Cg2
"I can make basically anything!" Rimuru continued enthusiastically. "Buildings, food, clothes, magical tools, pocket dimensions—" she gestured at the garden around them, "—pretty much whatever you can imagine!"
"Are there limits to what you can create?" Denji asked, genuinely curious.
"Well..." Rimuru tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I can't create actual life from nothing—souls are outside my domain. And I can't make things that violate fundamental cosmic laws. Oh! And I can't duplicate unique divine artifacts. Everything else is fair game!"
"She's being modest," Durga noted. "Rimuru's creation abilities rival those of primordial genesis deities. The difference is her... creativity."
"Most creation gods are sticklers for rules," Arcueid explained, refilling her flask from a bottle that hadn't been there a moment before. "Rimuru just makes whatever pops into her head."
"Which has caused no small amount of interdimensional incidents," Mitra added with a pointed look.
"That business with the sentient pudding dimension was an accident!" Rimuru protested. "How was I supposed to know desserts would develop consciousness when given enough magical energy?"
Denji couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. "You created a dimension of sentient pudding?"
"The Flan Republic is actually quite sophisticated now," Rimuru said defensively. "They've developed a very progressive constitutional monarchy."
"Moving on," Marie suggested gently, though her eyes twinkled with amusement.
All eyes turned to Shiki, who had remained silent throughout the others' stories, sitting slightly apart from the group. She met their gazes with her unnervingly steady one.
"I am Shiki Ryougi. I see the death of all things. When necessary, I enforce those deaths."
She fell silent, apparently considering her introduction complete.
"Um... could you maybe elaborate?" Denji asked after an awkward pause.
Shiki tilted her head slightly. "What more is there to say? I perceive the points where existence can be severed. The lines where reality is vulnerable. I can trace these lines to end anything—objects, concepts, lives."
"Shiki represents finality," Marie explained when it became clear the woman wouldn't elaborate further. "The necessary conclusion that gives meaning to existence."
"I am not a concept," Shiki corrected flatly. "I am a knife."
"A metaphorical knife?" Denji asked nervously.
"No."
Another uncomfortable silence fell.
"Shiki's abilities are unique even among divine beings," Durga explained diplomatically. "She can terminate anything—including those generally considered immortal or indestructible."
"Which makes her both incredibly valuable and incredibly dangerous," Mitra added.
"Is that why you keep staring at me?" Denji asked Shiki directly. "Because you can't see my... death lines or whatever?"
"Yes." Shiki's gaze remained fixed on him. "Everything has a death. Even stars. Even gods. I see Mitra's death, Durga's death, all of them. But not yours. It's like looking at a hole in reality."
"That's... creepy," Denji admitted.
"Yes," Shiki agreed without changing expression. "It is."
Arcueid snorted. "And that concludes our 'getting to know you' session with Ms. Personality."
"Don't mind Shiki," Rimuru whispered loudly to Denji. "She's actually nice once you get past the whole 'I can kill anything' vibe!"
"I heard that," Shiki said.
"I know!" Rimuru beamed back at her.
Denji looked around at the seven divine beings—each so different, yet all somehow bound to him. "Thanks for sharing your stories. I guess it's my turn now, huh?"
"If you wish," Marie said gently. "Though we don't require it."
"There's not much to tell," Denji shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "I was born, my mom died when I was little, my dad raised me until he... until he killed himself because of debt. Then I was on my own, trying to survive. Then I found the shrine and met all of you. That's pretty much it."
He expected pity, perhaps patronizing comments about his brief, unremarkable life compared to their cosmic existences. Instead, he was met with thoughtful silence.
"You survived," Durga said finally, her tone holding something like respect. "Alone, against odds that would break many adults. That shows significant strength."
"I just did what I had to do," Denji mumbled, uncomfortable with the praise.
"Necessity often reveals true character," Jeanne observed. "Many who claim courage in comfort falter when truly tested."
"I'm more interested in what comes next," Arcueid said, leaning forward slightly. "Now that you have seven divine beings at your command—metaphorically speaking—what do you want, kid?"
The question caught Denji off guard. What did he want? For so long, his desires had been limited to the basics of survival—food, shelter, safety. The concept of wanting beyond that seemed almost foreign.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I never really thought about it. I've been too busy trying not to starve."
"A universal starting point," Marie nodded. "But perhaps now you can consider possibilities beyond survival."
"I guess... I'd like to finish school, eventually. Maybe have a normal life?" Denji paused, considering. "Actually, I'd really like to go to a convenience store and buy something without having to count every yen or check for discounts. Just walk in and get whatever I want."
It was such a simple wish that Denji immediately felt foolish for voicing it. These beings had existed for eons, shaped civilizations, witnessed cosmic events—and his big dream was to shop at a konbini without worrying about money.
To his surprise, Rimuru clapped her hands excitedly. "A shopping trip! That's perfect!"
"I can certainly create whatever foods you desire," Mitra said, looking slightly confused.
"It's not about the food," Marie explained with gentle understanding. "It's about the experience. The normalcy."
"The dignity," Durga added perceptively.
Denji nodded, grateful for their comprehension. "Yeah, exactly."
"Then let's go!" Rimuru bounced to her feet. "Field trip to the convenience store!"
"All of us?" Jeanne asked, looking concerned. "Seven divine beings accompanying one boy to a small shop might attract unwanted attention."
"We'll need to appear more... conventional," Mitra agreed.
"I don't need everyone to come," Denji said quickly. "I just thought—"
"The binding requires proximity," Durga reminded them. "We cannot be more than 100 meters from Denji."
"Not a problem!" Rimuru declared. "We'll just create inconspicuous identities! It'll be fun!"
"Fun is not the objective," Mitra sighed. "But I suppose a brief excursion would provide useful information about our current environment."
And so, after much discussion about appropriate attire, behavior protocols, and emergency contingencies (primarily led by Durga and Jeanne), the bizarre group prepared to venture into Tokyo.
The nearest convenience store was only a few blocks from the shrine, but those blocks might as well have been miles for the impact they had on Denji's divine companions. Each reacted differently to modern Tokyo:
Mitra walked with imperial posture, clearly disapproving of the "chaotic urban planning and aesthetic disharmony," as she put it. She had adopted the appearance of a fashionable business woman in a cream-colored suit, though she couldn't quite hide the subtle glow that seemed to emanate from her skin.
Durga surveyed everything with tactical precision, constantly scanning for threats. Her four arms were concealed through some divine trick, making her appear as a striking but not impossible athletic woman in practical clothing. The bangles remained, though muted, occasionally chiming with otherworldly tones.
Jeanne seemed fascinated by the technology—traffic lights, vending machines, electric signs—stopping frequently to examine modern innovations with wide-eyed interest. Her modern clothes couldn't quite mask her military bearing, but she might pass for an off-duty soldier.
Marie moved serenely through the bustling streets, occasionally offering a kind word or smile to strangers who seemed troubled. She had chosen a simple blue dress that somehow made her stand out more rather than less—her gentle aura attracting glances from passersby.
Arcueid sauntered along as if she owned the sidewalk, drawing numerous appreciative looks from people of all genders. She had enhanced rather than diminished her striking appearance, wearing designer sunglasses and clothing that screamed wealth and confidence.
Rimuru bounced from storefront to storefront, exclaiming over everything from vending machines to street fashion, creating a small spectacle wherever she went. Her enthusiasm was infectious, drawing smiles from even hurried commuters.
And Shiki... Shiki moved like a shadow at the edge of the group, her expression unchanged, occasionally causing passersby to unconsciously cross to the other side of the street without quite understanding why.
"Everyone's staring at us," Denji muttered, hunching his shoulders slightly.
"Of course they are," Arcueid replied. "We're gorgeous. Humans are drawn to divine beauty—it's instinctual."
"I believe the term is 'rubbernecking,'" Durga observed dryly.
"We should have sent a smaller contingent," Mitra sighed.
"Too late now!" Rimuru sang out. "Oh look, there's the store!"
The convenience store stood at the corner, its bright lights and colorful signage a beacon of normalcy. For Denji, who had often gazed through its windows with empty pockets and an emptier stomach, it represented both temptation and deprivation. Now, with Rimuru's created money in his wallet, he approached the door with a strange mix of excitement and trepidation.
"Remember the protocols," Durga instructed as they reached the entrance. "No powers, no divine manifestations, minimal interaction with mortals."
"We're buying snacks, not launching a military campaign," Arcueid rolled her eyes.
"Tactical awareness is never inappropriate," Jeanne countered.
"Can we just... go inside?" Denji asked, embarrassed by their very public discussion.
Marie placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Lead the way, Denji. This is your experience."
Taking a deep breath, Denji pushed open the door, the familiar electronic chime announcing their arrival. The middle-aged clerk glanced up, did a double-take at the procession of inhumanly beautiful women accompanying a teenage boy, then quickly looked back down at his magazine.
The store was empty except for them, which was a small mercy. Denji stood for a moment, taking in the familiar aisles of packaged foods, drinks, and daily necessities—all items that had been tantalizingly out of reach for months.
"Get whatever you want," Rimuru encouraged. "It's on me!"
The seven divine beings spread out through the small store, each approaching the mundane space in their characteristic way:
Mitra examined packaged foods with suspicious precision, reading every ingredient label as if testing for cosmic poisons. "The preservative content in these items is concerning," she announced to no one in particular.
Durga positioned herself near the entrance, maintaining sightlines to all corners of the store, occasionally picking up an energy drink to inspect its caffeine content with professional interest.
Jeanne methodically worked her way through the aisles, studying each item as if conducting reconnaissance in unfamiliar territory. "The tactical applications of instant noodles are significant," she murmured. "Compact nutrition deployable with minimal resources."
Marie drifted toward the medical section, examining pain relievers and cold medicines with compassionate interest, occasionally adding items to a small basket—things Denji might need but wouldn't think to purchase for himself.
Arcueid made a beeline for the alcohol section, grimacing at the selection. "This is what passes for spirits in the mortal realm? Pitiful." Nevertheless, she selected several high-end options.
Rimuru zoomed from shelf to shelf, exclaiming over everything from candy to toiletries, creating a small whirlwind of enthusiasm. "Denji! Have you tried these? Or these? Or THESE?"
And Shiki... Shiki stood motionless in the center of an aisle, staring at a display of bread rolls with the same intensity she'd directed at Denji the night before.
"They have no death," she said when Denji approached cautiously. "Preserved beyond their natural ending."
"That's just preservatives," Denji explained awkwardly. "Chemicals to make food last longer."
Shiki looked unconvinced. "Unnatural."
Meanwhile, Denji found himself frozen in indecision before the endless options. After so long having no choices at all, the variety overwhelmed him. What did he actually want?
His eyes fell on a simple display of melon bread—sweet, fluffy rolls that had been a rare treat in better times. He reached for one, then hesitated.
"Is that what you desire?" Mitra asked, appearing beside him.
Denji nodded, feeling oddly vulnerable in his simple want.
"Then take it," she said, her voice softer than he'd heard before. "Take what nourishes you."
Something in her tone gave him permission. Denji grabbed the melon bread, then added a chocolate one, then curry bread, then a bottle of milk, then his favorite brand of canned coffee. Each selection became easier than the last, a small reclamation of normalcy.
When he approached the counter with his armful of items, the rest of the divine beings converged with their own selections—ranging from practical (Marie's first aid supplies) to indulgent (Arcueid's premium sake) to downright bizarre (Rimuru had somehow accumulated one of almost everything in the store).
The clerk's eyes widened at the mountain of merchandise. "Uh, together or separate?"
"Together," Marie said smoothly before an argument could break out.
As Rimuru produced a wallet that definitely hadn't existed moments before, Denji spotted something that made his blood freeze—a familiar face on a missing person poster taped to the counter. His face.
The poster was weathered, clearly months old, but unmistakably him—a school photo from before his father's death, with contact information for child services. "MISSING: Denji Himura, 14 years old."
Someone had been looking for him. Someone had cared enough to report him missing, to post flyers. The realization hit him like a physical blow.
"Denji?" Marie's concerned voice seemed distant. "What's wrong?"
He couldn't speak, could only point mutely at the poster. Seven divine gazes followed his finger, then returned to his face with varying expressions of understanding.
Without a word, Shiki reached out and traced a line across the poster with her finger. The paper split perfectly along the line, the half with Denji's face curling away and falling behind the counter, leaving only contact information visible.
"Problem solved," she said flatly.
"That's not—" Jeanne began to protest.
"Later," Durga cut her off with a meaningful look at the clerk, who was watching them with increasing suspicion.
They paid for their purchases—an amount that made Denji's eyes widen despite knowing the money was magically created—and exited the store in tense silence.
"Someone was looking for me," Denji said once they were outside, his voice small.
"Child protection services," Marie confirmed gently. "After your father's death, someone must have reported your situation."
"But no one ever found me." Denji clutched his bag of bread rolls. "I was sleeping in parks, in alleys, right out in the open."
"The system is imperfect," Jeanne said, her expression troubled. "Even in modern times."
"This complicates matters," Mitra observed. "If the boy is officially missing, establishing a legal identity will be more challenging."
"We can work with that," Arcueid said with surprising seriousness. "My contacts can create documentation showing you were found and placed with guardians—us."
"False documentation?" Jeanne frowned.
"Unless you'd prefer explaining seven divine beings to child services," Arcueid countered.
As they debated legal strategies on the walk back to the shrine, Denji fell into troubled silence. The simple joy of his convenience store purchase had been overshadowed by the reminder of his precarious existence, the system that had failed to catch him when he fell.
Unexpectedly, it was Shiki who fell into step beside him. "You are troubled by a paper with your face," she observed.
"I'm troubled that I didn't know anyone was looking for me," Denji corrected quietly.
Shiki considered this. "Would it have changed your actions?"
"I don't know. Maybe? If I'd known there was somewhere to go..."
"There was nowhere to go," Shiki stated factually. "If there had been, you would have gone there."
Her blunt assessment was oddly comforting in its clarity. Denji nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
"I am always right about endings," she replied. "And yours had not yet come."
They walked in silence for several steps before Shiki spoke again. "The bread you purchased. It holds significance beyond nutrition."
It wasn't quite a question, but Denji answered anyway. "Yeah. My mom used to buy me melon bread as a treat when I was little. Before she got sick."
Shiki nodded once, accepting this information. Then, in a movement so unexpected that Denji almost missed it, she reached into his bag and extracted one of the melon bread rolls, examining it with clinical interest.
"This item triggers positive memory associations for you."
"Um, yes?"
"Interesting." She held out her hand. "I would like to try it."
Confused but unwilling to refuse, Denji nodded. Shiki carefully unwrapped the bread, studied it for another moment, then took a precise bite. Her expression didn't change as she chewed and swallowed.
"Sweet. Artificial. Not unpleasant." She handed the remainder back to Denji. "Thank you for sharing your memory."
Before Denji could respond to this strange interaction, Rimuru bounced back to join them, arms full of colorful convenience store purchases.
"Denji! I got you something!" She thrust a small package at him—a limited edition collectible figure from an anime he used to watch before everything fell apart.
"How did you know I liked this series?" he asked, surprised.
Rimuru tapped her temple. "Creation powers include wish-reading! I sensed you looking at it but being too shy to get it yourself!"
"That's kinda invasive," Denji pointed out, though without real annoyance.
"Probably!" Rimuru agreed cheerfully. "But your face just now was worth it!"
Despite himself, Denji smiled. The convenience store trip hadn't gone exactly as planned, but holding his purchases—treats chosen freely, not from desperation—still felt like a small victory.
As they approached the shrine, which looked exactly as it had before from the outside—crumbling and abandoned—Denji found himself wondering what other small normalcies he might reclaim, with seven divine beings bound to his side.
And what complications their presence might create.
Chapter 4: The Midnight Council
Denji woke with a start, his heart racing. It took him a moment to remember where he was—not in an alley or under a bridge, but in a comfortable room in the transformed shrine. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting gentle shadows across his new possessions.
A nightmare. The same one he often had—finding his father's body, the loan sharks arriving the next day, being forced onto the streets. Except this time, there had been seven pairs of glowing eyes watching from the darkness, judging him.
He sat up, rubbing his face. Despite the comfortable futon and full stomach—they'd had a feast for dinner, with each divine being contributing something to the meal—sleep remained elusive. Too much had happened too quickly.
A soft sound caught his attention—voices from somewhere in the shrine, speaking in hushed but intense tones. Curious, Denji slipped from his futon and padded silently to the door. The voices grew clearer as he crept down the hallway toward what had become a central gathering room.
"—cannot remain indefinitely in this state," Mitra was saying, her voice tight with restraint. "The cosmic implications alone—"
"We've been over this," Arcueid interrupted. "None of us can break the binding. Not even Shiki's death perception works on it."
"Because it exists beyond conventional reality structures," Rimuru added. "It's metaphysically anchored to something outside normal dimensional parameters."
"Speculation doesn't solve our immediate dilemma," Durga's practical voice cut through. "The boy needs protection and guidance while we determine a solution."
"If there is a solution," Marie said quietly. "We must consider the possibility that this binding is permanent."
Denji froze in the hallway. They were talking about him—about how to escape their connection to him. The realization shouldn't have hurt; of course divine beings wouldn't want to be forever bound to an unremarkable human teenager. Yet something twisted painfully in his chest.
"I examined the summoning circle's remnants," Jeanne's voice joined the discussion. "The script contains elements from at least seventeen different divine languages, some of which I don't recognize—which is concerning in itself."
"Whoever created it was either a genius or insane," Rimuru mused. "Possibly both."
"The question remains," Mitra pressed, "what is our strategy? We cannot simply live indefinitely in this pocket dimension with the child."
"Why not?" Marie asked simply.
A moment of surprised silence followed her question.
"Because we have responsibilities," Mitra finally answered. "Duties. Realms to oversee. Cosmic functions to maintain."
"Do we?" Marie's voice remained gentle but carried unexpected weight. "Or is that what we've told ourselves to justify our separation from the worlds we were meant to serve?"
"Philosophical discussions won't resolve practical problems," Durga interjected. "The binding exists. Until we find a way to dissolve it, we must adapt to our current circumstances."
"Which means what, exactly?" Arcueid asked. "Playing house with a teenager for the foreseeable future?"
"It means," Shiki's voice entered the conversation, causing Denji to tense—her voice was coming from directly behind him, "acknowledging our audience."
Denji spun around to find Shiki standing silently in the darkened hallway, her eyes gleaming slightly in the darkness. She must have been there the entire time, watching him eavesdrop.
"I—" he began, but she simply stepped past him and entered the gathering room.
"The boy is listening," she announced to the others.
With his cover blown, Denji had no choice but to follow her into the room. The seven divine beings were arranged in a rough circle—Mitra seated formally on a cushion, Durga standing with arms crossed, Jeanne at attention beside a window, Marie in a comfortable chair, Arcueid sprawled across a couch, Rimuru perched on what appeared to be a floating cushion of her own creation, and Shiki now taking up position against a wall.
All eyes turned to Denji as he entered, expressions ranging from surprise to concern to carefully neutral.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I heard voices and got curious."
"No need to apologize," Marie said kindly. "This discussion concerns you directly. Perhaps you should join us."
"Indeed," Mitra agreed, though less warmly. "Your perspective might be... informative."
Reluctantly, Denji sat on the empty cushion that seemed to have been placed in anticipation of his arrival—or perhaps Rimuru created it on the spot. Either way, he now found himself part of what felt distinctly like a divine council meeting.
"So you want to get rid of me," Denji said bluntly, deciding to address the elephant in the room.
"Not precisely," Mitra began carefully.
"We want to understand the binding," Durga clarified. "And yes, potentially dissolve it—not because of you specifically, but because forced servitude violates fundamental cosmic principles."
"We're not supposed to be bound to anyone," Arcueid added. "Divine beings are meant to be free agents. This situation is... unprecedented."
"And potentially dangerous," Jeanne continued. "Both to you and to the greater cosmic order."
"Dangerous how?" Denji asked, suddenly worried. "Am I going to get hurt?"
"Not directly," Marie assured him. "But the power imbalance creates instability. Seven divine entities channeling power through a mortal vessel... there are reasons such bonds are forbidden."
"The last time something similar occurred was the Babylon incident," Mitra said grimly. "An entire civilization erased from existence because a mortal couldn't contain the divine energies he commanded."
"That's not exactly comparable," Rimuru objected. "That guy was actively trying to become a god himself. Denji just wants convenience store bread."
Despite the tension, several divine lips twitched with suppressed amusement.
"Nevertheless," Durga continued, "the principle remains valid. Divine power requires appropriate channels. A mortal commanding seven such powers simultaneously risks... overflow."
"What does that mean?" Denji asked nervously.
Seven divine beings exchanged glances, clearly debating how much to reveal.
"It means," Shiki said finally, "that you could inadvertently destroy everything you touch."
"Or yourself," Marie added softly.
"Or reality in general," Arcueid shrugged. "You know, minor stuff."
Denji felt the blood drain from his face. "I don't want to destroy anything! Can't I just... not use any divine powers? Just let you all exist without ordering you around?"
"That might work temporarily," Jeanne acknowledged. "But the binding creates instability regardless of whether you actively exercise control."
"Think of it like putting seven nuclear reactors in the same small space," Rimuru explained, creating a glowing miniature illustration above her palm. "Even if they're all running properly, they still interact with each other, creating unpredictable energy patterns."
"And we've already observed strange metaphysical side effects," Mitra added. "Shiki's inability to perceive your death, for instance."
"The sensory feedback loop," Durga continued. "The physical and emotional resonance between us."
"Not to mention the interdimensional attention we're attracting," Arcueid drawled. "Trust me, other divine entities have noticed our disappearance. It's only a matter of time before they come looking."
Denji looked between them, increasingly distressed. "So what you're saying is that no matter what we do, this is going to end badly?"
"Not necessarily," Marie said, her calm voice cutting through his rising panic. "We're simply addressing possibilities, not certainties."
"There are potential stabilizing mechanisms," Jeanne suggested. "Training regimens to help the boy contain and direct the metaphysical resonance."
"Dimensional insulation protocols could minimize external detection," Durga added.
"And I can create buffer systems to absorb energy overflow!" Rimuru said brightly.
"These are band-aids, not solutions," Mitra argued. "We need to understand the original purpose of the binding to properly address it."
"Why does there have to be a purpose?" Denji asked suddenly. "What if it was just an accident?"
Seven divine beings exchanged glances again.
"Divine bindings of this magnitude are never accidental," Mitra said firmly. "The summoning circle you activated was created intentionally, with specific parameters and outcomes in mind."
"Who would create something like that?" Denji wondered aloud. "And why put it in an abandoned shrine behind a convenience store?"
"Hiding in plain sight," Arcueid suggested. "Pretty clever, actually."
"The circle's age is significant," Jeanne noted. "The spiritual residue suggests it was created at least three centuries ago."
"Playing the long game, then," Durga mused. "Setting a trap and waiting patiently for the right trigger."
"But why me?" Denji pressed. "I'm nobody special."
"That remains unclear," Mitra admitted. "The binding accepted you as worthy, despite your... ordinary status."
"Perhaps that was precisely the point," Marie suggested thoughtfully. "A vessel without predetermined cosmic significance. A blank slate."
"Or perhaps it wasn't about the vessel at all," Shiki said quietly. "But about the specific combination of divine entities."
This comment created a ripple of unease among the others.
"What do you mean?" Denji asked.
"Consider who was summoned," Shiki continued, her gaze moving from one divine being to another. "Devotion. Mercy. Balance. Martyrdom. Death. Hunger. Creation. Seven fundamental forces that, together, encompass the entire cycle of existence."
A heavy silence fell as the implications sank in.
"You think someone deliberately selected us?" Jeanne asked, looking troubled.
"I think nothing happens without reason when dealing with divine bindings," Shiki replied.
"If that's true," Durga said slowly, "then whoever created the circle not only knew of all seven of us but had the power to specifically target our essences across dimensional boundaries."
"Which narrows the list of potential creators considerably," Mitra finished, her expression grim.
"Can we not just find who made it and ask them to undo it?" Denji suggested, feeling out of his depth.
"If they still exist," Arcueid pointed out. "Three centuries is a long time, even for immortals."
"And if they were powerful enough to create this binding," Rimuru added, "they might not be someone we want to find."
Another silence fell, heavier than before.
"So what do we do now?" Denji finally asked, the weight of the situation settling uncomfortably on his shoulders.
"We adapt," Marie said simply. "We learn to exist within the parameters we've been given while seeking understanding."
"Exactly," Durga agreed. "Tactical adjustment to current conditions while maintaining strategic objectives."
"In practical terms," Jeanne elaborated, "we establish a sustainable living situation. Create legal documentation for you. Begin your education. Monitor the binding for changes or weaknesses."
"All while maintaining dimensional security protocols," Mitra added.
"And trying not to attract attention from other divine entities," Arcueid finished.
It sounded overwhelming to Denji. Just yesterday, his biggest concern had been finding enough food to quiet his hunger pangs. Now he was at the center of some cosmic mystery involving divine powers, interdimensional bindings, and potential reality destruction.
"I didn't ask for any of this," he said quietly.
"Few who find themselves at the center of cosmic events do," Marie replied gently. "But here we are nonetheless."
"The situation is what it is," Shiki stated with her characteristic bluntness. "Acceptance precedes adaptation."
"Look on the bright side," Rimuru said cheerfully. "You've got seven incredibly powerful beings looking out for you now! Plus unlimited melon bread!"
Despite everything, Denji found himself smiling slightly at her determined optimism. "When you put it that way..."
"A strategic perspective might help," Durga suggested. "Consider this binding not as a burden but as an opportunity—for all involved."
"What kind of opportunity?" Denji asked skeptically.
"For growth. For change. For new perspectives," Durga explained. "Divine beings rarely experience mortal concerns directly. There is... wisdom to be gained."
"And perhaps," Marie added quietly, "you might benefit from our accumulated experiences as well."
Denji looked around at the seven impossible beings who had been thrust into his life—or perhaps he had been thrust into theirs. Each represented forces beyond his comprehension, yet each was also, in their own strange way, a person with distinct thoughts, feelings, and perspectives.
"So we just... live together? While trying to figure this out?"
"That appears to be our current best option," Mitra confirmed, though she didn't sound entirely pleased about it.
"It won't be boring, at least," Arcueid offered with a smirk.
"I'll make it fun!" Rimuru promised. "Divine slumber parties! Cosmic cooking lessons! Reality-bending movie nights!"
"Within reasonable safety parameters," Jeanne cautioned.
"Of course, of course," Rimuru waved dismissively.
As the divine beings began debating the specifics of their cohabitation arrangement, Denji found himself watching them with a strange mix of emotions. Fear, certainly—how could he not be afraid with talk of reality destruction and cosmic instability? Confusion about his role in whatever mysterious purpose had brought them together.
But also, unexpectedly, a flicker of something like hope. For the first time since his father's death, he wasn't completely alone. Yes, his new companions were intimidating, otherworldly, and occasionally terrifying—but they were here, discussing his welfare, planning for a future that included him.
"One more thing," Shiki said suddenly, cutting through the rising debate about bedroom assignments and meal schedules. "The boy needs to understand the full implications of the command aspect of the binding."
The room fell silent again, all eyes turning to Denji.
"What about it?" he asked nervously.
"You have tried not to command us directly," Shiki observed. "This is wise. But you should understand what happens when you do."
"I feel the compulsion," Mitra explained, her voice tight. "An unavoidable pressure to obey, regardless of my own will."
"It's not just mental," Durga added. "The binding creates physical manifestations of the command. Resistance causes pain."
"Pain?" Denji repeated, horrified. "I can hurt you just by telling you to do something?"
"Only if we try to resist a direct order," Jeanne clarified. "Which is why precise language is important."
"I don't want to order any of you to do anything!" Denji protested. "Especially if it hurts you!"
"Which speaks well of your character," Marie said with a gentle smile. "But understanding the mechanism remains important."
"Requests phrased as questions don't trigger the binding," Arcueid explained. "If you ask
"If you ask me to pass the salt, I can choose whether to do it," Arcueid continued. "But if you say 'pass the salt,' with intent behind it, I'll find myself compelled to do it whether I want to or not."
"Intent matters," Durga added. "Casual statements generally don't trigger the binding. The compulsion activates when you consciously desire our compliance."
"So... I have to be careful how I phrase things?" Denji asked, running a hand through his hair. "That sounds exhausting."
"Welcome to the wonderful world of divine semantics," Arcueid said dryly. "Where words have power and everybody argues about the meaning of 'is'."
"You'll adjust," Marie assured him. "As will we. Awareness is the first step toward accommodation."
"I suggest we establish a signal," Jeanne proposed. "Something to alert Denji if his phrasing begins to trigger the binding."
"A good tactical precaution," Durga nodded approvingly.
"How about I just tug my ear like this?" Rimuru demonstrated, pulling at her earlobe.
"Too subtle," Mitra countered. "In moments of stress, such signals might be missed."
"I could create a warning light!" Rimuru suggested excitedly. "A big flashing indicator that hovers over Denji's head whenever—"
"No," several divine voices said in unison.
"Perhaps simply saying 'binding' would suffice," Marie suggested. "Direct and unmistakable."
"Agreed," Durga said. "Simple protocols are most effective in crisis situations."
Denji nodded, though his head was spinning with rules and implications. "I'll be careful. I don't want to control anyone."
"Your consideration is appreciated," Mitra said formally. "Though ultimately, the binding exists regardless of our preferences."
As the midnight council continued, discussing everything from daily schedules to metaphysical security measures, Denji found himself struggling to stay awake. Despite the existential implications being discussed, his fourteen-year-old body had reached its limit after the day's revelations and emotions.
Marie noticed first, her perceptive eyes catching his drooping eyelids. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion tomorrow. Denji needs rest."
"We've covered the essential points," Durga agreed. "Details can wait for daylight."
"Sleep is important for mortal development," Jeanne nodded.
As the divine beings rose to return to their respective rooms—another creation of Rimuru's that somehow fit within the shrine's impossible interior dimensions—Denji hesitated.
"Um, thanks. For explaining things to me. And for... not being mad that I was eavesdropping."
"Information asymmetry serves no one in our situation," Mitra replied, which Denji took as divine-speak for 'you're welcome.'
"Sweet dreams, kid," Arcueid said with a lazy salute as she sauntered toward her room. "Try not to accidentally destroy reality before breakfast."
"Ignore her," Jeanne advised. "Rest well, Denji."
One by one, the divine beings departed, until only Marie remained with him in the central room.
"Are you alright?" she asked gently. "I know this is overwhelming."
Denji considered lying, then decided against it. "I'm scared," he admitted. "I don't want to hurt anyone or break anything. I'm not sure I can handle this responsibility."
Marie's smile was soft with understanding. "Few who find themselves shouldering great burdens believe themselves capable at first. Yet capacity often grows to meet necessity."
"That's not very reassuring," Denji said with a weak smile.
"Then perhaps this will be: you are not alone in this. Whatever comes, we face it together—not just because the binding compels us, but because it is right."
The simple kindness in her words brought unexpected tears to Denji's eyes. He blinked them back quickly, embarrassed.
"Thanks," he mumbled. "I should go to bed."
Marie nodded, not commenting on his emotional moment. "Sleep well, Denji. Tomorrow is another day."
As he returned to his room, Denji found Shiki waiting in the hallway, her still gaze tracking his approach.
"You have questions still," she stated.
It wasn't a guess—somehow she knew. "Yeah, but they can wait until morning."
"Sleep and death are cousins," Shiki said, in what Denji was beginning to recognize as her version of casual conversation. "Both are temporary absences from conscious reality."
"Um, okay? Good night, then."
As he moved to pass her, Shiki spoke again. "Your missing poster."
Denji paused. "What about it?"
"Someone cared enough to create it. That troubles you."
"Wouldn't it trouble you? To find out someone was looking for you when you thought nobody cared?"
Shiki considered this with her characteristic stillness. "No one has ever looked for me. I am sought only when death is required."
The simple statement hit Denji like a physical blow. For all her otherworldly power and intimidating presence, there was something profoundly lonely in her words.
"Well," he said awkwardly, "you're stuck with us now. So I guess someone would look for you if you disappeared."
Something almost imperceptible shifted in Shiki's expression—not quite a smile, but perhaps the ghost of one. "Sleep, Denji. Your death remains invisible to me, but your exhaustion is not."
With that cryptic parting, she melted into the shadows of the hallway, leaving Denji to return to his room and collapse onto his futon, mind racing despite his exhaustion.
Seven gods, one binding, and a cosmic mystery he couldn't begin to understand. As sleep claimed him, Denji's last thought was to wonder what normal fourteen-year-olds worried about. Probably not accidentally destroying reality.
Chapter 5: Divine Home Economics
Morning brought chaos to the transformed shrine.
"This is utterly unacceptable!" Mitra's imperial voice rang through the halls. "Divine beings do not engage in such... crude activities!"
"Laundry isn't crude, it's necessary," Jeanne countered firmly. "If we're residing in physical forms, our garments require maintenance."
"I can simply manifest clean attire at will," Mitra argued. "As can any being of sufficient power."
"But Denji can't," Marie pointed out gently. "And learning household management is part of establishing normalcy."
Denji followed the voices to find an improbable sight—seven divine beings gathered around what appeared to be a chore wheel that Rimuru had created. The colorful spinning disk had been divided into sections labeled with various household tasks: Cooking, Cleaning, Laundry, Shopping, Security, Education, and Entertainment.
"I fail to see why I should participate in menial labor when I could be researching the binding," Mitra sniffed, her posture radiating divine indignation.
"Because we're all in this together," Durga stated firmly. "Operational efficiency requires equal distribution of maintenance tasks."
"I vote Rimuru does all the chores," Arcueid suggested, lounging against a wall. "She can literally duplicate herself."
"That defeats the purpose of shared responsibility," Jeanne objected.
"And it's boring!" Rimuru added. "I want to try human activities too!"
Shiki stood slightly apart from the group, examining the chore wheel with her usual intensity. "Death comes to dust as surely as to all things. Cleaning seems futile."
Seven divine beings turned as one when Denji entered, their expressions ranging from exasperation to amusement.
"Ah, Denji," Marie greeted him warmly. "We were just discussing household responsibilities."
"I heard," he said, unable to suppress a smile at the absurdity of immortal beings arguing about laundry duty. "Do gods really need to do chores?"
"Of course not," Mitra declared.
"Of course yes," Durga countered simultaneously.
"Perhaps Denji should decide," Marie suggested diplomatically. "This is, after all, primarily for his benefit."
Suddenly the focus of seven expectant divine gazes, Denji shifted uncomfortably. "I can do the chores myself. I'm used to taking care of things on my own."
"Absolutely not," Jeanne said firmly. "You require time for education and development. Distributing household tasks is more efficient."
"And more fun!" Rimuru added. "I've never done human chores before!"
"I've done them," Arcueid sighed. "They're overrated. But I make an exceptional cocktail, so I'll take beverage duty."
"Alcohol is not a household necessity," Mitra pointed out primly.
"Speak for yourself," Arcueid muttered.
"How about this," Denji suggested, approaching the wheel. "Everyone takes one section that matches their... um, divine specialty? And then we rotate the others?"
Seven divine heads tilted in consideration.
"A reasonable compromise," Durga approved. "Alignment of duties with inherent capabilities maximizes efficiency."
"I'll take cooking!" Rimuru volunteered immediately. "I can create anything!"
"Security is my domain," Durga stated, crossing her arms.
"I will oversee the boy's education," Mitra declared, clearly relieved to avoid laundry duty.
"I can handle shopping," Marie offered. "I understand human needs well."
"Entertainment falls within my purview," Arcueid claimed with a smirk. "Trust me, immortality teaches you how to have fun or go mad."
"I will assist with training and physical development," Jeanne stated.
All eyes turned to Shiki, who had remained silent.
"Cleaning," she said finally. "Dust has many deaths. I see them all."
"That's... good?" Denji said uncertainly.
With the immediate crisis of divine chore distribution resolved, attention turned to breakfast. This time, instead of competing to serve Denji, Rimuru took center stage in the kitchen, creating an elaborate meal that combined elements from various world cuisines.
"Is that normal breakfast food?" Denji asked, eyeing what appeared to be a parfait made of layered rice, fish, fruit, and something glowing slightly.
"It's better than normal!" Rimuru declared proudly. "I combined the nutritional benefits of traditional Japanese breakfast with the flavor profiles of French pastry and the energy-enhancing properties of celestial ambrosia!"
"The glowing part is ambrosia?" Denji poked it cautiously.
"Just a tiny bit!" Rimuru assured him. "Completely safe for mortals in small doses! Probably!"
"Perhaps we should establish guidelines for food preparation," Mitra suggested, eyeing the glowing breakfast with suspicion. "Mortal digestive systems have limitations."
"Spoilsport," Arcueid commented, already supplementing her meal with something from a crystal flask.
Breakfast conversation turned to the day's agenda, which apparently included setting up Denji's online education, establishing legal documentation, and beginning what Durga called "metaphysical containment training."
"What's that last one?" Denji asked through a mouthful of surprisingly delicious glowing parfait.
"Techniques to help you manage the energetic overflow from the binding," Durga explained. "Similar to meditation, but focused on metaphysical stabilization."
"Is it hard?"
"For mortals? Typically impossible," Mitra said bluntly. "But our circumstances are unprecedented, so conventional limitations may not apply."
"Great," Denji muttered. "More impossible things to worry about."
"You're doing remarkably well considering the circumstances," Marie assured him. "Adaptation takes time."
As breakfast concluded, the divine beings dispersed to their assigned tasks. Rimuru enthusiastically tackled the dishes, creating miniature water elementals to assist with scrubbing. Durga disappeared to check the shrine's perimeter defenses. Mitra retreated to what had become a library space, muttering about appropriate educational curricula.
Jeanne approached Denji with purposeful strides. "We should begin physical assessment and training immediately. Your current condition is... suboptimal."
"You mean I'm scrawny and weak from being homeless and starving?" Denji translated dryly.
Jeanne's formal expression softened slightly. "Your circumstances were not your choice, but improving your physical condition is now within your power. Shall we begin?"
In the garden that Rimuru had created, Jeanne put Denji through a series of basic exercises to assess his capabilities. Despite her military bearing, she proved a patient instructor, adapting her expectations to account for his current limitations.
"Your determination is commendable," she noted as Denji struggled through a set of push-ups. "Many would have surrendered long before reaching this point."
"On the streets, giving up means not surviving," Denji panted, arms trembling with effort.
Jeanne nodded, understanding in her eyes. "The battlefield and the streets share that truth. Surrender is rarely an option for those who wish to see another day."
As Denji collapsed after his final repetition, she offered him a hand up. "We will build your strength gradually. Your body has been in survival mode, conserving energy. With proper nutrition and consistent training, you will develop greater capacity."
"Will I ever be as strong as you?" Denji asked, half-joking.
Jeanne considered him thoughtfully. "Divine strength is different from mortal strength. But in your own way, within human limitations? Yes, you could become formidable."
Something about her serious assessment, free from condescension, made Denji stand a little straighter. "I'd like that."
"Then we shall work toward it," Jeanne promised. "Discipline and consistency are the foundations of strength—both physical and spiritual."
After training came Denji's first session with Mitra, who had transformed one of the shrine's rooms into something resembling a cross between a classroom and a temple. Scrolls, books, and what appeared to be holographic displays lined the walls, while a low table in the center held writing materials and tablets.
"Sit," Mitra commanded, gesturing to a cushion. "We must assess your current knowledge base to develop an appropriate curriculum."
Denji sat nervously. Of all the divine beings, Mitra remained the most intimidating—her regal demeanor making him acutely aware of his own ordinary status.
"I dropped out of school when my dad died," he admitted. "But I was a pretty good student before that."
"Academic achievement in mortal schools is a starting point, not a destination," Mitra said, her tone making clear her opinion of human educational standards. "However, we must begin somewhere."
What followed was the strangest examination Denji had ever experienced. Mitra's questions ranged from basic mathematics and language to philosophy, ethics, and what she called "fundamental cosmological principles"—concepts Denji had never even heard of.
"Your understanding of physical sciences is rudimentary but functional," she declared after two hours of increasingly esoteric questioning. "Your mathematical foundation requires significant reinforcement. Your linguistic capabilities are surprisingly adaptable. Your historical knowledge is fragmented and culturally biased, which is to be expected."
"So... did I pass?" Denji asked hesitantly.
Mitra's expression softened fractionally. "This was not a test to pass or fail, child. It was an assessment to guide our path forward."
"And what is that path?"
"A balanced education that honors both your human context and the broader reality to which you are now connected." Mitra waved her hand, and one of the scrolls unfurled itself, revealing a complex schedule written in shimmering ink. "We will begin with strengthening fundamentals while gradually introducing concepts beyond conventional human curriculum."
Denji stared at the dense schedule, feeling overwhelmed. "That looks... intense."
"Knowledge is power," Mitra stated simply. "And in your position, power must be balanced with understanding."
"Do I really need to know all this?"
Something flickered in Mitra's golden eyes—perhaps surprise, perhaps approval at his question. "Need? Perhaps not. But consider your circumstances, Denji. You are bound to seven divine beings, each representing fundamental aspects of existence. Would you rather navigate this reality blind, or with your eyes open to its true nature?"
Put that way, the answer seemed obvious. "Eyes open, I guess."
"A wise choice." Mitra nodded, and Denji had the strange sense he'd passed a test after all.
As the lesson concluded, Denji found Marie waiting outside the classroom.
"How was your first session with Mitra?" she asked, falling into step beside him.
"Intense," Denji admitted. "She wants to teach me everything from basic math to 'trans-dimensional cosmic principles,' whatever those are."
Marie smiled. "Mitra takes education very seriously. Knowledge has always been central to her domain—the understanding that must precede true devotion."
"She's kind of intimidating."
"She has maintained divine authority for eons," Marie pointed out. "That bearing doesn't disappear overnight. But beneath the imperial exterior lies genuine concern for order and understanding."
"If you say so," Denji said doubtfully.
"I do," Marie confirmed. "Now, would you like to accompany me on a shopping expedition? We need to establish proper supplies for your ongoing needs."
"More convenience store trips?" Denji asked hopefully.
"Something more substantial, I think. Proper clothing, educational materials, personal items."
The prospect of shopping for normal things—actual necessities, not just snacks—with someone who genuinely cared about his needs was so unexpectedly moving that Denji had to blink rapidly to clear his suddenly blurry vision.
"I'd like that," he managed.
Marie, perceptive as always, pretended not to notice his emotional moment. "Excellent. Let's gather the others who wish to join us."
In the end, it was Marie, Rimuru, and unexpectedly, Shiki who accompanied Denji on the shopping expedition. Durga remained behind to maintain security, Mitra continued her educational planning, Jeanne worked on converting part of the garden into a training ground, and Arcueid claimed she needed to "make connections" in the city—which the others seemed to understand meant establishing contact with her mysterious network.
The shopping district near the shrine offered a bewildering array of options—clothing stores, bookshops, electronics retailers, and specialty shops of all descriptions. Marie navigated with calm purpose, guiding their eclectic group with gentle authority.
"Practical items first," she decided. "Then educational supplies, and finally, personal preferences."
Rimuru bounced from store to store with endless enthusiasm, constantly discovering new human items that fascinated her. "Denji! Look at this! And this! And THIS!" Her excitement over mundane objects like pencil cases and socks was both amusing and oddly touching.
Shiki, meanwhile, moved like a silent shadow through the crowded shops, occasionally pausing to examine an item with her unnerving intensity before making cryptic observations.
"This clothing is already dying," she remarked, fingering a brightly colored shirt. "Poor quality threads. Death begins at creation."
"Maybe something more durable, then," Marie suggested smoothly, steering Denji toward higher-quality options.
As they collected necessities—underwear, socks, school supplies, toiletries—Denji found himself struggling with a lifetime of ingrained frugality.
"This is too expensive," he protested when Marie selected a well-made jacket. "There are cheaper ones over there."
"Quality serves economy in the long term," she replied gently. "This will last years rather than months."
"But—"
"Allow yourself to have good things, Denji," Marie said, her eyes kind but serious. "Poverty's shadow lingers in the mind long after circumstances change."
Her insight struck uncomfortably close to home. "Is it that obvious?"
"To eyes that know what to look for," she confirmed. "There is no shame in it."
Unexpectedly, Shiki joined the conversation. "You value bread over gold," she observed. "Practical necessities over symbols. This is wisdom, not weakness."
Coming from Shiki, the comment felt particularly meaningful. Denji nodded slowly, accepting both the observation and the implicit approval.
As their shopping expedition continued, they attracted attention—particularly Rimuru, whose boundless enthusiasm made her impossible to ignore, and Shiki, whose eerie presence caused people to unconsciously create space around her. Marie's serene beauty drew admiring glances, but her gentle manner somehow made her approachable rather than intimidating.
In a bookstore, while Marie helped Denji select educational materials to supplement Mitra's curriculum, Rimuru discovered manga.
"These are AMAZING!" she exclaimed, eyes wide with delight as she flipped through colorful volumes. "Stories with pictures! So efficient! So expressive!"
"You've never seen manga before?" Denji asked, surprised.
"I've been dimensional hopping! Different worlds have different media!" She clutched a stack of volumes to her chest. "We need these. All of these."
"That's a lot of books," Denji said doubtfully.
"Educational materials," Rimuru insisted. "Cultural context!"
Marie hid a smile. "Perhaps a reasonable selection to start?"
In the end, they compromised on a dozen volumes that Denji selected—series he'd followed before his life fell apart, plus new ones that looked interesting. The simple pleasure of choosing books for enjoyment rather than necessity felt like reclaiming a piece of normal childhood.
Their final stop was a small specialty shop that Marie insisted on visiting alone with Denji, sending Rimuru and Shiki to a nearby café to wait.
"What is this place?" Denji asked as they entered the quiet store.
"A personal item shop," Marie explained. "To replace something you lost."
The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with kind eyes, greeted Marie like an old friend, though Denji was certain they'd never met. After a brief, quiet conversation, the woman disappeared into a back room, returning with a small wooden box.
"This one, I think," she said, opening it to reveal a simple wooden shrine—similar to the one Denji's mother had kept, the one lost when the loan sharks had emptied their apartment.
"How did you know?" Denji whispered, throat tight with unexpected emotion.
"I saw it in your room," Marie said softly. "The empty space where it should have been. The memory of it in how you arranged your few possessions."
The shopkeeper smiled gently. "Your guardian has good eyes. This is a simple butsudan, but well-crafted. A proper place for remembrance."
Denji touched the smooth wood hesitantly. "I can't afford—"
"It has already been arranged," the shopkeeper interrupted kindly. "Would you like to see how to properly set it up?"
As the woman demonstrated the traditional arrangement, explaining the placement of items and proper offerings, Denji found himself fighting back tears. This small wooden shrine represented something he'd thought lost forever—a connection to his mother, a piece of home amidst chaos.
When they rejoined Rimuru and Shiki outside, laden with shopping bags, neither commented on Denji's red-rimmed eyes or the special package he carried carefully in his arms. Some things, it seemed, even divine beings understood required privacy.
The walk back to the shrine was quiet, each lost in their own thoughts until Rimuru broke the silence with her characteristic enthusiasm.
"We should have a housewarming party!" she declared suddenly. "To celebrate our new home and family!"
"We are not a family," Shiki stated flatly.
"Not technically," Rimuru agreed cheerfully. "But we're living together, sharing responsibilities, taking care of each other... sounds pretty family-like to me!"
"Divine entities do not form familial bonds with mortals," Shiki countered.
"Says who?" Rimuru challenged. "I've been a slime, a demon lord, and a god, and I've had families in all those forms!"
"I believe Rimuru's suggestion has merit," Marie interjected diplomatically. "Not as a declaration of familial bonds, but as an acknowledgment of our shared circumstance. Rituals of belonging help establish stable coexistence."
"A party," Shiki repeated the word as if testing an unfamiliar concept.
"Yes!" Rimuru bounced excitedly. "With food and games and decorations! I can create everything we need!"
"Perhaps something simple to start," Marie suggested, noticing Denji's overwhelmed expression. "A special dinner, perhaps?"
"With fancy desserts!" Rimuru added. "And games! And—"
"One thing at a time," Marie reminded her gently. "Let's discuss it with the others."
As they approached the shrine, Denji found himself thinking about Rimuru's words. Not a family—he knew that. Seven divine beings bound to a homeless teenager by some cosmic accident or mysterious plan could never be a normal family.
And yet... there was Rimuru's boundless enthusiasm, Marie's gentle guidance, Shiki's strange but sincere attempts at connection. There was Jeanne's patient training, Durga's protective vigilance, even Mitra's demanding but well-intentioned education. And somewhere in the city, even Arcueid was apparently working to establish a legal framework for their unusual household.
It wasn't a family. But maybe, just maybe, it was something close enough to matter.
Chapter 6: The Art of Divine Compromise
"Absolutely not," Durga stated, arms crossed firmly across her chest. "The security risks are unacceptable."
"It's just a small gathering," Rimuru argued, bouncing on her toes with barely contained excitement. "A housewarming party for us!"
"Which would create metaphysical resonance patterns detectable by any divine entity within three dimensional planes," Durga countered. "The culmination of seven divine auras in celebratory alignment might as well be a cosmic beacon."