, they just read in comfortable silence, the occasional giggle from Rias or exasperated sigh from Sona filling the room.

Then, out of nowhere -

"Sona, what do you want out of life?"

Sona paused, lowering her book slightly. "That's… broad."

Rias turned onto her side, watching her closely, her expression unusually serious. "I mean, like… when we grow up. When we have our own full peerages. What do you want?"

Sona thought about it.

The answer was simple, really.

"Power," She said.

Rias blinked. "…That's it?"

Sona shrugged. "I want to be the strongest. I want a peerage filled with powerful devils. People who can help me grow, who will make sure I never lose."

Rias frowned, chewing on her lip. "So… you're just trying to get stronger than your sister?"

Sona smirked. "Onee-sama is a force of nature. But being stronger than her wouldn't be a bad start."

Rias let out a dramatic groan, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face into a pillow.

"You just wanna beat up Maou Serafall! Meanwhile, I wanna have cute kohai who adore me, and who'll go on adventures with me!"

Sona raised a brow, adjusting her glasses. "Your criteria for a peerage is based on… aesthetic?"

Rias huffed, flipping her hair. "It's not just aesthetic! I want people who are fun! People who'll be like family!"

Sona hummed thoughtfully. "A noble goal. Impractical, but noble."

Rias squinted at her. "I don't like your tone."

Sona smirked. "I just think you're prioritizing fantasy tropes over strategy."

Rias sat up, pointing aggressively. "Listen here, you future chess-playing villain! I will have the coolest peerage! We'll go on epic quests and fight bad guys, and it'll be glorious!"

Sona rolled her eyes, setting her book down. "And you're accusing me of acting like an anime character?"

Rias grabbed a pillow.

Sona's eyes narrowed.

A moment of perfect, tense silence passed between them.

Then -

Pillow to the face.

Sona blinked through the feathers, adjusting her glasses as the pillow slid from her lap to the floor.

Rias grinned smugly, already arming herself with another.

"You started this war," Sona murmured, voice calm, measured.

Rias laughed, launching another attack. "And I will end it!"

They devolved into a full-on pillow fight, Rias cackling wildly as she flung cushions with reckless abandon. Sona, more tactical, dodged effortlessly, analyzing her friend's movements like she was playing a game of chess.

With a flick of her wrist, Sona summoned bands of water, swirling from the air itself, and lashed them around Rias's wrists, lifting her into the air.

Rias let out an undignified screech.

"CHEATING!"

Sona smirked, adjusting her glasses. "I'm training to be strong. You're just an otaku."

Rias narrowed her eyes dangerously.

The bands of water shattered.

Pure destruction energy radiated from her hands as she broke free, leaping forward with vengeance in her eyes.

"I'LL BE STRONGER THAN YOU!" she bellowed. "I'LL KAMEHAMEHA YOU TO THE MOON, SONA SITRI!"

At that exact moment, the door opened.

Venelana Gremory stood at the entrance, watching the chaos unfold with an amused glint in her eyes.

Rias, mid-lunge, landed right on top of Sona, pinning her down as she raised her tiny fists.

Sona, completely unphased, raised a brow.

Venelana took a slow sip of her tea. "It seems we need to have Sona over more often if she motivates my cute little daughter this much."

Rias puffed up, crossing her arms. "I'm always motivated, Mama!"

Sona, still pinned beneath her, deadpanned. "Define motivated."

Rias's cheeks puffed up in irritation, and she reached down, squishing Sona's face between her hands.

"You listen here, you smug nerd!" she declared. "I'm gonna be the best! I'm gonna be stronger than you, stronger than my brother, and I'm gonna have the best peerage!"

Sona's lips, still squished together, quirked into a smirk.

"Every genius needs a rival," She said, voice muffled by Rias's grip. "Do you know where I can find one?"

Rias's eye twitched.

Venelana giggled lightly.

Then, with a battle cry, Rias started pummeling Sona with tiny fists, yelling all the while.

"I AM YOUR RIVAL, YOU JERK!"

Sona let it happen.

After all…

She wouldn't want anyone else.



The Sitri estate was unusually quiet.

Sona felt it the moment she walked into the grand hall, an unspoken tension settling in the air, pressing down on her like a weight she couldn't quite place. The servants were moving more carefully, their footsteps softer than usual, their eyes briefly flicking toward her before looking away.

Something was wrong.

She entered the main sitting room, already on guard.

Her mother and father were waiting.

Lady Liriel Sitri was the very image of elegance. Long, dark blue hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, matching the deep ocean hue of her sharp, discerning eyes. Her features were delicate yet strong, giving her the kind of beauty that was both regal and commanding. Even seated, she carried an air of authority that could not be ignored.

Lord Aethon Sitri sat beside her, his posture calm yet firm. His violet eyes, nearly identical to Sona's, watched her closely, assessing her reaction before he even spoke. His hair, a darker shade of indigo than hers, was neatly tied back, and though his face was handsome and refined, there was a weight in his gaze, something that spoke of wisdom and patience hard-earned.

And beside them, looking vaguely guilty, sat Serafall.

That was the first red flag.

Serafall never looked guilty. She looked excited, dramatic, mischievous - never guilty.

Sona folded her arms, adjusting her glasses as she scanned the room.

"…What's going on?"

Her father exhaled, resting his elbows on the arm of his chair. "Sit down, Sona."

That was the second red flag.

They had never made her sit down like this unless it was serious.

Slowly, carefully, she lowered herself into the chair across from them, her back straight, her mind already working through possible scenarios.

Then her mother spoke.

"Sona," Liriel said, softly, but firmly. "We're cutting down the hours you train."

For a moment, there was silence.

"No."

Sona's voice was immediate, absolute.

Her mother's gaze did not waver. "This isn't a discussion."

Sona's fingers curled tightly around the arms of her chair, but her voice remained calm and measured.

"You're hindering my progress."

Aethon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We're not hindering you, Sona. We're ensuring that you don't burn yourself out before you even reach adulthood."

Sona's jaw tightened. "I am trying to be the best I can be."

"And we love that about you," Her mother said, voice still gentle. "But Sona, we are not at war anymore. You don't need to train like you're preparing for battle."

Her shoulders went rigid.

"That's where you're wrong."

Serafall, who had been strangely quiet, finally spoke up.

"So-tan," She started, voice unusually serious, "We talked about this. You don't have to rush."

Sona turned her gaze on her sister, sharp and accusatory. "You're going along with this?"

Serafall winced. "I… didn't want to at first!" She admitted, pouting as she wiggled in her seat. "I mean, training with you is so much fun! But then Mom and Dad pointed out that I was maybe going a teensy, tiny bit overboard…"

Sona's expression did not change.

Her father glanced at Serafall, then back at Sona. "Even your sister agrees, after it was pointed out to her how much she was enabling you."

Serafall crossed her arms, muttering, "I don't think enabling is the right word…"

Her mother gave her a look.

Serafall slumped. "Okay, fine. Maybe I got a little carried away. But So-tan! We still have tons of time to train! You're only thirteen!"

Sona's fingers twitched, but she kept her voice even.

"That's irrelevant," she said. "The earlier I train, the stronger I'll become. By the time I reach adulthood, I'll already be leagues above everyone else in my generation."

Her mother sighed. "And what happens when you get there, Sona? When you've exhausted yourself from pushing this hard? Do you think you can maintain this pace forever?"

"I will adapt," Sona answered immediately.

"You are too young," Her father said, his voice calm but firm.

"You're punishing me for being more mature than Rias and Serafall," Sona accused.

Her mother shook her head. "We are not punishing you, Sona. This isn't a punishment. It's a reminder that you are still a child. You have time."

Her father leaned forward, his expression softening slightly. "We're proud of you, Sona. We truly are. But we want you to thrive, not just survive. And right now? You're going too far, too fast."

Sona's teeth clenched.

She knew.

She knew logically that their reasoning was sound. That overworking herself at this age could have consequences.

But she didn't care.

She didn't want to slow down.

She wanted to be the best.

And they were stopping her.

She tried again.

More logic. More reasoning. More arguments.

They did not waver.

For every counterpoint, they stood firm.

She could feel the walls closing in.

So she did the only thing she could do.

She gritted her teeth.

She accepted it.

Not because she agreed.

But because fighting them any further would get her nothing.

She was above tantrums.

Above pleading.

So she stood.

"I understand," She said.

Her mother's expression softened, but there was still sternness in her gaze.

"We're doing this because we love you, Sona."

Her father nodded. "And because we know how much potential you have."

Sona turned away.

She didn't trust herself to speak further.

She started walking. Serafall hesitated, then jumped up to follow her.

"Uh, So-tan?"

Sona didn't answer.

She kept walking.

Serafall trailed behind her for a few steps, clearly torn, before she finally stopped, letting her sister go.

Sona needed privacy.

She needed to breathe.

And she needed to figure out how to work around this.


Sona had never given much thought to marriage.

Not because she was disinterested, but because she had always assumed it would be her choice.

That assumption had been wrong.

Her parents had already made that choice for her, long before she had been old enough to understand what it meant.

The original Sona had been engaged as a child, just like Rias was. But while Rias's engagement to Riser Phoenix had become an infamous example of noble devil politics, Sona's was far less dramatic.

It had been settled quietly, efficiently, with an emphasis on beneficial bloodlines.

The man they had chosen for her?

Asmodean Agares.

He was several centuries her senior, though his magic and bloodline were unremarkable. His greatest asset was a Bael ancestor three generations removed - an ancestor that had granted him just enough status to be considered as a political match for the Sitri heiress.

Sona, of course, had no intention of going through with it.

In the original timeline, she had used chess as an escape, declaring that she would only marry a man who could defeat her.

It had worked, although Serafall had likely put her thumb on the scale.

But Sona was not willing to rely on that this time.

The nobility adored chess, and there were devils who had been playing for millennia. The idea that the original Sona had truly been able to defeat every single suitor who came for her seemed ridiculous.

More likely, they had feared Serafall's reaction.

And that, that was where she would strike first.

Why bother going through a hundred different matches, wasting her time pretending to reject men one by one, when she could just have Serafall declare her off-limits entirely?

It was a better strategy.

Perhaps she could even get around her training restrictions if she played her cards right. If she could convince Serafall that she was fully on her side, backing her without hesitation, then her parents would have no choice but to relent on other matters.

After all, as much as she respected and loved her parents, she was not the Sona Sitri they had raised.

And at the end of the day, they had still been willing to engage her to a man hundreds of years her senior.

That alone was enough reason to disregard their opinion entirely.

---

Her parents had been surprised when she accepted the meeting with no protest.

A preliminary gathering.

An introduction.

Not marriage yet, of course. That was still a decade away at least.

But devil society was different from human society. Courtships were long, expectations set early.

And Sona?

She agreed, politely, calmly, as though she were the perfectly obedient daughter they expected her to be.

Her only condition:

Serafall would be nearby.

Not in the meeting, but watching, waiting, just out of sight.

Her parents had hesitated.

Serafall had not.

She had practically torn the Sitri estate apart the first time she had heard about the engagement, and the very idea of Sona being forced into it still made her blood boil.

She agreed instantly.

Which was how, at only thirteen old, Sona found herself seated in a private teahouse in Lilith, a delicate porcelain cup in hand, across from a man she had no intention of ever speaking to again.

Asmodean Agares was…

Exactly what she expected.

His appearance was pleasant enough, she supposed. Handsome, in a mediocre sort of way. He had dark silver hair, neatly combed, and pale blue eyes that always seemed half-lidded, vaguely disinterested. His features were sharp but unremarkable, and his presence, for all that he came from a noble line - felt weak.

His magic was barely noticeable, a thin, lukewarm thread of power that paled in comparison to even Rias, at her young age.

The fact that he had made it this far as a potential match for the Sitri family was frankly embarrassing.

But his appearance wasn't the problem.

His attitude was.

From the moment he sat down across from her, he oozed arrogance. Not in an overtly dramatic way. No, his brand of arrogance was more insidious.

He acted as if this was already settled.

As if she belonged to him.

The conversation had been pointless pleasantries at first.

He spoke about his family, his estate, his peerage. He didn't ask about hers. He didn't ask about her interests, her goals, or her opinions.

He only talked about himself.

He smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I must say, Lady Sona, you've been remarkably well-behaved so far. I was under the impression that you were… difficult."

Sona set her tea down, adjusting her glasses.

"Difficult?" She repeated.

Asmodean tilted his head. "Well, you know how young noblewomen can be. Strong-willed, opinionated, a little too… rebellious. But you seem much more reasonable than I expected."

She stared at him.

"You mean obedient," She said flatly.

He chuckled, completely missing the warning in her tone.

"Ah, obedience is an admirable trait in a young lady," he mused, swirling his tea idly. "I do hope you'll keep it, Sona. It will make things much smoother between us."

Sona breathed in slowly.

Ah.

So that was how he saw her.

As a docile little girl, a noblewoman meant to smile and nod while her husband handled the important matters.

She studied him for a long moment.

This man, this pathetic creature, thought he could marry into her family? Thought he could claim a Sitri heir, thought he had the right to expect anything from her?

She set her teacup down, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

Sona had planned this carefully.

She knew what kind of man Asmodean Agares was. He preferred women who were meek, obedient, and utterly devoted to him, the kind who would never challenge him, never question his words, never refuse him.

So, she gave him exactly what he wanted.

She let her posture shift, shoulders drawing in just slightly, lowering her gaze in a way that mimicked shyness. She let her hands fidget in her lap, let her voice drop to a soft, hesitant murmur as she spoke.

"My lord Agares…" She said, her tone carefully measured, allowing just the faintest tremble to creep in. "I know that I… still have much to learn. About being a noble lady. About being a good wife."

Asmodean's smirk returned, slow and lazy, as if he were already indulging her weakness.

"Of course," He said, swirling his tea idly. "You're still very young, after all. It's only natural that you'd need… guidance."

Sona lowered her eyes further, allowing the faintest hint of pink to rise to her cheeks.

"Would you…" She paused, letting uncertainty settle into her expression, as if she were embarrassed. "Would you be willing to teach me? So that when the time comes… I'll know how to be a proper wife?"

The way his eyes darkened at that made her sick.

She felt it the moment his gaze shifted, going from idle interest to something more possessive, something almost predatory.

He thought he was winning.

He thought she was submitting.

The arrogance in his expression made her stomach twist, but she held firm.

She let the moment linger, watching as he considered his next move.

Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting an arm on the table, his lips curving into a smirk.

"Come here, then," He said slyly, motioning to his lap. "It's easier to teach when you're closer."

She nearly flinched, but forced herself to stay composed.

Inside, she was disgusted.

On the surface, she hesitated, feigned uncertainty, glanced around as if making sure no one would see.

Then, as if nervous, she rose to her feet and stepped toward him.

She kept her movements measured, slow, hesitant, allowing him to think he was controlling the situation.

When she finally settled onto his lap, her small frame perched uncomfortably against him, she could feel the way his hand ghosted against her side, the barest touch of his fingers resting against her waist.

That was it.

That was all she needed.

In one swift motion, she twisted slightly, letting the seam of her blouse catch against the edge of the chair's ornate carving -

The fabric ripped, the sound sharp and unmistakable.

She gasped dramatically, her eyes going wide, letting genuine alarm filter into her expression.

"No!" she cried, hurling herself to the floor, tears welling up instantly. "No, don't touch me! Sister!"

She collapsed onto her knees, hands clutching at the torn fabric of her blouse, her voice breaking as she called out again, louder -

"SISTER!"

Asmodean froze.

His entire body locked up, his mouth opening slightly as if he had just realized his mistake, just realized how this looked.

He had no time to recover.

Because the moment Sona had hit the floor, Serafall was already moving.

The doors exploded open, shattering against the walls, and the room plummeted into unnatural cold.

The air thickened, crackling with power as frost spread rapidly across the floor, freezing the very air itself in delicate, shimmering ice crystals.

Serafall's magic suffocated the room.

Her eyes were nothing but raw, unfiltered fury.

The moment she saw Sona on the floor, blouse torn, eyes wet with tears, she didn't hesitate.

She moved instantly, crossing the room in a heartbeat, her hand shooting forward before Asmodean could even form words.

Her fingers clamped around his jaw, and ice cascaded from her touch, spreading across his skin in jagged, gleaming formations.

A sharp, sickening crack filled the air as his jaw froze shut.

Asmodean let out a strangled sound, his hands flying to his face, panic flickering in his eyes as he realized he couldn't open his mouth.

Serafall's grip tightened, her fingers digging painfully into the ice, her magic thrumming with barely restrained violence.

She leaned in, her breath coming out in a low, lethal whisper.

"You," She said, her voice dangerously soft, "just made the worst mistake of your life."

The ice crept further, spiraling up his cheek, edging toward his eye socket.

Asmodean tried to jerk away, but her grip was iron-clad.

Sona, still kneeling on the floor, watched carefully.

She was not afraid.

She had known Serafall would react this way.

She had counted on it.

Serafall's rage was palpable, barely contained, the room growing colder by the second.

"You're lucky," She murmured, tilting her head, her tone still eerily calm. "Lucky that I'm feeling merciful."

Her fingers twisted slightly, and the ice tightened around his jaw, forcing a muffled groan from his throat.

Then, abruptly, she let go.

The ice remained.

Asmodean stumbled backward, his eyes wide with panic, hands clawing at his frozen face, his breath coming out in shaky, uneven gasps.

Serafall didn't look at him again.

Her focus was already on Sona.

She was by her side in an instant, kneeling down, hands hovering over her, searching for any sign of harm.

"So-tan," She murmured, her voice breaking slightly, her fury replaced with worry. "Did he?"

"I'm fine," Sona said, letting her voice shake slightly, just enough. "He didn't touch me more then...that."

Serafall exhaled sharply, one hand rising to cup Sona's cheek, her expression a mixture of relief and lingering rage.

"Never again," She whispered. "I swear it, So-tan. Never again."

Sona leaned into the touch, allowing just a moment of vulnerability before she straightened, adjusting her torn blouse.

Serafall stood slowly, her back still to Asmodean, her shoulders rigid.

"You," She said, her voice cold as the ice around them, "Are finished."

Asmodean flinched.

Serafall tilted her head just slightly, her aura pressing down like an avalanche, making the air impossible to breathe.

"If you ever go near my sister again," She said, her tone casual, but laced with absolute promise, "There won't be enough of you left to freeze."

She turned, sweeping Sona into her arms, carrying her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing at all.

And then, without another word, she walked out.

Leaving Asmodean Agares standing frozen in fear, jaw still locked in ice, knowing that this engagement was over.




Serafall had never been happier in her entire life.

It had been a strange year, but one that had filled her heart to bursting.

Her little sister, her So-tan, had changed.

She still had that serious little face, that sharp, brilliant mind, and that terrifyingly intense drive to be the best. But she had also softened, or rather, she had opened up to her.

Serafall knew Sona loved her, of course.

But now? Now she showed it.

She no longer hesitated when Serafall pulled her into a hug. No longer squirmed away when she buried her in kisses. Now, when Serafall wrapped around her like an overgrown octopus, Sona just sighed, muttered something sarcastic, and let it happen.

And even more than that, Sona sought her out.

She came to her for advice. She trained with her willingly. She enjoyed their time together, even if she pretended otherwise.

Serafall's heart had grown three sizes.

And her Sona, her little genius So-tan, was growing so fast.

Not at a Super Devil's pace, of course. But she was getting there. Serafall could already see it, one day, Sona would be stronger than her. And instead of being jealous, instead of being bitter, she was so, so proud.

She wanted Sona to win.

She wanted to see her conquer everything.

And she would make sure nothing got in her way.

Not even her own parents.

Not even the entire Underworld.

"Serafall, are you paying attention?"

She blinked, snapping out of her thoughts, only to find herself back in the present, sitting in a high-backed chair in the war room of the Four Satans.

Right.

The meeting.

The fallout.

The whining.

Across from her, Sirzechs Lucifer sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. His crimson hair was slightly disheveled, his usual calm and composed expression edged with exasperation.

To his right, Ajuka Beelzebub was idly spinning a holographic magic formula in his fingers, his green hair falling into his unimpressed expression as he only half-listened.

To her left, Falbium Asmodeus was already asleep, his arms folded, his head tilted slightly to the side as he snored lightly.

Serafall, still leaning back casually in her chair, pouted dramatically.

"Ughhh, why do we have to have a meeting over this?" She whined, kicking her feet. "The Underworld should be thanking me! I did them a favor!"

Sirzechs gave her a look.

"A favor?"

She huffed, crossing her arms. "Yes! I put a disgusting, slimy, arrogant waste of space into place! I should get a medal!"

Ajuka sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Serafall, you maimed a suitor from one of the Great King faction's noble houses, his jaw was unable to be saved."

"And?" She asked innocently.

Sirzechs leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice even. "And we have to appease them somehow. You know how the Great King faction is. This isn't just about Agares. It's about tradition, about control. The idea that a Maou, one of the rulers of the Underworld, could so easily reject an arranged marriage and maim the suitor sets… a precedent."

Serafall's eyes darkened.

"A precedent?" She repeated.

Sirzechs nodded. "A precedent that could -"

"They're lucky," She cut in, her tone suddenly dangerously cold, "That I didn't kill the entire family for allowing that bastard to touch my So-tan."

The temperature in the room dropped.

Sirzechs exhaled slowly, but he didn't look away.

"Serafall," He said, his voice gentle, as if speaking to a wild animal, "I understand. Believe me, I do. But the Underworld is still recovering We are still trying to stabilize our society. You cannot -"

She slammed her hands onto the table.

"I CAN. AND I DID."

Ajuka stopped spinning his formula, his sharp green eyes flicking toward her, now fully focused.

Serafall leaned forward, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

"My sister," She said, "Is more important then anything!"

Sirzechs studied her carefully, his expression unreadable.

Ajuka finally spoke up, his tone as calm as ever.

"Then what's your plan?"

Serafall tilted her head, her pigtails bouncing slightly.

"My plan?" She echoed.

Ajuka gestured lazily. "You've already made it clear. You won't allow Sona to be forced into marriage. You've eliminated the current suitor. What's next?"

Serafall's smirk was slow, dangerous.

"I already told the entire Underworld," She said. "Sona Sitri will choose her own marriage. And if anyone tries to force her into one..."

Her fingers crackled with ice, the air around her frosting over instantly.

"We enter an ice age!"

Falbium, who had been napping peacefully, suddenly snorted awake.

"Huh? What? Did we start a war?"

Sirzechs sighed.

Ajuka chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Not yet."

Falbium yawned, stretching. "Well, wake me up when we do. This meeting's boring."

Serafall grinned. "See? Falbium gets it! This whole thing is stupid!"

Sirzechs pinched the bridge of his nose. "Serafall, the Agares family -"

"Can go cry about it," She finished. "I don't care."

Ajuka hummed thoughtfully. "You do realize that Lord Agares will demand compensation for this, right?"

Serafall rolled her eyes. "Fine. Send them a fruit basket. Maybe a puppy. Or better yet - nothing at all!"

Sirzechs massaged his temples. "Serafall..."

"Nope! Not listening!" She plugged her ears, kicking her feet again."Nanananana!"

Ajuka chuckled again, clearly amused now. "I suppose we'll figure out how to smooth things over without you, then."

Serafall flashed him a peace sign. "You always do, Aju-tan!"

Sirzechs exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead. "I hate my job."

Falbium was already snoring again.

Serafall just grinned, her heart still thrumming with adrenaline, with pride, with protective joy.

Because no matter what?

No one would ever lay a hand on her So-tan again.

 
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Snippet 25: That Jedi life. (Featuring Mace Windu's headache) New
"Initiate Soren, do you know why you've been called before this council today?" Mace asked firmly, maintaining a stern stare at the troublesome initiate, leaning forward, elbows on his knees and hands interlocked under his chin, sitting in one of the smaller antechamber meeting rooms attached to the council room.

The twelve year old pantoran boy's golden eyes lit up in mischievousness, and Mace could feel a headache coming before the boy even opened his impudent mouth. As usual. I should have never accepted this council position…

"Master Windu, there's only two of you, so I couldn't possibly answer your question as it seems to have been made in error, as there is no council present." Soren said guilelessly, his force presence far too cheeky in such a serious situation, Mace thought, ignoring the chuckle from next to him with forced aplomb.

"Not all matters need a full council meeting to address, initiate." He said sternly, through gritted teeth. As you are well aware you little… "My question remains the same."

As the newest member of the council, Mace Windu had been the proverbial sacrifice from the high council to deal with any 'situation' around this particular child, as he'd become a topic so headache-inducing that the other masters had enough.

Considering last time Master Mundi had actually entered a shouting argument with the youngling and had to be calmed down by Master Yaddle, he couldn't blame them overly much.

Plainly speaking, the high council didn't want the headache anymore. And made it Mace's problem.

It wasn't entirely unusual for sections of the high council to deal with minor situations without drawing the entirety of the council together. They weren't always all on Coruscant to begin with, and some matters really didn't need the entire high council.

What was unusual was that instead of the four to six masters that usually denoted a smaller quorum for these matters, Mace had been left with only Master Yoda as backup for this. Every single other master had demurred at the option of joining in, leaving it to Mace and Yoda to instill some discipline.

And Yoda that little troll wise respected master, keeps chuckling at the boy and leaving it all to me, Mace thought uncharitably, honored at the implication of the venerable grandmaster trusting him to handle things by himself, and irritated that it meant he'd have no assistance at all.

He'd thought by joining the council he'd get away from the frustrating boy, too busy to hold many classes with the younglings now. I should have known better, he thought resigned.

The initiate put both hands behind his back, and swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet as he scrunched up his light blue face in apparent deep thoughts. Pondering Mace's query, everyone in the room knowing it was nonsense, able to feel his amusement in the force.

Soren eventually spoke up with a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth smile, "Masters, you can't punish me for that minor infraction, it was the will of the force that I lightened up the atmosphere in the temple by reprogramming temple droids to compliment the masters. It was a thoughtful gesture, I thought."

"Compared me favorably to Jawa, cleaning droid did." Yoda agreed with a pleased hum, drawing a tired side-eye from Mace.

Saying you smelled slightly better than a Jawa wasn't a compliment, Master. Mace thought dryly, resigned to Yoda being Yoda.

That excuse again though… The will of the force. How Mace had begun to dislike that sentence. He had never been aware of how much his fellow Jedi used that phrase until this particular initiate latched onto it and practically weaponized it.

The worst part was that he couldn't even fully dispute why he did it, or at least how it had started. The initiate had always been an inquisitive youngling, ever since he arrived at the Jedi temple creche at three years of age. From a young age he'd sought answers via questions that some had called almost heretical.

Then he'd grown. And now they were absolutely heretical.

Meditate on the code more he'd been told, and we do this because it is the will of the force, they'd say. And those were not answers that had satisfied Soren. Mace was well aware due to the pleasure of having the boy in several classes he was teaching or assisting over the years.

Somedays he felt he began developing Vapaad purely from sheer frustration with dealing with the youngling.

Soren wanted quantifiable answers and reasons, and disliked answers that amounted to a shrug and saying that's how we do it and always with - it's the will of the force. Mace could… somewhat see his point. It had been a frustration for himself as well until he settled down and actually listened to the force instead of assuming things about it when he was younger.

"You can not use that it was the will of the force as an excuse, youngling." He said firmly, putting his foot down. Metaphorically of course, as he was sitting down.

He knew if he truly got into a debate with the boy, this could last hours.

Soren cocked his head, neat white hair dangling down the sides of his face, golden eyes shining with barely hidden mischief still, "Why not? All the masters do, and we should follow their experienced and wise example, surely?"

In every aspect of his demeanor he was almost perfectly a respectful and attentive initiate, except Mace knew better. Could feel the slight mocking undertone despite there being no outward trace of it.

"Hmm, masters listen to, you should do." Yoda agreed, sending Mace a sly look.

Whose side are you on? Mace thought exasperated, sending Yoda a look, before returning his focus to Soren with a chastising glare. "A Jedi Master has the practice and decades of experience to know how to follow the will of the force. You. Do. Not." He hammered home sternly.

He didn't care if the youngling thought Master Jinn was a… what had he called it… ? Ah, yes, a selfish whackjob. And that was simply one of the more extreme examples.

A youngling did not know better than experienced Jedi Masters.

Even if Qui-Gon's face had been a spectacular sight and the man could certainly use a wake up call - it was not a habit they wanted their younglings to imitate.

Before the youngling could argue further, Mace continued, "A droid calling Master Dooku 'A yummy silver fox' in front of Senator Palpatine was not the will of the force, nor did it paint the Jedi in a good light when our own droids malfunction like that in front of outsiders." He ground out, one hand lightly rubbing his forehead, as he felt the throbbing increase, "That aside… it is not actually why you were called before us today."

Force, how could one youngling be such a headache that they needed to set that issue aside for the more pressing one.

Dooku would be insufferable. That man did not take any slight well, no matter how minor. At least Senator Palpatine had found it amusing and hadn't raised a stink as Senators usually did, in Mace's experience.

Soren perked up, the golden tattoos across his face common to major Pantoran clans spreading, as he grinned wide, "Oh, oh! Is this about how I spread heretical views on the Jedi order and the force to the youngling clans?"

Yoda made a curious noise, tapping his gimmer stick against his chin slowly. Soren just winked cheekily at him, getting a slow chuckle out of the grandmaster of the order.

Mace felt his headache evolve into a migraine, "No. It is not. But we will be talking about what you've been telling the other younglings. Again. After." Force, give me strength.

At least it was mostly history on the mandalorian wars and the Revanist schism and the Sith who puppeted them all, and not actual heresy. Most of the time.

"Young ones, talk to I will." Yoda volunteered, which at least saved Mace that headache.

The Jedi order didn't really censure younglings until they reached Padawan age for anything less then the dark side or extreme violence. Without that rule, Soren would have been censured ten times over. How the boy even knew such classified information on Revan, the Exile, or the Sith, no one had been able to figure out so far.

There had been enough issues alone after the soliloquy Soren had held on the philosophy of Jolee Bindo in the youngling cafeteria after distracting the creche masters by bribing several younglings to draw them away.

Quinlan Vos had become ten times as troublesome since that speech.

Soren's answer to it all had of course been - it was the will of the force that gave me the information. It was exceedingly frustrating many masters to be on the other end of that vagueness.

The Force told me to was becoming too common of a excuse amongst the younglings.

"I will give you one chance to come clean, initiate. You know why you're here." Mace said, trying to not intimidate the youngling with his patented glare, but really, he was losing his patience.

Soren wrinkled his nose in thought, "It's either because I was re-enacting the Mandalorian wars this morning in the dorms with the others, Bant did pretty good as Revan until that concussion… Or its because Master Nu got mad that I was hacking into the archives to restructure readings on common Sith tactics to an easier to find position around mid-meal."

He clasped his hands together serenely in front of him, nodding firmly, "One of those, I believe, Masters." He said calmly, before then immediately ruining it with a cheeky, "You should probably add better security to the archives, because it really wasn't difficult."

Mace felt a vein throb dangerously as his right eye began twitching, "There's two more infractions today alone?!" He… did not blow up. He just… asked severely, with full Jedi serenity.

He did not at all curse when that kark- venerable grandmaster poked his side with his gimmer stick.

"Calm, Master Windu must be, hmm?"

"I am perfectly calm." Mace said irritably calmly.

The skeptical look Yoda gave him being echoed in Sorens face made Mace take a deep breath, letting his irritation go into the force. If even an initiate could read him, he had truly let the irritation build for too long.

"Those two incidents… are also not why you were called here. I assume your creche master and Master Nu have already assigned corrections?" He asked, somewhat calm now, mostly in the hopes that those incidents did not have to be dealt with by him.

Force, please don't make him have to deal with that too.

Soren nodded cheerfully, back to swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Yup! Master Windu." He said, popping the p.

Which was another headache in the enigma that was this initiate. Punishments didn't really work, because he didn't mind them at all. He always serenely accepted the consequences of his actions.

If his every action otherwise wasn't so hererically un-jedi like, he'd be the model Jedi student.

He certainly was acing every single class, dominated the training sallies, and despite gaining plenty of disapproval from a wide variety of Masters, he was popular amongst his fellow younglings and treated them kindly.

"Hack the archives, how did you, hmm? Much work, many Jedi put in have, to safe, keep it." Yoda asked tilting his head, one ear twitching, ruining Mace's wish to leave other situations behind him, and only deal with the actual reason they were all here.

Not for the first time, Mace wondered how one initiate could be responsible for so much of his workload.

Soren beamed at them, his force signature like a blinding sun of pure joyful light. "Through using Mechu-deru." He retorted easily, like it was a minor matter.

For once Yoda too seemed speechless, both ears raising up in surprise or shock. So before he could speak up and ask follow up questions, Mace interjected quickly, "You will speak with Master Yoda on how exactly you know a restricted art after this meeting initiate." Passing the issue to the grandmaster of the order, and most importantly, ensuring he didn't have to be the one to untangle that.

He didn't need that extra headache, the youngling was enough as it was. Besides, Mechu-deru while first invented by the Sith, wasn't exactly forbidden… just discouraged. Mace knew several Jedi in the tech division and explorer corps who had some skill in the technique. Although he didn't believe they currently had any Master with any level of skill.

Jedi, unlike darksiders, didn't use the dark side or any domination to achieve success in the art in the end, they were more evolved then that. They also didn't use it for the abominations the Sith had once upon a time. So it wasn't necessarily dark.

Also Soren was so brightly light in the force that accusing him of doing anything actually dark just wasn't possible, Mace thought wryly. They could all feel how much in the light he was. Having a midichlorian count near Yoda's and being so vividly light was probably the major reason they hadn't sent him off to the corps in exasperation yet for his behavior.

Still, Master Yoda would have to find out more, because in no way should Soren know, or be skilled enough to utilize Mechu-deru to hack the archives, or as Mace now suspected, to reprogram those droids.

He ignored Yoda's grumbling sigh at the task imposed on him, you snooze you lose Master, Mace thought somewhat uncharitably.

"We are here today in regards to this, shot last night." Mace said firmly, raising the data pad in his lap to show Soren the photo on it, before Yoda could find a way to dump everything on Mace.

Again.

Mace had the sneaking suspicion that being given the honor to be mentored by Yoda upon ascending to the council had been code for being dumped with all his work while he escaped to the creche's to play with younglings.

On the screen was a shot of a winner's podium with the run down and shabby background of Coruscant's smoggy and dilapidated underbelly looming behind. Several swoop bikes were parked nearby as a crowd stood around it all, cheering on the trio on the podium.

In first place. Widely smiling and waving at the crowd as he's handed a bag of credits, was a familiar pantoran boy, with shoulder length white hair, golden eyes, light blue skin on a fair, almost feminine face. He had golden intricate circle tattoos on his cheeks leading golden lines down his throat and under his jaw on one end, and across his nose on the other, a golden diamond crossed with a star across his forehead with their own lines curving around the upper edges of his eyes turned downwards.

He was also wearing an initiates tunic, that had the text, not a Jedi, spray painted on it.

"That is obviously not a Jedi." Soren said with a straight face, even as his force presence was practically giggling.

"That. Is a illegal swoop bike race. At 2 am in the morning. Outside the Jedi temple, youngling. On level 669." Mace said sternly, and pointedly, tapping the figure in the photo, "That. Is you. Do you have any idea how many rules you have broken?"

To Mace's ire, the youngling seemed to have taken that as a challenge.

Soren started counting on his fingers, stretching one out for each infraction. "I broke curfew, I broke the rules on leaving the temple unaccompanied, I broke the rules on going below level 500 without at least two Jedi Knights or a Master being present. I broke the rules about any initiate not being allowed lower then level 20 for any reason, plus the fact that it is only allowed that far when escorted. I broke the rules on not engaging in illegal activity, and I broke the rules on possessions and being paid for illegal work by accepting my winnings." He finished counting, holding his hands out, "I didn't even have to start on my toes." He said cheerfully, wiggling his fingers.

Mace was almost speechless. The throbbing vein in his forehead was back, as he grit out. "You also broke the rule on being seen, as a Jedi, youngling or not, supporting and engaging in illegal activities. It made the news!"

Luckily for the order, the general public were more fascinated by how good a swoop racer the youngling was - then how illegal it all was. Or how bad of a light it painted the Jedi order with when it came to the role as caretakers and guardians of the young.

Small mercies there.

He was sure the Senate wouldn't be as generous, especially as Soren had apparently done it over a dozen times and was only caught now. But that, thankfully, wouldn't be his headache.

Soren shook his head, "No, see. The tunic says specifically, not a Jedi." He rebutted seriously, before perking up, "Wait? Am I famous?"

"Not the Jedi way it is, Initiate. Latch to fame, we do not." Yoda gently scolded, both hands clasped to his gimmer stick. "Humble, Jedi should be, mindful, you must be."

Mace was glad to have an actual united stance finally. "This is not something we can simply let go, initiate. You've brought this outside the temple now." As much as he did not like making any decision for the Jedi based partly on outside opinion, if they did nothing, it would become a larger issue.

Force knows the younglings are difficult enough without thinking sneaking out was acceptable.

Soren shrugged at that. SHRUGGED! Mace would not throttle a child. He was a composed, serene Jedi Master. A high councilor. He would. Not. Throttle. A. Child.

"It was the will of the force Masters. I gave the winnings to a nearby food distribution charity, perhaps the credits will save someone important to the force. Even if not, it will help many, and I believe that makes it worthwhile in the end, no matter the punishment." Soren said, not looking overly bothered by it all.

"You are almost at the point of aging out, no Master will touch someone so close to censure either. We could easily send you to the corps early if you are so disinclined to change your behavior." Mace warned, not really willing to go that far, because he'd be a waste going to the corps honestly. Not that there was anything wrong with the corps, but his potential lay much above their remit. Yet he needed to impress some sense of respect for the code and the orders rules on him.

Force forbid he get even more unruly.

"Hmm… Wish this for you, I do not. Truth, Master Windu speaks. Respect, you must learn." Yoda agreed quietly. He'd always been fond of Soren, Mace knew. So he was thankful that the level of disruptive behavior seen lately, had finally built up far enough to get Yoda past that fondness.

Soren crossed his arms, raising a challenging eyebrow. "I always accept my punishment for not adhering to all the rules. Yet I will continue to follow the will of the force and my Jedi way. Whether here, or traveling the galaxy alone doing good, a Jedi I will be in my heart."

"The Agricorps would do you good I feel." Mace muttered not really meaning it, shaking his head. He had never met a youngling so utterly sure of himself before. It was like he was no child at all.

Even a short stint to learn some respect and humility before bringing him back as a Padawan could work. As long as they could find a Master crazy enough to accept him.

He'd lightly probed the matter with Master Jinn once, as he was a bit of a maverick suited for an unconventional Padawan perhaps. It would also do Soren good to learn to work with someone he obviously had an issue with, to learn to let go and live in the here and now.

Qui-Gon had refused to speak with Mace for six months afterwards. He supposed Yoda would get his wish in the end, meddling in Kenobi's life to match him with Jinn.

"With all due respect, Master Windu. If you send me away from the temple, ending my path to be a Jedi. There is no republic law that states I have to accept the Agricorps referral. At that point I could simply make my own way, be a Jedi on my own path, even if not allowed the title." Soren said firmly, apparently more well versed on order rules and republic law then Mace would have expected from an initiate.

Mace felt a shiver of pure horror at the idea of this troublesome youngling out alone in the galaxy without any limiting influence or supervision. The consequences of that... "It will not come to that." He said quickly, "I was simply bringing up examples of consequences for your actions. We simply mean to guide you to a better path."

"A Jedi Knight you could be." Yoda agreed, before pointing his stick at the youngling sternly. "Arrogance let go, you must."

"Of course, Master." Soren said with a practiced bow. Also noticeably not making it clear what he was agreeing on, nor sounding contrite in the slightest.

Yoda harrumphed quietly.

"I don't understand you, initiate. Why are you so against what we are as an order?" Mace said tiredly, rubbing his forehead yet again, closing his eyes for a moment, "You even buck against simple rules like not using the force frivolously."

Granted, most younglings did at some point. Yet none like Soren, who would not pick something up, or fetch something, when he could pull it to himself with the force.

He'd use the force to speed himself up when late for classes, to vault over obstacles or force jump up a railing to climb faster, and many more such frivolous uses.

Mace had caught the youngling using the force to levitate and move his fork to feed himself absently as he did homework at the cafeteria table for late meal.

It was a display of impressive fine control of telekinesis. But still wholly unnecessary and against their teachings.

"Will we run out?" Soren asked firmly, head tilted stubbornly.

"What?" Mace asked flatly.

"Will we run out of the force?" Soren repeated firmly, with more intensity.

"Infinite, the force is." Yoda mumbled, eyes drooping in contemplation. "In everything, with everyone, the force is."

"It isn't about that, initiate." Mace responded wearily, glad Yoda also was flummoxed by the youngling. It made him feel less stupidly out of his depth. "It is about respect and understanding limits and being mindful of our place as servants of the force."

Soren raised an eyebrow, supremely unimpressed. "We'll have to agree to disagree, Master. Using the force to fetch my towel after a shower or to grab a hydrospanner, changes nothing about me being a servant of the force, nor does it show a lack of respect. It is simply utilizing a skill I have, also practicing my control at the same time. It makes me a better Jedi, helps me understand the flow of the force better." His jaw set stubbornly, "Those rules are made by Masters who spend more time arguing with Senators, sitting on their butts doing flimsi work, never actually helping anyone. Not the force itself." Almost as an afterthought he added, "No offense."

Some offense taken, Mace thought, exasperated.

"Think do you, the force you know more than the entire order, hmm?" Yoda asked, sounding more curious than judgemental.

Soren shook his head, "No Master. But I believe I know what I feel in the force much better then you know what I feel in the force. The choice is mine in the end as are the consequences. You could force me to never use it frivolously again, but then you as well would not be acting as a Jedi as you tyrannically impose your will over mine."

"Rules and laws are not a tyrannical imposition on you specifically, initiate." Mace said dryly. Wondering where he'd learned these ideals, because the creche did not teach this to younglings.

… They'd better not be teaching it.

"A thousand years, peace we have had. Not wrong, our code, our rules, have led us." Yoda murmured softly, "Wisdom, children lack, gain it, experience will let you, if you let it."

"I don't wish to argue, Master Yoda." Soren said politely but firmly. "But nothing is truly proven by a statement like that. Tradition and 'we have always done it like this' denotes stagnation, not progress. Life evolves. Constantly. The force is life. There's nothing to be proud of in saying we haven't changed for a thousand years. If you wish to argue success by length of time, Vitiate's Sith Empire lasted 1300 years, did that make his rules better than yours?"

"You should not know that. And either way we are not discussing that." Mace said sternly, and with only a hint of his distaste. "Unless you wish to tell us how you have knowledge on Sith history that is limited to council members?" He finished pointedly.

Histories still existed on some planets, certainly. But nothing an initiate would have access to.

"I saw it play out." Soren said with a tiny frown, Yoda's ears twitching, Mace noticed, as he felt what Mace felt in the force. Truth.

"Force visions then. Your file is getting disgustingly long." Mace muttered, not willing to extend this meeting either way, but mindful of how horrible that might have been.

It also meant he'd have to arrange for a mind healer for the youngling. Any vision of old Sith Empires would have included… things no one that age should see.

"Old, you are. For your age." Yoda sighed sadly. "Sorry I am, listen we did not, when visions you claimed as a child."

"This was known?" Mace growled, not a little bit incensed that the ball was dropped so badly, it certainly wasn't in his file. It explained so much. If the initiate had visions of old battles, empires and atrocities. Of course he grew up quickly. His distaste for authority was also… fairly understandable from that angle.

"Creche dessert time, two months without you shall have." Yoda declared, before slumping down in his seat, looking grouchy. Understandably upset they'd fluffed off his words when he was younger. Not that it was an unusual tactic for their toddlers as it usually was just bad dreams, not actual visions.

And troublesome initiate or not. No one with the workload of Yoda spent that much true one on one time with younglings outside of playing games, meditation or structured lessons. So it really wasn't on the Grandmaster to have missed where this all originated from, Mace thought, feeling the other Masters chagrin at himself.

That said…

That… can't be it?! Mace thought, only not gaping due to his experience in keeping his face blank.

Sympathetic as he was to the boy's situation, he was still caught illegally racing outside the temple, as an initiate! No dessert was not a punishment that would deter imitation.

"Understood… Master." Soren said slowly. Looking as confused as Mace felt and making it more of a question than a statement.

"Master Yoda." Mace spoke up, almost at the point of begging the Grandmaster of the order to not… send the youngling to bed without dessert as his sole consequence for his complete disregard of temple rules.

"Spoken, I have. Punishment, work, does not." Yoda grumbled, stroking his chin lightly, eyes far away for a moment.

"The precedent…" Mace tried, fists clenched in his lap. The creche masters will revolt!

Yoda waved his objection away, "Find something else, I will. Teach, guide, not punish, we shall."

Mace was pretty sure he was going to suffer an aneurysm. "Then why?" He gritted out between clenched teeth, "Did you require my presence, at all?"

Yoda could have done all this by himself!

Yoda chuckled slowly, eyes glittering."Lesson we all can learn, hmm? Patience you must work on, Master Windu. Let go of frustrations and biases, hmm?"

"I'm glad we all learned something today." Soren said cheerfully, nodding along.

Just a little darkside wouldn't hurt, right? Mace inwardly complained, fingers twitching, before sighing and letting go, giving in to the inevitable.

Yoda would do, as Yoda does.

"Jedha, together you must go. Learn, both of you will. Trust in the force, we must." Yoda decided, before settling down proudly and gnawing on the top of his gimmer stick.

Oh you karking green little -
 
So basically Yoda went this Chaotic Good little shit is a blast, I'm going to throw him and Lawful Good Mace at each other to force them both to balance each other out and so the Jedi Order doesn't loose a huge talent that's probably going to go off and do something like found a splinter faction if things keep on going like this.
 
Dammit, the fact that none of these snippets will ever evolve into a full story thread is a torture.

I demand more chapters for Horny Fem!Jiraiya and Chaotic!Padawan ASAP!
 
Snippet 26: Rias does a thing. (Technically not Rias) New
She was alone.

This was by design… She'd skipped school, waved off her friends, and wandered off.

She needed to think, and with the situation as it was, privacy was a problem.

She was Rias Gremory, the heiress to the Gremory clan, devil nobility, wielder of the power of destruction.

The problem lay in the fact that yesterday, she hadn't been. Yesterday she'd thought highschool DxD was a amusing if a little ridiculous anime, one she'd watched while rolling her eyes at all the boobs everywhere.

They were nice boobs, sure. But they couldn't make up for the absolute nope that was Hyoudou Issei and the stupidity of the story.

And today, she had woken up as Rias Gremory. Knowing exactly how many way way too strong monsters were going to constantly come for either her, or her peerage, or the damn protagonist who thankfully wasn't in her peerage yet.

Because she wasn't sure how she'd handle that…

She was also a lesbian in an arranged marriage with a honest to god - "Fuck!" She cursed as she grabbed her head, a twinge of pain still remaining for a moment, that's something to get used to… A Satan be damned harem bastard! She finished her thought.

One who practically thought he owned her already - and devil society (and her parents…) apparently had no problem with selling her off despite how unwilling she'd be - despite the fact that the wedding night couldn't be anything but rape.

Not to mention the fact that Issei was a damn harem protagonist, and collected women left right and center, including her damn peerage, and herself.

Well not this Rias, buster!

Even if she got rid of Riser Phenex, her family would still expect her to spread her legs for some other devil eventually, all to breed some more power of destruction babies. Not my thing… Fuck the Gremory…

Hence why she was wandering around the town of Kuoh, thinking. She'd at least gotten the sudden reincarnation starter pack, as in, she had Rias memories and powers - or she would have been beyond screwed.

Original Rias had been lazy enough, but at least she'd known the basics of everything. She couldn't imagine the horror of taking over and having nothing.

She'd also gotten a bonus power, which she was unsure if she even wanted, due to how quickly it would lead to issues like - why and how do you have that? From some powerful people too, damn her for being so important to the plot…

She still had many issues to deal with, however, she had some time she knew - because she was still a second year, and she wouldn't recruit Issei until he died when she was a third year. But time before all hell broke loose (hah!) wasn't the problem… Memories or not, she also had her own memories, and she just wasn't Rias Gremory.

And she had her peerage, close as a family, especially her queen, Akeno… Could she really move forward like this? Would they really just accept her changing so rapidly?

… They probably would, sadly enough… They were all of them in their own ways totally dependent on her. How depressing. Good for her in the end, surely. But it was very depressing.

Couldn't Rias have picked up at least one cheerful well adjusted person?

Not that they were really truly her pickups. With her memories to go by to add to the oddities in the anime, she was well aware that her little 'totally not supervised' side trips to the human world that 'lucked' into Akeno, Kiba and Gasper - were anything but lucky.

And Koneko had straight out been given to her to boot.

Her peerage… She could make it work, she could sort it. Help them work on their issues, help them get stronger. But Sona… Sona would surely figure out that something was wrong, and if anyone could realize anything even close to the truth, it would be her.

What a bother…

She was also the kind of person that wouldn't see a problem reporting such an issue either.

There was also her family to take into account, the ones so willing to attach her to Riser, no matter her objections. And her brother, a Satan and immensely powerful man, with a bit of a sister obsession… If he found out she'd… What? Taken the original Rias soul? Did devils have souls? Her Mind? in essence killed her and taken over? Because in what other way would it be seen?

What a scary thought… A Satan could do horrible, horrible things to her.

She clenched her fists. She hadn't chosen this life. Her eyes filled with determination. It wasn't her choice. But she'd be damned if she allowed anyone to treat her like just a pair of breasts, with no say or agency on her own.

She didn't give a damn if it was an Oppai world, she'd get so powerful she would get to decide what kind of world it was. Fuck her family, fuck the Satans, and definitely fuck off Riser Phenex and Issei Hyoudou!

She had power, she could grow stronger. She had resources, ones she barely used. She had a peerage, filled with people with almost unlimited potential… If she was doomed to be devil, and to deal with all that entailed, and all that the underworld expected of her - then she'd damn well get so powerful that just like Sirczech and Serafall and the other Satans, she could just do whatever the fuck she wanted when weaker devils came crying.

Without the government positions that tied the current Satans to play nice.

Rias would become strong enough she could look her brother in the eye and tell him to fuck off.

Walking into an alley, the dark red magical circle of the Gremory to transport her back home called into being by her will alone, she swore that she'd find a way to make the original Rias peerage happier, stronger - while finding her own freedom. Before she sunk into the magical circle, disappearing from the streets of Kuoh, reappearing in the Occult Research Club building.



Later that evening.

She sat on one of the couches in the ORC, eyes closed, just waiting, as one by one, her peerage trooped in - except Gasper, but her phone rested in her lap, on conference call, keeping the boy in the loop as well. Her unusual disappearance during the day, and her calm, solemn demeanor right now had her peerage exchanging looks, quietly taking their seats, except for Akeno, who came to stand behind her.

She opened her eyes, doing her best to remain solemn and calm, and not googling at the fact that she actually had Yuuto, Koneko and Akeno right here.

Characters she'd quite come to enjoy during her time watching the anime, as silly as she thought it at times, and as much as she'd disliked some aspects. Funnily enough, she'd never really liked Rias that much. And now, she'd need to balance things, be enough of the Rias they knew, while still taking things more seriously.

"Akeno, Koneko, Yuuto, Gasper." She said slowly, opening her eyes. "I've received word that my arranged marriage might proceed at an accelerated timeline."

Considering how many devils treated their peerages, the fact Riser would potentially have power over them, was a concern that eclipsed just her unwanted marriage - and brought all of their dreams and happiness into jeopardy.

With his lust a fairly well known thing in the underworld, Akeno and Koneko would suffer as much as she would if it came to pass. She remembered quite well from the anime, the young girls in his peerage.

Koneko was broken enough without adding something like Riser to her worries.

Was Riser as much of an asshole as she'd made out to be? With hindsight of Rias' memory, no he wasn't, much of the animosity was created by Rias herself. But he was definitely a man who would not shy away from using female flesh at his disposal once they were all his.

So in the end it mattered not. The outcome was the same.

Akeno laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently, "Ara ara, no wonder you skipped class…" Her voice was soft, concerned for her.

"Buchou… Do you know how long you have? Is there anything we can do?" Yuuto asked, a note of concern in his tone.

She sighed, patting Akeno's hand lightly, "A little over a year, maybe." She acknowledged, seeing her peerage all wince at such a compressed timeline. They'd all thought they had years to go still. A promise to allow her to go to College before the issue came up…

A promise that would be broken the second her parents and the Phenex realized she had the Red Dragon Emperor in her peerage and might get out of it - and pushed the date ahead to force a rating game while Issei was still weak… Or so her read of it had been…

It definitely showed her that she couldn't trust her family. They'd chosen the alliance with the Phenex over her. Why else would they so eagerly screw her over, breaking their own promises?

Koneko even stopped nibbling on the cookie in her hand, eyes drooping, "Unfair." She mumbled.

Rias wanted to pet her so badly, but refrained for the moment. Cuuuute! She inwardly squealed.

"A rating game is still the best way forward." She said firmly after overcoming her momentary mental diversion, "It will mean sacrifices, we all have to become stronger, much stronger." She tapped the phone in her lap with a fingernail, "Yes, even you Gasper."

"Buchou… I-I c-cant!" His almost panicky voice came over the line.

She shook her head, her long red tresses falling down her torso, "Gasper, I won't ask you of anything you can't do, I believe in you. I won't even ask you to leave your room, I'll simply provide you with a few training aids, and all I ask is that you try and train your time stop abilities and keep fit, alright?" She asked kindly, her voice warm.

She knew she couldn't be too heavy-handed with him, but he'd be invaluable if she could make him actually useful. Original Rias had coddled him too much. She couldn't afford to leave a useful piece off the board.

Rias in the end had been willing to abide by the marriage, even as she hated it. She would not. She'd die first.

She had nothing against men, she wasn't that kind of lesbian - they just did nothing for her. But she sure as hell wasn't going to meekly walk into a life under one either. Especially the kind that felt no compunctions about using her like a toy, and her peerage too, as he'd hinted at.

"O-okay, I'll try…" He responded weakly.

"That's all I ask." She told him, ensuring he could hear her approval in her voice. She needed to start small, building up to him wanting to please her, to succeed for her. Baby steps for now.

Thanks to the original collecting only broken toys, she had a lot of work ahead of her. If she could get Akeno settled, that alone would take care of Riser himself, potentially. But that was easier said than done.

Akeno was as fucked up as she was beatiful. So… it would take work.

And hopefully copious amounts of sex.

She really couldn't understand how the original never took advantage of such an obviously willing girl. They'd had their share of kissing practice, so she knew the original wasn't that straight.

"As for the rest of us, weekends will be fully devoted to training from now on, and I'll talk with Sona, see if we can't skip some non-essentials to carve out more time in the afternoon on school days." She explained, crossing her arms under her bust, face serious, "I'll use the family resources if needed to get us some low-key help, I'll be training as well," Her lips quirked a little, a secretive smile playing on them, "After all, if the King won't lead, how can she expect her subordinates to follow?"

Of course they'd all have to do this somewhat quietly, or they ran into the same issue. If they grew too powerful too quickly… The rating game would be forced on them too early again..

"Fufufu ~" Akeno hid a smile behind her hand, "How inspiring, our president baring hidden talents for us all."

"...You got that from a manga, Buchou." Yuuto sweat dropped, but he was smiling, and not one of his fake plastic smiles, an honest one.

"So what if I did, it still fits." She pouted, even Gasper giggling at her. "Koneko-chan! Not you too!" She gasped in betrayal, as Koneko let out a quiet snicker.

She'd dropped that line on purpose. She had to keep some of the chuuni behavior, to comfort them all as she grew more serious.

The rest of the evening was left to simply spend time together, before Yuuto and Koneko both left to do contracts, Gasper likewise doing the same, albeit from his computer. Leaving her alone with Akeno.

"Rias…" Akeno said, sitting down next to her, a small frown on her face, her head tilted slightly sideways, "Is there something else?"

"Ugh, you're too perceptive, Akeno." She pouted, leaning back against the backrest of the couch, arms crossed again.

She smirked slightly, "It's a queen's duty." She said coyly, before poking Rias' puffed out cheek. "Now spill!"

She could of course not share the entire truth, but if there was anyone she could trust with sharing her newfound power, it would be Akeno. And it would help explain away any differences as well, or so she hoped.

"When I heard about it… When I realized my parents could possibly betray our agreement, the rage I felt, the hurt…" She said slowly, closing her eyes as if in pain, playing it up a little. "It awoke something within me." She touched her chest, holding a hand over her heart, "A power I had never felt before."

Akeno tilted her head quizzically, "Ara ara, did anger and hate turn you into a S now, Rias?" She teased lightly, cheeks pink. "As your dutiful queen I shall take on the burden of your rage!"

"Akeno! Be serious!" She said grumpily, opening one eye, her blue eye glaring at her confidant and sister/best friend.

Honestly, this girl…

Staring grumpily at Akeno's smiling closed eyed face, she continued, "I've barely tested it, but…" She sighed, dragging it out, knowing how Akeno was partial to dramatics, and how she had been as well, "It's going to change things..."

"Oh? How interesting ~" Akeno practically purred, still smiling, before she rested a hand on her cheek, opening her expressive violet eyes, "Care to share?"

Rias smiled back, albeit nervously. "It's not just a new power. It's... Something different. I can now see things as if they were a game."

Akeno blinked. "A game?"

Rias nodded and gestured around the room. "It's like my entire life has a system now. I see stats, skills, and levels. I even gain experience points by training or accomplishing tasks." She took a breath, "I can create dungeons too, spaces where we can train, fight monsters, and grow stronger - without real-world consequences."

The explanation sank in slowly, and Akeno's teasing demeanor gave way to genuine surprise. "That sounds… Incredible. But how does it work? Can you control it?"

Not for one second did she disbelieve her, it was a heady feeling to be so inherently trusted.

"I'm still learning," Rias admitted. "But I can bring up a screen - like a menu - and it shows me my stats. Strength, intelligence, magic - all of it is quantified. I can even allocate points to grow stronger in specific areas. It's... Overwhelming, but it could be the key to getting us out of this mess."

Akeno's smile returned, though now it held a sharper edge of intrigue. "And this power... these dungeons, you can use them to make us all stronger?"

"Exactly," Rias said, her voice firm. "I can create environments where we fight monsters or face challenges designed to push us beyond our limits."

She'd even briefly tested her ID Create. And after an hour of just hanging around the empty dungeon she'd made, she returned to reality with no real time having passed at all.

Akeno looked thoughtful, her hand coming up to her lips. "So... We could train without fear, keep getting stronger, and no one outside our group would know?"

Trust Akeno to hit on the most salient point immediately, she thought.

Rias nodded. "Yes, we could prepare for the rating game - and for Riser - without alerting anyone. It's perfect for what we need."

Akeno let out a soft chuckle, sitting back. "Ara, ara, Rias, you've really turned into a gamer. I never would have expected this from you." Her teasing was back, "You must be over the moon, you're living a real Manga life~"

Rias rolled her eyes playfully. "Well, desperate times, right?" She stuck her tongue out, eyes twinkling, "And I always told you reading my manga would work out one day!"

Akeno just giggled, looking very amused.

They shared a moment of quiet before Akeno spoke again. "How do you want to use this? Have you planned out how we're going to train?"

Rias smiled, the weight on her shoulders lifting slightly. "Yes. We'll start with simple dungeons, build up everyone's stats, and work on teamwork. I'll push us, but I'll make sure we're ready - all of us. No one is getting left behind." She said with a determined fist pump.

Akeno nodded, her smile widening. "It sounds perfect. I trust you, Rias. We all do."

With newfound resolve, Rias leaned back against the couch, feeling more confident. "This power isn't just for me. It's for all of us. We're going to use it to break free from all of this." She said, eyes narrowing as she clenched her fists, "My family can not know…"

Akeno gave her a sad smile. Having grown up with the Gremory family for the past few years, they were her family too, and she knew exactly how painful things had been lately.

The original Rias somehow got over it all, Akeno following suit, but this Rias just couldn't let it go. Her family had sold her. That's what it felt like. And they'd obviously spared zero thought to Akeno and Koneko, Yuuto and Gasper, people they'd welcomed as family.

"They will not find out." She reiterated with hard eyes." Akeno nodded slowly, for all her teasing, she was always ready to follow her king.

She might be an amalgam of Rias' memories and the memories of a girl from another world, a mashup of things that would no doubt get her into trouble more often than not.

But one thing she was not, memories or not, was lazy.

She clenched her fists, eyes radiating conviction, "Let's start right away!"


Days later,

A soft chime echoed in the room as a translucent screen appeared before Akeno.

[You have been invited to join the party: "Gremory Peerage"]

[Accept] [Decline]

Akeno blinked, staring at the strange floating menu. "Ara, ara~ What is this, Rias?" She asked, tilting her head with curiosity.

Rias smirked, arms crossed as she lounged in the Occult Research Club's couch. "Just a part of my new abilities. Go on, accept it."

Akeno's violet eyes sparkled with intrigue as she tapped the glowing [Accept] button. A moment later, a faint glow surrounded her, and a small notification window popped up in Rias' vision.

[Akeno Himejima has joined the party!]

Akeno hummed as she examined her hands. "That was... oddly satisfying," She mused. "I feel... connected? But I don't see anything on my end."

"Yeah, I figured." Rias sighed, rubbing her chin. "It seems like only I have full access to the menus. But I can see your stats and assign you things like experience boosts."

Akeno pouted playfully. "Mou~! You get all the fun, and I just get to be a piece on your board?"

Rias snorted. "Please, as if you weren't already my piece as my Queen." She teased.

Akeno chuckled but sobered quickly as she noticed the serious glint in Rias' eyes. "So, what next?"

Rias inhaled deeply, then exhaled. "Now, we test something bigger." She stood, raising her hand and letting power flow through her.

[ID Create: Zombie Dungeon – Kuoh Academy Variant]

The world around them shimmered, the walls rippling like water before shifting into something dark and twisted. The Occult Research Club faded, replaced by a dimly lit corridor, eerily familiar yet wholly different.
Kuoh Academy, except it was ruined.

The walls were cracked, lockers hung open or were toppled over, desks were shattered, and a foul scent of decay lingered in the air. The dull glow of flickering fluorescent lights cast eerie shadows on the stained floor.

Akeno looked around, fascinated. "Oh my… this is our school? But… in ruins?"

Rias nodded, checking the system interface. "It seems my ID Create alters reality to make this a proper dungeon setting. This is Kuoh Academy, but…" She narrowed her eyes as she scanned her surroundings. "With zombies."

A low, guttural growl echoed from down the hallway.

A hunched, rotting figure shambled forward, its discolored flesh hanging from its frame in ragged chunks.

Rias focused on it, activating Observe.

[Zombie]
Level: 5
HP: 50/50
Strength: 8
Defense: 5
Skills: Basic Undead Endurance, Slow Movement, Claw Swipe

Rias relaxed. "Low-level trash. Should be easy."

"Ara~ A proper test then," Akeno purred, stretching her fingers as small sparks danced between them.

Rias lifted her hand, calling upon her Power of Destruction. A crimson sphere formed in her palm, crackling with devastating energy. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it hurtling towards the zombie.

The blast consumed the creature instantly, disintegrating it into ash.

[+50 XP Earned]

[Dropped Item: Torn Bandages]

Rias scoffed. "Hah. Loot drops too, huh?" She picked up the ragged item, using Observe.

[Torn Bandages]
A filthy strip of cloth. Absolutely useless.
[Sell Value: 1 silver]

Rias made a face. "Great. Trash items."

Akeno hummed. "Well, it makes sense. Basic monsters, basic rewards. But I'm more interested in the XP…"

More groans echoed, signaling incoming enemies. A horde of zombies shambled through the hallway, their decayed bodies illuminated by the flickering lights.

Akeno smiled darkly. "Shall we have fun, Rias?"

"Knock yourself out," Rias replied, stepping back. "I want to test how XP distributes."

Akeno extended her hand, calling forth her lightning. Crackling arcs surged from her fingers, crackling through the air before slamming into the zombies.

Lightning danced from one target to the next, chaining across the hallway and reducing the undead to smoldering husks.

[+200 XP Earned]

[Dropped Items: Tattered Robes, Rusted Locker Key]

Rias checked her interface. "XP is shared when in a party. Even though you killed them, I still gained some. That means we can use this to train the others."

Akeno clapped her hands. "Then this is perfect! Gasper can stay in the back and still gain XP. Yuuto and Koneko can fight low-level enemies to improve their combat skills."

"Exactly," Rias agreed, pleased. "This dungeon system will let us prepare for Riser without anyone knowing. We can get stronger without raising suspicions."

As they pushed forward, clearing classrooms filled with more zombies, Rias kept testing her Observe skill. Some enemies had slightly higher stats, but nothing too challenging yet.
At one point, she spotted a glowing item inside an abandoned locker. Curious, she reached for it.

You have obtained: slightly used silk thong (Charm +1)

Rias froze. "What the…?"

Akeno peeked over her shoulder. Then she smirked.

"Ara, ara~ Rias, is this dungeon giving you fanservice loot?"

Rias groaned, stuffing the sticky thong into her inventory. "I swear if this place starts dropping only naughty stuff as loot, I'm burning it down."

Akeno giggled. "Oh, I hope so. I'd love to see what else the dungeon deems useful."

They continued clearing rooms, growing more confident. Rias refined her Power of Destruction, learning to shape it into controlled blasts instead of overwhelming explosions. Akeno experimented with lightning precision, making sure not to damage the environment too much.

After what felt like an hour, Rias checked her interface.

[Level Up!]

[Rias Gremory – Level 2]
[Akeno Himejima – Level 2]
[+5 Stat Points Available]

"Looks like progress is steady," Rias muttered. "We need to test how well these stat points work."

Akeno smiled. "We can use them to tailor our training. Maybe focus on speed for Koneko, swordsmanship for Yuuto, and -"

"Survivability for Gasper," Rias finished. "We'll work on his confidence slowly."

Akeno nodded. "He'll benefit the most from passive XP. This way, he can improve without being thrown into danger too soon."

Rias stretched, satisfied. "Alright. I think we've seen enough for now. Let's head back."

With a thought, she activated [ID Escape], and the ruined Kuoh Academy flickered away, replaced once more by the warm familiarity of the Occult Research Club.

Akeno sighed, flopping onto the couch. "That was… exhilarating. I can see how this will be invaluable."

Rias smiled. "It's just the beginning. Next time, we bring the others."

Akeno smirked. "I can't wait to see Koneko's reaction when she picks up her first embarrassing loot item."

Rias groaned. "I swear, if this game world turns into some perverted gacha, I'm nuking it."

Akeno giggled. "Oh, but where's the fun in that?"
Rias rolled her eyes but smiled. This power, this system, was the key to her freedom. And she was going to use it to change everything.



The warmth of the clubroom had settled into a gentle, comfortable lull after their dungeon escapades, but Rias was anything but relaxed. She sat stiffly on the couch, her mind spinning with plans, calculations, and strategies. She had to get stronger. She had to train her peerage. She had to -

"Ara~ Rias, you're practically vibrating with tension," Akeno's voice purred from behind her, smooth as silk and filled with amusement.

Rias sighed, rubbing her temples. "I have a lot to think about, Akeno."

"And yet, overthinking won't help if you wear yourself down before the battle even begins," Akeno countered, stepping closer until she stood directly behind the couch. "You're carrying far too much stress, Buchou. I think it's time for a little… intervention."

Rias narrowed her eyes. "Akeno, what are you up to?"

Akeno held up a small, elegant glass bottle, the amber liquid inside catching the dim light of the clubroom. "I picked up some massage oil recently. It would be a shame if it went to waste."

Rias sat up straighter. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Akeno sang, her eyes glinting with mischief. "You're going to let me take care of you, Rias. And you're going to enjoy it."

Rias folded her arms, pouting. "I don't trust you." Is what she said, while thinking oh yes~

Akeno pouted, placing a delicate hand over her chest as if wounded. "How cruel~ After all these years, after all we've been through, you think I would take advantage of you?" Then, her pout transformed into a smirk. "Well… maybe just a little."

Rias groaned. "Akeno."

Akeno chuckled and slid onto the couch beside her, too close as always, the scent of her soft floral perfume teasing Rias' senses. "Come on, Rias. You need this. You're always taking care of everyone else. Let someone take care of you for once."

Rias hesitated. She was tired, and her muscles were sore from all the stress. And Akeno was skilled with her hands… had she played hard to get enough yet?

Before she could second-guess herself, Akeno leaned in, her voice low and lilting. "Besides, I promise I'll be gentle… unless you'd prefer otherwise?"

Rias sighed, squirming a little, trying to act as reticencent as original Rias would have. "Fine. But no funny business."

Akeno's smirk widened. "No funny business," she echoed sweetly, far too sweetly.

Rias should have known better, even as she took her top off, leaving her topless.

Akeno wasted no time, gracefully moving to stand. "Lie down, Rias. On your stomach."

Rias gave her one last wary glance before muttering under her breath and complying, settling onto the couch, resting her cheek against the soft cushion.

Akeno hummed approvingly. "Good girl. Obediance suits you."

Rias tensed immediately. "Akeno!" While inwardly she was beginning to feel a thrill at where this was going.

"Hush," Akeno cooed, uncorking the bottle with a soft pop. The scent of warm vanilla and jasmine filled the air, the oil rich and fragrant. "Relax, Buchou. Let me work my magic."

Rias grumbled something unintelligible into the cushion, but she didn't resist as Akeno climbed onto the couch, straddling her lower back in a way that made heat rise to her cheeks.

Then came the first touch, Akeno's palms, warm and slick with oil, pressing lightly against Rias' shoulders. She started slow, fingers gliding smoothly over her skin, spreading the warmth with careful, practiced strokes.

Rias exhaled, feeling the tension in her body beginning to unravel almost instantly.

"See?" Akeno murmured, her voice practically dripping with satisfaction. "You were so tense, but now… you're melting under my hands."

Rias refused to give her the satisfaction of a response.

Akeno chuckled softly, her hands moving lower, her thumbs pressing into the knots at the base of Rias' neck, rolling and kneading with just the right amount of pressure. "You should let me do this more often, you know."

Rias closed her eyes, biting back a sigh. "And let you gloat about it forever? No thanks."

Akeno leaned down, her breath ghosting over the shell of Rias' ear. "Oh, but Rias," she whispered, voice velvety smooth, "You're already going to be letting me do this forever."

Rias' fingers twitched against the couch. "You are so bossy like this." Pouting slightly.

"And yet, you haven't stopped me." Akeno's hands dipped lower, working over her shoulder blades, fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles.

Rias was struggling. Not because Akeno wasn't good, she was too good, her arousal was hard to hide like this. Every motion was precise, every touch lingering just long enough to send warmth through her skin. And worst of all, Akeno knew exactly what she was doing.

Akeno let out a thoughtful hum. "You know… if we added a little heat, this could feel even better."

Rias bit out a moan. "Akeno."

"Ara~ don't be shy, Buchou," Akeno teased, her fingers brushing feather-light down Rias' spine before resuming their firm, rhythmic kneading. "I meant my magic, of course. A little controlled warmth could help loosen you up even more."

Rias exhaled slowly. "Fine. But controlled, Akeno." Why isn't this bitch going harder yet? She mentally whined.

Akeno giggled, and the faintest pulse of warm energy spread through her fingertips, sinking into Rias' muscles like liquid fire, pleasant, soothing, dangerously effective.

Very arousing.

Rias groaned softly, unable to help herself, wetness beginning to seep into the couch, a certain scent filling the room. "Damn you."

Akeno practically purred. "My, my~ Such language, Rias. Are you enjoying yourself that much?"

Rias buried her face in the cushion. "I hate you."

Akeno chuckled, her fingers slipping lower, tracing the curve of Rias' lower back. "Hate me all you want Ri-a-s~, but your body is telling a different story."

Rias' fingers curled into the couch, and she swore she heard the smirk in Akeno's voice.

"This is a dangerous game you're playing, Akeno." She moaned out.

Akeno hummed, utterly unfazed. "Oh? And yet, you haven't told me to stop."

Rias let out a slow breath. "...No, I haven't."

Akeno chuckled, smug and victorious. "Then I'll have to make sure to take extra good care of you."

And for once, Rias let herself relax, let herself enjoy the feeling of someone else tending to her, even if that someone was an insufferable tease.

Because in the end… Akeno was right.

She needed this.

Even if she was entirely too frustrated when Akeno finished without going nearly far enough!


Next day,

The kitchen was a disaster.

Flour dusted the countertops like a fresh snowfall, eggshells lay cracked and abandoned beside a sticky mess of batter, and there was somehow chocolate smeared on the edge of the refrigerator.

Rias stood in the center of it all, staring down at the horror she had created.

This… was not how it was supposed to go.

She had wanted to do something nice. She had wanted to surprise Koneko with something homemade, something sweet, something that would show her she cared.

Instead, she had managed to turn the kitchen into something resembling a battlefield.

"Ugh," She groaned, running a hand through her hair, only to realize belatedly that her fingers were covered in flour. "Oh, come on!"

She quickly shook out her hair, sending a small cloud of white powder into the air, only making the mess worse.

This was not going to plan.

And, as if the universe wanted to make things even worse, she suddenly heard the sound of tiny, light footsteps approaching.

Rias froze.

No. No, no, no, no - not now.

She turned just in time to see Koneko step into the kitchen, her usual deadpan expression firmly in place. The small girl's golden eyes flicked lazily over the scene before landing on Rias, still standing in the middle of the mess, flour streaked in her hair, chocolate on her cheek, and what looked suspiciously like an eggshell stuck to her sleeve.

Koneko blinked once.

Then, in the flattest voice imaginable:

"…Buchou?"

Rias stiffened, hands flying behind her back as if she could somehow hide the absolute catastrophe that surrounded her.

"I-I was just-" She stammered, then huffed, crossing her arms. "I meant to do this."

Koneko stared. Slowly, her nose twitched, likely catching the scent of something burning in the oven.

Rias winced.

"…Okay, maybe not all of it," She admitted, shoulders slumping. She'd been so good at baking in her previous life too. Was Rias cursed?

Koneko took a step forward, peering at the assortment of barely recognizable ingredients scattered across the counter.

"Why?"

Rias sighed, a faint pink dusting her cheeks. "I wanted to make something for you."

Koneko blinked again, the only sign of her surprise being the small flick of her ears. "…Why?"

"Because I felt like it!" Rias huffed, throwing her hands in the air. "Do I need a reason to do something nice for my adorable little Rook?"

Koneko tilted her head slightly, golden eyes glinting in amusement. "You are… not good at this."

Rias groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "I know that."

There was a pause, then, so subtle it almost didn't happen, Koneko's lips twitched.

A smirk.

Rias gaped. "Are you teasing me?"

Koneko's expression immediately went neutral again. "…No."

"Oh my Satan, you are," Rias gasped, placing a hand over her heart in mock betrayal. "My own precious Koneko is laughing at me."

"Not laughing," Koneko deadpanned. "Just… observing."

Rias pouted. "You're enjoying this."

Koneko didn't deny it.

Huffing, Rias stomped over to the cupboard and pulled out a pristine white box, setting it on the counter with an air of triumph.

"Fine. Laugh all you want, but I prepared for this."

Koneko's eyes flicked to the box. "…That's a store bag."

"Yes," Rias admitted shamelessly. She flipped open the lid to reveal an extravagant chocolate cake, layers of rich ganache glistening under the kitchen lights. "From the best bakery in town."

Koneko stared.

Then, slowly, she turned her gaze back to Rias.

"…You bought a backup cake," She said, her voice unreadable.

"Yes," Rias confirmed.

"…Before you even tried to bake."

"Yes."

Koneko's nose twitched. "…I'm slightly concerned."

"You should be," Rias muttered under her breath, then cleared her throat, straightening. "But this isn't just about cake, Koneko."

Something shifted in her tone, and Koneko noticed immediately.

She looked up at her King, watching as Rias' playful expression softened, something more serious settling in her deep blue eyes.

"Come sit with me," Rias said gently, gesturing toward the couch.

Koneko hesitated for a fraction of a second before following.

Rias sat down first, patting the cushion beside her. Koneko plopped down without hesitation, small and compact as always.

For a moment, Rias simply looked at her, something unreadable in her expression. Then, slowly, she reached out, taking Koneko's small hand in her own.

Koneko tensed slightly.

"…Buchou?"

Rias exhaled, her thumb brushing over Koneko's knuckles in a slow, comforting motion.

"I found out something," She said quietly. "Something about your sister."

Koneko went still.

Her expression didn't change, but Rias felt the way her hand stiffened in her grip.

"…No," Koneko murmured, shaking her head.

Rias squeezed her hand, not letting go. "Koneko."

"No," Koneko repeated, louder this time, pulling her hand back, but Rias held firm.

"She didn't go mad, Koneko."

Silence.

Koneko's ears twitched, but she said nothing.

Rias swallowed. "The devil you were under, he was planning to experiment on you. That's why Kuroka killed him. She wasn't a murderer for no reason. She wasn't crazy. She was protecting you. It wasn't Senjutsu behind it all."

Koneko's golden eyes burned.

"No," She whispered, shaking her head again. "She abandoned me."

"She saved you," Rias countered softly. "And then she ran, because staying meant you would be hunted too, so in a manner, she did abandon you, but it was to keep you safe."

Koneko's breath hitched.

"She didn't want you to be seen as a criminal," Rias said gently. "So she left. Not because she wanted to. But because she had to."

Koneko's hands curled into fists on her lap, her nails pressing into her skin.

"…It's a lie," She whispered.

"It's the truth," Rias murmured back.

Koneko shut her eyes.

She stayed silent for a long moment, her small frame tense beside Rias.

Then, finally, she exhaled, her shoulders sinking slightly.

"…This doesn't change anything," She muttered. "I still won't use Senjutsu."

Rias smiled softly. She lifted a hand, gently stroking Koneko's head, fingers brushing through her white locks with the same soothing touch she had used on her hand.

"I know," She said simply. "You don't have to right now, but you deserved to know."

Koneko's lips pressed together.

"…Then why tell me?"

"Because you deserved to know," Rias repeated. Glad Koneko hadn't asked how Rias found out. "And… in case you wanted me to try and contact her."

Koneko's breath caught.

She didn't respond.

For a long time, she simply sat there, unmoving, her expression unreadable.

Rias didn't press.

She simply kept stroking Koneko's hair, a quiet, comforting presence beside her.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Koneko whispered:

"…I need to think."

Rias nodded. "Take all the time you need."

Koneko said nothing else.

But she didn't pull away.

New Rias had taken over old Rias life. But it didn't mean she loved her peerage any less.
 
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Cyrus2 said:
Did Mace just get an apprentice?
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As Yoda does with Obi-Wan and QuiGon but a bit more direct this time -

"Like this initiate, Master Windu does not. Perfect, pairs such as these are in the force." Yoda probably after huffing that space weed.

ArcanaVitae said:
So basically Yoda went this Chaotic Good little shit is a blast, I'm going to throw him and Lawful Good Mace at each other to force them both to balance each other out and so the Jedi Order doesn't loose a huge talent that's probably going to go off and do something like found a splinter faction if things keep on going like this.
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It could be that. Or Yoda is just being Yoda and at some 900 years old just enjoys these youngin's suffering. They have to learn patience somewhere right?

Also Mace is like a good candidate to take over after Yoda. So throw something that will drive him insane at him and see how he does. Because Yoda is just like that.

taovkool said:
Dammit, the fact that none of these snippets will ever evolve into a full story thread is a torture.

I demand more chapters for Horny Fem!Jiraiya and Chaotic!Padawan ASAP!
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Who knows, they might at some point. Although never finished stories heh, since I have the habit of creating too many of them.
 
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