The heat was suffocating, dense, as if the air itself were composed of boiling ash and liquid sulfur. The sky was nonexistent; instead, a vault of volcanic rock glowed crimson, illuminating the immense subterranean cavern.
Along an obsidian path that snaked along the edge of an endless precipice, an interminable procession of souls walked. The sound was deafening. People wept, screamed, tore at their hair, and begged gods who could no longer hear them. They pleaded for help, begged for salvation, offered pathetic excuses for the sins they had committed in life.
Guarding this procession of misery marched hideous creatures. Demons with humanoid forms, but grotesquely twisted. Some possessed splintered horns, others multiple oozing eyes, and most carried whips of thorns wrapped in black flames that crackled against the backs of anyone who dared to stop.
Amidst all this chaos of agony and despair, a young man walked.
He looked about twenty, with dark, disheveled hair. Unlike the other souls who trembled and sobbed, he walked with his gaze fixed straight ahead, his hands in the pockets of trousers that seemed to fade at the edges, as if his very existence there were precarious.
"Why don't I feel anything?" he thought vaguely. Not fear, not sadness, not even genuine curiosity. Just… emptiness.
He watched the demons tear limbs from the thrashing souls and merely blinked, analyzing the scene with clinical apathy. He knew he was dead. He knew this was, without a doubt, some form of hell. But the excitement, the visceral fear that should have been paralyzing his heart, simply wasn't there. He was empty.
The line stopped abruptly before a massive bone arch. Beneath the arch, seated on a throne of cast stone, awaited a gigantic demon with skin the color of burning coal and fangs protruding from his lower jaw. He held a scroll that appeared to be made of human skin, woven and stretched. He seemed to be the judge of that sector.
The young man was brutally shoved forward by one of the guards, falling to his knees before the platform. The giant demon lowered his gaze, his yellow, reptilian eyes scanning the boy.
"Next scum..." the demon growled, his voice making the stones of the ground vibrate. He unwrapped the scroll and read with disdain. "Let's see... decent life in general." You helped your mother, got good grades, never stole… but you also watched a lot of hentai, masturbated thinking about your history teacher, and said "may she die" several times when someone blocked your path on the street. Minor sins, but sins nonetheless.
"Are you seriously going to send me to Hell for jerking off and having dirty thoughts? What happened to 'thinking isn't a sin'? Besides, I don't remember ever masturbating thinking about those old women," the young man said, raising an eyebrow.
"Welcome to Hell, human. Here, even your dirtiest thoughts carry weight. Sentence: One hundred years in the Sea of Fire to purge your impurities. Then, if you haven't gone mad, you'll ascend to Heaven. Take him away."
Before the young man could utter a word, a lesser demon, thin but with disproportionately muscular arms, grabbed him by the collar of his ghostly T-shirt and dragged him across the obsidian floor toward the edge of the cliff.
Below them, hundreds of meters of freefall, an ocean of bubbling magma roared. The souls already there swam in torment, their screams merging into a single, piercing wail.
The demon held him over the void.
"Hey," the young man said. His voice was calm, almost bored. "Despite everything that's happening, the screaming and the smell of burning flesh... I'm not afraid. Do you know why?"
The demon looked at him, first with confusion, then let out a shrill laugh, a wet and disgusting sound.
"Hahaha! Think you're so brave, you little human piece of shit?" "—the demon mocked, bringing his deformed face close to the young man's. "You all pretend to be tough until the fire melts your eyelids. Enjoy your bath, vermin."
Without further ado, the demon released his grip.
The young man plummeted. The infernal wind whipped against his face. He saw the ocean of magma rapidly approaching. He felt the extreme heat slowly build, threatening to incinerate his spiritual form before he even touched the surface. He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact, hoping that perhaps the pain would finally restore the emotions he had lost.
Just as the fire licked at his hair...
"NO!"
A desperate scream, undeniably feminine and charged with overwhelming power, resonated directly in his ears. It wasn't a physical sound, but a shockwave that stopped time and space around him.
...
The smell of sulfur was instantly replaced by nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The young man blinked. He was standing. He wasn't falling anymore. Beneath his feet there was no rock, no magma, no soil of any kind, only an infinite expanse of pure white. The sky was white. The horizon was white. There were no shadows, no vanishing points. It was empty space, devoid of any logical dimensions.
And suddenly, like a dam giving way to the pressure of water, he felt it.
He fell to his knees, gasping sharply. His hands clutched his chest, right where his heart should be. Fear, confusion, anxiety, and a profound sadness hit him all at once. He was feeling again. The defense mechanism had broken down, but not because of the fire.
"Where... where the hell am I?" he murmured, his voice trembling for the first time. "What was that voice?"
"Well, well." "Let's face it, it's not every day someone is literally ripped from the underworld's reincarnation system, one step away from the purge," said a male voice, resonant and tinged with sarcastic amusement.
The young man jerked his head up. A few feet away, the white space seemed to have distorted. From that distortion emerged a figure. It wasn't human, but it had taken a vaguely anthropomorphic form to interact. It seemed to be composed of pure energy, flashes of red and black light swirling constantly. If you squinted, it almost looked like it was wearing a smart tailored suit, though its "face" was just an amalgam of pulsating light without any defined features.
"To think that someone like you would end up creating something so special," the entity continued, crossing its arms (or what appeared to be its arms).
The young man stood slowly, his legs still trembling. His senses were on high alert, searching for any threat, but the entity emitted no hostility, only a massive and incomprehensible presence.
"Who are you? What is this place? Are you God?"
The entity let out a laugh that sounded like the echo of a thousand swords clashing at once.
"God? Don't insult me. That old man went on permanent vacation in my universe a long time ago. No, kid. I'm not a god. I'm something a little more... conceptual."
The figure walked, slowly circling the young man.
"You know your species possesses a very particular talent, right? Humans are weak, yes. They have short lifespans, kill each other over stupid things, and have an absurd fascination with breasts. But they have something the rest of the cosmos envies: imagination."
The young man frowned, regaining some of his analytical composure.
"Imagination? What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about them possessing the same power as the Primordial Creators," the entity said, stopping in front of him. "After fulfilling certain conditions, their imaginations, their stories, writings, tales, legends… all that pile of paper and ink or digital text… if faith, passion, and collective energy reach a certain threshold, those concepts can cross the barrier of fiction. They become real. They create different dimensions. Different worlds."
The young man's eyes widened, his mind connecting the dots at breakneck speed. Multiverse theory. Parallel universes. Tulpas. Creation through collective belief.
"Are you saying that… the fictional stories of my world are real worlds elsewhere?"
"Bingo! Give the dead a prize," the entity mocked. "Exactly. Like me, for example. Let me introduce myself properly. I am the concept, the will, and the guardian of one of those universes. I am High School DxD."
The silence that followed was absolute. The young man simply stared at the red and black light entity, his mouth slightly open.
"Like anime?" the young man asked, incredulous. "Are you telling me you're a light novel and an anime full of pubescent demons, fallen angels with superiority complexes, and... and boobs?"
The entity seemed offended, its light flashing violently.
"Hey, watch your mouth! My universe is much more than that. There's politics, epic battles, betrayals, celestial dragons... and yes, lots of breasts, but that's culture, kid! Anyway, I am the embodiment of that title. The guardian of a creation by another of your kind."
The young man rubbed his temples, feeling a migraine starting to form. This was too ridiculous even for a post-mortem experience.
"Okay, fine." Let's accept for a moment that fiction creates realities and that you are the manifestation of DxD. The million-dollar question is: What am I doing here? I was supposed to be roasting like a marshmallow in hell.
The entity sighed, a static sound in the white void.
"You see, the thing is, you too played God at some point in your human life. You too created a story. And, against all statistical odds, you managed to fulfill the requirements. That story of yours, that 'fantasy,' ended up accumulating enough conceptual weight to generate its own world, just like mine."
The young man felt a lurch in his stomach. Him? Had he created a world? He tried to remember what story he had written with such devotion, but the memory seemed slippery, like trying to catch water with his hands. However, before he could delve further, the entity continued.
"The guardian deity of your creation, the will of your own world, interfered in the judgment of the underworld. She expended a stupid amount of energy to get you out of there before you were assimilated. And, after a long conversation between guardians, she asked me a personal favor: to reincarnate you in my world."
" "Wait, wait," the young man raised his hands, halting the cosmic rambling. "If I created that world, and its guardian has the power to pull me out of hell, why the hell doesn't he take me to his world? Why does he throw me into yours?"
The entity's light turned a darker, more solemn shade of red.
"Because that's the First Law of Fictional Realities, kid. Creators are forbidden from stepping on their own creations. The paradoxes that would arise if the 'Author' were to enter his own work would destroy the fundamental laws of that universe. It would collapse in on itself. They can't even see you. Therefore, your creation asked me to take you in. I had an opening in the soul department for reincarnation, so… here you are."
The young man crossed his arms, quickly analyzing the situation. His mind was racing. If they were going to reincarnate him in the world of DxD, he had a massive tactical advantage.
"Are you sure about this? I possess absolute knowledge of your world. I know about the Biblical God, about Sirzechs, about Azazel, about the Khaos Brigade, about Trihexa. I know how the narrative arcs end. If you put me there, I can change things. I can alter your history."
The entity smiled, or at least gave the impression of doing so through a curved wave of light.
"Oh, don't worry about that. When you reincarnate, your memory will be conveniently edited. You'll forget what happened here and everything directly related to the plot of my world. You'll keep your general memories, your personality, your knowledge of math, science, or other anime like that one with the screaming musclemen or the one with the pocket monsters. But not the memories you have of my world. For you, DxD will be a blank slate."
Panic flickered in the young man's eyes. Take away his greatest advantage? The world of DxD was a hotbed of supernatural beings who killed humans for sport.
"Hey! Wait a minute!" he protested. "If you're going to take my information, you'll give me something in return, right? You know, like in those cheap isekai anime. A leveling system, an overpowered ability, a special Sacred Gear, or at least infinite magic."
"I won't give you a damn thing," the entity replied without hesitation, in a sharp and contemptuous tone.
The young man stared at it, dumbfounded.
"What?! But how the hell am I supposed to survive all the crap in your world? Rias Gremory, the Fallen Angels, monsters of all sizes! I'm just a human!"
"I have no fucking idea, and frankly, I don't care," the entity said, shrugging, a surprisingly human gesture for a being of energy. "I'm just here to bring you into being." It's enough that you're reincarnated in my world and not burning in lava. What you do with your new life, whether you live a hundred years or get devoured by a stray dog in the first alley you walk into, is entirely your problem.
The boy clenched his fists. Frustration and rage bubbled inside him. The entity wasn't joking. It was going to throw him onto a battlefield of gods and demons completely defenseless and with no memory of the plot.
"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, staring at the white ground. "Just send me back to Hell. That way I don't have to die again as some spoiled demon's plaything... Wait a minute."
A sudden question crossed his mind, cutting through his anger.
"How did I die in the first place in my original world?"
The instant he asked the question and tried to delve into his mind to visualize his last moments on Earth, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through his skull. It was as if a red-hot nail were driven into the back of his eyes. He fell to his knees, clutching his head with both hands, letting out a muffled groan.
"Don't even try it, idiot," the entity warned, its voice resonating with heavy authority. "Once dead, souls are forbidden from remembering the exact cause of their death until their spirit is strong enough. It's another defense mechanism of the universe to prevent souls from being corrupted by the trauma of their transition. Let it go."
The young man took a deep breath, forcing himself to stop thinking about it. The pain slowly subsided, leaving him exhausted.
"Good," the entity said, clapping theatrically, which generated a muffled crack of thunder. "Enough talk. Celestial bureaucracy doesn't do itself. It's time for your transfer. Good luck, kid. Try not to die before puberty; it'll be so boring."
"Wait… damn it!"
Before he could curse the entity or demand one last explanation, the white space imploded.
...
The pain vanished instantly.
The young man regained consciousness almost immediately, but the scene had changed again. There was no more white light. He was in a dark, dense space, similar to the bottom of the ocean, but without the water pressure. He floated in the void, his limbs moving slowly in weightlessness.
"Is this the fucking reincarnation process?" he muttered, feeling his patience wear thin in the last few hours.
He spun around, drifting through the space, trying to find a way out or a light to swim toward. That's when he bumped into something cold and metallic.
He stopped and groped in the darkness until his fingers brushed against a smooth surface. Focusing his eyes, he realized it was a box. It was a box the size of his torso, forged from a gleaming silver metal that emitted a faint glow, dimly illuminating the space around it. It was engraved with ancient runes that seemed to shift if he stared at them.
"I feel like I've seen this somewhere..." he whispered to himself. A deep sense of nostalgia washed over him.
He grabbed the box with both hands and pulled. It was sealed.
Shaking the box, he began trying to open it. He inserted his fingers into the corners, trying to pry it open. Nothing. He rapped the edges against his knee. Useless. Driven by the frustration of the recent chain of events, he even tried to bite the rim, but the metal was harder than diamond, and he nearly broke a tooth.
"Open, damn it," he growled, panting with exhaustion.
Turning it for the umpteenth time, he noticed a small mechanism on top. It wasn't a key lock. It was a circular panel, smooth as glass. A lock that looked like an optical scanner or an old-fashioned biometric identifier.
"How strange..."
Driven by pure curiosity, and having nothing to lose, the young man brought his face closer. He aligned his right eye with the small glass of the lock.
Instantly, the box reacted.
A beam of pure, brilliant light shot from the scanner directly into his pupil.
"Shit, my eye!" The box glowed so brightly that the young man screamed, jerking his face away in pain and covering his eye with his hand, seeing red and blue blurs dancing in his vision.
Clack.
The internal gears turned and the lid of the dimensional box slowly opened.
The young man, still blinking to regain his sight, peered inside. Within the silver container rested an object of overwhelming beauty. It was an orb the size of his fist, but it wasn't made of crystal or stone. It seemed to be composed of liquid energy, shining with the same intensity and the same pale silver hue as a full moon at its peak. It emitted a low, comforting hum.
Before he could even utter a word or reach out to touch it, the orb reacted to his presence.
It levitated out of the box as if it had a will of its own. It spun in the air for a fraction of a second and, with the speed of a bullet, flew straight toward his chest.
The young man gasped as the orb plunged into his body, piercing his flesh and bone like a ghost. An immense, expansive heat blossomed at his center, spreading through his veins. His eyes burned as if magma had been injected into them, but this time, it wasn't a destructive pain, but a transformation.
He felt his soul being torn apart and rebuilt simultaneously. The dark void around him began to crack like shattered glass, letting in a blinding, unbearable light, before he lost consciousness once more.
...
Cold. That was the first thing he felt. A sharp chill on his damp skin.
Then, the sounds. The echo of distorted, hurried voices, speaking in a language his mind registered as Japanese, but which was overwhelmingly noisy.
The young man tried to open his eyes, but a bright, artificial light blinded him. He tried to speak, to complain about the disturbance, to curse the Entity, but all that escaped his lips was a high-pitched, uncontrollable cry. A baby's cry.
He felt gloved hands firmly rubbing his back. He blinked repeatedly, his blurred vision finally focusing on the masked face of a doctor, who held him gently and with relief under the surgical lights of a delivery room.
The memory of their encounter in the sterile room and the Entity's promise seemed to sink rapidly into the depths of his subconscious, vanishing like smoke in the wind, just as he had been promised.
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Okay, that's the first chapter. Just a heads up, this will have a short crossover with two anime. The MC is broken, super broken, but he's still human, so who cares. See you in the next chapter.
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( ̳• · • ̳) ~ ♡ Thanks for reading ♡
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