Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is purely a fanfic for enjoyment.
Cross-over from various games, books, anime, manga, and movies.
The familiar characters you see here belong to their respected authors and owners.
"Speech"
Arc 6: Drama In Life - Chapter 9
The bird is singing, and the Candy People are murmuring among themselves — their voices like the crinkle of wax paper, warm and vibrant beneath the morning sun. I must admit, life is great.
Yet, something inside me knows this isn't the same great it once was.
I now realize many things are different than before. There's a constant, gnawing urge to see more, taste deeper, touch the intangible, hear what hides beneath sound, and smell beyond the surface of the world. Every sense is sharpened, but with that comes a strange calm, a depth of self-control I never had in the past. Was this what Boss meant by using the Heart of Eldritch often? If so, I really need to harness it more. It's not just power — it's perception, it's clarity, if such a word still applies to what I see.
Still, I can't help but wonder: what else can it do, this eldritch core nestled in my being? What have I only just brushed against — and what is waiting to be pulled into the light, or dragged from the dark?
I grin as I stand at the highest point of the Candy Kingdom — the peak of the Candy Castle, overlooking a pastel world that now writhes just slightly at the edges when I stare too long. It used to be cute. Now it feels ancient.
Thanks to heavily mutating the Ten Shadows Technique, the Divine Dogs have become Eldritch Hounds — warped, watching things stitched from bone logic and alien instinct. The other Shikigami have followed suit. They now bear forms that ignore natural symmetry and speak in the silence between thoughts.
I can leave them to guard the girls while I'm away, and know—truly know-I don't need to worry about their safety. The Hounds see more than I ever could. They recognize threats not by form but by intention and narrative weight.
The world has changed. Or maybe I've finally begun to see it as it always was.
"Ah… I'm starting to see Nyarla's and others' points of view now." I mutter, my grin widening as I rub my chin, eyes never leaving the strange, flickering forms of the Candy People below. "Damn… I'm still weak, if this is only the barest hint of what they perceive."
Then, a voice—clear, feminine, and reverent—spills through the air behind me, laced with strange affection.
"Compared to those outside the Eldritch pantheon, you've already stepped far beyond mortal comprehension."
I turn, expecting some mimicry or hallucination. What I find is… Blake Belladonna. But not the one I remember.
She wears a gothic maid uniform, the frills woven with thread too dark to reflect light. Her cat ears twitch subtly, but her bow is gone, revealing her completely, perhaps intentionally. Her eyes shimmer, not with life, but with something crafted… something placed there.
"Do I know you?" I ask, my grin sharp as ever, though my voice loses its joy. My fingers curl as I cast Bakudō #63: Sajo Sabaku, and the chains respond to my will. Thick, blackish-green, pulsing with incomprehensible symbols made into chains. They erupt from nothingness, binding her tightly.
She gasps, her breath hitching as pain lances through her, but something stranger glows in her eyes. Not suffering. Not a surprise.
"Greetings, Lord Heart." Blake manages, the chains tightening with each movement. "I am Blake Belladonna… once of Remnant, the very same one that gratefully gave birth to Lady Ruby Rose and Lady Weiss Schnee. My existence was remade by those who dwell in the outer silence, molded to your desires. My former soul… offered up as tribute. What stands before you now is a vessel… a gift."
She tries to bow, but the chains restrict her violently. She cries out, a strangled sound laced with emotion that doesn't belong in a place like this.
I release the Kido, watching her stumble forward, still composed. Still kneeling. My gaze narrows.
"If you're here in a physical form… then what of the original? Does Ruby still have access to your Semblance?"
At this, her expression fractures. Her eyes tremble, then widen—too wide, and cold sweat breaks across her skin.
"N-No, Lord Heart… Lady Ruby Rose continues to wield that power. I am… a new vessel. A construct is born from the space between meanings. This body—" She places a hand over her chest, as though trying to remember where her heartbeat should be. "—was shaped to… fit your resonance. To be pleasing. But the essence you knew remains untouched. This… is something else."
Her pupils dilate further. Something is slipping behind her eyes. I feel a disconnect between identity and presence, memory and design.
This Blake is not whole. She may not even be original, that Ruby had sacrificed in the past.
I step closer. Her breath catches, not out of fear, but from expectation.
The question that forms in my mind is simple, but the implications are not.
"Who decided you belonged to me?"
And more importantly… what else have they sent?
"I have no right… Nor have I been blessed to know their name." Blake says, her voice fragile now, like a cracked pane of glass under pressure. "But I was told to inform you they are…"
She hesitates. Visibly.
A deep shiver runs through her, one that seems to resonate beyond her body, echoing in the stale, twisted air around us.
I narrow my eyes, walking toward her. My hand lifts, slow and steady, and I grip her chin, tilting her face upward until her eyes meet mine. Her pupils contract, glassy and trembling.
"Come on." I say softly. "Tell me. Who are they?"
Her lips twitch.
"They… are called…"
She swallows.
"…Boss."
The moment the word escapes her, reality lurches.
But it isn't a word. Not really. Not in English. Not Japanese. Not in any tongue I've ever known and yet, impossibly, I understand. The sound isn't a word, it's a concept—a vibration of meaning that bypasses language, slicing directly into the part of me that knows without knowing why.
It's not just a name. It's an authority. A command written into the fabric of being.
And as that word leaves her lips, her eyes immediately roll back into her skull.
She collapses forward… yet remains kneeling, held upright as though invisible hands still prop her up, frozen in a grotesque imitation of reverence.
My breath catches in my throat.
The silence that follows isn't empty. It's listening.
Boss.
Even though it sends low-frequency pressure through my mind, it feels like my brain is being folded inward. A tension coils at the base of my skull, as if something ancient and unseen just turned its gaze toward me.
I stare at Blake's still form.
Wait a second. Boss?! As in… the same Boss who hired me to be the caretaker in the very beginning?
A sudden clarity pierces through the fog in my mind. That lingering uncertainty, that gnawing, half-formed question that's been with me since I accepted the role, just received its answer. I don't know how I know it's the same Boss. But I do know.
And that certainty rattles something deep inside me. Not fear. Not awe. Something older. Something nameless.
I can't find the words to describe what I'm feeling, only that the confirmation changes things. It reshapes the foundation of my understanding in subtle but irreversible ways. Boss didn't just give me a role. They've been orchestrating events from a distance, reaching across planes of meaning and identity.
With that confirmation, the fog clears. Any potential misunderstandings are dead.
Now… what am I to do with Blake?
She claimed to be here solely for my pleasure. A vessel. A gift. A tool.
The idea echoes in my skull like a hammer striking wet stone. I don't feel disgusted. I don't feel thrilled. I feel… curious.
Is there any part of her that remembers free will? Or was she never truly herself?
I sigh and turn away for a moment, mentally shifting my perception.
I check on the girls through the Eldritch Hounds, now occupants of the cracks between nothingness and reality. I embedded them there to watch over the others in my absence, invisible and untraceable.
A ripple of confirmation reaches me.
They're enjoying themselves. Safe. Relaxed.
For now, at least.
I look back at Blake, debating whether I'm actually horny enough to take her up on her offer.
Odd as it sounds… I'm not.
Which is strange. Very strange.
Given my current situation, with a literal hentai-world Blake kneeling submissively in front of me, you'd think Lucky Pervert would be tripping over itself to trigger some absurdly lewd scenario. But there's… nothing. Not even a twitch of interest.
I wonder if this emotional stillness is the effect of the Heart of Eldritch, or perhaps a side effect of one of my other cheats, muting or filtering impulses. Either way, the clarity it offers is unsettling. It's like trying to feel lust through layers of static.
I snap my fingers.
With a pulse of Boundary Manipulation, Blake's unconscious state is undone, reality bending to my whim. She blinks, discovering she is no longer unconscious.
"Good, you're awake." I say calmly, eyes locked on hers, unblinking. "Now… is there anything else you've been assigned to do, aside from being my sexual relief?"
Even as I speak, I use Invasion—reaching into the surface layers of her mind, thoughts and emotions blooming like echoes across my senses.
Blake doesn't flinch. She bows deeply, pressing her head to the sugary rooftop beneath us.
"I am tasked with taking care of all your needs while you carry out your duties as The Caretaker, The Home, and The Heart." Blake replies with absolute devotion.
Her thoughts confirm it. There is no resistance, no duplicity, only certainty and purpose carved into her psyche like permanent markings.
She believes this role completely.
I keep my gaze fixed on Blake, her posture unmoving, head still lowered to the candy-tiled rooftop.
"And what would you do while I'm not in need of your services?" I ask, my voice neutral but firm, testing the boundaries of her obedience.
"I will remain by your side, awaiting your command." Blake answers without lifting her head. Her voice is calm and practiced, yet her thoughts, which I can perceive through Invasion, tell a different story. There's a desperation there, unspoken pleas buried beneath layers of discipline. She wants to stay.
"And how long would I be allowed to keep you?" I ask, watching for even the slightest shift.
"Until you deem me unworthy to be by your side." Blake says. Her words are steady, but her thoughts swirl with memories—endless hours of training, trials, and sacrifices. A lifetime of preparation for a role she clearly reveres… or fears.
Interesting.
Whoever got Blake through Ruby's sacrifice really put her to work to make her anything less than perfection before Boss got their hands on her.
"You were put through hell before you even got here." I say quietly.
Blake doesn't respond. But her thoughts flash like lightning: broken memories of forced confrontations, long silences filled only by the echo of her own footsteps, trials where failure meant starting from the bottom again. All for the sake of becoming "worthy" of serving someone like me.
"Take joy, Blake. As I'll use you forever." I pull her up, forcing her to look at me again as I give her the biggest smile I can make. "Rejoice, for you no longer have to go back to those places as long as you serve me well."
Blake's face turns pale—so suddenly, it's as if all warmth has been pulled from her skin. Her thoughts begin to race, spiraling into a whirlwind of fear, fragments of regret slipping through like cracks in a dam. She's trying to suppress them, but I see everything. Every single thought.
And I can feel it too. My smile.
It isn't comforting to her. It's wrong. It's too wide. Too unnatural. Twisting something ancient and unknowable just beneath the surface of my expression, and it's bleeding through.
My influence, the Heart of Eldritch, is shaping more than just space and time now. It's bleeding into perception. Even passive acts, like smiling, carry weight I hadn't intended.
Or maybe I had—subconsciously.
Blake flinches slightly. Not from any action I take, but from my very presence. From how it presses against her soul like a heavy, unseen tide.
"You're not being punished." I say, voice even but layered with that subtle echo I've grown used to—like multiple voices whispering the same words from slightly different tunes.
But the damage is done. Her fear has already cracked through her composure. Her thoughts scream not with defiance, but with the desperate plea of someone who has never truly stopped bracing for pain.
That's when I realize: she's not afraid of me hurting her. She's afraid of failing me—of being discarded. And that fear runs deeper than anything physical or mental.
I step back slightly and lower my smile, adjusting my expression into something calmer, more human.
"Rejoice, Blake. You now have a new life as part of the Eldritch pantheon." I whisper.