Throne & DxD

Hello Fellow masters-in-arms, here another chapter for you, Enjoy. I have started taking commissions, if you are interested please leave a comment. I do not own any property except for my OCs.

My twin and I were just normal kids growing up in Dillingham, Alaska—a place where the skies were endless and the forests seemed to go on forever. Our parents had brought us here chasing a "simpler life," their voices always full of conviction when they talked about tradition, morals, and values. But to us, Dillingham was just a quiet town that felt too small, too far from where the world seemed to happen.

My name Jane, and my brother John are just your average kids. At 13, everything changed. We stumbled across our first anime, and it was as if a new universe had opened up before us. What started as innocent curiosity spiraled into a passion that consumed our days and filled our dreams. We spent hours creating OCs, imagining ourselves as part of those stories. We binge-watched series after series, diving deep into the lore and mythology of each world, memorizing names, powers, and backstories like our lives depended on it.

The worlds of Fate/Stay Night, High School DxD, Harry Potter, My Hero Academia, Bleach, Naruto, Twilight and everything in between became our sanctuaries, the foundation of our imaginations. Each series brought something different—a new power system to dissect, a new hero's journey to analyze, or a villain's arc to understand. We'd spend late nights debating over plot twists and character motivations, our notebooks filled with half-written fanfics and detailed theories.

It wasn't just a pastime; it was an obsession, a shared escape from the reality of small-town life. We'd always joked about how cool it would be to live in those worlds, to wield magic, to fight alongside heroes, or even to train under the toughest masters. Deep down, there was always a small, flickering hope that one day, maybe the impossible could happen. That somehow, we'd find ourselves stepping into the stories we cherished so much.

Our room, a shared space brimming with well-worn books, anime posters, and stacks of manga, was their haven. The walls were decorated with illustrations of Shirou Emiya, Ichigo Kurosaki, and

Izuku Midoriya mid-attack, hand-drawn by Jane and colored meticulously by John.

John sat hunched over his desk, fingers flying over the keyboard as he typed up the latest chapter of their ongoing fanfic—a crossover involving Fate/Stay Night and Highschool DxD, where Shirou's abilities were pitted against Kokabiel. His eyes glistened with excitement as he reimagined battle scenes and character interactions, weaving in subtle nods to other series that only the most devoted fans would catch.

"Jane, do you think Shirou's projection magecraft would work if it replicated a sacred gear?" John asked, breaking the silence.

I sprawled on my bed with my notebook open, looked up thoughtfully. My hair was tied back in a messy bun, and pencil tapped rhythmically on the paper. "Depends on how you frame it," I replied, a grin tugging at my lips. "If you make it a perfect imitation, sure, but he'd probably be limited to the original's proficiency and if the gear in question is a divine construct. John's face lit up as he scribbled my insight into his notes. Our collaboration was seamless, born from years of shared enthusiasm. I'm more analytical and focused on character depth, having a knack for spotting inconsistencies and adding nuance. John was all about the high-energy battles and dramatic twists.

The hours passed as we continued writing and bouncing ideas off one another, occasionally pausing to join discussions on anime forums. The threads were alive with debates on everything from the best battle strategies to the most tragic betrayals in anime. John chimed in on a post comparing Sasuke Uchiha and Ishida Uryū, his argument meticulously detailed with references to specific episodes and chapters.

Meanwhile, I scrolled through another thread, raising her eyebrows at the heated arguments about who would win in a duel between Batman and the MHA A1 Class. I couldn't resist adding my own two cents, complete with a chart I drawn to show how Batman's instincts and experience might clash with the A1's unpredictable quirks.

Our room buzzed with their chatter, laughter, and the clattering of keyboards. To anyone else, it might have seemed trivial, just a couple of kids obsessing over anime and manga. But to us, this was everything—our escape, a shared passion, bond between siblings.

"Hey, what if we wrote ourselves into a story?" I suddenly blurted out, half-joking, as I rolled on my bed. "Like, as twin masters summoning a shared servant or something. A combo class… Saber/Castor."

John's eyes sparkled with excitement as he turned to me, a smirk forming on his lips. "Only if our servant is absurdly overpowered but with some ridiculous weakness, like… being afraid of snakes or something."

We both laughed, the kind of laugh that came from years of being each other's only project partner in a place as remote as Dillingham. The day stretched on, our conversation winding between stories, theories, and the occasional inside joke only we understood. And that was how it was on most days. Normal, mundane, yet somehow magical in its own way.

As we continued to laugh with one another, sharing ideas and jokes that only the two of us could understand, something strange happened. The room around us began to shimmer, the walls fading into specks of light, and within moments, we found ourselves suspended in a vast, cosmic space. The air felt different, heavy and electric, as if it thrummed with the essence of countless possibilities.

Panic set in as my brother and I glanced at each other, eyes wide with confusion and fear. "What's going on?" I shouted, my voice echoing into the void. We twisted and turned, trying to find any point of reference, anything that made sense in this surreal expanse.

Then, a voice cut through the silence—old, dry, and gruff. "Welcome, young dreamers," it said, each word dripping with weight.

We looked around frantically, and that's when we saw him: a familiar figure sitting in a high-backed chair that seemed to be carved from stardust. The old man sipped tea from a delicate porcelain cup, unfazed by the endless void surrounding him. His eyes, sharp and knowing, met ours with a glimmer of amusement.

"Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, the Grand Wizard--" my brother whispered, the name escaping his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once, before he got nauseous.

The Wizard Marshal, smiled slyly over the rim of his teacup. "Oh, don't stop on my account," he said, gesturing lazily with his free hand. "You were just getting to the good part. Please continue with your praise."

Before we could react, Zelretch set down his cup and stood, the chair dissolving into stardust behind him. He took a few steps toward us, each movement commanding the fabric of space itself. The cosmos around us seemed to shimmer in response, shifting between galaxies and stars.

"Why are we here?" my brother managed to ask, his voice trying to hold back fear and excitement.

Zelretch's smile widened, eyes twinkling. "Oh, that's simple. I'm here to grant you an opportunity. You see, your devotion to your stories, your world-building, and your imaginations have caught my attention."

I exchanged a stunned glance with my brother. "An opportunity?" I echoed.

"Yes," Zelretch continued, the weight of his words sinking in. "A chance to step beyond the veil of dimension and live in the worlds you've only dreamed about. But understand this—the stakes are real, and the choices you make will shape your journey."

My heart pounded with a mix of exhilaration and fear. Was this really happening? The idea of venturing into those worlds, of living the stories we had cherished, was both thrilling and terrifying.

 "Do you accept?" Zelretch asked, his voice low but powerful, echoing in the vast space around us.

We were surprised, excited, and terrified all at once. John dragged me closer to, whispering quickly, "I have a bad feeling about this, sis," he said, his eyes darting nervously.

"I know," I replied, a grin forming despite the fear. "Knowing Zelretch, things won't go smoothly. But this might be our only chance to be isekai'd and live out our dreams. And if we play our cards right, we might even meet our waifu and husbando."

My brother's eyes lit up for a moment, but he still looked worried. "That sounds perfect, but still, it's Zelretch."

I nodded, thinking quickly. An idea came to mind, and I turned to face the old man. "Alright, Lord Zelretch," I said, doing my best to keep my voice steady. "We'll take you up on that offer, but we have a few conditions."

An absolute chill ran down my spine as Zelretch's expression turned subtly curious. One of the most powerful being in the Nasuverse was now focused solely on us. "Proceed," he said, his tone even.

Swallowing hard, I continued, "First, we want to go to High School DxD, second, we want a powerful cheat skill and lastly, let us keep our memorys." My voice gained confidence as I finished, standing straighter.

Zelretch's response was simple. "Done. Whenever you're ready, let me know."

"Why that world?" my brother whispered cautiously. "I'll tell you later" I responded. My brother stepped forward, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. "Can we at least say goodbye to our parents?" he asked, his voice wavering.

Zelretch's eyes glimmered with something cryptic. "It wouldn't matter," he said, as if something was off.

My brother's face fell, but I recognized that look—he was about to use his crocodile tears. His eyes welled up, and his lower lip trembled.

The old man's calm demeanor shifted just a touch. He sighed, a subtle concession. "Fine. You may write letters." He summoned a couple of pen and paper, we started scribbling our final heartfelt words to our parents, for it was the last time we will see them.

"ARE YOU READY?" the wizard marshal exclaimed.

My brother's eyes locked with mine, a silent question passing between us. Without hesitation, we both nodded.

"Yes," we said in unison.

Zelretch's smile turned sly again. "Very well. Let your journey begin."

And with a snap of his fingers, the cosmic space around us exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors and light, pulling us into the unknown.

…

The twins had left Zelretch's domain, their presence now marked in another world. In a dense forest surrounding a small village far from civilization, the cries of newborn twins pierced the quiet night—a boy and a girl, their fates bound by the powerful threads of fate. Zelretch watched from his orb, the ashes of the letters smoldering in his hand. "Now, let's see how this plays out," he murmured, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. He changes the view on the orb, showing a new born baby boy, taking his first breath of life. Surrounded by his parents and extraordinary people.

To Be Continued