The void was a cruel joke—a blank canvas smeared with the remnants of a life that had never quite begun. Roberto Virgo, eighteen and already ground to dust by the world's indifference, floated in that endless white expanse. His body, or what was left of it, screamed in echoes: the crack of a gunshot in a forgotten parking lot, the wet gurgle of a punctured lung, the boot that shattered his ribs like cheap porcelain. Blood had tasted like copper pennies then, bitter and final. Now, there was no taste at all. Just the hum of nothingness, and a figure unfolding from the shadows like a nightmare given form.
Tall, scarred, with a smirk that split the white like a knife through fog. Toji Fushiguro? Roberto's mind reeled, fragments of binge-watched animes and half-remembered light novels crashing against the haze. But no—this was no Heavenly Restriction brute. This was something older, vaster, wearing a borrowed face like a mask at a devil's ball.
The figure spread his hands wide, fingers elongating into claws that dripped with inky void. "I'm the king, god, and lord of all," the voice boomed, laced with mocking grandeur that rattled Roberto's soul. "Call me @*&%$#—or since your mortal tongue can't handle that divine stutter, Soul will do." Soul's eyes—pits of swirling chaos—locked onto him, dissecting the wreckage of a boy who'd scraped by on trade school dreams and fridge-cold beers. "You know, you didn't exactly draw the long straw in life. Bottom rung, huh? Drunk dad swinging bottles like pendulums, mom whoring out the nights to pay the rent. Siblings? Sold off like yesterday's bargains in some back-alley brothel. Damn, kid. Rough hand dealt."
Roberto's spectral form twitched, a phantom cough bubbling up blood that evaporated into mist. He wanted to snarl, to spit defiance, but the void choked it down. Instead, words clawed out, raw and desperate. "Question: Can I bundle multiple things into one wish? And can I ask for omnipotent items or powers?"
Soul's laugh was a thunderclap, echoing off the white walls that weren't walls. "Omnipotence? Unlimited authority? Nah, that'd curse you six ways to Sunday—too OP, even for a scrub like you. Pick wisely; I've got a queue of worms waiting their turn." That unchanging grin widened, teeth like shattered obsidian. "Bundle if you word it slick, though. Your move."
"Okay, chill—don't smite me." Roberto swallowed hard, mind racing through a lifetime of escapism: Jujutsu battles under neon skies, Naruto's chakra storms, One Piece seas of impossible fruit. "First wish: Change my body. Three eyes, each with an ocular power. Left: Aizawa's Erasure, but permanent—any magic or power it sees gets erased forever. Middle: Tenseigan from Naruto. Right: Obito's eye for phasing through objects and people.
"For my internals: Chakra coils and Cursed Energy." Soul's eyebrow arched like a guillotine blade. Roberto backpedaled, sweat beading on his ethereal brow. "Fine, pick one release and one technique from each. Release: Wood Style. Technique: Ten Shadows.
"And make my body like Dagon's—full package."
Soul's grin turned feral. He snapped his fingers, the sound a whip-crack across eternity. "Done."
Pain erupted like a supernova in Roberto's chest, devouring the void itself. Wings—vast, membranous things veined with iridescent scales—tore from his back, shredding spectral flesh in ribbons of agony. His spine buckled, vertebrae grinding as protrusions like demonic horns punched through skin. Legs twisted, peeling away in bloody layers to reveal webbed claws, aquatic sinew rippling beneath. Scales cascaded over his torso, a mosaic of sapphire and obsidian that burned like hellfire. He screamed, the sound a chalkboard scrape across the cosmos, fingers fusing into talons that raked futilely at the air.
His eyes—god, the eyes. He gouged at them blindly, sockets weeping ichor as the left reformed into a glaring red orb, pulsing with erasure's cold void. The right swirled into a Sharingan pinwheel, Kamui's spatial hunger whispering promises of intangibility. And in the center of his forehead, a vertical slit cracked open like a birth wound; the Tenseigan rolled upward, pale and luminous, flooding his veins with chakra's electric storm.
He collapsed into the white, unconscious, a writhing mass of half-formed monstrosity. Ten hours later—or was it eons?—he stirred, gasping as the pain ebbed to a dull roar. Soul materialized like smoke from a snuffed candle, that grin etched eternal. "Rise and shine, freakshow. We need to hustle. Five wishes left. What's next?"
Roberto rasped, still reeling, scales rasping against the void. "Second: That worm-like curse from JJK, but infused with a few items."
Soul nodded, casual as a dealer flipping cards. "Specifics, meat. Objects? Three max."
"Fine. Three." Roberto's mind whirred, scavenging his otaku arsenal. "Chain of a Thousand Miles, Gryphon—Shanks' saber—and let me create a Grimoire from Black Clover. Magma Grimoire."
Soul hummed, a dirge of amusement. "That'll scorch two wishes. Don't bitch—you know why." A pause, heavy as judgment. Roberto nodded, numb. "Okay, three left."
Soul waited, claws tapping an impatient rhythm.
"Fourth: King Crimson."
"Fifth: Moa Moa no Mi and Mochi Mochi no Mi."
"Sixth—" A glint sparked in those new, inhuman eyes, a spark of cunning amid the ruin. "I want a system."
"Done." Soul snapped again, and the void convulsed. A writhing worm-curse uncoiled from the ether, slithering into Roberto's gut with a wet schlurp, nesting like a parasite god. King Crimson flickered into existence at his right hip—ephemeral, a predator's shadow erasing time's fragile thread. Two devil fruits plopped into his clawed hands: one spiked and swirling with multiplicative hunger, the other sticky-white, mochi's deceptive pliancy. A holographic panel flickered before his vision: [System Initialized: Level 1. Welcome, Anomaly.]
But Soul's smile twisted wicked, a serpent's revelation. "Remember: Be specific, worm-bait. You skimped on the system—it's bare-bones, starter pack. All powers infantile, locked behind blood and sweat. Eat both fruits? Sure. But..." He leaned in, breath like brimstone. "Curses cascade. Total amnesia on rebirth. Mute as a grave—can't speak to a soul but that gut-leech. Powers intact, but weak as a whelp's whimper. The worm? It'll whisper your secrets from the cradle. Hah—you pathetic bug."
With a swat like brushing lint from eternity, Soul hurled him. Roberto tumbled through the void, a comet of scales and screams, crashing toward... light? Warmth? A world that wasn't his, but would bleed for it.
The Underworld's crimson skies wept eternal twilight over the Gremory estate, a sprawling citadel of obsidian spires and rose-quartz gardens that defied mortal geometry. Here, where the air hummed with demonic power and the scent of brimstone bloomed like forbidden orchids, the House of Gremory reigned—not with iron fists, but with the velvet grip of affection laced in hellfire. The clan was legend: a pillar of devil nobility, their bloodline a tapestry of crimson hair and sapphire eyes, woven with the Power of Destruction that could unmake realms. At its heart stood Zeoticus Gremory, the laid-back lord whose playful heart masked a demonic might that had turned the tides of the Devil Civil War. Beside him, Venelana Gremory—née Bael, the Brunette Ruin Princess—ruled as the iron spine to his whimsy, her violet gaze sharp as the extinction she wielded.
It was a night like any other in their eternal vigil: Zeoticus in the kitchens, apron dusted with flour from some human-world recipe he'd pilfered—a "pizza" he swore would conquer the Underworld's palate. Venelana watched from the doorway, arms crossed, her flaxen waves catching the hellfire glow of the hearths. She was a vision of poised fury, her figure curving like the forbidden fruit of Eden's darker twin, clad in a gown that whispered against marble floors. "Zeoticus," she sighed, voice a silken whip, "if you burn another batch, I'll reduce that oven to ash. We have guests tomorrow—the Phenex whelp's family. Rias's engagement hangs by etiquette, not your culinary experiments."
Zeoticus chuckled, his long crimson ponytail swaying as he slid a doughy disc into the flames. His blue eyes sparkled with boyish mischief, the short red beard framing a grin that could disarm a legion. "Ah, my love, but imagine Riser's face when I serve him 'Devil's Pie'—topped with phoenix tears for authenticity!" He flexed a hand, and a flicker of demonic energy danced across his fingers, strong enough to pulverize mountains yet gentle as a lover's touch. The Gremory affection was their true weapon: boundless, suffocating, unbreakable.
Venelana's lips twitched—a rare crack in her noble facade. She stepped closer, her Power of Destruction humming faintly, a violet aura that made the air taste of ozone and regret. "You're incorrigible. Like our son, playing the fool to hide the storm within." Sirzechs Lucifer—once Gremory, now Satan—had inherited that duality, his power a supernova cloaked in smiles. And Rias, their fiery daughter, burned with the same unyielding heart. But tonight, as thunder rumbled through the crimson clouds, Venelana felt it: a ripple in the leylines, a tear in the fabric of their infernal realm.
She whirled toward the grand window, violet eyes narrowing. "Zeoticus—do you feel that?"
He straightened, the playfulness evaporating like mist. "A summoning? No... a fall." The estate trembled, crystal chandeliers swaying as the skies split. A comet streaked down—not of fire, but of void-stuff, crashing into the rose gardens with a boom that shattered statues and uprooted thorns. Demonic hounds bayed in alarm, their eyes glowing like embers.
The couple exchanged a glance—husband and wife, lord and lady, partners in eternity's dance. Without a word, bat-like wings unfurled from their backs: Zeoticus's vast and crimson-veined, Venelana's sleek and shadowed with Bael's ruinous edge. They launched into the night, wind whipping their hair as they descended upon the crater.
There, amid pulverized petals and scorched earth, lay... a child? No—an infant abomination, swaddled in tattered shadows that evaporated like smoke. Scales glinted faintly across tiny limbs—sapphire and obsidian, hinting at abyssal depths. Webbed claws flexed weakly, wings mere nubs folded against a back that arched with nascent power. But the eyes—gods, the eyes. Three of them blinked open in the ruins: left a dull red glow, middle a pale luminescence flickering with untamed chakra, right a swirling black tomoe that drank the starlight. From its belly, a faint wriggle stirred, as if something alive coiled within.
Venelana landed first, her gown pooling like blood on the grass. She knelt, unafraid, her hand hovering over the creature. Demonic senses probed: not fallen, not angel, not even pure devil—but a nexus of other. Chakra coils thrummed faintly, cursed energy seethed like a curse in utero, and something... systemic? A framework of growth, etched in ethereal code. "It's... alive," she murmured, violet eyes widening. "And powerful. Feel the erasure in that left gaze—it's nullifying the ambient magic even now. The middle... truth-seeking, boundless potential. The right... a void that phases reality."
Zeoticus touched down beside her, his massive wings folding with a leathery rustle. He tilted his head, blue eyes alight with curiosity rather than fear. "A star-fallen, perhaps? Or a lost soul remade by some rogue godling." He reached out, gentle as cradling a flame, and lifted the infant. It stirred, a mute gurgle escaping tiny fangs—fangs that promised carnage. No cry, no words, but in its mind's eye, a worm uncoiled: Leech, it named itself in the silence, a sarcastic whisper only the child could hear. Nice landing, kid. Crashed a noble's flowerbed. Ten points for style, zero for subtlety.
The infant's eyes—Roberto's eyes, buried under amnesia—locked onto Zeoticus, the red one pulsing faintly. A nearby demonic ward flickered and died, erased in an instant. Zeoticus blinked, then laughed—a rich, booming sound that echoed through the gardens. "Well now! A destroyer in swaddling clothes. Look at you, little one—crimson potential in those scales. Almost Gremory-esque."
Venelana rose, her expression a storm of calculation and maternal instinct. She traced a finger along the babe's cheek, scales cool and resilient like Dagon's ancient hide. "We can't leave it here. The leylines are stabilizing around it—it's anchoring to us. To the House." Her mind raced: devil society teetered on alliances and bloodlines. Rias's impending union with that preening Phenex boy was fragile enough; a mystery child could upend it all. Yet... the Gremory heart stirred. Affection, boundless and foolish, demanded they claim it. "We'll raise it. As our own."
Zeoticus nodded, cradling the child closer. Its wings twitched, nubs unfurling slightly, and a holographic flicker danced in the air—[System Alert: Integration Initiated. New Realm: Underworld. Quest: Survive the Cradle.]—vanishing before they could see. The worm chuckled inwardly: Family? Ha. From street rat to devil spawn. Don't get attached, boss—they'll sell you for a better model.
"Agreed," Zeoticus said, his voice warm as hearthfire. "A son, then. Roberto... no, too mortal. Ravian Gremory—the Star-Fallen Heir. He'll need a room near Rias's; she'll dote on him, mark my words." He bounced the infant gently, ignoring the faint drain of his own magic as the red eye gazed. "And when he speaks—if he speaks—we'll teach him the ways of our world. Rating Games, peerages, the endless dance of devils and dragons."
Venelana placed a hand on her husband's arm, her touch igniting sparks of destruction and desire. "And if he's a threat?" Her voice was steel, but her eyes softened as the child grasped her finger with a clawed grip—strong, unyielding.
Zeoticus's grin returned, playful yet edged with the warlord's steel. "Then we love him harder. That's the Gremory way, my ruinous queen."
As the crimson skies healed overhead, the couple ascended back to the estate, the infant—Ravian—nestled between them. In his gut, Leech stirred: Devil parents, huh? Fancy. Just remember, kid: power's a curse. And you've got enough to burn worlds. Mute lips curved in an instinctive smirk, eyes gleaming with buried fire. The void had spat him out into hell's embrace, but hell? It felt like home.
Far above, in the cracks between realms, Soul watched, claws steepled. "Six wishes, one soul. Let's see how long you last, bug." His laugh faded into the ether, a promise of chaos yet to unfold.