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Chapter 7 : The tyranny of freedom.

Like I expected, the following week went by like an absolute slog.

Saying that I was not suited to meditation would be majorly downplaying my failings in that regard. Oh, I certainly gave it my best, but sitting still, alone with my thoughts, had apparently become an impossibility after all the changes I underwent when I got Big Mom'ed.

The best alternative I found was to do some shadow boxing with my eyes shut. It was far from being optimal, but it at least showed some results, and I managed to get myself properly in tune with my Haki a bit more.

My best bet remained to throw hands with my plushie to feel the flow of live combat, because I certainly didn't feel it when carving through the gangoons I stumbled upon while 'fishing'.

That's why I wasn't even bothering trying to find another sparring partner than the very enthusiastic Welsh Dragon, nothing short of a member of the supernatural world will manage to push me. My skin is too tough and my strength too high to feel even remotely in danger against a normal human, no matter their training or physical condition. Hell, the simple fact that I can shrug modern bullets like it is nothing more-or-less guarantee that I could take the JSDF all at once without breaking a sweat.

As long as they don't bring out the airplanes. But I think I could manage against those with a little training.

Besides that, nothing of note really happened during the week. The two Peerages kept a bead on me, sure, but I apparently wasn't the priority I thought I'd become after not backing down from Akeno's 'tactics'.

The regular bursts of awareness due to my Observation Haki were getting a little annoying, though. But beggars can't be choosers and all that.

So it was with no small amount of anticipation that I made my way on my apartment complex's rooftop Saturday afternoon.

"-and I keep saying that we will not have enough space atop this flimsy building to push you." The Red Plushie Emperor squeak-rants from atop my shoulders as our usual trio, Senketsu having taken the form of a tank top and yoga pants combo for the time being, make our way toward my building's rooftop.

Turns out, the overgrown lizard has taken a liking at always draping himself over my shoulders when he doesn't feel like flying. Quite ironic, considering it is the same Welsh Dragon who couldn't stop whining about his vessel being 'too small' not even ten days ago!

I huff, my hand on the doorknob leading to the roof, pausing momentarily as I realize that the door is shut and that I certainly don't have the key.

I shrug.

I apply a little bit of my strength-

A metallic screech gets heard, echoing oddly in the empty staircase.

-and the door is suddenly opened!

Shocking, I know.

"I'm perfectly aware of that, Ddraig." I answer while stepping outside, giving the surroundings a roaming glance before nodding to myself, "And I never said that we will face each other here, or even in the city's surroundings. It is, after all, a little too obvious to my taste."

"Why are we even here, then?" The little grouch grumbles.

I hum, a little smile on my face.

"If you want to find out, you're going to have to leave your perch." I ask him slyly.

He gives a side-glance, before stretching his wings after a moment's consideration and promptly flapping away to a nearby sunlit spot.

"Alright, consider me intrigued. What craziness do you have in mind?" He drawls after leaning his head back on his forelimbs.

"I want to see if I can jump so good, I can tell gravity to go fuck itself." I grin his way.

Very understandably, the Red Plushie Emperor gives me a weirded out look.

"You are aware that gravity doesn't work that way, right?" He deadpans.

I shrug, my grin still firmly affixed on my face.

"Wanna bet?" I jeer his way.

I don't give him the time to answer, before jumping straight up, kicking against the air at the top of my arc with all my strength-

-and falling back down.

"Oh, very impressive." Ddraig squeaks flatly, "I'm absolutely floored by this shocking turn of events."

"I never said I'll get it right from the first try." I point out.

"... Is it a new way to make me lose my mind? Because it certainly feels like one from where I'm laying." He squints his button-eyes in my direction.

"... Senketsu?" I call.

"Yes, Mistress?" My most polite homie answers instantly in his posh tone.

"Please, never become as annoying as your elder."

"Oi!"

"Noted, Mistress." The living, multi-form uniform promptly acquiesces, a hint of schadenfreude in his tone.

I tune out Ddraig's next words, choosing to focus instead of what I'm attempting to do.

I jump once again, kicking with all my strength against the air at the top of my arc-

Under the sole of my feet, I feel just a tiny bit of resistance.

-and fall back down.

My grin comes back with a vengeance.

"Oh, I so got this."

"Ma Ma Ma Ma!" I laugh uproariously from my spot a solid ten feet in the air, regular, fast-paced downard kicks canceling the Earth's gravity.

It took me thirty minutes to get the hang of it. Not because I am particularly skilled, no, but because Moonwalk is a deceptively simple technique - kicking straight against the air in the direction of the ground - which is actually gated by raw stats.

And, as it turns out, my 'Young Mom'-constitution has more than enough raw strength to pull it off as long as I know what I am doing!

I have no idea how many Douriki I would be at if a practitioner of the Six Powers evaluated me, but I am willing to bet that I massively exceed those of the average Cypher Pol agent.

"... That's bullshit." Very understandably, the local dragon seems to have some trouble computing what I am doing, "This- You're just- That's bullshit!"

The last sentence is more hissed than spoken aloud, which betrays a certain level of annoyance.

"I'M SORRY DDRAIG! I CAN'T QUITE HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF HOW FUCKING AWESOME I AM!" I yell at the top of my lungs, arms spread apart skyward as I bask in my success.

"Bwuh-" The Welsh Dragon sputters, before scowling, "GET BACK DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT, YOU DOLT! YOU'RE GOING TO LURE EVERY DEVILS IN THIS TOWN TO OUR POSITION!"

I let myself drop back down once again, hands planted against my hips and a wide grin curling my lips.

"Told you I would pull it off~." I sing-song to the put-upon plushie.

Ddraig gives me a long-suffering look from his position atop a nearby air vent, before letting out a drawn out sigh as he flies my way.

"Yes, yes that is very impressive and completely nonsensical, but I'm still failing to see how that's supposed to help us." He squeaks flatly right in my face.

If anything, my grin widens.

I proceed to tell him my idea.

The Red Plushie Emperor lets my explanation sink in for a solid second, before a grin of his own curls his muzzle.

"Woohoo!" I enthusiastically yell as our little trio flies into the air, already far away from Kuoh Town as the crow flies.

Or, more accurately, as a certain Welsh Dragon, limbs curled under my armpits and upper torso, uses his wings and inborn magic - no way something as heavy as a freaking dragon flies without it, after all - to steer us in the right direction.

My own job? Using [Transfer]ed [Boost]s on my Moonwalks to propel us in a straight line!

"See? I can have good ideas at times!" I throw over my shoulders to the plushie not-breathing in my neck.

Said Red Plushie Emperor huffs, before chuckling.

"Alright, I admit, that's a nice trick." He squeaks aloud, "Especially since the Devils won't come looking in the mountains anytime soon."

"Ayup!" I agree enthusiastically.

"Speaking off, we're probably far enough by now." The Dragon hums, before steering us in the ground's direction.

I stop kicking behind me like a mad woman and we instantly start to lose speed.

Quickly enough, we land into a relatively sparse plain located in a forest on the mountainside, Ddraig finally letting go off me to fly a dozen of meters further before alighting himself.

I give him a look, cracking my neck reflexively before adopting a loose stance.

"So? How do we do this partner?" I call out, fists held in front of me in a pseudo-boxer stance.

"One moment." The Red Plushie Emperor calls.

"[Boost]!"

"[Boost]!"

"[Boost]!"

"[Boost]!"

"[Boost]!"

"[Boost]!"

"[Boost]!"

"[Boost]!"

"[Boost]!"

"[Boost]!" He rapid-fire calls, each squeaks louder than before, and I can almost feel his presence increasing through my Observation Haki.

The Welsh Dragon hums to himself, before spearing the ground with his claws.

The dirt and stone gives with startling ease, the tiny thing quickly taking hold of what should be a cubic meter of assorted, dry soil.

He hums once again, launches it in the air, before blurring on himself.

Tail meets dirt and stone, dirt and stone gives.

"That should do it." He declares confidently, his voice infinitely louder than before - yet still squeaky - and flexing his claws a little as he gives me a look, "This body is too frail for you to feel my fist if I don't at least stack up a little. But now…"

He claps his paws together, a rush of displaced air ruffling the loose grass around him.

"Oh, you're definitely going to feel it!" He croons with a predatory grin.

View: watch?v=y_fB0IMbq54

"Bring it on, then!" I taunt, my own grin mirroring his own.

The Red Plushie Emperor doesn't let himself pray, and blurs in my direction before I can even blink.

Fast!

Crimson

flashes into my mind, and I barely manage to dodge the superman-style punch the dragon aimed at my face.

Amber orbs meet bottle-green buttons as time seems to almost slow.

Orange screams in my ears, and my eyes widen.

Tail meet face, I am sent sprawling on my side.

A loud chuckle reaches my ears as I shake myself back in the game with a growl.

"You humans always forget about the tail." The Welsh Dragon jeers as I stand back up, "Now how about you take me seriously from the start, hmm?"

I scowl back at him, spitting to the side.

"Senketsu!" I growl, now quite firmly pissed off.

"Right away, Mistress." My sentient piece of clothing complies.

Pinpricks peppers my skin as thousands instances of Absorption Line pierce through my tough skin, pumping Reinforcement Magic through my muscles, veins and bones.

I take a deep breath, my field of vision narrowing a notch.

Ddraig doesn't wait for my go ahead, already flying back in my direction, this time a hind leg aimed at my midsection.

With Senketsu's help, he isn't quite as fast as before, and my next dodge accounts for his tail this time around, just as I throw a punch in the plushie's torso.

My knuckles meet the odd consistency of a soul laid bare-

-a forepaw land atop my extended wrist, Ddraig, belaying his inertia, redirects himself mid-air-

-the other hind leg gets me on the side of the chin, and it's only because I stomp against the ground with my leg that I'm not sent ass over teakettle for the second time in a row.

"You think too much." The Welsh Dragon comments aloud while already flying for another pass, "You have no technique, no skill."

"So fucking what?" I growl, my limbs starting to darken as my Will to land a blow on the insufferable plushie coalesce.

I don't try to give back as much as I got when my mind flashes orange, jumping backward instead.

"Then let your instincts do the job, girl." Ddraig pointedly says, "I never had a handy teacher to help me when I made my legend, yet I managed to fold in half my fair share of uppity martial gods back in the day."

That makes me pause, which gives the plushie ample time to dart straight into my guard to punch me in the gut.

I heave, momentarily airborne, before another blow sends me back down.

I roll over the ground for a beat, finishing my course face first in the dirt.

I punch against the ground in anger, the soil cratering under the strength of my blow, before jumping in a standing position once again.

"Alright!" I growl, the darkening of my limbs getting more pronounced, "You want instincts? I'll show you some fucking instincts!"

There she is, Ddraig inwardly grins as the girl's pressure starts to equal his own.

For the first time since their spar started, his partner takes the initiative, pouncing in his direction, almost like a great cat, the packed earth sundering under the strength of her jump.

Of course, he easily weaves between her blows, now fully confident in his earlier judgment.

He already had an inkling when he had watched her do her weird moving meditation, but the knowledge she had inherited was the one from an instinctive brawler coasting on their superior strength and constitution, the wide, open stance the tell-tale sign of a grappler.

Almost like a dragon's own, truth to be told.

Slapping the girl's punches away, Ddraig has to refrain himself from smiling when he notices that she is starting to increase her speed.

Blurring on himself, this new form of his far faster than the one he was used to, his tail lashes out in the girl's face once again.

In response, his partner's hand darts, an iron grip taking hold of the offending appendage.

Ddraig would be proud, if he didn't instantly find himself sent toward the nearest tree in the next tenth of a second, barely stopping before the impact.

"Better." He comments, injecting as much condescension he can in his tone, just to rill her up even more.

"Now, do try to keep up." He provokes as the girl dashes in his direction once more.

"[Boost]!" He bellows, jumping in the fray once again.

Claws, tail whips, punches and kicks are traded.

Trees fall, the ground is ruptured.

The nearby mountain shakes with each impact, each shockwaves.

Ddraig is at his twenty-fifth [Boost].

The girl and her little helper have yet to give up, always rising to the challenge.

And the Dragon of Domination is honestly having the time of his life!

He barely dodge through a flurry of kicks, a wide grin on his muzzle as his claws dart toward his partner's shin.

She instantly drops to the ground, propping herself on her hands, messing up his blow and getting him into his midsection for the nth time in the afternoon.

Despite being made of assorted fabrics, flax seed and his soul form, the blow, amplified by the girl's willpower hurts him in a way that only Albion has ever managed in the past millennia!

Ddraig's blood roars in his vein at the perceived challenge, and he lets himself throw upward, choosing not to dampen the blow for once, looking for-

The girl jumps after him, the ground under her feet caving in a wide crater, uprooting nearby trees by straight-up reducing their roots to so much mulch.

Ddraig goes higher.

The girl does her weird, nonsensical, kick-in-the-air thing.

-an opening!

"Foolish!" Ddraig roars, puffing his chest as his partner's fingers barely miss him.

The girl's eyes widen comically, her arms blurring into a guard.

Above the Dragon of Domination, dark clouds rumble.

"[PENETRATE]!" Ddraig listens to his blood, the haze of combat clouding his judgment.

A bright, white beam screams off his jaws, bearing on the girl like the judgment of an angry god!

The roar of Ddraig's mightiest blow drowns out every other sound in the mountainside for the few seconds it lasts, until it vanishes as quickly as it comes.

His accumulated [Boost]s now consumed, the Welsh Dragon suddenly feels both weak and very stupid.

"Oh shit!" He swears, before darting downward with all the speed he can manage.

He shouldn't have used his strongest attack during a spar against an untrained welp, skies dammit!

Panicking as he flies through the dust cloud his blow made, it takes him a few seconds until he is able to find the girl.

"Partner! You're alright?" He asks as soon as he lays his eyes upon the girl's half-obscured form, batting his wings as fast as he can to clear his field of vision.

Only to pause, hard, when his eyes finally bear witness to the spectacle waiting for him.

The girl is embedded straight into the ground, in an odd, her-shapped hole at the center of a massive crater, her arms still guarding her, an intensely focused expression distorting her traits.

Above him the skies rumble once again, but Ddraig pays it no mind.

The still form of the girl suddenly exhales deeply, and the Dragon of Domination finally notices the gash on her right arm.

He almost boggles.

His strongest blow, charged twenty-five times, and the girl has only what can be considered a cosmetic injury to show for it?!

"You alright down there?" He asks instead, hovering closer to the hole.

The girl untense a little, moving her arms to better look at her injury.

She frowns.

"Senketsu. Close this up, if you will." She calls in a no-nonsense tone.

Ddraig looks mutely as multiple threads snake out of the girl's skin to neatly patch her up as her costume complies without a word, only leaving a thin, red line amid smooth skin in their wake.

A beat passes.

Ddraig cannot help it and guffaws his scales off.

In fact, he is still laughing his tail out when his partner jumps out of the hole, before backhanding him in the nearest tree in the same motion.

"WHAT POSSESSED YOU TO THROW A ONE-HIT KILL ATTACK MY WAY, YOU OVERGROWN LIZARD?!" The girl screeches, visibly incensed, "DO YOU EVEN KNOW THE DEFINITION OF THE WORD 'SPAR'?!"

Ddraig is too busy laughing to answer for a long while, only one thing running in his mind.

He barely knew anything about the girl's supposed progenitor, but one thing is certain for the Welsh Dragon.

Her legacy, her dynasty, sure is something else!

Ddraig and I lay on the ground amid a desolate scenery, basking in the fading sunlight as the sun starts to sink under the horizon, totally spent for my part and the Red Plushie Emperor oddly contemplative.

"Not bad, girl." He eventually squeaks, "You're solidly middle High-Class on the offense, and definitely high High-Class on the defense when working with your living armor."

He pauses, before adding.

"Of course, your weird 'weaponized willpower'-thing throws off every measurement." He chuckles, "Had I not seen it happen myself, I wouldn't have believed it if someone told me you could shrug off a [Penetrate] with barely a scratch."

I hum contemplatively, giving my right arm a look.

Of Ddraig's mightiest - and stupidest! - attack, only a thin red line remains, thanks to Senketsu's good work.

I let my arm drop back on the ground, my eyes lost in the horizon for a moment.

"I still can do better." I eventually answer aloud, "I feel like I've only started climbing the mountain, and I'm nowhere near the top. I can be more."

The air rings with an undercurrent of certainty in the wake of my proclamation.

"For what goal, though?" Ddraig suddenly asks, looking at me intently.

"What?" I ask back, a little confused, "You know why. Why even ask?"

"Alright, the two apocalypses on the horizon are good motivators, I admit." He waves a claw in the air, "But that's not the end, is it?"

I let his words sink in, my eyes looking skyward as I mull over his words.

"You're asking me if I have a dream of some sorts, aren't you?" I voice aloud after a beat.

"... That's not how I would have worded it, but yes." The Welsh Dragon acquiesces.

A beat passes as I ask myself that very question.

What do I want out of this life I didn't ask for, yet was still given through a random encounter with a living legend?

Images flash through my mind.

Of a life without any substances, without a goal, a dream.

Taking every day as they went, trudging around, powerless to change my fate, the one of a cog in the machine that is modern society, with pleasures few and far between.

Other images superimposed over those, all of those recent.

The anger of the first days, followed by acceptance of my new condition and an uncharacteristic, optimist view of it all.

Doing things because I want to do them, in spite of always having the possibility to just go on my merry way when I feel like it.

The sheer, untold Freedom of a do-over in a pseudo-shonen world where one's might is a measure of their ability to decide their fate.

Slowly, unbidden, a grin grows on my lips.

"What I want…" I slowly word out, propping myself on my elbows to give the moment the solemnity it deserves, "... Is to be the freest person in this world!"

The sky above me rumbles, but I pay it no mind as I look straight at the Dragon of Domination.

"And woe to those who will try to stand in my way!" I add with a wide, slightly unhinged smile.

In the vast immensity of the Dimensional Gap, a titanic red dragon suddenly pauses amid one of his loop-de-loop, so potent the echo of a Dream it gives him goosebumps.

Like a lot of Dreams, he pays it no more than a moment to acknowledge it, before resuming his acrobatics.

"Isn't it similar to being the strongest, though?" The Red Plushie Emperor points out, button-eyes squinted.

"Nah, it isn't." I wave his statement off, "My mom used to repeat that saying all the time. La liberté des uns s'arrête où commencent celles des autres. I call that 'the tyranny of freedom'. You're only free if you acknowledge that others too have wants of their own and respect them.

"Of course, there are some limits to that." I add grimly, "Take a murderer, for example. If it isn't in legitimate defense, then the guy clearly prioritized his own freedom over someone else's, and what comes his way is absolutely deserved."

I make a wide, encompassing gesture in the sky's direction.

"In this world, being the freest means that you're both the strongest and still acknowledge that you don't have to wave your Very Big Stick each time something doesn't go your way." I conclude.

"... I'm not sure I follow." Ddraig slowly says, "Probably because it is too close to a humanoid mindset for me to properly get it. If you're the strongest, then you're the strongest, no two ways around it."

I give him a bemused look.

"Say, would you have found yourself in this little mess nearly seven centuries ago if Albion and you had made it a habit to have your spars in an isolated dimension?" I ask plainly.

The following silence is, of course, positively deafening.

The Welsh Dragon purses his muzzle.

"... Point." He squeak-huffs, "You're implying that we would have been free to keep doing what we always did if we stopped involving everyone else in it."

"Now you get it." I agree with a smile, "That's why Big G went and sealed the both of you, you were making the mess that was the Great War even bigger."

"I said I get it." He grumbles, forelimbs crossed over his chest.

"So, that's my goal, beyond dealing with the messes that will crop up in the future." I wisely redirect the discussion before the grumbly dragon can grumble even more.

"... You're definitely an odd one, girl." He chuckles after a beat, "That's the most fun I've had in centuries. You wouldn't believe how boring in comparison my previous partners were. I'm glad you pulled me off the Sacred Gear."

I beam a smile his way, starting to formulate an answer to his heartfelt and genuine declaration, only for his words to register in my mind.

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask, my smile more than a little strained.

Ddraig gives me an odd look, before scowling.

"If you don't want to acknowledge-" He squeaks-angrily.

"No, no, I totally acknowledge your feelings, and I'm also glad to have met you, trust me on this." I say precipitously, "Just, what was your last sentence?"

The Red Plushie Emperor gives me a long look, his reptilian head tilted slightly to the side.

"... I said that I was glad you pulled me off the Sacred Gear." He slowly repeats.

My mind crashes.

Then reboots.

"I only pulled your and Vritra's soul out of your hosts' bodies." I realize aloud, horror dawning on me.

"Issei-kun, would you die for me?" Yuuma - no, Raynare she called herself - sweetly asks Hyoudou Issei, her hand clutching a pink spear of light.

"Putain de merde!/Shit!" Ddraig and I swear as one, before jumping in a standing position.

Chapter 8 : Bystander.

"Bah j'ai bien merdé…"I've royally fucked up... I mutter angrily while watching from afar and on-high as a certain crimson headed Devil frantically tries to save someone I was supposed to have already saved!

Jetpack-Ddraig, his head poking over my shoulder, gives me a side-glance, before looking back toward the scene, squeaking contemplatively.

"For what it's worth, it's also on me." The Red Plushie Emperor comments idly, "I got a little too swept up in my planned resurrection to ask you if only taking my soul from the boy was what you intended to do, and I forgot after that."

I angrily rub at my temple while my legs rhythmically stomp downard to maintain my Moonwalk.

"No, no it wasn't." I sigh with my eyes closed, "And I should've gotten the hint when I didn't notice anything odd beyond, well, Vritra's soul shard and you."

"You pulled me straight through the wards of the old codger." Ddraig idly explains, and I can almost feel the full brunt of his attention as he gives me a very pointed look, "And you didn't even realize it."

"... My powers are conceptual in nature, even if oddly and heavily codified at times." I answer while opening my eyes once again, "Notice how the second part of the previous sentence makes zero sense? It's because it doesn't. As long as I truly believe that I'm able to do something that pertains to my 'domain', I should theoretically be able to pull it off. Those codes and rules? I'm ninety percent certain they exist in their universe of origin because everyone believes they work that way!

"But because I'm out of this paradigm, because I have the benefit of the external observer effect, I can easily convince myself that I can do something with my powers that I'm not supposed to." I end with a huff, before waving in Issei's direction, "Like taking your soul out of his Sacred Gear because it made perfect sense to me at the time."

"Casually disregarding the strongest warding scheme I've ever dealt with in the process because you thought they should not matter." The Welsh Dragon voices aloud.

"Worse. I disregarded it because I forgot about it." I deadpan back.

"... A few gods out there would have a fit if they heard you say that, the old codger's work was no joke." Ddraig squeak-snickers.

"Sucks to sucks, I guess." I answer distractedly, a little too caught with my self-loathing to pay attention to the conversation any more.

A beat passes, as the night truly sets, a chilly wind washing over me.

"Four Pawns, huh?" Ddraig muses, his tone contemplative, "Guess the boy still has some manner of potential despite my absence."

I give the Welsh Dragon a look as the Gremory heiress and her new peerage member disappear in a magic circle, leaving only a pool of quickly drying blood in their wake.

"Do you have an idea how that'd work for him without your soul to power the Boosted Gear?" I ask him curiously.

"The wards are still made from my flesh and scales." Ddraig answers quickly, "And the imprints of my previous wielders remain trapped in it."

He falls silent for a moment, before making an oddly human shrugging motion, jostling our little trio in the air.

"At a guess? He'll develop a subspecies of the Boosted Gear." He eventually settles on, "Now, how'd that look? I have absolutely no clues, but it probably won't be as powerful without my presence and magic."

I hum noncommittally, the two of us falling silent once more.

My eyes don't leave the pool of blood, and anger starts to boil in my chest.

I'm angry at myself for dropping the ball like that, yes, but I'm also seething because the fucking Fallen quartet-

"What are you going to do?" The Red Plushie Emperor asks from over my shoulder, his tone laden with curiosity.

I take a big gulp of air, before slowly exhaling.

My nails dig into my palm, and the sky above me rumbles once.

"I think…" I slowly start, "That I'm going to deliver my own take on an eviction notice to the chucklefucks responsible for that mess." I answer a little flatly, my voice eerily empty of emotions as my mind settles, "Senketsu, how are your reserves?"

"I'd estimate them at thirty percent, Mistress." The living uniform answers quickly in his posh tone, although I can feel his two yellow chameleon-like eyes rolling on my collar to look directly at me.

"Plenty enough to absolutely school a few low-class buffoons too big for their britches, then." I grunt, before cracking my neck mechanically, "You know what to do."

"Gladly, Mistress." He promptly acquiesces, a hint of glee slipping through his words.

"You've decided on becoming a full-fledged player of this game, then?" The Red Plushie Emperor asks as he momentarily unhooks himself from my back while Senketsu's threads explode outwardly as he shapeshifts.

"Not really, no." My brows furrow, "I just don't want to be a bystander in all this."

It's the dragon's turn to hum contemplatively.

Senketsu's threads settle in my skin.

The Red Plushie Emperor silently takes back his place on my back.

"Ddraig?"

"Partner?"

"I'd like to make this memorable. Could you give me ten?"

A pause.

"[Boost]!"

Mittelt had been majorly tuning out Raynare's bragging about how she had managed to 'trap' one of their targets for the past fifteen minutes, opting to merely making appreciative noises and little grunts of agreements when it was appropriate while texting on her phone when the roof of the Kuoh Church suddenly caved in.

As a Fallen Angel, even if a measly two-winged one, she barely managed to register the humanoid shape boring straight through the aged structure's ceiling amid falling masonry, plaster dust and broken tiles before it impacted the ground faster than a cannonball.

With a thunderous boom and big rush of displaced air, the old fashioned flooring craters under the figure's landing, aged pews and paving stone exploding in every direction from the point of impact, forcing the diminutive woman to cover her face with her arms with a surprised yelp, her phone getting lost in the chaos, shouts and swears echoing all around the church as her companions and the rogues exorcists tagging along poorly endure the attack.

Mittelt can only take a good look toward their attacker once the shockwave they unleashed has fully abated, instantly trying to get a feel of their power through their magic levels.

Her mouth dries as she registers the aura of an at least High Class opponent while taking in their form as they slowly, contemptuously straightens from a three-points landing amid broken grounds and bodies both.

The woman is tall, almost as tall as Dohnaseek at first glance, with bubblegum pink hair kept in place by a dark purple headband, two cold, amber eyes on full display as they almost languidly darts between Mittelt's own companions and herself, casually disregarding the exorcists.

Which really doesn't bode well for their assembled force, because quantity is a quality of his own. Their assailant silently dismissing their rogues is as loud a proclamation as any she could ever voice that their blessed weapons will be useless against her.

As the plaster dust starts to fall down, Mittelt get a good look at the woman's body-

-and can't help but feel an unholy mix of befuddled, fearful and envious.

The woman's outfit makes Raynare's own looks tame in comparison. Two angular purple pauldrons adorn her shoulders, their pointy ends reaching above her cheeks, a big, yellow chameleon-like eye enshrined in each of them, rapidly darting all around the church as if looking for threats. A choker-like collar ensnaring her neck, from which a vertical strip of dark purple clothes runs all the way down to her crotch, two other horizontal strips barely hiding what they could - and should - of her breasts for the topward most, while highlighting her hips for the downward most. Atop what Mittelt supposes is where her belly-button is, an odd, big and round dark gem surrounded by purple lace lays, a dark-yellow grinning mouth twitching as if alive inscribed in it. Two other strips of clothes link the pauldrons to two armored vambrace-gauntlets combos, while two others, starting from the gem and running along the woman's thighs in a 'A' shape, finish the outfit with a link to a pair of heeled greaves.

The Fallen Angel only notices the last detail when she locks eyes with it. Curled around the back of the woman's neck like a lazy cat, reptilian head overlooking its vicinity with curiosity and an amused grin of its muzzle, a dragon plushie of all things, little bottle-green button eyes crinkling with intellect amid a sea of scarlet-red fabric.

Oddly, this is this particular detail that starts ringing all sorts of alarm bells in her mind for some reason.

Mittelt doesn't exactly know why, but she knows, deep in her guts, that the duo is incredibly dangerous, and the magic they seem to radiate is but the tip of the iceberg.

"I'm going to say this once, and only once." The woman utters clearly, coldly, her dispassionate look still firmly locked on her face, "Surrender, or else."

A beat passes, pained groans from the ragdolled exorcists and shocked gasps from their more seriously injured comrades the only sounds heard as those still standing take that statement in-

"Fuck you, you stupid cunt!" Someone bellows, before unleashing a hail of light bullets toward the woman.

-only for Freed fucking Sellzen to instantly jump the gun!

In less time that it takes Mittelt to blink, the woman's arms blurs, slapping away the projectiles as if they are mere mosquitos.

"Else it is. Works for me." The sentence is uttered calmly, almost too calmly.

Mittelt jumps airborne in reflex, her wings sprouting at her back, just as the woman seemingly vanish from her spot-

-only to reappear in front of the white haired, crazy fuckwit, one of her gauntlets gorring him.

Mittelt's blood runs cold, shocked gasps echoing in her ears as the rogues start to realize that they are, in fact, massively outgunned.

The gauntlet is pulled free in a spray of blood, and the massacre begins.

The Fallen Angel watch in impotent horror as the excommunicated crazy slaps a hand against his midsection, blood dripping from his lips as he struggles to keep his innards inside, stumbling, trying his best to remain on his two feet for a couple seconds, before falling on his back and laying still.

All around and below her, the chaos spread, her colleagues yelling orders and invectives at each other as they start to pepper the woman dashing through the exorcists with spears of light.

The scantily clad woman seemingly pays no mind to their assault, weaving through their disorganized troops as easily as she was taking a stroll, her hand occasionally tapping the humans on a part of their bodies-

-only for some kind of pink, gaseous vapor to be pulled out of them, coalescing in an ever bigger orb above her free hand, their bodies rapidly aging and drying on their feet as they breathe their last.

The Fallen Angel's heart starts to absolutely thunder in her chest as she registers how stupidly lethal the woman seemingly is.

"We can't fight her." Mittelt mutters in dread, as there numbers are cut down like so much weed, their fifty exorcists, able bodied or not, rapidly becoming forty, then thirty, then twenty-

"Will you ever start to fucking help you useless bitch?!" Raynare screeches in her direction as she launches another of her spears toward the rapidly dashing figure.

Anger at their predicament and her immediate superior pooling in her chest, Mittelt turns on herself, a hand pointing toward the one woman army scything through their numbers-

-the sound of the ground shattering reaches her ear-

-and the diminutive woman barely catches a surprised, terrified last look in Raynare's eyes as the woman catches her by the throat in mid-air.

"Raynare!" Kalawarmer screams, before dashing into the fray, promptly followed by their male companion.

Mittelt's direct superior's body falls limply to the ground, her beauty marred by her ugly death, unnaturally aged traits taut as if every last drop of liquid has been sucked dry of her body.

Above the unknown woman's right hand, somehow flying in mid-air, a gigantic orb of condensed, pink smog hovers.

Her blue haired colleague tries to spear the assailant through while Dohnaseek maneuvers in a pincer attack.

An aerial somersault and two light taps later, the pink gaseous orb has swelled beyond belief, and Mittelt is the last one still standing in the church besides the monster in front of her.

Logic dictates that there's only one way she escapes from this.

"I SURRENDER!" She yells at the top of her lungs while dropping from her flight directly on the ground below her.

"Oh? Vraiment?"Oh? Really? The figure pauses, wide open, cold eyes looking back at her as she lightly drops on her feet, "Après tout ça?"After everything [that happened]?

The Fallen Angel barely registers that the monster is speaking French of all languages, choosing instead to raise her hands as high as possible, open palms in evidence.

"Y-Yes!" Mittelt babbles, her skin crawling as the monster prowls closer, her hips swaying as her heels rhythmically clicks against what's left of the church's floor.

"Intéressant…"Interesting... The figure hums consideringly, one of her hand distractedly darting toward the pink gaseous orb, taking hold of parts of it-

-before stuffing it in her mouth, visibly relishing the action, as if she is eating cotton candy.

"Alright, I'm willing to let you live." The monster declares after a moment's thought, and Mittelt feels some remnants of her shattered hope climbs back up from the pit of despair that has become her stomach-

"On one condition."

-only for it to get shattered again.

"N-Name them!" Mittelt stutters as the woman takes another bite of her meal.

"I want you to do everything in your power to give a detailed report of your activities to Azazel, personally, and explain to him exactly why there's a Sacred Gear Extractor in your basement." The woman pointedly says, the index of her free hand stabbing downward while staring intently at her.

The Fallen Angel only catches the plushie, still draped around the monster's shoulder, looking similarly intently at her in the corner of her eyes.

"B-But those were our orders?!" Mittelt squeaks back.

"Oh mon dieu, ils sont vraiment tous débiles comme ça?"Oh my god, are they all really that stupid? The monster comments, bemusedly shaking their head, "You mean to tell me that Azazel, General Governor of the Grigori, founder of the Slash Dog team, asked you to kill Sacred Gears wielders unaware of the supernatural because…"

The pause following the monster's statement is a rather pregnant one as Mittelt starts to put two and two together.

"... We've been made?" The Fallen Angel mutters aloud, realization sinking in.

"Et maintenant elle réfléchit!And now she thinks! Comme quoi les miracles, ça arrive."Color me surprised, miracles do happen. The monster comments amusedly, "Yes, you've probably been played like fiddles, which would be amusing if…"

Mittelt swallows, the monster taking another bite.

"If?" She asks in a very tiny voice.

"If it hadn't cost the life of a perfectly innocent teenager tonight." The monster drawls, eyes unfeeling and cold.

"ThatwasRaynare'sfault!" Mittelt blurts out as quickly as she can.

"Oh, I'm aware." The monster nods, before spearing her with a look, "But you're all equally responsible as far as I'm concerned. The only reason you're still breathing is because you have yet to attack me and you can be useful. So, will you gather what proof you can and go talk to the big honcho?"

"I-I will!" The diminutive woman answers instantly.

After all, if the orders hadn't been from Azazel…

"Parfait!"Perfect! The monster beams, before taking a big gulp of air and inhaling what's left of the massive, pink gaseous orb with fluttery eyes and a big, happy sigh.

"Oh, and remember…" The monster's eyes snap back open once more, "I won't be as lenient next time if you disappoint me again."

Mittelt's heart, firmly in her boots at this point, barely makes a somersault as the woman's about-face before sashaying out of the church, only taking a moment to pick something off the ground before straightening back up and lazily waving over her shoulder.

"Tchao! Et n'oublie pas que je te surveille!"Cya! And don't forget, I'm watching you! The monster tells Mittelt as a parting shot, the fucking plushie on her shoulders snickering to itself.

And the Fallen Angel has no idea about the monster's powers, but she really isn't willing to disregard her last warning.