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JollyHippo's Snippet Thread

Snippet 14: All Hail Fudge
A little snippet I wrote before I began Mischief Siriusly Managed, deciding on utilizing a slightly less scummy main character for the proper story.

Saving the scummy one for this snippet.

Now I'm probably wildly wrong with ages and timelines. Consider it an AU.

As usual, I do not own Harry Potter or the associated companies that deliver material from it.

Enjoy!





Waking up in a new body is not what he would have called a pleasant experience, even if it started out easy enough. The first moments had been simple confusion - the bedroom being different then the one he went to sleep in.

He had thoughts of how much he must have drank the other night and wondered who he ended up going home with - someone posh, based on the canopy bed and the green and silver walls.

It was unusually trampy behavior for himself - he rarely did one night stands, and certainly not gallivanting to strangers' bedrooms, no matter how drunk.

His head was splitting as he slowly got out of bed and searched for a bathroom, the pain certainly advocating for the - got absolutely sloshed theory.

It was just… He didn't remember going out drinking at all - it had been a quiet night at home reading, as far as he could remember. He distinctly remembered his own bed at the very least.

If this was a kidnapping situation - they were remarkably loose, he thought, as he entered the bathroom unopposed, locating the sink and groaning in relief as he turned the ornate tap on - and splashed himself with cold water.

He looked up into the mirror, and stared in shock at the unfamiliar face staring back at him. Slowly he reached up and ran a hand over his genial looking fairly plain face - light grey eyes peered back at him in rising panic. His hands rose and grasped the coiffed russet coloured hair tightly. He winced in pain as he pulled on it, telling him this was indeed his actual hair - and his actual face, somehow.

A sudden splitting migraine slammed into him as he accepted the impossible and he fell to the bathroom floor - screaming, as a lifetime of memories drowned him - unforgiving and seemingly never-ending. The pain climbing higher and higher.

In what felt like hours - he whimpered on the floor as his two lifetimes of memories assimilated, if he had the power to move his extremities he might have ended it all right there to get away from the pain - but in the end he survived. The pain lessened, and he found out what his life was.

He, somehow, had become Cornelius Oswald Fudge.

The future Minister for Magic. From the Harry Potter story!

Because of course he wasn't minister yet, he'd arrived in 1970, just as everything was kicking off.

He passed out finally, mind not able to take anymore. Nor wonder on how on earth he'd taken over a man's life and why.

Simply thankful that the pain was done.





As he gingerly started moving in the morning, he was glad for some of the memories at least. Apparently good old Cornelius was on leave from the department of magical accidents and catastrophes due to an accident - he appreciated the irony, and the fact he didn't have work today.

It would give him some time to figure out what on earth he was supposed to do.

Having received his new life's memories up to this point, he knew he had graduated Hogwarts with decent grades - nothing spectacular, and in that vein gotten a decent job at the ministry - again, nothing spectacular. The fact he was a pureblood catapulting him over other more qualified applicants of lesser status.

Apparently he was indeed a pureblood with the whole - all the grandparents were pure - nonsense needed to qualify. Although the Fudge family had been a recent creation and a minor one - an offshoot of a disinherited Selwyn and a pureblood Belgian woman fleeing Grindelwald. The name Fudge literally only existed as a pureblood family in Britain since the 40's.

His Selwyn father and Fudge mother were both dead, since right after he graduated Hogwarts - apparently in mysterious circumstances, he had never been told the full picture by the Aurors. He had to wonder, what with the time period he was in - whether his Selwyn father had been approached for recruitment and been killed for refusing. He had been disinherited for his fascination with muggles - it's unlikely he'd have joined Voldemort. Not with his wife and Cornelius mother having fled another dark lord in Grindelwald.

Perhaps this is where canon Fudge's dislike of Arthur Weasley and his muggle interests stemmed from? Personally he didn't really care other than taking in the information - his other life having subsumed any emotions of this body he'd somehow taken over. He remembered the bodies life - but felt nothing for the people in it. It was just a set of memories.

He had been born in 1945 - and was currently 25. That would make him 50 for 1995 - the timeline seemed to match somewhat. Surely the minister he remembered from the books and movies was around that age. His memories held all the people it should, even though canon was far off - it appeared he wasn't in some weird alternate universe. So far.

He'd spent almost eight years in the department for magical accidents and catastrophes now. And he knew that in canon Fudge had remained there until somehow becoming minister twenty years from now.

He'd already reached the junior minister position canon Fudge would still have two decades from now - showing how spineless and useless this body he'd taken over really was. It's a magical miracle he'd somewhere made it as far as minister for magic. Perhaps something happened? A wife? He was currently single, his memories told him. And in eight years he'd moved respectably from a regular obliviator to a team lead - to interim head of the muggle worthy excuse committee - to PR undersecretary for the same committee once its head returned - to junior minister for the whole department. Basically one of three undersecretaries to the head of the department.

Not taking the world by storm - but not too bad of a resume for eight years either. He was basically prime material for head of the department or a transfer to a high position in another.

The war must have forced Fudge to temper his ambitions and stay safe in the junior minister position. Nothing else explained it. His memories showed a ambitious man - one that ensured he was known in the ministry and did 'favors' for the right people.

No wonder the likes of Lucius Malfoy eventually made use of him.

Fudge had graduated a Slytherin back in the 1957/58 school year. It certainly fit his avarice and ambition, although a lack of will or steel in his spine had led to the hat almost shunting him off to Hufflepuff. That ambition was the only thing that ensured a Slytherin sorting.

To his surprise as he pondered the life so far of the body he now possessed - he'd been somewhat lazy in school. That ambition apparently was not enough to make him work for it.

His pure blood got him into the department once he graduated - and got him promoted, as that same lack of work effort did not produce spectacular results in the ministry either, but his networking and ability to spin a tale and socialize - ensured his continued promotions thus far.

The only time Fudge had shone was the brief time he was the PR undersecretary for the muggle worthy excuse committee - dealing with, and planting the press stories to explain away magical accidents.

Now, he was Fudge. He'd better start thinking of himself as the man. Cornelius Fudge. And what this all could mean. He'd been an ambitious man himself - but now he had access to magic. Future knowledge - blackmail or information on most major players for the next twenty plus years.

Perhaps he'd make it to Minister for Magic a lot earlier this time. And without incompetence being the name of the game.

As he sat down in his small office in the modest family cottage the Fudge family had owned - and which now belonged solely to him. He wondered, what to take advantage of first, and how to ascend the ministry in a way that did not have him run afoul of Voldemort before his downfall.

First things first - he had two months of convalescence - although he felt fine, perhaps whatever happened to the real Fudge ended badly allowing him to take his body? He'd likely never know the how or why. Either way it gave him time. Time to study up on Occlumency and magic in general - and plan for his return to the ministry.

It would be a busy two months.





Not being a fool - the first thing he practiced was magic.

He'd been a decent obliviator, so that was useful magic to already have under the belt. But it soon became apparent he hadn't been using much else. He was no Lockhart - no one was that useless. But it appeared the most magic he'd used over the last eight years had been a mix of household spells, paperwork spells, Obliviate and Apparation.

He had very rudimentary Occlumency shields - another thing the very ambitious, but lazy sod - had started on but never finished.

This short discovery period of two days of trying various magic from different disciplines and seeing where he stacked up - led to the list.

  1. Perfect Obliviate, use the house elf, he'd hardly had any other use for the bugger.
  2. Fine tune Apparation - never discount the ability to get out of dodge in a war.
  3. Find Occlumency books - git good.
  4. Practice magic, don't be a Lockhart.
  5. Exercise and eat healthier - this pudgy body is neither attractive nor useful - running away has its uses as well when needed.
  6. Find a way to alter or create new NEWT results - Fudge did you drink a befuddlement charm before the tests? How does anyone get a T in DADA?
  7. Make allies before the return to the ministry.
  8. Learn imperio - it's just too damn useful, again the house elf isn't doing anything important.
  9. Before 8. Make damn sure no one can trace/track/find out, that I'm learning an unforgivable - check wards.
  10. Imperio or blackmail department head to resign and nominate him as the replacement - war was an excellent chance to get known and excel due to how busy the department is - but also not a big risk visavi Voldemort as the department only deals with aftermaths.

A simple ten step plan. Easy to write out, much harder to pull off in just two months. But not completely unreasonable. He'd mulled it over for the past day - while researching and reaching out to those that owed him favors.

He was no master of magic and likely never would be, but he already had a decent handle on Obliviate and surely Imperio could not be that difficult or different. He was fairly sure he could manage the intent and want to control, to use the spell properly.

"Hatty!" He called out sharply, as he sat staring at his list in his small office.

With a small crack the Fudge house elf arrived - clad in a clean and well worn uniform. Hatty with his big bulbous eyes and thin frame, was all that was left of his mother's side of the family - the house elves having fled with her, carrying the belongings. Hatty was born shortly before Cornelius himself had been.

Only being out on an errand had saved the house elf when his parents had 'disappeared' together with the other house elves.

Hatty bowed lowly and waited for his instructions - he'd been a right tosser to the creature - the only one he could force to treat him as he had wished to be treated.

He'd do better from now on - he knew how useful a fully loyal house elf could be.

Well… Better after he was done practicing. Luckily he'd double checked his wards and no magic performed in this house should alert any ministry personnel. He'd even sent an owl off to a 'friend' of sorts in the DMLE who confirmed that the wards would prevent any ministry surveillance as long as they were up. Not that he'd told him anything about what he was doing - but the man owed him a favor for obliviating a muggleborn family that had seen him be dastardly, so he answered promptly.

He aimed his wand - 11 inches, springy, elm with unicorn hair. He thought of dominating the creature before him, of controlling it's every thought and action - of the wish to have power, and he uttered the spell. "Imperio!"

He could feel the spell take effect immediately - feel it overpowering Hatty's will. He took a deep breath, testing this connection - it seemed solid.

The next hour he ordered the elf to do increasingly hard and ridiculous things, testing the spell, knowing the elf was naturally predisposed to obeying to begin with.

A quick Obliviate after he released him took care of matters, he'd have to practice that to make sure he fully removed the memories and replaced them properly - he wanted no chance of a resurgence. He'd have to continue to practice Imperio as well - to make sure he'd be able to overpower a human. Eventually he'd have to find another subject other than his house elf - but it would do as a start.

No wonder it was an unforgivable - as far as he could tell he certainly wasn't a magical powerhouse. Although he wasn't anywhere near a squib for that matter either. But that spell had come easy. Just needing the will to dominate.

He turned to his list.

Now where to go from here…





Over the next two weeks he practiced Apparation consistently until he got it down to an almost completely inaudible noise - and could apparate on the fly - immediately. Even if he was jumping in the air at the time, or even rolling around the ground.

He might have gotten a bit carried away with finding scenarios he'd have to escape from. No matter, they all worked. And that's what was most important.

He was pleased with the progress - he'd have to gain a portkey license at some point and work on that next - never knew when one could come in use, but Apparation was working wonderfully. Enough for his purposes surely.

He had progressed enough with his house elf in the first week - in Imperio and Obliviate. That in the second week he started testing it on muggles. To ensure it was working - nothing else.

He'd simply find muggle companies in the phone book and use a pay phone to call different companies for a consultation at his home. When they arrived, he brought them inside the wards and Imperioed them.

He found no difficulty in this task either. He wondered if original Fudge or himself was the cause for this ease in dominating someone's will.

Once he was done ensuring the spell worked - he Obliviated the muggle, planting fake memories of a consultation that ended in no sale, but had overall been a pleasant experience. He double and triple checked his alterations and could find no faults.

It seemed house elf practice truly had prepared him well enough - as a muggle showed no difference in difficulty.

Having been a muggle, so to speak. He found it slightly frustrating even though it benefited him. He was no longer a muggle after all. Yet the ease there was in controlling one - it did disquiet him slightly.

Thankfully he should not have much need for the spells in the future.

They were more of a backup - a just in case. Other than the planned retirement of his superior.

As for other magic he found that just based on memories - he was absolute pants at Transfiguration. No wolf packs conjured up to devour his enemies would be in his future. Thankfully he was pretty handy in charms - which helped him - with his new memories - to succeed in creating a corporeal patronus during the two weeks.

Although a Hippopotamus wasn't the most flattering of spirit animals…

As for DADA, he was able to improve on his abilities, his meta knowledge helping him with spells such as Stupefy and Expelliarmus. Better then nothing for now - he'd train to become at least competent In-between his job and ambitions, there would be a war going on after all.

He was interrupted in his musings over his progress by the quiet crack of his house elf appearing before him.

"Master has visitor in the floo." Hatty squeaked out, bowing low. The creature's large nose almost touched the floor in obeisance.

Cornelius frowned, "Who is it? I'm supposed to be in convalescence." He grouched.

"Mister Lawyett, Master, Hatty can ask wizard to leave?"

"No…No I'll see him.." Cornelius said, immediately making his way towards the small sitting room that held his fireplace.

Lysander Lawyett was his only minion really. A pureblood born from a union of such minor houses that he was barely considered one by the establishment.

He'd barely scraped by Hogwarts - and had only gotten into the department due to his blood and a hefty bribe from his father.

When Cornelius became a team leader of a small squad of obliviators, Lysander had been on that team - and had immediately cocked everything up.

Not only had he messed up obliviating the witnesses - but somehow he blew up their house in the process, requiring the whole neighborhood to be Obliviated.

Cornelius had covered it up for him - saved his job, and earned a devoted minion. Who couldn't really do magic, but was a terrific sneak, incredible with gossip and rumor mongering and so average and unremarkable that he could go anywhere in the ministry without anyone noticing who he was and what he was doing there.

So immensely useful. Cornelius wondered if the original had brought him all the way to the Minister's office - or if he had died due to the war, or wandered off into someone else's employ due to the original him cowering in the same position for the entire war.

"Lysander! How nice to see a friendly face!" He said cheerfully as he entered the sitting room. Spying the boring average brown haired face of his friend/minion sticking out of the fire, his droopy eyes always making him look exhausted.

"Cornelius! Glad to see you're feeling better! Sorry to bother you unannounced, but I had news I figured you'd want to hear right away!" Lysander said hurriedly.

Cornelius sat down in an armchair in front of the fire, brows furrowed. He wasn't about to let anyone into his wards until he felt himself ready - not even Lysander.

"Is this news safe through the floo? Who's floo are you even using right now, your office doesn't have one if I remember correctly?" He asked sharply.

"I'm in Ridgewood's office -" Lysander began babbling. Cornelius reared back eyes wide, hissing out between gritted teeth, "Circe's tits, man! What are you doing in the department heads office!?"

If this is what the man considered safe means of communication perhaps he had overestimated the memories he'd received about him.

"Cornelius no one's here! Ridgewood's dead!" Lysander protested loudly.

"Morgana's rotten twat!" Cornelius swore, getting up and pacing in front of the fireplace. He'd wanted the man out of the way, sure - in a month when he was ready. And not dead - he'd been a decent boss and a friendly enough man. "Do we know how?" He fired off, mind still whirling on how bad this would mess with his timeline.

"The official report is that he fell down the stairs." Lysander reported dutifully and dubiously. His little sneak didn't believe that one bit it seemed.

"I once saw the man take a rogue bludger from the department of magical games to the face - spit out his teeth and beat their department head like a muggle!" Cornelius snapped, irritated, fell down the stairs indeed!

"Do you want me to poke into it?"

Cornelius ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "No, absolutely not, there's no benefit for us in that."

"I can't be here for long, is there anything you want me to do?" Lysander asked plaintively.

Cornelius thought it over, he'd have to rush part of the plan he'd thought up over the last two weeks. But it should still work. "Start spreading rumors that my name is up for replacing Ridgewood."

Lysander nodded, but hesitated for a moment. He was an expert in getting word around the ministry but he obviously saw the same problem Cornelius did. The man wasn't stupid - for all that he was bad at the practical side of magic.

Cornelius growled, "Yes, man, I know it won't stick just like that. Both Fawley and Williamson are ahead of me, both in name and experience, that's why you'll spread the word that I'm being backed for the post by the Blacks!"

Lysander's eyes widened, "Are they? Backing you, I mean, Cornelius?" He asked with some trepidation. The name Black scared the hell out of most of the Ministry.

"They will be by the end of the week, at the latest." He said firmly.

"...I'f they hear this rumor before they back you…" Lysander warned.

"I'll deal with it, it won't be a problem." Cornelius scowled, waving a hand to dismiss him. Lysander immediately disappeared from the floo - already on his way to the ministry cafeteria to start spreading the word, no doubt stopping to chatter with a secretary or two - the real power behind the gossip at the Ministry.

Cornelius quickly walked into his office - fished his most expensive velium to write on out, and took care to write carefully and elegantly.

To the most honorable Lord Arcturus Black head of the Ancient and noble house or Black.

I have come upon an opportunity that will elevate both of our causes, and will ensure Black family supremacy for the future, avoiding perhaps the most destructive period in your family history to come.

I have proof of what I say and will be willing to swear an oath to that effect to ensure our meeting as soon as possible.

It is of utmost importance that we meet, I will agree to come wandless if necessary. I am well aware of you having no sufferance for fools, I would not risk this letter for anything less than world altering events.

Yours in magic

Cornelius Oswald Fudge


Hopefully the letter would be subservient enough to get in. That's all he needed. An in. Then he'd be an equal at the very least.

The Black family patriarch would hardly allow the family to go to ruin.

"Hatty!" He snapped. The house elf immediately appeared before him, bowing low.

"Take this immediately to Arcturus Black. Wait for a reply - unless he curses you, in that case return immediately." He ordered, having sealed the letter, he handed it to his elf. "Do not fail me at this, Hatty. Only Arcturus sees this letter…"

"Of course, Master, Hatty will do as master asked."

And with a pop, his elf was gone. The die had been cast.

He'd intended to approach in a month's time, slowly and carefully.

Quick and decisively would have to do.

Thirty two minutes later exactly, not that anyone was counting - Hatty returned with a reply, looking none the worse for the experience.

Cornelius still tested the elf for the Imperius curse and any other dark magic - just in case. As well as throwing every detection charm he knew at the envelope with the black family crest. It came away clean.

Of course the likes of them no doubt knew curses he'd have no hope to detect at his ability - he'd have to chance it.

With trepadation he opened it, grinning viciously as he read the sparse letter.

Fudge,

You better be right about the importance of this meeting or you won't walk out of it! Be at 12 Grinmauld place at 7pm.

You may bring your wand, you are no threat to me or mine.


It was simply signed with Black. No other name. Sensible, Arcturus did basically threaten to kill or maim him if he didn't deliver.

But he had his chance.

This meeting would set the table for both the victory and his eventual ascension to the Minister post.





Cornelius dressed in the finest robes he owned - a royal purple set, with Acromantula silk. It was a bit pretentious but it would do. He'd never actually worn it anywhere yet. A purchase for the future his original body had made. After collecting a sizable sum of galleons from Abraxas Malfoy to cover up a situation involving his son, and obliviating some muggle policemen.

Already Cornelius had collected a small cadre of patrons within the sacred twenty-eight and those noble families that surrounded them. Due to a willingness to make things go away for moronic pure blood heirs. He was already acquainted with Lucius due to this. All these small bribes and situations came from the same thing.

These spoiled brats that spent their summers muggle baiting or worse - and needed a quiet obliviator to make it go away as they weren't yet the scary death eaters who'd murder or memory charm their victims. At this stage they had it solved purely by the weight of their bank accounts - to Cornelius' benefit.

As distasteful as he found it now that he had taken over the body - he'd have to keep it up. The reputation that he could be negotiated with was vital for his survival through the war. And for his ascension to the Minister post. Once he was in charge - he could ensure the raping scum got their dementor dates in Azkaban. At this point he couldn't really do anything against them. Even if he were to try and charge the likes of Lucius Malfoy or Evan Rosier with their actions - their families would see him in Azkaban - or dead, long before there would be any consequences to their heirs. If there would ever even be any. The Wizengamot - even amongst the light faction - did not overly care about muggles.

Albus Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley were the aberrations on the subject - their views not the majority. Not even close.

He double checked his appearance for the last time, before Apparating to the street of 12 Grinmauld place.

He appeared on the street with a quiet pop - he immediately made for the Black townhouse in quick strides. Uncaring of any muggle that saw him in a robe - that minor deviation from the statue of secrecy was preferable to showing up at the home of the most ancient and noble house of Black dressed as a muggle.

He made a face briefly as he took in the Black townhouse - he could never understand the aesthetic some of these families went for. Foreboding was good and proper for such an illustrious family - but the Blacks seemed to take it to such an extreme it was more like a muggle goth phase then anything. And Cornelius found it very off putting and tacky. Both sides of him, really.

What was wrong with open space, some nice art, maybe some plants and warm homey colors - perhaps wooden paneling or floors as well. Oh, well. He'd have the money one day to show these uppity ponces how to really live.

As soon as he knocked on the door it creaked open - with accompanying creepy noises - Cornelius refused to believe the Blacks failed at maintaining their front door, so the noise must be purposefully spelled in. Like he thought - goth phase. Just in their case it's lasted centuries.

What could only be Kreacher peered out from the open crack - surly and suspiciously.

"Hello there, I am Cornelius Fudge, I have an appointment with Lord Arcturus Black." Cornelius said genially, even though he knew this particular house elf wouldn't care about his politeness one whit - it never hurt.

"Kreacher be knowing already, Kreacher be taking wizard to Master's office. Wizard not be touching anything!" Kreacher muttered, giving Cornelius a dirty glare as he fully opened the door and allowed him inside.

"Or course, lead on dear fellow!" Cornelius said affably, continuing to be pleasant - for practice if nothing else, as he kept a straight face following the surly elf - through the townhouse that screamed - we're trying so so hard to look dark and evil.

He thought he might have even caught a glimpse of Sirius Black, a child of around Hogwarts age at this time - who had peered down at him briefly from the top of some stairs - before Cornelius had continued on. It had only been a flash of black hair and gray eyes - but it was likely him, Regulus would not be so big at this point, he'd be what? 9?

Finally he arrived at the office - likely not Arcturus' own as Cornelius was fairly sure he didn't reside at 12 Grinmauld place. So his son's office. He got his first own close look at the Black patriarch - original him having seen him from afar at times at the Ministry.

Arcturus Black looked to be in his fifties, although Cornelius knew he was older then that - no sign of any depredation due to black madness then. Piercing gray eyes zeroed in on him as he entered, a well practiced sneer forming on his face as he waved towards an armchair in front of his desk without a word. He had coal black hair, kept short with streaks of silver touching the sides, the slight frown lines on his face - the only real signs of his advancing age. He looked remarkably put together and well groomed for someone that wouldn't live to see the second war - as far as canon goes.

"I'd offer you tea, but frankly I believe I will be cursing you blind and deaf in a minute for wasting my time - so I can't be bothered with the niceties." Arcturus said bluntly, leaning back in his chair, still studying him, while appearing fully relaxed.

"If I may, I would take out my wand and swear on my life and magic that I will not lie for the next hour - if that satisfies you?" Cornelius said carefully, "I would suggest for both our sakes that this talk remains private …" He finished, eyeing the elf still standing at attention by the door.

Arcturus scoffed, seemingly mulling over whether to continue this meeting as he met Cornelius' eyes - he must have found something to continue on, because he barked out suddenly, "Kreacher, bugger off somewhere!"

The elf bowed low and disappeared with a loud crack. The Black family patriarch pressed a heavy signet ring that he was wearing to the table and Cornelius could feel the wards settling around the room - they were remarkably unfriendly.

"Dumbledore himself could be sniffing around this room and not hear a single thing - so best be quick, out with it, why should I let you leave here with all your limbs, you muck crawler?" Arcturus growled, tapping the Black Lord's ring against the edge of the table, the dull thud seeming as if a countdown.

Cornelius raised his wand slowly - as to show that he was no threat, "I swear on my magic and on my life that I will only speak the truth for the next hour, and that all I have to say is truthful and correct with no lies as far as I know."

There was a flash of magic as magic itself accepted the vow. Cornelius slowly placed his wand back in his wand holster. "If that oath is not sufficient Lord Black, I can make another."

Arcturus shook his head slowly, looking disdainful still, "No, it will suffice. It does not however mean that your truth is something I care about, so out with it, before I lose my patience, Fudge."

"I have future knowledge and quite frankly the world goes to absolute shit because of our little dark lord problem - by the end of the 1990s the black family is eradicated. Only Narcissa and Andromeda alive - neither holding the name Black, both having had children and in Andromeda's case a grandchild - none of which take the name Black." Cornelius explained as succinctly as possible. The Black family woes would be the most important subject to get Arcturus onboard after all.

Said man had paled, and looked furious, Cornelius swallowed deeply as the wards of the room almost shivered, as if readying to activate and vaporize him.

"I don't believe you, this is a ploy of some sort. Who put you up to this? Abraxas? That fool Lestrange? Dumbledore? No, that goat wouldn't dare to be this underhanded, and ridiculous." Arcturus had stood up, glaring at Cornelius as he put a wrinkled hand into his robe and pulled out a black gnarly wand, pointing it at him. "I don't know how you fooled a magical oath, but you will tell me who sent you! Incarcerous!" Thick ropes encircled Cornelius before he could protest, tying him so tight to the armchair he could hardly breathe.

"It's a magical oath, it can't be faked!" Cornelius managed to gasp out, pleading with the black lord. He hadn't expected easy acceptance, but outright denial had not even crossed his mind.

Arcturus scoffed, walking off to a corner of the office outside of Cornelius' eyesight, he could hear the clinking of bottles. Would he poison him?

Arcturus returned to stand in front of him, a vial of a perfectly clear liquid in his hand. Veritaserum. Cornelius felt his heart pull back from its impending attack - a truth serum could only be good for him. Then he saw the wand being pointed at him again and braced himself.

"Imperio!" Arcturus snarled viciously. "Open your mouth and stick out your tongue!" He ordered as soon as the spell took hold.

Cornelius found that it was a truly blissful feeling to be under the Imperius. Like he was awash in a sea of pure contentment - until the order to open his mouth came. From nowhere it was like his mind snapped into place, wrestling back control, throwing off the Imperius. Perhaps having two lives had added benefits? He wasn't sure what other explanation there was for such an achievement.

Better still he had the sense to still open his mouth and stick out his tongue anyway. Throwing off the Black Lord's Imperius would only make him more wary of the proof from the Veritaserum. So Cornelius played along. Sitting still with an open mouth and his tongue out, trying to affect a slightly vacant look in his eyes. Pretending to be a Crabbe helped achieve the effect he sought.

"We'll see soon enough…" Arcturus muttered to himself as he slowly dripped three drops of the truth serum on Cornelius tongue, waving his wand after, in a careless flick - obviously meant to dispel the Imperius. Interesting, so the caster did not realize immediately that their spell failed. Something to keep in mind.

To Cornelius the effect of the Veritaserum did not feel too dissimilar to the Imperius curse. He felt content, with no troubles at all. This time he was unable to fight off the feeling. Although since he didn't really want to tell a lie - perhaps the struggle didn't have everything in it.

"Who sent you?" Arcturus barked out, wand still in Cornelius' face. The tip glowing ominously.

The answer easily rolled off his tongue, even as he felt a sort of pressure - forcing the words out. "No one, I came of my own accord." He answered blandly, almost vacantly. His mouth moving on its own, feeling numb and disconnected from the rest of him.

Arcturus looked thrown at that, lowering his wand slightly, "Why did you tell me that pack of lies?" He asked roughly. The knuckles of his wand hand turned white - he was grasping his wand so hard.

"They were not lies."

Arcturus let out a disbelieving laugh, falling back against his desk, "This isn't happening, I must be going mad…" He rubs his face wearily, "What happened to me? My sons?"

"Unknown, likely casualties in the war between the Ministry and Dumbledore against Lord Voldemort." Cornelius replied, still blandly, as forced out by the Veritaserum.

Arcturus fumbled around in his pockets for a moment, before finding a vial, reaching forward, "Open your mouth, it's the antidote to the Veritaserum." He said defeatedly, a wave of his wand vanishing the ropes holding Cornelius to the chair.

They both sat in silence for the moment. Cornelius worked his jaw which still felt slightly numb - although it was wearing off. And got his heart rate under control. That had been more exciting or terrifying than he'd expected.

"I will not apologize for my actions. Your story was outlandish." Arcturus said stiffly, before walking to his desk and slowly sinking down into his chair, looking devastated, "All gone, the oldest magical family in Britain, wiped out…" he shook his head, piercing eyes turning back to Cornelius. "Tell me how this comes to pass!"

Cornelius took a moment to think over his answer, "Realize, some of this is speculative and not something I know for certainty - I only know the details for your grandchildren's lives and deaths." He warned ahead of time, not needing another bout under the powerful patriarch's wand.

"Start with myself and Melania." Arcturus barked out, face reddening as his anger grew again, "Tell me how those bastards ruined the Black family!"

Cornelius wasn't sure if Arcturus even knew which bastards he was talking about, but continued on, "I only know that by 1981 you are most likely dead as is likely your wife. Black madness is the public excuse. But seeing how healthy you seem right now, I doubt you die of madness within the decade, you were likely poisoned or taken care of in another manner by Voldemort or his most loyal servant - to free his access to the Black family properties, vaults and library."

"Why 1981?" Arcturus asked suspiciously, "Why does that date make you assume my death, if as you say you do not have the full information somehow…"

"Because in 1981, Sirius Black the heir to the Black family, was sentenced to life in Azkaban without a trial, and I'd rather think that you'd have raised a stink about it if you were alive." Cornelius explained, "Granted, he'd run away from home and lived with the Potter's since his fifth year at Hogwarts and Walburga blasted him off the black family tapestry - but he was still your heir."

"I need whiskey for this conversation…" Arcturus muttered, a dark look in his eyes. "Aye, disinherited, runaway, no matter what I'd not have let the feckless ministry put a grandson of mine in Azkaban without a fight…" A twitch of his wand and a bottle of fire whiskey smashes it way out of a nearby cabinet, spreading glass shards everywhere. Cornelius barely flinched, he did raise a surprised eyebrow as the Black lord took a loud gulp from the bottle itself.

"Oh fuck off, Fudge, my whole family is apparently dead within the next two decades, let me drink in peace - I'm assuming Pollux, Cygnus and my son? Why didn't they help Sirius?" Arcturus grumbled, before taking another swig.

Cornelius twitched irritably, that was no way to treat what appeared to be a bottle of Ogden's finest - from their first year in business! "Cygnus and Druella are never mentioned in my future knowledge again after marrying off Bellatrix and Narcissa to Death Eaters - Voldemort's followers." He added on the last bit, because by this time that name might not be known, even to the Black lord, "I believe he survived to the 1990's but he died young, in his sixties - for what cause I do not know - and he never assisted Sirius."

Cornelius took a breath before continuing on, "As for Pollux and his sister Cassiopeia not much is known, and I can not state truthfully how or when they die - I can only say it is likely as they do not come to pick up the pieces of the black family - and the properties are left in a state of disrepair. Orion died in 1979, shortly after the news that Regulus died. Leaving Warburga as the only one in 12 Grimmauld place - leading to its absolute degradation until and after her own death."

"Sirius in hell, Regulus dead… What happens to the girls?" Arcturus asked, pained, eyes cloudy.

Cornelius sighed, "Not much better news. Narcissa survived past you all - and has a son, but she fully embraced the Malfoy name. She suffered much due to Lucius Malfoy's support of Voldemort." He took a deep breath preparing himself for the outrage, "Andromeda also outlived you all, by running away from the war and the family, marrying a muggleborn and having a daughter - the first metamorph in the Black family for a very long time. The war takes both her husband and daughter from her - but she lived."

"It's hard to even be pissed at the girl, she survived after all, and a metamorph child, that's nothing to scoff at, even if a half-blood." Arcturus muttered, smirking wryly as Cornelius gave him a disbelieving look, "Oh, I can be reasonable, Fudge. I may not like mudbloods, but she showed intelligence by getting out of what was apparently a shipwreck of massive proportions and then survived the fallout." He took another gulp of firewhiskey, "She earned the name Black."

"Yet she is going to be disinherited and does not carry it." Cornelius felt the need to point out.

Arcturus scoffed, and slapped his desk hard, "She's going to have a metamorph, allowances can be made - I'm hardly going to follow your future knowledge to our extinction. Now what about Bella - don't think I haven't noticed you've left her for last. What did the fool girl do?"

"She was married off to the Lestranges; they all became slavishly loyal to Voldemort. Bellatrix is sentenced to life in Azkaban for torturing the Longbottoms into insanity. Although I can not prove it - she likely had a hand in how many of your relatives ceased to exist by 1990." He hesitated for a moment, before continuing with the ending of the black family, "She also killed Sirius in the second war - your grandson broke himself out of Azkaban while Bellatrix had to be saved by Voldemort 2 years later. At the start of this second war, Bellatrix kills Sirius in a duel."

Arcturus looked at him quietly. "Bloody buggering hell." He swore, his hands unsteady.

His eyes gained a fervent light in them suddenly as he straightened up, "Now, you didn't tell me this because you enjoy showing me how worthless my ruddy family is - you have a plan…"

Cornelius smiled.





Author's note:

So nothing too special, just a fun little idea of Ministry shenanigans just as the whole shebang is beginning, seeing what one could do to improve things without being Voldemorted.

Could have milked it out for another 2-3 k words, but eh, it was a good enough stopping point, and I already have Mischief. If someone else wants to take it over and write a competent baddie Fudge bending the Ministry over and porking it - feel free.

Cheers

JollyHippopotamus
 
Snippet 15: I, Robert
A little snippet I wrote when I was reading a lot of ASOIAF fanfiction. Yes, it's yet another Robert SI tries to fix everything fic.

Or in this case just a snippet.

Now I'm probably wildly wrong with ages and timeline if any are mentioned. Consider it an AU, because yes, with as many stories I've got to go, fact check becomes no check.

Handwavium ahoy.

I know this shit probably wouldn't fly, but it was a fun thought to write about so just shoot your SOD and go with the flow.

As usual, I do not own Harry Potter or the associated companies that deliver material from it.

Enjoy!





October. 283 A.C – Early Morning, King's Landing.

More and more lords trickled into Kings Landing as time went by. Jon Arryn had been given the delightful task of finding accommodations for them all and keeping them happy.

The man wanted to be the Hand of the King? Well then he couldn't very well complain if Robert was going to put him through his paces, could he?

Robert knew he had another 2 months at least before Ned would return and he was determined to wait for his coronation until then. In the meantime, he wanted the lords present, to see how Kings Landing was cheering his name, to see the faith proclaim him good King Robert blessed by the Warrior, Crone and Smith. To see that he already had a loyal and competent small council in place.

To understand that he planned ahead, that he was ready, that he knew exactly what he was doing. Being underestimated might be good and well in a fight, but as a ruler, it was no good. Especially in Planetos. People needed to believe he was dangerously skilled.

It wouldn't stop all the plots, but it would mean less people willing to stand openly against him.

It was all about projecting strength. He wanted to ensure that by the time coronation rolled around all the lords of the seven kingdoms could see that there was no weakness to be had in the new regime.

To that end he had put in motion several plans over the last several weeks. Thanks to the Mad King who'd been more concerned with burning people than spending gold, the treasury was flush and ripe to be used. Although he begrudgingly, quietly, allowed Tywin the credit he was due in ensuring it was so.

He might be one of the most unpleasant human beings to exist, but he knew gold.

Robert had used a contingent of his own Stormlander troops to go around Kings Landing and offer all the smallfolk a chance for something better. Both women and men, whether they had been just a dock worker or tavern wench, cut purse or prostitute. There was an opportunity for them.

There was no better time than now. After the sack, a large number of the 500 000 souls of Kings Landing had lost their lives, the rest, their homes, businesses, or workplaces. Robert mopped up as many of these as he could. Marched them all outside the city, creating a tent city of 250 000 people outside Kings Landing.

The tents spread as far as the eye could see all around the city. Calling it a tent city was not all that apropos either, as many did not even have tents. But he had his men chopping down enough wood to create temporary shelters that hopefully it wouldn't get too bad out there.

Having modern ideas on sanitation and ways to prevent illness as well, ones he was forcing through on the tent city as proof of concept - would surely help as well. And while half the town was outside the walls, he could knock down and rebuild one district at a time.

It was on this topic he found himself staring at a map of Westeros covering a whole wall in a chamber a short distance from the small council chambers with his Master of War Randyll Tarly, Master of Coin Wyman Manderly and his Master of Works Selwyn Tarth.

"Here, Harrenhal would be perfect." Robert said pressing his finger against the map, "Large enough to hold not only a Royal army, but their families, the logistics offices, training areas and with plenty of room for supplies."

"And extremely thirsty for gold, Your Grace." Lord Manderly interjected with a wry smile, "Although left with a large treasury from the Mad King, this venture alone would likely drain most of it."

"The tactical benefits would be immense." Lord Tarly muttered, "Close enough to King's Landing to reinforce it before any enemy could muster any attack, centrally located with access to both nearby rivers and roads to travel quickly. If rebuilt it would be a location an army can not leave alone at their backs nor attack. Their best bet would be to try and starve them out, which would tie up an enemy army of at least 20 000 just to sit there and hold. Whether it is attacked or not it would still give Kings Landing the time to call all banners, and if it's not attacked it means King's Landing is reinforced by its armies too quickly to realistically take the city."

"Well, the plan is to not have more than 10 000 soldiers at Harrenhal itself, Lord Tarly. The other 10 000 would be patrolling all major roads, guarding the Semaphore line and holding garrisons along the line and roads." Robert reminded the Lord of Horn Hill.

It would prevent banditry and keep Lords honest, something Westeros had been missing throughout its history. Sure, there wouldn't be large amounts of soldiers in each location, but a constant reminder worked almost as well in keeping people honest. Knowing that any dastardly bullshite you got up too could be reported to King's Landing over Semaphore within the day would alleviate a lot of problems before they could begin.

"It is lucky indeed you found that manuscript of this concrete, Your Grace." Lord Tarth said brusquely. "Without it, there is no chance that we would be able to plan for such an undertaking as both repairing Harrenhal and building a line of these Semaphore towers across Westeros."

"Even with the concrete it will drain the funds immensely." Lord Manderly reminded them all, the corpulent lord understanding the benefit of the Semaphores but dreading the cost. "I feel it might behoove us to ask the Lord's Paramount to accept some of the costs for the towers built inside their lands. It will after all be used to protect them from Ironborn raids as well as bandits and rebels."

Lord Tarly snorted loudly, "Parting a Lord from his gold is hard enough in normal times, right after a war it will be almost impossible, they will be focused on harvests, not projects."

"Lord Manderly has the right of it, I will talk with them myself and make them see the benefits to their lands of an early warning system - as well as quick action to deal with bandits and disasters." Robert said determinedly. He would not let some penny-pinching Lord defeat this project. It would be too useful, not only for the possible Greyjoy rebellion, but for any actions against the throne.

His throne.

He wasn't going to allow some feckless idiot to ruin it all for him. Not when the majority of them were remarkably stupid, and somehow bungling their way through fucking themselves and everyone around them over and callong it victory.

"Just don't tell them you plan to use women as the coders and signalers of the Semaphore's, they won't pay for that." Lord Tarth reminded Robert; it had been a contentious matter until Lord Tarly gave up arguing against it. Robert did have a big stick to wield, and Tarly was too pleased about his position on the small council to argue for too long.

Especially considering with the Reach having fought against him, he could have just as well put them all under his boot.

Lord Tarth was correct that it would be too risky to spread that information around until it was a fait accompli however. Each Semaphore would have a barracks for 10-15 guards from the royal army for protection, with a garrison of 100 men every 5 towers. No longer would bandits haunt the smallfolk, nor rebels ride with impunity.

The fact the actual coders and signalers would be women and therefore "in charge" of the messages - would be taken harshly by many Lords. The Maesters would throw a hissy fit as well, but they'd already be flying off the handle due to Ravens no longer being nearly as important anymore, so it was a minor addition.

"If you're looking to save gold… Mayhap there are some reductions that can be made in the budget for the Royal army." Lord Manderly said carefully, ignoring the sudden glare from Lord Tarly, who when introduced to the idea had very eagerly jumped aboard the small council, ignoring anything Mace Tyrell might have thought about it. Being the commander of such an army trained from the bottom up to his expectations, had bought his loyalty unto death.

Well… He's Westerosi, so not really. But it had made the man damn well easier to work with. And between Mace Tyrell and Robert Baratheon, he knew which way his bread was buttered.

Robert ran a hand through his hair wearily, it had only been one week since he introduced the concept and yet this was perhaps the hundredth time he had heard the pointed comments on the money spent on just smallfolk. "No, the wages for the Royal army stays, the home and care for crippled veterans stays, the pensions for those that served 20 years stays, the pension to the family of any killed soldier stays." He repeated pointedly, his jaw raised stubbornly. "The point of a standing Royal professional army like this is to defend the realm at all times. We can not afford to have the soldiers be bought by every which bandit or any Lords wanting them to look the other way. They need to be loyal. And coming from small folk originally, all these benefits will see them and their families be fiercely loyal to the crown for life."

"The cost will not be as much as you fear once it has been put in place." Lord Tarly said resolutely, arms crossed as he glared at the Master of Coin. "The wage is enough to make smallfolk happy, that alone is not much of a hit to the treasury. Cripple pay and death pay will hardly cost the throne much except for in the times of war. As for pensions after 20 years of service… If this army buys the realm 20 years of peace the damn men deserve triple what we would give them anyway - and the coin you saved by the long peace will bring in much more than the cost of the pensions."

"Well put Lord Tarly." Robert said with an approving smile. Turning towards Lord Manderly, Robert continued, "Not to worry, I will not allow the throne to turn destitute. I thank you for your thoughts however, as your input is always valuable to the throne in ensuring we do not get carried away."

His small council was still new, and he didn't intend to be too brusque in his dealings, as the Lord's of Westeros were ridiculously tied to honor and privilege that they could be very thin skinned at times. He didn't need a plot to throw Westeros in chaos to come from simply insulting a member of his small council.

Lord Manderly bowed his head, appeased to all appearances, as Lord Tarly huffed in annoyance. Lord Tarth simply looked on in amusement. This was already turning into a familiar routine, usually Jon was around to run interference but he was too busy keeping the rest of the lords of Westeros contained and happy.

Better him than me…

Jon had been desperately needed to run interference when Robert had introduced the idea that both the royal army logistics division and the Red keep and the Realms finance and trade bureaucracy be staffed by women - once enough were trained up.

Most of the women not going to the Semaphore lines were going to be trained by hired Braavosi scribes and bureaucrats for that purpose. For once Lord Tarly and Lord Manderly had been on the same page arguing heavily against it, that a woman had no place in the ruling of the realm nor in the running of an army.

Robert had finally won them over just this week. Lord Manderly in particular on explaining that these women would be the scribes and parchment workers doing all the realms busywork and counting and tabulating not actually making decisions. Just carrying them out. All would be loyal to the crown as it gave them the opportunity to rise above the masses and make something of themselves - as women do not have many opportunities this would ensure less graft and corruption and more loyalty.

For Lord Tarly it had been like pulling teeth until Robert finally hit the right argument. The more women running payrolls, armories, and food supplies logistics - the more men were available to swing swords. The surly Lord had come around somewhat quickly after that, although not happy, he was at least content to go along.

He had made it very clear that his personal command staff would not have any women on it, however. As Robert could see no reason why the command staff would need one it was an easy agreement.

He wasn't doing this out of any feminist ideals of any of the sort. He was doing it because he needed every sword arm for the future, and because he needed less bullshit from the bureaucracy and servants. Which training his own cadre up from the small folk would ensure.

Less courtly games and plots is exactly what Westeros needed, although it wouldn't completely erode it - a whole new cadre of civil servants working for the throne would slow down corruption.

Lord Tarth had, as always, been in the background, quietly amused at the fuss over something that in his eyes made complete sense. Jon had been exasperated over the amount of headaches Robert was introducing to him - no doubt having expected an easy time while Robert hung back, not throwing all traditions to the wind.

Luckily, the rest of the small council were not really involved yet in this matter, so no more complaints had been had on that subject.

And of course, he'd ensure the church was on his side, which would make it that more difficult for the Lord's to truly oppose the decision without looking like they lack piety.

"So, we have the Royal army always to be at least the strength of 20 000 men, under the command of Randyll Tarly. Main base Harrenhal. Say 5 years before everything is up and running as planned?" Robert asked the Master of War and his Master of Works.

Lord Tarly pursed his lips, "5 years at the latest aye, I do not foresee issues with the smallfolk, they will do what they are told good enough, whether building or training."

Lord Tarth agreed, "If the Lord's chip in, the Semaphore line will probably be done within 2 years, Your Grace, if counting on concrete to work as you have said. If not, then we should still be done sooner than 5."

"Then we have the 5000 men in the Royal guard, meant to protect the Red Keep and King's Landing. Run by Roland Storm. I talked with the lad earlier and he expects it to be a year or two until he is running at full capacity and to his standards. That will ensure Kings Landing always has a force to man the walls in an emergency and to protect the keep.

"I will not count on gold cloaks to hold the line." Robert mused out loud as he ticked off every box needed for armed men. "The gold cloaks themselves will be raised to 5000 men to keep the law in King's Landing, just as lawmen and investigators. If I need them for the walls the throne would likely already be fucked." He also had the Royal Knights, an institution he'd brought into life immediately upon taking charge, although it was empty as of now. The organization which would end up numbering 35 knights in service to the 7 Kingsguard.

No more would there just be one sword or two between a Queen, a King, their children - and attack.

"Worst case scenario, Kings Landing will have 10 000 troops in total and another 10 000 close by from Harrenhal which can call another 5000 from nearby garrisons quickly, so say 25000 men to protect King's Landing in case of a rebellion or invasion." Lord Tarly said with satisfied expression, "The days of King's Landing being vulnerable to a decapitation strike will be over."

"By the time, any enemy force could breach the walls, the Banners would already be arriving to crush them against the wall from behind." Lord Tarth agreed.

"Now we just have to survive 5 years." Robert japed, which got an appreciative chuckle from the jovial Master of coin.

Ser Barristan poked his head in through the door and caught Roberts eyes. "It seems it is time for me to leave for the meeting with the High Septon. We will continue our discussions in the morrow at the latest." Robert excused himself, accepting the mumbled Your Graces and bows with nary a thought and left the chamber, Ser Barristan falling in behind him.

Robert had been working on the High Septon practically from the first day he arrived in King's Landing. There was no better man to use to ensure the smallfolk loved him and praised his rule. He was not going to run into a religious war or end up with the same stupidity Cersei had created for herself.

Within minutes Robert found himself in a richly decorated antechamber of the great hall. Not all meetings needed the throne room after all, it was too large for such things. The antechamber had great silk tapestries, expensive art on the walls and the floor was entirely covered in a fine rug all the way from Yi-Ti. The ironwood table was finely carved and had goblets of the most expensive wine already waiting on it.

Robert had quickly realized the High Septon was quite the purveyor of fine things and not as holy as he made himself out to be. He had quickly taken advantage.

The man was waiting for him as Ser Barristan took his place by the door. Luckily the door was a solid built one and when closed it muffled the sounds of the room quite well. Robert did not think Ser Barristan would approve of the dealings he had with the High Septon.

Although the so-called 'honor' of everyone in Westeros varied wildly on their efficacy depending on what they felt like that day. Barristan was loyal, but he could be less loyal in his duties if he disliked his master.

Robert was unsure if the leader of the faith was the man from canon or not, as the High Septon did not keep his name upon receiving the position. He wasn't fat either but perhaps that changed within the next decade. He was quite skinny in fact, with a short immaculate beard and small beady eyes in a sunken face. It was possible the man had grown fat under canon Roberts rule but he somehow doubted this was the same man.

Those beady eyes fixated on him greedily as he walked over the expensive rug to greet him. "Holy one, it is as always a pleasure to see you in the Red Keep, I hope you were not waiting overly long?" He said pleasantly, hiding his distaste.

Everyone in Westeros was a cunt. Everyone. It was just a fact. So he would have to outcunt them all, and bring some kind of improvement to the land. And survive ice zombies and crazy dragon ladies - that too.

His buddy Ned wasn't a cunt surprisingly, but was also proof of the fact that if you weren't, the cunts would absolutely rip you apart.

Like this High Septon he'd been bribing/convincing/threatening - a man who would absolutely shit all over Robert if he thought it would get him ahead. Hence why he was making sure he owned his ass.

The man bowed low, "Not at all, Your Grace." As he rose up he plastered on an oily smirk. How this man could be seen as holy baffled Robert, but he would make do with what he had to work with.

Robert poured the man some Arbor Gold into the crystal goblet and handed it over before pouring himself one. He wouldn't drink it, he never did in these meetings. It was expected of him to have a goblet of wine however, so he always kept one at hand. "Have the gods given you any insight on what we talked about last time?" Robert asked mildly as the High Septon drained half his goblet in one go.

"Indeed, they have, Your Grace." The High Septon replied. "I will be passing an edict of the faith that you and your rule was blessed by the Warrior, the Crone and in particular the Smith - for your recent contributions - blessed by all seven that is one, as a matter of course. Also ensuring the faith shows full support of your rule, as well as ensuring the faith is praising you daily in sermons all over Westeros."

Robert nodded graciously as he took a very small sip of his wine to celebrate. Inside he was dancing, slotting the faith under his rule and ensuring they were constantly praising him, his laws, his actions and just generally how fantastic he is - would go a long way of solidifying his rule.

This was exactly what he had aimed for, and he had only had to give up what he was already planning to do, plus some bribe money.

"As discussed I will ensure the Maesters are dispatched to the Great Sept and any other major concentration of the faithful, to begin teaching healing and medicine to all members of the faith. It is imperative for my rule that my people are properly fed, properly healthy and properly faithful, after all." Robert took another sip of the rather fantastic wine, as the High Septon thanked him for his just rule that was surely begotten by the seven that is one.

The Maesters were the losers of his rule, so he knew to expect daggers in the dark eventually, or weird shit. But having the faith, the Lords, or at least those that mattered - and his royal army soon enough…

The Maesters would just have to learn to live with disappointment.

As Robert saw the unpleasantly smarmy man out, he thought the five times a thousand golden dragons in the man's pockets likely had more to do with the faith's decision, but the main point was that it was done.

He intended to ensure proper sanitizing alcohol was spread across the land, that boiling water, washing hands with soap and such hygiene matters would become commonplace, greatly inhibiting disease. Of course he had other simple ways to help with that which he'd push along as well, but it was a start.

Since the Maesters were closed off academia filled with stubborn old men and really only catering to nobility, Robert had to find someone else to quickly spread common sense healing.

The Faith was the perfect vehicle. The smallfolk trusted them and would listen to them. Knights and nobility paid attention to what the faith said and would start using the same practices if they weren't already. The goal was to eventually have every little septa or septon, begging brother or silent sister, all able to provide basic medical care.

By bribing the High Septon with 5000 golden dragons he actually saved money as he ensured the High Septon agreed that the Faith itself had the money to pay for supplies for healing. The idiot had no idea how wildly used these supplies would end up becoming once healing was available to the masses. Finally all those donations to the Faith that barely ended up getting used would find a purpose. If it ended up an issue, Robert would simply kick the greedy rat towards his most pious Lords and have him beg donations from them, they would pony up.

Of course by solving one problem he would have another. He would now have to figure out a way to appease the Maesters before they became so annoyed with him that they'd start whispering things in their Lord's ears. The Citadel would not at all be pleased with healing being spread by every septa or septon out there.

Robert drained his wine and grimaced, the taste was too damn good. He had never been much for wine before, obviously the body he had hijacked disagreed and found Arbor Gold very fine indeed. He would have to look to ensure he only had massively watered down wine to avoid making a drunken fool of himself. Most of the important Lords of the realms were already here or soon to be here. He could not afford any stupidity.

"Your Grace? What next?" Ser Barristan asked politely as Robert left the antechamber.

Robert grinned at the old knight. "Time to see if I still got it Ser, up for a practice bout with the Demon of the Trident, Barristan the Bold?"

"Always, Your Grace."





October 283 AC – That evening.

Jon Arryn stifled a yawn, doing his best to pretend he was still paying attention to the discussion around him. Ever since the Lords had started arriving, Robert had made it a habit to have a new set of Lords dine at his table every meal.

Today he was surrounded by northmen like Roose Bolton, Richard Karstark and Greatjon Umber. This meant that for the day Jon was two tables away surrounded by another set of Lords. Divide and Conquer Robert had called it. Why share a table and seduce the same Lords, when the King and his Hand could be split up?

Another of the very good ideas that had suddenly been sprouting up from his adoptive son ever since becoming King. It unfortunately meant he was spending the meal with a mess of Florents, Hightowers and Tyrells. With Lord Randyll Tarly plopped in the middle with Jon to suffer equally from the constant bickering. No wonder the man was such a straightforward and sour man, to constantly be surrounded by these people in the Reach. Jon shivered just thinking about it.

Some fates were indeed cruel.

Jon sent an almost longing glance over to the main table. Robert was laughing about something with Greatjon Umber and… By the old gods and the new, was that an actual smile on the face of Roose Bolton? Jon made a mental note to ask Robert later what in the seven hells that had been about. That man could make ice seem warm and pleasant. He was brought back to reality as Mace Tyrell beckoned for his attention. Oh bother.

"I noticed your new wife wasn't in attendance Lord Arryn, I hope everything is alright." He asked with poorly hidden greed. "Speaking of wives…" He added, in the most poorly hidden change of subjects he'd ever seen, "When is the King planning on finding one for the princes?"

"By the gods Mace, the youngest is 7, try to wait until the coronation before you start salivating, you don't even have any daughters!" Lord Tarly spat banging a hand on the table.

Mace turned red in the face and if looks could kill, the lord of Horn Hill would have died then and there. "No one asked for your opinion Tarly! Salivating… To speak such of your Lord when you were already busy begging the King for a spot on the small council before I even finished breaking up camp!"

"My wife is well, thank you, just a spot of upset stomach keeping her resting this evening." Jon stopped the argument before it could begin, sending a brief warning look at Lord Tarly before he could retort to the lord of Highgarden. They didn't need any issues arising from simple personal dislike.

Lord Tarly snorted in disgust and turned to start a discussion instead with one of the Hightowers. "As for the Princes I believe the King thinks – and I agree - that it is a bit premature to rush for engagements at this time." Jon finished politely. No doubt the man wanted to wed Stannis to his sister Janna. Why on earth the man believed Stannis would ever accept a Tyrell bride baffled the mind of the Lord of the Eyrie.

But then, he was beginning to understand that the mind of Mace Tyrell was a strange place indeed.

Mace huffed looking around the hall searching for a topic, "Well, Hoster Tully surely made a killing, getting two Lord Paramounts for his daughters, very good alliances, yet he seems to be very upset, do you know whatever for my Lord hand?"

Jon tried to hide the wince as he looked over at the fuming Lord of Riverrun who wasn't even bothering to pretend he wasn't staring daggers at the main table. Two months back one could say Hoster would have been in a fantastic mood. Now, with Ser Brynden Tully guaranteed a spot in the Kingsguard, just waiting for the ceremony, really… He wasn't as thrilled.

The Blackfish had finally managed to outrun what Hoster saw as his responsibilities to the family. To make matters worse Hoster was one of the few in the know of Harrenhal and the Royal army. The man had not taken it well. A 20 000 man Army holding the most fortified position in the Riverlands, under control of Randyll Tarly to boot. No doubt Hoster feared his bannermen would feel that the real power in the Riverlands would lay in the hands of Tarly.

He wouldn't be wrong.

Making the Riverlands less of a shithole was one of the reasons Robert had argued for Harrenhal so fiercely. And he obviously didn't care one whit what Hoster Tully thought of it. Something which Jon would no doubt have to deal with…

"I believe the upcoming addition of Ser Brynden Tully to the Kingsguard is sitting ill with Lord Tully." He let out with a long suffering look, better the news of the knighting then the other more revolutionary news. He already had a hard enough time dealing with the Lords who already knew. As far as those most loyal in the rebellion were concerned, it was upsetting to see such attention on the smallfolk, and of course expenditure, while these loyal lords were sitting around without rewards.

It left a bad taste in Jon's mouth, this blatant greed that seemed to surround him. Honor and faith were beginning to be a rarity among the lords of the realm it seemed.

Before Mace could inquire any further Jon stood up having found the perfect excuse to miss the rest of this. Robert wouldn't begrudge him one day of staying away from greedy Lords with grubby hands and petty minds. "Excuse me my Lords, I shall go check on my lady wife and see if she has recovered."

"Of course, my Lord Hand! Pass along my well wishes to beautiful Lady Lysa." Mace exclaimed, trying and failing to look properly earnest. Jon accepted the well wishes of a few of the other Lords of the table, before finally making his escape.

His two guards followed – there by Robert's insistence on every important figure having guards - forcing him to always have them around. At least the two were proper honorable boys from the Vale, and they stepped in behind him as he made his way to his wife's chambers.

At least Robert was turning out to be a surprisingly good King Jon thought. He had managed to appease the Dornish, create a functioning and acceptable small council and was from what Jon heard, making good headway on getting the faith on his side.

Jon had half expected to have to carry the burden of ruling while Robert whored and drank. So far his adoptive son had cut down immensely on both. It seemed once responsibility finally fell to him, he rose to the occasion. Jon could say that as much of a headache dealing with this all was, he really was looking forward to the rule of King Robert the 1st​.

He should have known better than to tempt fate. That is what Jon thought as he stared down at the cold grimace on the face of his deceased wife. A spilled goblet at her side. Poison was the likely culprit. He had not had much time to get to know his wife, therefore he really did not feel much sorrow as he looked down on her. Mostly weary that he would have to marry yet again.

He rubbed his forehead tiredly thinking of the mess they were in now. If Hoster Tully was angry before, now he would be apoplectic as his marriage alliance with the Vale was shattered. Jon just hoped that Catelyn Stark had not somehow managed to get killed on her way to Winterfell, they did not need Hoster trying to start up the war again over losing out on his prizes.

"I am too fucking old for this…"





Hour later - Tower of the Hand's Solar.

"This is a fucking mess, Hoster Tully is rampaging through the keep, I had to ask Ser Brynden to be his shadow just to ensure he didn't do something stupid, and to keep him away from the feast and the king." Randyll Tarly was pacing back and forth in front of the desk, having ceded the chair to the very tired looking Hand.

"At least we have proof of a sort that it was not an attack meant to destabilize the King." Jon said, staring down at the letter that had been found among Lysa's things.

Randyll grimaced, "It's not much better to find that the fool girl killed herself in a silly plot to try and get out of her marriage. Hoster would have rather had her murdered by enemies to the throne than accept that truth." Randyll stared down at the same letter, mind working on the question of how real it was, was it meant to create a scapegoat or meant to make them think that?

Dear Lysa,

You have forever remained my only love, upon hearing your qualms about marrying Lord Arryn I started working on the means to save you immediately. Through various friends I have acquired a manse in Braavos under an assumed name.

If you would be so inclined I would love the honor of spiriting you away from that old man and staying together in Braavos forever. As husband and wife.

My friends acquired the powder that I've sent you with this letter my love. It will fake the semblance of death after being mixed with wine. Drink it my love and whence you awake next it will be next to me, I have trusted men at the keep to spirit you away once the mummery is over.

Please allow this to happen, I can not see true happiness without you by my side. Ensure you burn this letter before drinking my love, see you soon.

Forever yours

Lord Petyr Baelish


"The question is, if this was supposed to work as the letter states - or if it was all a ruse to take her life. The Grand Maester seems certain she is in fact dead." Randyll wondered out loud as he pondered the odd love letter slash murder weapon. "And it is odd she did not burn it as asked, yet followed every other instruction…"

"Lord Baelish is known to me… And to Hoster. The boy had a fascination with the Tully girls that almost got him killed trying to challenge Catelyn Tully's engagement to Brandon Stark." Jon grimaced slightly, recalling that whole fiasco. "The lad I remember would surely not be stupid enough to sign a letter pointing straight to him, impulsive- yes - but never that stupid."

Randyll raised an eyebrow, "Are you certain? He was apparently stupid enough to try and best Brandon Stark against the wishes of both the Tully's and the Starks. That is not the actions of a clever man. Also if she had followed all directions there would have been no letter to point towards him."

"It seems to me that when one intends to fool a Lord Paramounts wife into suicide one would not be signing the evidence." Jon answered dryly, "He tented his hands in front of him and rested his weary chin on them staring down at the letter. "No, if I am sure of one thing it is this. Lord Baelish did not write this letter, nor commit this act of treason."

"Whomever sent it knew your wife enough to convince her it was from Lord Baelish, and convincingly enough she willingly drank the poison. Is this Lord Baelish at court?" Randyll asked sharply, if nothing else they could question the Lord on why someone would try and get him killed.

Jon sighed, "No, he is the Lord of the fingers. He has a small tower and plot of land, in no way rich enough, known enough or tied to anyone that would net him an invitation here."

Randyll let out a frustrated sound as he slapped a fisted hand into his palm, "Pardon me my Lord Hand, that makes this even more muddled. A minor Lord that is all the way in the Vale with no allies or highborn alliances, and we are to believe he orchestrated this plot….. And then at the end was fool enough to sign his name to it? It could be a double bluff and indeed sent by Lord Baelish."

"You see my frustration, Lord Tarly." Jon answered with some frustration leaking into his countenance. "I can not in good conscience accuse Lord Baelish of this, nor is it feasible to call him to the capital to answer questions, we do not have several moon's turns."

Randyll understood too well, if Baelish was innocent, which was seeming likely, any raven to the Eyrie asking for Baelish to be put to the question of Lady Lysa's death, were likely to return with a guilty verdict, simply with bannermen and leal guards wanting to please their Lord and find his wife's killer would ensure a confession would be forthcoming. Likewise Jon could not travel to the Vale at such an important time, nor could they wait to call Lord Baelish to Kings Landing. "We must find someone, anyone." Randyll spoke up with distaste. He did not enjoy the idea of using a scapegoat.

"Absolutely not!" Jon answered harshly, eyes filled with fire where before there was only deep weariness. "I will not condemn an innocent party just to save face, there is no honor in that Lord Tarly!"

Randyll's responding sneer did not hold as much vitriol as he was usually capable of, mostly because he agreed with the Hand, they could not afford to be honorable however. "If we do not find someone, Hoster Tully will be sending men to the Vale to drag Lord Baelish back to Riverrun, where he will be very painfully executed after extensive torture has wrung a confession out of him."

"I can handle Hoster Tully." Jon bit out rising up, hands on the table and matching Randyll's glare with his own.

"With all due respect my Lord, whatever you thought on your relationship with Lord Hoster, it is now irreparably burnt. He will not let this go, not with all the other actions the King has taken that has impacted him negatively. Even with a scapegoat Lord Hoster will still be suspicious and angry, without it he will suspect your own hand in this." Randyll said matter of factly, not fazed by the hands glare.

"He would never suspect me!" Jon snapped. "You are presuming too much Lord Tarly, men of war see enemies everywhere, mayhap that is your issue here?"

The hand of the King sank back into his chair looking once again like he was drained of all energy, still radiating anger from the blistering eyes to the tense shoulders and white knuckled hands.

Randyll did not get to this point in his life by meekly bowing down whenever there was a storm. "The King did not appoint me to shower his court with flowery words nor to back down in the face of anger. Lord Baelish is of the Vale my Lord, he is also already known to Lord Hoster and it was a negative impression, a known enmity there, one Lord Hoster knows you would be aware of. An angry man would not have issues drawing the conclusions that your ordered your bannerman to get you out of your marriage, and then ensured Lord Baelish would be fingered, as surely someone that unimportant would not be a great loss to yourself if Lord Hoster fell upon him."

"You might be right." Jon bit out, "You might be wrong. I will not condemn someone that is not guilty."

"By not doing so, you will condemn Lord Baelish, who we both now suspect has no idea about this plot." Randyll pointed out quietly, "Either way someone will pay, we can decide that its someone which deserves it."

"Damn it to the seven hells." Jon swore quietly. He sat in tense silence for a few minutes. Randyll knew better than to push, he had fought for his solution, now just the answer, victory, or defeat?

"Who do you have in mind exactly?" Jon finally says tiredly, "It must be someone that would not stir up any more fights in the capital."

Randyll did not show any sign of being pleased at getting his way. Once victory had been achieved, showing pleasure over it just angered the defeated. "I have a few names in mind…"





Late Evening - King's solar

"You summoned me, Your Grace?"

Robert looked up from the parchment strewn all over his desk. The desk was a fine mahogany with gold and gem inlays depicting Stags. An expensive gift from one of the Western lords and one Robert thought was ostentatious but appearances needed to be held up. Speaking of Western lords...

"Ser Kevan, yes please have a seat." Robert waved over his page to pour the lion some wine. He then dismissed the lad so they could have some privacy.

"I noticed a commotion on heading here, the Tully's seem to be up in arms about something, should I be worried?" Kevan inquired politely.

"Jon is handling it, if he needed me he would have already informed me of the particulars so no need to worry." Robert said dismissively, leaning back in his equally ridiculous gold inlaid chair. "I summoned you to discuss the Royal bank, get all the details sorted out so you could get started in your new position."

"I am afraid that until all matters have been settled, Lord Lannister would not approve of the Royal bank getting off the ground, Your Grace." Kevan answered with a polite smile picking up his goblet of wine, "Dornish red, how appropriate," He murmured wryly.

"I take it Lord Lannister is not pleased with the Dornish influences, even though it means they stopped clamoring for his head?" Robert grumbled, displeased with the hinting and previcarating, no one ever spoke plainly at court it was driving him mad.

Kevan took a slow appreciative sip of wine, carefully putting the goblet down giving himself time to think of his answer. "Lord Lannister… Appreciates, Your Grace managing to leash the Dornish, it is the matter of seeing Targaryen loyalists rewarded…. While the promises made to house Lannister have yet to be delivered…"

Of course it was all about Tywin throwing a tantrum that he didn't get his cut before everyone else Robert thought exasperated. At least it was not something difficult to fix. "Let's speak plainly Ser Kevan, which of the matters I spoke with Lord Tywin about does he want handled immediately?"

"The matter of Jamie Lannister." Kevan responded promptly, "To be clear, his honorable release from the Kingsguard and the clearing of his name."

"Fine, the trial will be held at midday tomorrow in the throne room." Robert conceded, there really was no reason to antagonize Tywin by holding it up any longer. Nor would he admit the reason it hadn't yet happened was that he had forgotten the man was held in the black cells still.

Kevan bowed his head slightly before hesitating, "And the outcome… How will you absolve him of guilt when the boy admits he killed the king?"

"It will all be clear tomorrow, rest assured he will be found to have acted in honor and in defense of the realm." Robert stated firmly locking eyes with the most reasonable of the Lannisters. "You have my word on it." He was not going to reveal shit beforehand, they could wait like the rest for the big reveal.

Kevan very obviously wanted to say more but had to bite his tongue, one did not question the King's given word without very good reason after all. "Of course Your Grace, you wanted to discuss the bank?" He moved on.

Robert looked around his desk for a moment before he found the parchments he had prepared, he looked them over to ensure once again everything was where it was supposed to be and then once satisfied rolled it up and handed it over to Kevan who had sat in silence eyeing the parchments curiously. "This holds not only the framework for which the bank will operate under, but also how it will be run, the rules it will follow and all other formalities. Have a look over the next few days with your brother and inform me of any changes you might want to discuss, I will listen, if they are a betterment I will allow the changes."

Robert paused to take a heavy drink of his extremely watered down Dornish red. Kevan's gaze flickering down to the heavy rolled up parchment and back to Robert again as if having a hard time equating the stories of Robert with the mass amounts of parchment work.

You're not the one having to actually do it, lion, he grumbled inwardly at the look.

"Firstly, the headquarters of the Royal bank will be here in King's landing, we will demolish the dragon pit, put in the bank and some other relevant infrastructure. The bank will also have smaller satellite locations in every major city in Westeros." Robert began, stopping when it looked like Kevan wanted to interrupt, "You have thoughts? Well out with it then."

"Pardon, Your Grace, but with that many locations, how will we be able to make any profits at all." Kevan asked skeptically.

Robert smirked and stood up walking over to the large map of Westeros covering one of his walls. "See all these dots." He asked pointing to dots going in lines all over the map from every major city and along each coast. "These each represent a tower with a myrish glass eye that will be able to pass along messages far faster than any raven. Good for informing the realm of incoming Ironborn raids… Those don't happen everyday however… What purposes do you suppose those towers could fulfill during peace?"

Kevan stood up and looked over the map with a critical eye, the gleam in those eyes as he looked at the Westerlands coast meant he already understood. "How quickly would a message go from say.. King's Landing to White Harbor, Your Grace?"

Robert returned to his desk, sitting down with a pleased huff as he looked for the parchment with the calculations, Kevan remaining standing staring at the map no doubt running scenarios in his head already on how quickly an Ironborn raid could be discovered and transmitted across the Westerlands.

"Ah, there it is," Robert grabbed the parchment that had been hidden by a whole pile of parchmentwork. "Let's see… Each tower 20 miles apart, at the top a set of movable wood posts with over 200 symbols for coded messages.. Where are the damn time calculations." Robert muttered to himself, with how much he was going through each day some facts just blurred together eventually. " Ah, there it is….About 1500 miles to White Harbor would take 2 and a half hours to 3 hours depending on weather." Robert finished to the astonishment of Kevan.

"And a message from Lannisport to Casterly Rock?" Kevan asked, looking like a miracle was being performed, it was honestly somewhat creepy to see the normally blank façade fall to such emotion. Robert looked down at the calculations again, finger trailing the different locations until he found what he was looking for. "40 miles, a message would arrive in about 5 minutes."

"By the seven" Kevan sank down in his chair grabbing hold of his goblet of wine like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. "This changes so much."

"As you can see, we have an advantage now. No merchant needs to bring a chest of gold on their travels. They can simply open an account here in Kings Landing - or anywhere there is a branch - and deposit the gold. Receive a promissory note from the clerk, then a message is sent up the line to all the bank locations in Westeros giving the man's description, account number, amount of gold in the account and a passphrase of their choice." Robert explained to the still somewhat dazed looking Lannister. "Not only will this cut down on gold lost to robbery or accidents at sea, people will start to trust the bank to hold their money. Businesses and traders in particular will use it, and through the bank as the connection - send messages before their travels to their destination, asking what trade goods that they most need and will pay dearly for - all for a fee of course."

"The Royal bank will have a hand in every trade of the kingdom, building trust and prestige and at the same time massively increasing trade which will increase their usage of the bank again. I must say, I had not quite expected something like this, Your Grace, it's incredible," Kevan admitted, eyes still periodically glancing at the map.

"You can see why I made the deal with your brother, with Lannister gold ensuring a quick start and a bank in every vital location, the trade of Westeros will bloom and the Baratheons and Lannisters will reap the benefits." Robert said, pleased at how quickly Kevan had understood the uses of the Semaphores for trade. "Speaking of, the deal acknowledges you will head the bank for 10 years, I see no reason if you stay loyal to the throne and perform admirably that you can not continue after that if it's your wish."

The Lannisters were good with gold, and would be tied to his rule for now anyway, might as well get as much use of them as he could until they inevitably did a Tywin.

"I am of course loyal to the crown, Your Grace." Kevan acknowledged, with a bow of his head.

Robert doubted he would ever go against Tywin, but all he needed was that he doesn't immediately give up all this potential the second Tywin is displeased about something. He needed someone solid and not addicted to the glint of gold in charge of this project.

"As for the running of the bank, you will of course be in charge as promised. However you will have a board of managers under you, each in charge of a different aspect of the bank to ensure you have the help you need. Also the Master of Coin will have an observatory role, simply to ensure he is aware of the actions of the bank, the lending and moving of money so that he can be fully aware of how money is moving in the kingdoms at any given time." Robert continued the explanation, pleasantly surprised when Kevan did not raise an objection to be surrounded by what would mostly be crown men.

They both knew they'd also be crown spies.

"What would be the composition of these positions?" Kevan asked, having returned to his usual stoic self after the surprises of the discussion. "And will I be able to appoint them myself?"

"Master of business loans/investments, Master of Trade loans/investments, Master of Foreign loans/investments, Master of noble loans/Investments, Master of security/employees, Master of information/accounts, and a few others that I probably forgot, it's in your parchments there, 5 positions are already filled, the information already - again - in your parchments. You may fill the rest, although I will only allow 3 positions other than yours to be filled by Westerlanders or Lannisters." Robert explained, reading off a list from another of his many pieces of parchments strewn around the desk.

He rolled it up and tossed it to the side, wincing as the careless act knocked several piles of parchments to the ground. "Not a word." He warned Kevan who was looking on in almost hidden amusement. The man had not been able to control his lips from twitching, Robert counted it as another win for him.

"Of course, Your Grace," He replied with some mirth still present. "Was there anything else?"

Robert thought over it for a few moments drumming his fingers on the table. "No, the rest you can read for yourself, like I said, bring me any proposed changes and I will look them over." Robert said dismissing the stoic lion, not so stoic anymore.

"By your leave, Your Grace, "Kevan stood and bowed before leaving the solar.

Robert looked around the room in disgust at the amount of work left to be done. Why would anyone ever want to be a King? Well he amended that, why would anyone want to be a proper actually ruling King. By all accounts canon Robert had many a good times completely avoiding ruling. Unfortunately with how that turned out there was no way he could afford to be as lazy.

"Back to work." He muttered, bending down to pick up the scattered scrolls.





Early morning - King's solar

"Is that really wise Robert." Jon asked with wry amusement as he walked into the King's solar finding Robert reading parchments at the same time as breaking fast, a whole leg of a chicken held precariously close to the reading material.

"I am the King, I can eat wherever I damn please. Sit, join me." Robert waved the chicken leg in the direction of the large platter of food on his desk and the pitcher of Dornish red.

"Wine so early?" Jon tsked with disapproval, it was noticeably amiable however, as this routine had played out almost as long as they had known each other.

Robert huffed in amusement taking a big bite out of the chicken. He would have to remember to get fried chicken up and going, the meat here was a lot blander then he was used to. "I haven't had any wine." He admitted. "Servants puts it out everyday but I have too much to do, can't afford to have my mind addled."

Jon smirked, grabbing a piece of fruit off Robert's platter and popping it in his mouth, "Who are you and what have you done with Robert Baratheon? The man too busy chasing women and outdrinking whole taverns on a daily basis to do parchment work." He teased good naturedly.

If only he knew… Robert thought.

Robert sent him a mock dirty look, "Wish I could, If someone hadn't gotten it in their fool head to make me King… I can't afford to look like a fool barbarian or these peacocks down here will give me a headache that will last unto my grandchildren."

Jon let out a short weary laugh, "Peacocks is an apt description, they do tend to fray one's last never don't they?"

Robert eyed him, noticing his hands pale pallor and hunched back. "Is everything alright Jon? You look even more exhausted than me…"

"Right to the matter I see." Jon japed with a weak smile. Then he sighed. "My wife was murdered yesterday, someone sent a letter that fooled the damn girl into drinking poison. Been busy dealing with the investigation.." Jon grimaced. "And Hoster Tully, since then."

Robert leapt up and quickly embraced Jon forcibly lifting the protesting man out of his chair. "Shit Jon, I didn't know, I swear when we find who did it we will murder the fucking cunt so hard they will be telling tales about it 8000 years from now!"

"The letter was signed by Lord Petyr Baelish, Randyll Tarly and myself have been handling the investigation." Jon explained once he was let down giving Roberts shoulder a thankful pat.

Robert stilled. And then turned and spoke slowly, "Lord Baelish…. He is the killer then?"

Jon shook his head, hesitated for a second, then spoke. "Lord Tarly during his investigation found the servant who delivered the letter and the poison, the servant claimed he was paid by Walder Frey to ensure the Tully's alliances were destroyed, no doubt to place himself forward as the leading house in the Riverlands. Lord Baelish signature was a ruse as he was known to Hoster and myself and could have possibly led to Hoster blaming the Vale."

Robert had a peculiar look on his face as he digested that. "Walder Frey… And you're sure it wasn't Baelish?"

Jon nodded resolutely, "On that I am sure, he knew Lysa, that is well known, but therefore it is impossible he would sign his own name and tie himself to this."

Robert grimaced, stroking his neat beard pensively. "Walder Frey won't stand to be accused of this just on the word of a servant." He pointed out.

"It will force Hoster Tully to focus on the Riverlands, instead of making a mess here, he was getting increasingly upset with the changes you were implementing Robert." Jon admitted, holding his hands out in a what can you do gesture.

"Fucking seven hells!" Robert swore, starting to pace back and forth. "Not even properly crowned yet and you tell me I will see a civil war in the Riverlands?"

"Not war." Jon said, "Neither of them can afford that, more than likely bandits will start attacking traveling Freys and Frey farms…. And in return Tully farms will be burned, likewise by bandits on a continuous cycle."

"Can we stop it?" Robert asked frustrated.

"Not without Walder Frey suddenly losing his head." Jon said downcast and wringing his hands. "We can't support civil war, nor can we reprimand Hoster for getting revenge, nor can we ask the Freys to give up. Every choice makes us look weak."

"And we can't march on the Twins without making every lord of the realm wonder if they will see an army next on the word of a mere servant." Robert could see they were in a situation where there were no easy solutions.

They might be forced to just stand back and watch Tully and Frey play shadow war for now.

"Shit… They might not enjoy playing bandit once there are 10 000 men in Harrenhal ready to crush those cunts."

"That gives us a few years, we can find a solution before the Royal Army is settled enough to begin to wipe out the bandit population." Jon said looking none the happier.

"We should just let Baelish take the fall, isn't he that fucker that tried to get Catelyn Tully out of her Stark betrothal? He isn't a big loss Jon." Robert roared, slamming a hand against the wall. "I can't let there be war, even a shadow one, this early in my rule."

"That won't work out for the better Robert. Hoster would never believe it was Baelish alone. Randyll believes - and I agree - that Hoster would leap to the conclusion Baelish was my catspaw to get out of the marriage. since I was well aware Hoster disliked him and why. He would no doubt believe that I was dangling Baelish ahead of him as a ploy to avoid any blame myself." Jon explained. "No matter what we are in a dire situation, we need to choose the one that does not cause chaos in the capital. You can see the sense as well as I, Robert."

"Gods be damned," Robert muttered angrily, head leaning against the wall as he thought it through. After a few minutes he sighed and turned back towards Jon. "Fine, hold a trial with this servant you've cooked up - don't look so damn surprised Jon, I damn well know a con when I see one - And get Hoster Tully pointed at a target away from the capital."

"I will see it done once the trial for Jamie Lannister has finished, and I will let Hoster know ahead of time so he doesn't try and confront you during the trial seeking answers." Jon answered after a considering pause.
"Robert, you are doing the right thing here, it's the best choice in a bad situation."

Robert shook his head harshly sitting down at his desk again. "Tell that to Walder Frey." He suggested. Not that he cared for that old cunt. He'd get his if he had his way too.

Jon shook his head with a tired smile on his face. "I'd rather not treat with that man, no matter the reason. The one good thing with this is the chance that a despicable man ends up dead."

"To the death of Walder Frey!" Robert chuckled darkly, filling two goblets with wine, handing one to Jon and then draining his own.

"What happened to no wine in the morning?" Jon asked, taking a small sip of his own visibly relaxing into his chair now that the serious business was dealt with.

"Starting civil wars because it's the damn best choice for me is thirsty business." Robert answered unapologetically. "At least the servants will be happy, I half believe they think I suspect them of trying to poison me with how they always frown at the full pitcher of wine."

"I am surprised you have any left, you sent most to the wall." Jon quipped, taking another sip.

"Like I was going to trust a keep full of people that spent their entire lives serving Dragons." Robert sneered filling another goblet for himself, pacing himself now to simple sips. He still had a trial later.

"I noticed you made Roose Bolton actually smile yesterday, I was going to ask before all this happened what on earth that was about?"

Robert looked confused for a moment before realizing what Jon was talking about. "Oh. That. I put him in charge of getting answers out of Varys. Yesterday was his first day asking the spider some pointed questions. That's why he was so cheerful when he came to the table."

Jon shuddered, "I can understand why Eddard dislikes the man, there is something wrong with him. Although I can acknowledge the need to use a person such as him for situations like Varys, he sits ill with me."

Robert winced, "Ah, then you won't like what I told him before I told him to interrogate Varys."

Jon sighed he had seen that expression on Robert many times, usually after sneaking out for whoring and drinking and then getting caught on the way back. "What did you do?"

"Well….."

Flashback

Days earlier -Early morning - King's solar


"I imagine you are wondering why I would call you here." Robert said, eyeing the silent leech Lord that was admiring the map of Westeros.

"I did not want to assume." Lord Roose Bolton answered, turning around, blinking slowly as he stared straight at Robert. Lord Bolton was the kind of man that epitomized the phrase emotionless. Robert might as well have been speaking with a damn corpse.

"I have heard quite a lot about you, Lord Bolton. Most of it, to be honest, hasn't been very pleasant." Robert said, staring directly into Bolton's eyes, unblinking and with no reaction to his statement. Freaky.

"What use would I have for pleasantry, Your Grace?" Lord Bolton said calmly.

Robert huffed, unwillingly starting to smirk. "Well, You don't piss around, I appreciate that. Luck has it I could use an unpleasant man."

"I am at your service of course." Lord Bolton assured quietly. At Robert's hand gesture the tall Lord finally sat down in front of the desk so Robert wouldn't have to stare up at him.

"I intend to start a new… Organization in Westeros, The Inquisitors." Robert said slowly gauging the lord in front of him. "Its intent, to train and use torturers, spies and assassins in the name of the throne, secretly of course."

Lord Bolton raised an eyebrow questioningly, "Spies already exist under the aegis of the Master of Whispers, assassins could easily be bought by such a person, torturers there are plenty, surely the Red Keep has some?"

Robert smirked, "Not like this, I don't want spies that listen in on conversations, I want the kind that can ride a man down, interrogate him on the spot and dispose of the evidence after. I want no run of the mill hired assassins. I want loyal highly trained ones that will always get the target and that can return alive to get the next one. And any man can rip off some nails, I need men that can destroy men's minds and discover everything hidden within."

Lords Bolton smiled, and Robert finally saw a flash of emotion on the man. "Does that interest you Lord Bolton?"

"It sounds appealing." The Leech Lord admitted. "Logistics?"

"You would have to remain in the south, I would name you to the small council as Master of Provisions. Ostensibly your position is that of ensuring the realm is prepared for winter. As a northerner your appointment makes sense and would go mostly unquestioned. This will excuse your presence down south and your presence at the small council meetings, as well as any private audiences with your King." Robert explained quietly. "In reality you can let one of your underlings run that part and just report whatever they've done to the council. You will secretly be the Master of the Inquisition. The torturers of the Red Keep will be yours to train and oversee, you will get the gold, facilities and means to train any number of spies, torturers and assassins, loyal to the throne. You would answer only to me, and my descendants, no one else on the small council will ever know."

Of course Robert would be keeping a close eye to ensure everyone remained loyal… But he had a feeling that giving Bolton all the fun he could have would prevent any egregious plotting.

At least for a while. Once the organization was built, if he was a threat, well…

"I suppose I will have to find a proper castellan to run the Dreadfort for my heir then. Your Grace." Lord Bolton replied matter of factly.

"Splendid, and one more thing." Robert put on his best war face. "The Starks are mine, I am aware the Boltons have many times chafed under their rule. Starks start dropping dead as you get an order of assassins under you, will lead to me caving your head in, understood?" Robert leant forward on his arms really staring into the eyes of Lord Bolton. "Even should the entire Stark line die by a massive accident, I will find some random child, name it Stark and make it Lord Paramount of the north. Do not try anything in that direction."

Lord Bolton smiled again. "Your Grace, I have no need to do such a thing, I have already risen higher today than any Bolton for thousands of years."

Robert sat back in his chair. "Good, see to it that it remains that way and you will have everything you could ever want here in the capital."

Flashback end.


Jon rubbed his forehead. "I understand why you felt the need to do this, in fact it could be immensely useful, as long as no one ever finds out. So why tell me then, you told Lord Bolton no one would know?"

Robert snorted, "I told him that, but just in case, I also told you. In case I suddenly get assassinated from nowhere."

Jon groaned and shook his head despondently. "Don't jape about that Robert! You realize if anyone finds out about this order of yours, every accident any Lord suffers, every death, they will always suspect you ordered it. No one can find out, no one Robert. Don't tell anyone else."

Jon's face paled, "Do not tell Eddard!"

"I'm not a moron." Robert scoffed.

The rest of the meeting was spent on figuring out how to cajole all the various Lords to bend over properly.

At least he'd still marry that cunt Cersei in exchange for Lannister gold for all his projects.

With Jaime soon to be heir of Castefly Rock, maybe he can even fuck her stupid - so she won't keep being an issue.

Hah, and maybe pigs will fly too!





Author's note:

Obviously this would also go to hell in a handbasket, just in a way different way then canon.

It was fun to write but would just be chapter by chapter of building up stuff while others worked to tear it down, so it didn't end up a full story.

Hope someone finds it interesting.

Cheers

JollyHippopotamus
 
At least he'd still marry that cunt Cersei in exchange for Lannister gold for all his projects.
What kind of moron would trust Cersei with anything? It was all good until this part. Marrying Cersei Is Just asked to be cucked, betrayed and poisoned all the while your children grow as morons.
 
What kind of moron would trust Cersei with anything? It was all good until this part. Marrying Cersei Is Just asked to be cucked, betrayed and poisoned all the while your children grow as morons.

Jamie would be back at Casterly Rock, and he never said he'd trust her. She's surrounded by his men, the guard expanded. She won't be screwing around so easily.

Unlike canon Robert, he has no reason to let her get her way. He'll make her see some sort of reason, or she'll have an 'accident' after she pops out a brat to appease Tywin.
 
Jamie would be back at Casterly Rock, and he never said he'd trust her. She's surrounded by his men, the guard expanded. She won't be screwing around so easily.

Unlike canon Robert, he has no reason to let her get her way. He'll make her see some sort of reason, or she'll have an 'accident' after she pops out a brat to appease Tywin.
Don't Know man, I wouldn't trust her to even do one thing right
 
sigh, I miss shows where queen are actually confidante of kings
 
Interesting & fun! I wonder if this version of Bobby B could make it work with Cersei, or if she's fated to fuck whoever she married
 
Jamie would be back at Casterly Rock, and he never said he'd trust her. She's surrounded by his men, the guard expanded. She won't be screwing around so easily.

Unlike canon Robert, he has no reason to let her get her way. He'll make her see some sort of reason, or she'll have an 'accident' after she pops out a brat to appease Tywin.
the only way to keep cercie in line is basically treating her like Aemma with little to no real power, and keep sleeping with her, until she is pregnant, then wait if she births a dark headed child, and repeat, until she surpasses the good queen Allysane, and try to make moon tea a banned substance or something in the red keep to stop her from taking it
 
Snippet 16: DxD A Bad Game 2
Here's snippet 2 of DxD bad game: Beware the Levi-tan!

By popular request, or at least asked for by a few people on Patron (Yes you, Jordan), here's the second installment of DXD: A Bad Game

Warning that he does have Ranma's curse, so those who get irrationally angry at that, read at your own risk then and don't rant at me.

Again, this is not a normal gamer story, so just have fun in Sora's suffering.

As usual, I don't own any of the worlds, fictions or canon characters that show up.

Hope you enjoy.






A week after starting Kuoh,

Sora twitched as Akeno sat down next to him, "Himejima…" He said warningly.

Akeno, who'd just pushed the boy who'd actually been sitting there aside, smiled at him, "Ara, Sora-kun? I didn't know we would be seatmates!" She tittered.

Sora's eyes slowly turned to the boy who had been unceremoniously pushed aside and was busy shuffling off looking for an empty seat. "Hold that thought." He said with irritation, standing up, grabbing the forgettable boy by the collar, and dragging him back, "Here, have my seat, Himejima won't mind." He said bluntly, before walking off before the devil could say anything else, taking the empty seat previously occupied by Himejima.

Damn Devils… He needed to work on getting rid of his problems vis-a-vis all devils, and they weren't helping by being their incessant curious selves. Prodding and poking and trying to figure him out. His anger issues only made them more interested, which made the issues worse. It was a wonder he hadn't punched Himejima in the face yet.

Bitch would probably enjoy it anyway…

As class was about to start, he realized he'd been had. Fucking Devils. As Rias Gremory walked in, and sat down next to him with an excited smile playing at her lips. The usual seatmate of Himejima of course.

How had he thought taking this seat was going to work out exactly?

Could he just drop out of school?

As the teacher began to drone on about history, Rias leaned over, eyes sparkling, "I did my research on you…" She almost purred, looking two steps away from pouncing on him.

He studiously stared forward, glaring at the teacher, come on, she's clearly ignoring your lesson, say something!

Fucking mind controlled drones, totally useless
, he thought bitterly. Not that they were constantly controlled or anything, just whenever a devil decided they wanted to avoid dealing with them.

Rias brought out a copy of the manga he'd 'written' before his mind settled into this body, and he wanted to slam his head into the desk. Just what I need…

"Please sign it after class!" She begged, before immediately continuing on, eyes gleaming with interest, "With how much you seem to dislike Devils, why did you end up writing a manga about a young devil fighting the very heavens themselves to prove that one can't be born evil?" She squirmed in her seat, looking like she had a thousand questions, but forcing herself to play it cool, "It's really popular in the underworld."

Sora sighed, sending an irritated look at her, and then at Akeno, who was obviously hypnotizing the rest of the class, because why else would the teacher and all the students just ignore Rias loudly begging him for an autograph.

And what the hell had his younger self been thinking? Writing a devil story for a manga? What a fucking cosmic joke.

As Rias was unlikely to leave him alone about it, he pulled on his absolute best ability, bullshitting. "Devil's, are in general, shit." He said bluntly, ignoring her sudden frown, "So giving young devils a role model, someone who saw what they were, and rejected that it meant they had to prey on humanity - could only help."

The manga had been written by the him before all his metaknowledge set in, so it wasn't in any way lining up with how devils actually were - or the rest of the mythos of the world, but it was close enough there were many similarities.

And he wasn't surprised it was popular in the underworld, annoyed, but not surprised. A young Devil rising up to spit heaven in the eye for daring to say he was born evil, it would likely resonate. Well, with certain parts of the underworld anyway.

The violent devil civil war the protagonist kicked off in the latest issues probably wasn't fun reading for some of the older devils if they perused manga. He was probably lucky it was more of a younger generation thing…

… The Leviathan better not read his damn manga, he doesn't need to be drafted to write shows for that nutjob.

"We don't prey on humanity…" Rias protested, "Is that why you dislike us so, Sora-kun?" She leaned forward earnestly, "I promise we aren't like that!"

No, it's because I have a system that makes me more and more annoyed the longer you're near me, until I want to punch you in your perfect teeth, he thought with annoyance. Not that he was particularly fond of them even without it. Rias was an outlier, in her species. "I'm not wasting my time on this." He said bluntly, not interested in a debate, "If you're naive enough to think how you act with a peerage is the norm, you're a literal child, Gremory."

While he acknowledged becoming a devil would literally be good for his power… He was neither in a hurry, nor particularly willing to explore that. Not just because of his malus that made him act out against them - but because he didn't agree with almost anything they did.

Setting aside how the peerage was just slavery, and it was - because leaving meant turning into a monster that was hunted down and exterminated… The fact that devils operated still on personal power meant the system would always be unjust.

You could accomplish whatever you wished, and if Ajuka, or Serafall or someone - decided they really didn't like that - and didn't want to play friendly for that moment - you were eradicated. Not to mention what the old devil faction would do if they didn't like something - no friendliness faked there.

So no, stepping into that hot mess was not his idea of a good time. Yet… He knew it was likely inevitable. Something which irritated him and didn't help him keep a polite tone with the devil's even without the malus pitching in.

Before she could retort, he stood up, grabbing his bag, and walked away.

"H-hey, we have class!" She protested, "And my autograph!" She added in a mumble.

Sora looked at the hypnotized teacher, "Good if I go?" He asked, before just walking out when he got no answer.

They wanted to fuck around, they'd find out. They were cool with just mind whammying the whole class, they couldn't say fuck when he took that as an opportunity to just leave.

Casual mind control for funzies… Another reason to dislike them. He could understand when it was necessary to keep up the masquerade, he could.

Like him needing it to hide his… Condition. At least them using their magic and abilities around him was basically feeding him, since just by seeing magic being done - he knew how to do it, and could perform it with ease.

So he could also mind control or confuse weak minded people now. Not that he was going around doing that.

Not like these idiots that just did it whenever they felt like it.

Why did I ever like these people, anyway?





Lunchtime,

He took one look at the cafeteria, seeing Rias sitting at an empty table, eyes searching for someone, probably him, with Akeno and Yuuto positioned by the other door and by the line for food respectively.

Nope.

He walked straight back out.

He'd just use a vending machine today. And probably tomorrow. And well, vending machines in Japan had some good shit anyway, it would be like a full meal anyway.

He didn't make it ten steps before someone fell into step with him, someone who hadn't been in the hallway as far as he could tell.

"No." He said succinctly, fighting the urge to do something drastic.

Tsubaki, Sona's queen, smiled at him, as she walked in lockstep with him, "I haven't even asked anything yet, Sora-kun." She chided him gently.

Sora chuckled, a sardonic smile on his lips, "Ah, my mistake then. How do you say no, but even harder?"

Tsubaki wrinkled her nose slightly at his stubbornness, "Sora-kun, this animosity isn't needed, the president just wants a word." She admonished him.

"And the fact I don't, doesn't matter, because I'm only human, right?" He fired back snidely.

Tsubaki reeled back slightly, lips parting in a shocked gasp, "Sora-kun! That's not it at all!"

"Good, then you'll leave me alone and respect my wishes." He said with faked cheerfulness, knowing he'd trapped her. Because there was no way either Sona or Rias was leaving him alone. She was still going to completely ignore his wishes, but at least now she might feel bad about it in the process.

This past week of not being able to turn a corner without one of them, or their peerages, hounding him, proved that they weren't going to leave him alone. The fact they always carried water bottles that tested how quickly his curse would set in hardly helped his temper.

Their damn curiosity about his curse was making school hell, and eventually would attract outside interest if they kept it up. He'd have to do something about that soon.. He did have some quests…

Tsubaki winced at his rebuttal, knowing she couldn't do that, "Ah, is it really such a hardship just to come to the student council room and speak with the president?"

"Completely ignoring what I said, got it." Sora drawled, "Hope you don't mind, but I'm going to pay that back, and just completely ignore what you have to say." Don't punch the devil, they are stronger than you, don't punch the devil…

Of course things don't work out that easy, because a turn of a hallway later and Sona Sitri just happened to be standing there waiting for him.

Sora just kept walking, lengthening his strides, forcing the Sitri heiress to make the choice of looking potentially undignified in front of other students as she rushed along to keep up with him. Or to let him go and try again another time.

She chose to let him go.

He really needed to figure out how to get some workable quests and rewards in this system of his, ASAP!

Too many of the quests he had received so far were entirely unreasonable.

Seduce Serafall Leviathan, like what the hell was he supposed to do with a quest like that?

And that was nothing against the quest to seduce fucking Zekram Bael!

He hated everything.




Sora sat cross-legged on the floor of his cramped apartment, the dim light from the single bulb casting shadows along the walls. His breathing was steady, but his mind was anything but calm. He stared at the leaf resting gently on the palm of his hand - a dry, brittle thing he had plucked from the sidewalk on his way back from Kuoh Academy. It was a test subject, a stand-in for the kind of practice he'd need if he wanted to master his time-stop ability.

"Just a leaf," He muttered to himself. "No big deal, easy."

Aeon Balor, his sacred gear, pulsed faintly inside him, a deep, shadowy presence that he could barely control yet. He'd spent the last couple of hours trying to get a handle on its time-stopping powers. Tossing a simple leaf into the air and trying to halt its fall had seemed like a good place to start. He lifted his hand, giving the leaf a flick. It tumbled into the air, spinning lazily, before Sora narrowed his eyes and willed the world to freeze around it.

For a brief, fleeting moment, the leaf slowed, its descent halting midair. But just as quickly, time surged back into place, and the leaf resumed its fall, barely stopping for a second before it hit the floor.

"Damn it." His voice was rough, frustration tinging his words. He retrieved the leaf and tried again, tossing it slightly higher this time. The leaf spun, gliding in slow motion as he focused with all his might.

Once more, the leaf stopped for a heartbeat, suspended in the air as if gravity itself had forgotten it existed. But just as before, it only lasted for a moment - too short to be useful. The leaf fluttered back down to the floor, mocking him with its frailty.

"Okay," Sora muttered, rolling his shoulders to shake off the irritation. "It's just about control and practice, I've got this."

For the next hour, he repeated the exercise. Each attempt, he focused more on the sensation of stopping time. He could feel the pull of the magic in his core, the way it reached out to grasp at reality and bend it to his will. The leaf flicked upward, time slowed, and for a second - sometimes two - it hovered in place. Slowly, with each repetition, Sora began to gain fractions of extra seconds. The leaf now hovered longer, nearly four seconds at its peak.

His brow was slick with sweat, and his breathing had become heavier from the intense focus required. But there was progress. Small, painstaking progress. Useless for anything, but progress.

"Alright, let's step it up," Sora said, his voice strained but determined.

He stood up and picked up the nearest object in his apartment - a small cup from the counter. It was much heavier than the leaf, as it had some decent weight. Something more challenging. He tossed it upward and immediately channeled the power of his sacred gear, trying to force the world around the cup to still.

It barely worked. The cup jerked to a stop for less than a second before crashing to the floor with a loud clatter, spilling a small puddle of water. Sora let out a growl of frustration, his hands curling into fists.

"Why the hell does it get that much harder when it's just a little heavier!?" He snapped, the anger bubbling up as his progress shattered before his eyes. He glared at the cup, as if it had personally insulted him, and kicked it across the floor in irritation.

He sat back down on the floor, rubbing his temples. The rush of frustration subsided, leaving only a cold determination behind. He was going to make this work. Even if he had to sit here all night and practice, he would master this. Even if it took every night for a year. He would do this.

Sora sighed deeply, his fingers massaging his temples as the remnants of his frustration ebbed away. The soft clatter of the cup as it rolled across the floor seemed to mock him, a small but sharp reminder that he still had a long way to go. The fact that he could barely stop a lightweight object for more than a second left him wondering how he was ever going to manage something more complex - like a person or devil.

He exhaled slowly, feeling the pulse of Aeon Balor deep within him, a quiet, unrelenting presence. This ability wasn't going to come easy. And the system, nerfed as it was, wasn't exactly giving him any shortcuts.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a transparent window blinked into existence before his eyes. He squinted at it, not really wanting to deal with any more of the system's usual shenanigans.

Quest: Stopping Time, The Lewd Way

Challenge: Use your time-stopping ability on a person and perform a… Suggestive action while they are frozen.

Reward: +1 Level, +2 in all stats, and ???


Sora stared blankly at the quest prompt. He blinked once. Twice. The words didn't change.

"What the actual fuck?" He muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with disbelief. "Is this system serious? Why the hell is it asking me to do something perverted?" Fucking DxD world…

He dragged a hand down his face, scowling at the floating text as if glaring at it hard enough might make it disappear. Instead, the quest window remained firmly in place, glowing innocently as though it wasn't prompting him to do something obscene to someone who'd have no idea.

This really was fucking Japan, wasn't it?

He'd better fucking stay away from subways…

"Figures," He muttered darkly, shaking his head in irritation. "Of course, the system would end up being a pervert. It's not bad enough that I got saddled with all these ridiculous disadvantages, but now I have to deal with this too?"

The absurdity of it made his blood boil. Even if he wanted the reward - a whole level and stat boosts that he desperately needed - there was no way in hell he was going to stoop to something that low. The very thought of it made his skin crawl. Except maybe someone like Himejima… No, stop, he shook his head, he wouldn't go that far.

He swiped his hand through the air, dismissing the quest with an irritated grunt. "Buggy, overpowered, and perverted. Just my luck." He grumbled out, sighing deeply.

Still, the system wasn't entirely wrong about one thing. To get stronger, he'd have to push himself further, get out of his comfort zone. He couldn't stop at just leaves and cups. If he ever wanted to freeze a person in time, he had to start small, build his way up. He didn't even know if he had the strength yet to attempt something so large.

He just wouldn't allow the system to entirely dictate things. He could create his own quests eventually, just by doing dangerous tasks.

He looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers as he tried to feel the magic pulsing inside him. The ability was there - raw and potent, but out of his grasp. The only way he would master it was through repetition, training, and possibly increasing his stats.

Standing up, Sora retrieved the cup, setting it back on the counter. His apartment was too small to toss around anything heavier, but he knew he'd need to challenge himself. He grabbed an empty plastic bottle from a nearby shelf and gave it a toss. As the bottle spun in the air, he willed time to stop again.

For a brief second, the bottle froze in midair, the room around him feeling unnaturally still, as if the world had paused just for him. The moment didn't last long. Gravity resumed its pull, and the bottle plummeted to the floor with a soft thud.

"Better," Sora muttered, feeling a slight sense of accomplishment. He was making progress, even if it was slow.

But now, more than ever, he could see just how far he had to go. Stopping time for an object was one thing. Stopping time for a living being? That was going to take far more power and finesse than he had right now. He needed to raise his stats, and maybe with better control, the stops would last longer.

Sora squared his shoulders, determination tightening his jaw. He tossed the bottle again. Time to work.

He didn't sleep much that night.





The next day,

Sora had just settled into his futon after another exhausting day at Kuoh Academy. His body ached, not just from the day's exertions, but from the constant tension of being surrounded by devils who seemed to think of him as their next plaything. It was one thing to survive in this world - it was another to do it with the constant, looming threat of being dragged into one of their petty games. He'd known it was still likely his best bet to survive, but he resented it, oh did he ever resent the idea of it. He exhaled heavily, hoping for a moment of peace in his tiny apartment.

Then came the knocking.

It was loud, rapid, and persistent, echoing through the thin walls of his shabby living space. Sora clenched his teeth, hoping against hope that whoever was on the other side of that door would just go away. But the knocking only grew more insistent, demanding his attention.

With a groan of resignation, Sora dragged himself off his futon and shuffled toward the door. He knew, knew - that only bad things awaited him on the other side. That was just how his life worked now. Still, he couldn't just ignore it. Whoever was out there clearly wasn't going to leave him alone.

He cracked the door open just enough to peer through, and his stomach sank when he saw who was standing there. The woman on the other side was like something out of a fever dream - a fever dream dressed in a magical girl outfit. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, adorned with tiny stars and moons, and she wore a pink and white dress that looked like it had been ripped straight out of an anime. But it wasn't the absurdity of her outfit that made his blood run cold, it was the sheer power she radiated, a power that seemed to make the very air around her hum with energy.

"Hello~! I'm Serafall Leviathan, but you can call me Levi-tan!" She chirped, her voice as sugary sweet as her appearance. Her eyes sparkled with an unsettling mix of mischief and intensity. "I'm here to talk about my beloved Sona-tan!"

Sora stared at her, mouth slightly agape in disbelief that this was actually happening. This had to be a joke, right? There was no way the Leviathan herself was standing on his doorstep, dressed like she'd just walked off the set of a magical girl show. But the longer he looked, the more he realized that this was all too real. Horrifyingly real.

This is all about the stupid chess game…

The quest popping up didn't make his mood improve any.

Impress and resist Serafall Leviathan:

Reward:


You get to live.

???

???


Of course it was too much to ask to actually know what the rewards would be… Although getting to live was… Fuck this shit, fuck this system, and fuck this bitch!

He was done. He was not going to suck the fuck up to this magical girl crazy girl!

Without a second thought, he slammed the door shut with a loud bang. There was no way he was dealing with this madness today. Not on top of everything else.

For a brief, blissful moment, there was silence. But then, almost immediately, Sora heard a faint whizzing sound, and the overwhelming presence of magic filled the room. He didn't even need to turn around to know what had happened.

Serafall had teleported directly into his apartment. Well, luckily he'd already gotten the teleportation spell anyway, so it didn't matter that he hadn't seen this one.

Also, rude. Fucking Devils.

"Now, now! That's not very nice! We can't have a serious talk if you shut the door on me, So-ra-kun!" She admonished, her voice taking on a teasing lilt as she wagged a finger at him like he was a naughty child.

Sora pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache that was already beginning to form. He'd known today was going to be bad, but this was worse than anything he could have anticipated. "What do you want?" He asked, his voice carefully measured, though there was no hiding the irritation that colored his tone.

Serafall's pout deepened, but there was a glint in her eyes that made Sora wary. This wasn't a woman who was easily dismissed. "I heard what happened between you and my sweet Sona-tan, and I'm here to make sure you understand - really understand - that you can't have her! Sona-tan is mine! We're supposed to be together forever in Yuri Yuri harmony, and I won't let you come between us!"

Sora blinked, utterly dumbfounded by the turn of the conversation, even if in retrospect he should have expected this. "Wait, what? I'm not interested in -"

But Serafall wasn't listening. She pressed on, her voice growing more intense, more manic. "I don't care if you're a chess prodigy or a secret prince or something! It doesn't matter how smart you are or how you beat her in that silly bet of hers! You're not good enough for Sona-tan, and I won't allow it! So, you need to leave her alone right this instant! Do you hear me!?" Her voice rose in pitch, and there was something almost dangerous in her tone as she pointed an accusing finger at him.

The flair she used to jump and point at him lost her points on the fact she also flashed her panties at him at the same time. To Sora's disgust he actually received another magical skill from that - Serafall actually used wind magic to ensure she flashed her panties when she pulled that move.

Fucking Devils.

Sora shook his head as he focused on the now, and tried to process what she was saying, but it was like trying to swim through a hurricane. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm not -" He began again with irritation audible in his voice, eyes twitching.

"Don't you even think about denying it!" Serafall interrupted, steam practically blowing from her ears as she stepped closer, her presence both threatening and bizarrely cute in equal measure. "If you leave my Sona-tan alone, I'll give you anything you want! Money, power, fame - just name it! I'll make sure you have everything you could ever dream of!" She wagged her finger in his face, "Just don't let anyone know you beat her."

Sora gaped at her. This was madness, sheer, unadulterated madness. He had faced plenty of strange situations since arriving in this world, but this took the cake. And she wasn't even giving him a chance to explain himself!

"I'm not interested in - " He tried again, sternly, only to get cut off again.

"If you want a position of power, I can make you a noble!" Serafall continued, her tone shifting to something more seductive, her earlier mania replaced with a coy smile that made Sora's skin crawl. "Or I can give you a magical artifact! You could have a whole library of spellbooks, all yours! How about that, hmm? Doesn't that sound nice?"

Sora's patience was wearing thin, and he doubted spell books would work well with his way of acquiring magic, so he tried one last time to get a word in. "Listen, I'm definitely not interested in -"

"Maybe you want your own peerage?" Serafall suggested, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper as she leaned in closer, invading his personal space. "I can arrange that too. Just think, you could have your own group of loyal servants, ready to do your bidding, all yours to command, a harem… All you have to do is stay away from Sona-tan."

Sora's fists clenched at his sides, his irritation finally boiling over. "Will you listen for a second you vapid bitch?" He snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

I just called the Leviathan a vapid bitch… Well if I'm going to die, I might as well own it.

Serafall blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sharpness in his tone, but she quickly recovered, waving away his outburst as if it were a mere inconvenience, seemingly not taking offense to his language. "There's no need to raise your voice, So-ra-kun!" She said, her voice once again teasing, almost playful. "I'm only trying to help you understand what's at stake here! Sona-tan is my precious little sister, and I can't let some random boy just swoop in and take her away! It's my duty to protect her for the good of Yuri, and that's what I'm going to do, so all I need is for you to be a good boy and agree."

Sora gritted his teeth, trying to hold back the torrent of words that threatened to spill out. "I don't want Sona," He said slowly, deliberately, as if he were explaining something to a particularly dense child.

Serafall's eyes widened in shock, and she did a dramatic twirl, firing glitter and sprays of water in the air. "Whaaaaaat?" She cried out, shocked, "You're saying she's not good eno - " She stopped mid sentence, gaping.

Because of course the sprays of water had hit him, turning him into a girl. Sora huffed angrily, crossing her arms, as Serafall just stared for a moment, before moving closer.

She peered at her curiously, her attitude having done an 180, even as she didn't even ask any questions about what just happened. "You know, you're not that bad-looking, So-ra-kun, or is it chan? Maybe, if you really did marry Sona-tan, it could work out for me… As her husbandwife, you could let me join the relationship too, right? We could be a happy little trio!"

Sora's jaw dropped. Don't just run with it you crazy bitch! "What the hell is wrong with you!? You go from threatening me to bribing me, and now you want to join in some twisted three-way marriage?!" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "I'm telling you, I don't want anything to do with Sona! Or with you, for that matter!"

Fucking Devils!

She'd said it before, but it really needed repeating.

Serafall pouted, but the seductive glint in her eyes didn't waver. "Oh, So-ra-chan, you're just saying that because you're shy. But that's okay! I can be very persuasive when I want to be," she purred, her fingers trailing suggestively along her arm, before she poked her right breast, a glint of something in her eyes.

Sora recoiled from her touch, a shiver of disgust running down her spine - her trait not allowing her to feel anything but, even though she could acknowledge she was attractive… And there was that quest… "No! I'm not interested in Sona! I'm not interested in you! I'm not interested in any of this devil nonsense!" She practically shouted, rejecting falling that far, her voice rising in pitch as her frustration reached its peak.

Her hands were clenched into fists, and shaking, as she had to hold herself back from fighting what to her was basically a primordial force of nature. It would be plain suicide, yet she wanted to attack her, her greater power apparently just setting her off worse then anything Rias or Sona had done.

She also wanted to fuck her. Quest derived or not, and the two feelings were really messing with her head.

But Serafall only smiled wider, as if she found her resistance amusing. "You know, So-ra-chan, it would be very easy to make you a devil," She said nonchalantly, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather.

She wasn't sure if that was an offer, or a threat. But she hated both. She was pretty sure Serafall was just playing mind games now, but she couldn't not react. This woman is too dangerous, she's trying to see how I work now…

Sora's fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white as she tried to control herself. "It's really not that easy," She gritted out, her voice laced with barely restrained fury. "I'm not some toy you can just turn into a devil because it's convenient for you!"

Serafall tilted her head, her smile never wavering. "But you wouldn't be just any devil, So-ra-chan. You'd be special. I'd make sure of it. You could have anything you've ever wanted. Imagine the power, the freedom, the ability to shape your own destiny without anyone standing in your way," Serafall cooed, her voice silky smooth as she stepped even closer, her breath warm against her cheek. "And all you have to do is leave Sona-tan to me."

Make up your damn mind! You want to share her or for me to leave her alone!?

Sora's patience snapped like a brittle twig under the weight of Serafall's persistent, relentless advances and mind games. She had been trying to hold back, to keep herself from lashing out, but Serafall's casual dismissal of her autonomy, her complete disregard for her feelings, had pushed her past her breaking point.

She was so damn tired of these devils acting like her feelings and opinions just didn't matter, that if they only pushed her enough she'd just beg to join their peerages.

She took a step back, creating some much-needed distance between them, her eyes narrowing with a fury that she could no longer contain. "I don't want your power. I don't want your freedom. I don't want anything from you!" She shouted, her voice echoing through the cramped space of his apartment. "All I want is for you to leave me the hell alone!"

Serafall's smile faltered for the briefest of moments, but she quickly recovered, her expression turning sly and mischievous. "You're just playing hard to get, So-ra-chan. It's cute, really. But I can see through you. Deep down, you want this. You want the power, the recognition, everyone does. You want to be someone important, someone who matters." She leaned in again, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "And I can give that to you. I can give you everything you've ever dreamed of. Just say the word, and it's yours, you just have to do what I say from now on..."

The guess about devils really wanting anything peculiar wasn't a wrong one, it seems, but it pissed Sora the hell off, what gave them the right?

Sora gritted her teeth, her entire body trembling with the effort it took to keep herself from grabbing Serafall and shaking some sense into her. "You're not listening to me!" She snarled, her voice dripping with venom. "I don't want anything to do with devils, or your twisted world, or your ridiculous offers! I'm not interested in power, or fame, or whatever else you think you can bribe me with! All I want is to be left alone! Do you get that? Alone!"

Serafall's eyes sparkled with amusement, as if her outburst was nothing more than a child's tantrum to her. "But, So-ra-chan, you're already involved. You're someone in this world now, whether you like it or not. And you're special. So very, very special. It would be such a waste to let you go to waste as just another human." She paused, "Not that there's anything wrong with being human, you could just be… Better."

"I never asked to be special. I never asked to be part of this. All I want is to survive and get through this mess without being dragged into your crazy, power-hungry schemes!" She snapped, only belatedly realizing that she might be showing too much of what she knew.

Serafall's smile softened into something almost maternal and sympathetic, though the glint in her eyes remained. "Oh, So-ra-chan… You're already in it, with how you are." She gave her a very appreciative once over, before continuing,

"And whether you want to admit it or not, you've already made waves. You beat my Sona-tan in chess. That's no small feat. It brought me here. I promise you, I'm a better choice then some of the others that would come if they knew. I could show you, if you don't believe me…"

Sora's frustration morphed into a cold, simmering anger. "I'm not interested in Sona," She repeated, her voice low and dangerous. "I'm not a devil, and beating her in chess doesn't mean anything. So what if I'm smart? So what if I'm resourceful? That doesn't mean I want to be dragged into your world." I should have lost the damn game, quest be damned!

"I don't need you to show me anything! I'm not interested in your twisted offers, or your attempts to seduce me into joining your ranks. I don't care how powerful you are, or how many tricks you have up your sleeve. I'm not interested!"

Serafall's eyes glinted with a dangerous light as she leaned in even closer, her lips almost brushing against her ear. "Are you sure about that, So-ra-chan? You're telling me you don't find me attractive? Not even a little bit?"

Sora's voice was a low growl as she forced herself to remain calm. "I don't find you attractive at all. In fact, I kind of hate everything about you." Half a lie, hopefully she doesn't notice…

Serafall's eyes widened in surprise, the teasing, seductive veneer slipping away to reveal genuine shock. "You… You hate me?"

Sora's expression hardened as she looked her dead in the eye. "Yeah. I hate everything about devils, especially you peerage-obsessed maniacs. You think you can just show up, throw around your power, and expect everyone to bow down and worship you like some kind of god. Well, I've got news for you - I'm not interested. I don't care about your titles, your wealth, or your stupid magical girl act. You're all the same - manipulative, self-serving, and completely blind to how much you screw up people's lives."

Serafall opened her mouth to protest, but Sora cut her off, her voice rising as she unleashed all the anger and frustration that had been building inside her since she'd started Kuoh.

She might see the devil's like Rias as one of her only possible options, but it didn't mean she liked their system.

"You think I'm after Sona because I beat her in a game of chess? You don't get it, do you? I don't want anything to do with devils or their petty power struggles! I've had enough of this bullshit! You don't care about anything but your own twisted goals, and you'll stop at nothing to get what you want! Well, guess what? I'm not playing your games! I've been thrown into this mess against my will, and I'm doing everything I can to survive without getting tangled up in your ridiculous schemes! But no, you just keep dragging me deeper into this shit, and I'm sick of it!"

Part of it was entirely her own system, but she'd had no one to vent at since arriving, so the storm that had brewed inside her came out all at once, unfiltered. To a person fully capable of killing her with her pinky.

Serafall's playful demeanor had been replaced by something darker, more calculating, but Sora wasn't finished.

"Maybe you should take a good look in the mirror and ask yourself why people don't want anything to do with devils! You ruin lives, tear families apart, and treat people like pawns in some cosmic chess game! And for what? Just so you can stay on top and keep pretending you're doing something worthwhile? Well, I'm not buying it! I don't care how cute or powerful you think you are - I'm not interested in any of it!"

The 'nice' devils don't make up for all the ones who aren't so nice. There wouldn't be so many crazed devils to hunt if the 'owners' were all nice to their slaves.

Serafall tried to speak, but Sora wasn't going to let her get a word in edgewise. She was on a roll now, her anger giving her the momentum to say everything she had been holding back at Kuoh.

"And another thing - what's with this obsession with peerages as some sort of reward? You act like it's some kind of honor to be part of your little club, but all it really is, is slavery with a fancy name! I'm not going to be a pawn in your games, and I'm not going to let you or anyone else drag me into that mess! I don't need your bribes, your offers, or your threats! So why don't you take all that and shove it where the sun doesn't shine?!"

Serafall's expression was a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else - something that almost looked like admiration. But Sora was too angry to care about what she thought. She was done. She had said her piece, and now all she wanted was for Serafall to leave her alone.

"I'm done with this conversation," She said, her voice low and final. "Get out of my apartment, and leave me the hell alone."

For a moment, Serafall said nothing. She just stood there, staring at him with an expression that was impossible to read. Then, slowly, a smile began to creep across her face, but this time it was different - softer, almost genuine if she had to guess.

"You're really something, So-ra-chan," She said quietly, her voice lacking the teasing edge it had held earlier. "I can see why Sona-tan took an interest in you. You're strong-willed, determined… Stubborn." She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "But you're wrong about one thing."

Sora frowned, her anger beginning to ebb as confusion took its place. "What do you mean?"

Serafall's smile grew wider, and there was a hint of something almost predatory in her gaze. "You say you don't want anything to do with devils, but the truth is, you're already in too deep. You may not want to play the game, but you're already a part of it. And like it or not, that means you're going to have to deal with us sooner or later." She smirked, "My Sona-tan already wants you in her peerage, and from what I've seen… She has my approval." She wagged a finger, "No marriage though!"

Sora's fists clenched at her sides, but before she could respond, Serafall's body shimmered, and she leaned in even closer, her face just inches from his. The playful, teasing demeanor she'd shown before was now replaced with something far more serious, almost unnervingly so. Her voice dropped to a low, sultry whisper, each word laced with an undercurrent of power that made his skin crawl.

"You think you can just walk away from this, from us?" She purred, her breath warm against his ear. "You've already made your mark, So-ra-chan. And whether you like it or not, that means you're involved. Some of us devils know about you now, and that's not something you can just ignore. You have potential - real potential. You're not just some random human caught in the crossfire. You're someone important now, someone special, someone who could be great."

"Leave. Now." Sora said flatly, utterly done.

Serafall tilted her head slightly, as if considering her words, before giving her a small, almost condescending smile. "Very well, So-ra-chan," She said sweetly. "I'll leave you to your little apartment and your boring, ordinary life. But don't think for a second that this is over. We'll meet again. And next time, things will be… Different." She winked exaggeratedly, doing a twirl, "Yuri Yuri different, sweetie!" She promised.

With that, she turned on her heel and walked toward the door, her movements fluid and graceful. But just as she reached for the handle, she paused and glanced over her shoulder, her eyes locking onto hers. "Oh, and So-ra-chan? You should really be more careful. You never know who might be watching."

Before Sora could respond, Serafall vanished in a flash of light, leaving her standing alone in the middle of her tiny apartment, the oppressive weight of her presence lingering in the air like a bad dream.

For a long moment, she just stood there, her body tense, her mind racing. She had faced down one of the most powerful beings in the underworld and somehow come out the other side unscathed. But she knew better than to think that was the end of it. Serafall had made it clear that she wasn't done with her - not by a long shot. And the thought of what she might do next sent a shiver of dread through her entire being.

She let out a slow, shaky breath, forcing herself to relax. She couldn't afford to panic. Not now. Not when she needed to think clearly, to figure out her next move. She had known from the beginning that this world was dangerous, but now she truly understood just how far she has to go to make up the difference to the true monsters in the setting.

She went into the small kitchenette, pouring hot water over her hands, sighing with relief as he returned to himself. The system or whatever magic was in play might make him perfectly comfortable in his skin even as a woman, but it was still not ideal.

Sora's thoughts raced as he replayed the encounter in his mind, analyzing every word, every gesture, every subtle shift in Serafall's tone. She was more than just a powerful devil - she was cunning, manipulative, and relentless. And despite all his efforts to push her away, she wasn't going to leave him alone. Not until she got what she wanted.

And what she wanted, it seemed, was him. Whether for Sona or herself was yet to be determined fully, she'd sent plenty of mixed signals, seemingly delighting in being really hard to understand.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of fear and uncertainty that had settled over his mind. He couldn't let himself get caught up in her games. He had to stay focused, stay sharp. He had to survive long enough that he could fix all his disadvantages and really become the god a gamer system should allow for.

With his see all magic - know all magic - ability, he was destined to be powerful. Add in control over time to that…

He just had to get there

With a heavy sigh, Sora walked over to the door and locked it, as if that would somehow keep out the threats that loomed over him. But he knew it was a futile gesture. Serafall had already shown that she could come and go as she pleased, regardless of whether he wanted her there or not.

He glanced around his small apartment, taking in the cluttered mess of books, papers, and other odds and ends that had accumulated over the past week or two. It was a far cry from the life he had known before, but it was his. And for now, that was enough.

Sora sank back down onto his futon, running a hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. He needed to come up with a plan, something that would allow him to navigate the treacherous waters of the underworld without getting dragged down into the depths. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he didn't have many options. He was in over his head, and he knew it.

But he wasn't about to give up. Not yet.

He would find a way to deal with Serafall and the other devils. He would find a way to survive in this world, no matter what it took. But for now, he needed to rest, to regain his strength. Tomorrow was another day, and he had no doubt that it would bring its own set of challenges.

As he lay back on his futon, staring up at the cracked ceiling, Sora couldn't help but wonder what his life would have been like if he hadn't been dragged into this mess. If he hadn't been cursed with this ridiculous gamer system, if he hadn't been thrust into the world of devils and angels and everything in between. Would he have been happier? Would he have been free?

Or would it ultimately have been boring. Or perhaps no life at all…

Deep down, he knew it didn't matter. This was his reality now, and he had to deal with it. There was no point in dwelling on what could have been. He needed to man up and control his destiny.

He remembered his quest suddenly, sitting right back up, calling his quest rewards into being. Two question mark rewards must be good! Last time he'd received a malus point to start working on his disabilities.

His first quest reward popped out from the ether, and he lost the will to live immediately.

It was a magical girl outfit, which he was entirely sure fit his female self perfectly. To his despair, it was apparently a high quality item, showing magic resistance, mind defense and even a boost for time magic!

Only he'd have to be a girl, and dress in a sexy skimpy outfit to get any of the benefits.

Of course this was a reward from a quest involving Serafall… Why not?

The other reward turned out to be low class Phenex regeneration, which he couldn't even muster up the will to be excited about at the moment.

I'm just going to sleep and forget Serafall and magical girls exist.





The next morning,

Sora trudged along the sidewalk on his way to Kuoh Academy, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his school uniform. He hated mornings like this - dull, overcast, with the kind of bitter wind that could cut through even the thickest layers of clothing. His thoughts drifted between his annoying system and the fact that his day was likely going to be yet another disaster waiting to happen. The devils would undoubtedly make everything worse.

They just wouldn't leave him alone, and now with Serafall aware of his peculiarity, it would only escalate surely? I should have never played that game of chess, no matter the reward, he lamented again.

He could already feel the nagging headache forming at the back of his skull. At least he'd hidden the magical girl outfit away, he'd seriously commit suicide if Serafall returned and saw him with it.

With his head down, Sora didn't notice the gentle sloshing sound coming from the street until it was too late. A sudden splash of cold water hit him square in the chest. His clothes were soaked instantly, and before he even had the chance to react, he felt the all-too-familiar sensation of his body shifting.

"...You're kidding me," She muttered as her body shrank, hips widening, and a certain uncomfortable weight settled onto his chest. Just great. I wonder who it could be, she thought sarcastically.

She glanced up, her eyes narrowing in irritation as she spotted the culprit - Akeno Himejima, standing a few feet away, a bucket in hand and a wicked smile plastered across her face. The morning sun glinted off her long black hair, which fluttered gently in the breeze as if mocking his predicament. She wasn't even trying to be suble now for fucks sake!

"Ara, ara... So sorry, Sora-chan," Akeno's voice was soft, sweet, and insufferably pleased. She placed a hand to her cheek in mock surprise, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I didn't see you there. It must have slipped right out of my hand."

Sora glared at her, now fully in his girl form. She could feel her cheeks burning as she tried to pull her drenched shirt away from her skin. "Yeah, sure. An accident. Totally believable, Himejima."

This girl… Although at least one devil alone he could usually stand far easier - unless they were as powerful as Serafall.

Akeno stepped closer, her tone taking on a demure tilt, though the playful malice beneath it was unmistakable. "Oh? You don't believe me? That really hurts, Sora-chan. I'm a gentle soul, you know."

"You're as gentle as a tiger with its prey," Sora grumbled, her voice now a few octaves higher in her female form. Her glare intensified as she wrung out the ends of her soaked uniform shirt. "What do you want, Himejima?"

Akeno's smile widened as she leaned in slightly, her eyes scanning her transformed body with unhidden amusement. "Nothing at all, really. I just wanted to see how you'd look as a girl up close and personal. And I have to say... It suits you so well." Her voice dipped lower, becoming almost sultry. "Maybe even better than your usual self. Don't you think, Sora-chan?"

She tittered, hiding her mouth behind a hand, "Sora-chan can now change in the girls locker room, oh my, whatever shall I ~do!"

Sora rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded in annoyance - or perhaps embarrassment. It was hard to tell any given time how she'd react with Akeno sometimes, especially when she was like this. She always had a way of getting under her skin, and the worst part was that she knew it. The demure tone, the teasing smile, the subtle hint of sadism - it was all part of her game. And she was the unfortunate target today.

Fucking Devils.

"Glad you're entertained," Sora muttered, shaking her head irritably. "Now, can you stop messing with me and let me get to school in peace?"

Akeno tilted her head, pretending to think about it. "Hmm, I could… But where's the fun in that?"

Sora opened her mouth to retort, but before she could get a word out, another familiar window popped up in her vision, nearly making her stumble as the text scrolled in front of her eyes.

Quest: The Girly Date

Challenge: Go on a date while in your female form.

Reward: +1 Level, +5 in all stats, and ???


Sora stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the prompt in disbelief. Her eye twitched. Of course. Of course the damn system would pull something like this. She had half a mind to find a way to curse whatever entity had saddled her with this perverted, buggy mess. First, the disadvantages fiasco, and now this?

Another question mark reward too… The damn system won't even let me know what my fucking rewards are half the time!

Right now it was a date. What would the next one be… She would have to fight the system, find dangerous quests to conquer. Because she was not turning this into a fucking dating sim!

She closed his eyes, letting out a slow, controlled breath, trying to calm the rising tide of frustration. "The system's a damn trap," She muttered under her breath, glancing sideways at Akeno, who was watching him with barely restrained curiosity.

"What was that, Sora-chan?" Akeno asked, batting her eyelashes at her innocently. "Talking to yourself now? That's a sign of insanity, you know?"

Sora shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. The quest didn't specify a guy, at least. That was something. It could have been worse. She could have been asked to go on a date with some random guy, and that would have made her seriously reconsider every life choice that led her here. But still, a date was a date, and she e needed the levels. The system wasn't going to cut her any slack, that much was clear.

She turned her gaze back to Akeno, who was now looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and expectation. Her lips curled into a teasing smile as she waited for whatever she was about to say.

Sora cleared her throat, her voice firm despite the growing sense of dread in her gut. "Hey, Himejima." Might as well make her useful if she's going to be annoying me anyway.

Although it might get Rias on his back, but frankly he was going to do his best to avoid her at all times anyway. He did not need a fan girl.

"Hmm?" She tilted her head, leaning closer, her expression softening just enough to seem almost genuine. "Yes, Sora-chan?"

She could already feel the regret building, but there was no going back now. She needed the rewards, no matter how much this made her want to punch something. "Do you... Wanna go on a date?"

Akeno's eyes widened for a brief second, genuine surprise flitting across her usually calm and mischievous features. Her mouth parted slightly as if she hadn't quite expected her to say that. But the surprise quickly melted into something more amused, something far more dangerous.

"Ara, ara..." Akeno's voice was a low purr now, and her gaze sharpened with intrigue. "Sora-chan, I didn't know you were so forward. You're full of surprises today… Trying to take advantage of a young maiden such as I."

Sora grit her teeth, her patience already running thin. "It's not - look, just answer the question, Himejima."

Akeno's lips curved into a slow, seductive smile as she stepped closer, so close that Sora could feel the warmth of her body despite the cool morning air. "A date, hmm?" Her eyes flickered over her current form again, lingering on the curves of his female body. "With you like this? How could I say no?"

Sora forced herself not to roll her eyes again. Of course, she'd agree. It wasn't like Sora was giving her a real chance to say no anyway. The devils wanted their claws in him, Akeno would say yes just to poke at her more. She needed the quest though, and this was the easiest way to complete it. If she could stomach getting through this without losing her temper, the rewards would be worth it.

"Great," Sora muttered. "Let's get this over with." She glanced down at her wet clothes, scrunching up her nose, preferably somewhere warm…

Akeno chuckled, clearly entertained by her irritation instead of put off. "Such enthusiasm, Sora-chan. You'll sweep me off my feet at this rate." She cooed, eyes twinkling. "The disinterested type is absolutely delish!"

Sora ignored her comment and resumed walking in the general direction of Kuoh Academy, her pace brisk. Akeno fell into step beside her, the amused smile never leaving her face.

Sora wasn't pushing her quest rewards off, they would have a breakfast date, she'd skip school, it would piss off Sona, so… Bonus.

"So," Akeno began, her voice still laced with amusement, "Where are you taking me on this little date of ours? It's only fair that the one asking pays, don't you think?" Says the crazy girl living off Gremory largesse to the orphan…

Sora shot her a sideways glance, her lips pressing into a thin line. She hadn't thought that far ahead anyway. Hell, she hadn't thought about anything beyond getting the quest done and hoping to survive the day without throttling anyone. "I don't know. Where do you want to go?" She asked reluctantly.

If she said some hyper expensive bullshit place she was going to dine and dash on the bitch.

Akeno's eyes sparkled with that same dangerous glint as she hummed thoughtfully. "Hmm, somewhere fun, I think. Maybe a café? We could sit close together, share a little dessert... Doesn't that sound romantic, Sora-chan?"

Sora's eye twitched again, but she managed to keep her voice calm. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Akeno's laughter was soft, but there was an underlying thrill in it, as if she was enjoying this far too much. "You're really not used to this, are you? Poor Sora-chan, so awkward." She gasped, "Am I your first?"

"I'm not awkward," Sora shot back defensively, glaring at her. "You're just making this weird." Don't say things so weirdly!

Akeno's smile widened, her gaze sliding over her like she was enjoying every second of her discomfort. "Maybe a little. But you make it so easy, you know? I can't help myself." She leaned in closer, her lips barely an inch from her ear. "I wonder… What else are you bad at? Dates, conversation... Other things?" Her voice dripped with teasing suggestion, and Sora could feel the heat rising in her face despite herself.

She clenched her fists at her sides, resisting the urge to shove her away or say something she'd regret, don't forget the quest… "Himejima," She warned, her voice low. "Just... Stop, please."

Akeno straightened, her smile as serene as ever, though there was a hint of satisfaction in her eyes. "Ara, ara... So serious. Don't worry, Sora-chan. I'll behave. For now."

They continued walking in silence, though the tension between them was palpable. Sora could feel the weight of Akeno's gaze on her, her amusement and curiosity radiating off her in waves.

To her utter disgust…

Even if she got her level and upgrade to her stats after the date…

The question mark reward was a full dominatrix suit in her size…

Goddamnit Himejima





Author's note:

This one struggled a bit to get out, mostly because of Serafall, trying to make her a little bit, extra.

If this continues she'll be a major character after all.

Sora really can't catch a break, this story is in general more about him fighting and overcoming his own system then anything, although the devils don't make it easy for him.

And being highschool DxD it would obviously have some lewds eventually.

While Sora sees the benefit in growing stronger in the safety of devilhood within Sona or Rias peerage - it doesn't mean he has a good view of devils or actually desires this. It's just a logical option.

Cheers

JollyHippopotamus
 
I'm really hoping that they make him absolutely hate them just on principal never mind the enforced hatred. Because my god they're being all sorts of insufferable here. Like, usually in fics they're annoying, but not enough to want to see them get some level of comeuppance.

Gotta love people with power just lording it over those lesser than them for their own gain and amusement. Really hoping he doesn't just forget how they treated him when he's at this level, when he makes it to their level and they start treating him like a person rather than a toy.

Also he's really just throwing himself in deeper even after realizing the system is a trap. Like, why ask Himejima? Why not just... a normal girl? Or a guy? Why one of the devils?
 
This boy's an idiot. He coulda just joined a magical organization like the Golden Dawn or that other german one to quickly become a magical prodigy instead of him having to deal with this bullshit smh. Good chapter, though.
Right? Why the hell no-one leaves koah Idk. This mess of a chapter
 
I'm really hoping that they make him absolutely hate them just on principal never mind the enforced hatred. Because my god they're being all sorts of insufferable here. Like, usually in fics they're annoying, but not enough to want to see them get some level of comeuppance.

Gotta love people with power just lording it over those lesser than them for their own gain and amusement. Really hoping he doesn't just forget how they treated him when he's at this level, when he makes it to their level and they start treating him like a person rather than a toy.

Also he's really just throwing himself in deeper even after realizing the system is a trap. Like, why ask Himejima? Why not just... a normal girl? Or a guy? Why one of the devils?

Because If he has to suffer he'll make them suffer too, it's not exactly like he's being all that pleasant with them.

He has a gamer system, a quest system, guess where he's always going to get the most quests? Because conflict gives more.

Also do you really think it's a coincidence he got that quest right then? He could have used anyone because the quest didn't specify, but does he really want the system to get more specific?

Or, who's more likely to give him quests and big quest rewards? Devils, or Sandy the local check out clerk?

This boy's an idiot. He coulda just joined a magical organization like the Golden Dawn or that other german one to quickly become a magical prodigy instead of him having to deal with this bullshit smh. Good chapter, though.

You forgot the details of the first chapter then, his ability is capped, he needs something incredible to push past those - like say becoming a devil.

Now he could also find other ways, maybe, but for now devil is unfortunately the easy choice, not that he likes it.

Also, his system gives him quests that are mostly based on conflict and drama about his maluses, so just avoiding the devils isn't going to work in getting strong enough to avoid the monsters.

Right? Why the hell no-one leaves koah Idk. This mess of a chapter

Yes, why does the chess champion, gender cursed manga writing super mage not leave the protection of Kuoh?

Other then the fact he'll be weaker without the Quests that keep setting him against devils. The 'nice' devils he doesn't have to worry about.

Or the fact that surviving all the shit that happens is probably easier around the main cast.

Or the fact leaving Kuoh means any devil can basically just force him into their peerage.

Or he's picked up by someone else to be used just as a tool - instead of where he is right now, mostly independent.

Yeah, I can't think of any reasons why he's in Kuoh either.
 
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Yes, why does the chess champion, gender cursed manga writing super mage not leave the protection of Kuoh?

Other then the fact he'll be weaker without the Quests that keep setting him against devils. The 'nice' devils he doesn't have to worry about.

Or the fact that surviving all the shit that happens is probably easier around the main cast.

Or the fact leaving Kuoh means any devil can basically just force him into their peerage.

Or he's picked up by someone else to be used just as a tool - instead of where he is right now, mostly independent.

Yeah, I can't think of any reasons why he's in Kuoh either.
Ah right, make him hate the devil's and everything about them, but then of course he must become a slave of them. Listen man, there is a big world out there, and I'm pretty sure with magic he could overcame the limit, but honestly it's seem you don't want to simply because of plot convenience, and not because it's the better choice. And the fact that he choose akeno as a date when he has an entire city to choose from isn't making this thing better. Usually when you hate someone you chose to stay away from them If you can't anything about them. This whole fic seem just to be torture porn and I'm not sure how you intend to make the this interesting if everything is going to be angst and plot induced stupidity
 
Ah right, make him hate the devil's and everything about them, but then of course he must become a slave of them. Listen man, there is a big world out there, and I'm pretty sure with magic he could overcame the limit, but honestly it's seem you don't want to simply because of plot convenience, and not because it's the better choice. And the fact that he choose akeno as a date when he has an entire city to choose from isn't making this thing better. Usually when you hate someone you chose to stay away from them If you can't anything about them. This whole fic seem just to be torture porn and I'm not sure how you intend to make the this interesting if everything is going to be angst and plot induced stupidity

Nothing is entirely set in stone yet, he only sees that way right now because it's what he has best access too, and really, it's stupidity to stay in Kuoh?

When any old devil could just snap him up anywhere else, or any of the other factions could decide to make use of him and he has absolutely nothing to stop that?

It's not like fallen angels do things like rip a sacred gear out of a bitch or anything...

Here he can move decently freely, even if he has to deal with the devil's who are literally the least worst of their kind. To grow stronger in some sort of safety... You can't see any point in that at all?

If you still somehow fail to understand the system, that's fine, no one's forcing you to read, but I shouldn't really have to explain how quests would happen more near the devil's then near a regular person should I?

Not to mention despite his dislike, he knows who these people are and how they work, which means it's still safer.

Issei also went on a date with a 'normal' girl...

It's a story about overcoming challenges, torture porn is massively exaggerated at this point. He's already got now low level Phenex regeneration, Sitri magic, teleportation and mind magic, and his sacred gear, all if only at low level right now.

So he's not exactly doing horribly. As for him 'angsting' about the situation. Why are you reading this if you want a regular gamer fic with lots of grinding, stats and an SI who has absolutely no problems with what is happening?

Since I specifically said the story isn't like that.

If he wasn't upset about this situation, then that would be very poor writing indeed. If you don't like any angst, that's fine, but to call it poor writing basically that a guy who's fucked twenty different ways is upset and bitching about it...

Pretty human thing to do I'd think, caught in a situation he sees no good way out of right now.
 
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Snippet 17: Lady Luck
Here's a little AU Star Wars snippet, Lady Luck.

There is a very underutilized part of Star Wars that never gets enough attention. And no, I'm aware the criminal underworld gets plenty of its own stories.

But no one ever focuses on the entertainment and sports industry tied into that criminal life.

As usual, I don't own any of the worlds, fictions or canon characters that show up.

Hope you enjoy.





Malastare, 2 years before the Naboo blockade.

The overhead lights hummed quietly in the cramped, cluttered office of the Pod Racing Association on Malastare. Strewn across the cluttered metal desk were datapads, crumpled flimsi, and the latest expense reports from the more semi-official circuits. They were little more than thin veneers of legality, with a third of them openly controlled by the Hutts, who dominated the betting and prize pools with the arrogance of untouchable kings. The Gran seated at the desk - Trando Vool, head of the association - rubbed his three eye stalks, feeling the weight of another long day.

He had just finished poring over the numbers, grimacing at the losses sustained from several races. The Hutts were squeezing harder than usual, demanding bigger cuts and caring little for the organization's crumbling finances. Trando tried his best to keep things afloat, but everyone knew the truth - the association was a puppet show, and he was only the puppet. Whatever power he had was flimsy and held together by fragile alliances, his title more ceremonial than functional.

Pod Racing was illegal in the Republic, only the fact they were in the mid to outer rim, and the Hutts involvements - keeping any law enforcement from shutting them down.

That and the money the rich and influential in the core worlds spent to watch the deadly sport. The hypocrites calling it illegal, and then spending insane amounts of credits to watch and bet on it. Unfortunately he didn't see much of that money, or this whole thing might actually be more profitable. Damned Hutts…

Suddenly, the door to his office slammed open with a thunderous crash. The sound of it rebounding against the wall startled him so badly that he nearly knocked over a stack of datapads. His three eyes snapped up just as a figure strode through the open doorway with a confidence that radiated danger.

The woman was a Twi'lek, her red skin gleaming under the office lights. She wore skin-tight leather pants that left little to the imagination, clinging to her muscular legs like a second skin. Her torso was adorned with a minimal chest wrapping, enough to cover her, barely, but the loose ends still teased, giving her an aura of raw sensuality. Her black leather boots clunked softly on the floor, each step measured and deliberate. Two curved lekku draped down her back, ending near her waist.

He would have called her beautiful if he cared for such things, the black tattoos covering her body however, gave her a much more sinister look.

A pair of blasters hung from her belt, polished black and lined with silver markings, their design unmistakably deadly. Their barrel tips were ridged with energy dampeners, hinting at custom modifications - likely for maximum stopping power without sacrificing speed. Hanging beside the blasters was a large vibroknife, its blade long and wickedly serrated. The woman slowly slid it out as she walked, and the faint hum of its energized edge was barely audible even in the quiet room. She looked like someone who could kill without hesitation, but her demeanor suggested she preferred the slow, deliberate approach.

Behind her, a red and black droid entered, its eyes glowing with a malevolent orange hue. It was the unmistakable frame of an assassin droid that stalked into the room, its head cocking slightly as if surveying every possible threat. Trando's stomach twisted at the sight of it. This model… This was no ordinary droid. It looked like an old HK-series assassin droid (Call him a history buff), but its color scheme was unique - blood-red plating interspersed with sharp black lines, giving it a predatory appearance.

Attached to its arm was a high-powered blaster rifle, clearly worn from use but deadly nonetheless. Its right arm held a long vibroblade magnetically clamped to it, and its other weapon - what appeared to be an anti-tank weapon - rested dormant but ever-threatening on its back, poking over its shoulder.

The droid's voice broke the tense silence, its tone mechanical yet dripping with scorn. "Query: Are you the meatbag in charge of this pathetic excuse for an official circuit?"

Trando swallowed hard, eyes darting between the two intruders. His heart raced as he tried to comprehend the gravity of the situation. He didn't know who they were, but the implication was clear - they were trouble.

Where the kriff was his Hutts be damned security?

"I - yes, I am," He said, his voice trembling slightly as his mind raced for an escape plan. His hand itched to reach for the blaster he kept hidden under the desk, but he knew better. "W-what did you do to the security team?"

They were Hutt provided. Mercenaries through and through, both to keep an eye on him, and to protect their investments. But that also meant they were not easy marks, assassin droid or not.

The Twi'lek woman strolled forward, moving like a sleek predator, and casually perched herself on the edge of his desk. It was only then that Trando noticed the Jogan fruit in her hand. She peeled it slowly, deliberately, using the edge of her vibroknife, the serrated blade gleaming under the light. With every flick of her wrist, she cut small pieces of the fruit, bringing them to her lips and chewing languidly as if she had all the time in the galaxy. Juice dripped from her fingers, a tiny rivulet of it running down her chin and into the cleavage exposed by her wrappings. She smirked as his gaze lingered for a fraction too long.

He was honestly not admiring her looks, he was appalled at her manners. He might be a crook, but really, there was no need for getting messy.

Meanwhile, the droid's eyes flared slightly as it responded, "Bored statement: Your security team lasted longer than vermin, meatbag. Barely. Observation: Their pain tolerance was disappointingly low. Still, it was an amusing diversion."

A bead of sweat formed on Trando's forehead. He clenched his hands into fists, making sure to keep them in plain sight. The blaster under his desk felt impossibly far away. "What do you want?" He asked, his voice strained.

Legally he was in charge, and 'owned' much of the circuit and its equipment, locales, and staff. In reality, that wasn't worth Bantha shit if the Hutts didn't approve.

The droid took a step closer, its mechanical joints hissing softly. "Demand: You will sign over this association, its staff, all buildings, and operational licenses to my master. Failure to comply will result in... Unfortunate consequences."

Trando's three eyes darted to the Twi'lek woman, who was now watching him with an amused expression. She gave him a slow, playful wave, the juice from the fruit still dripping down her fingers. One droplet fell onto her chest, trailing between her breasts, glistening under the lights as if to mock him.

"I-I can't do that," Trando stammered, his throat dry. His mind was racing, trying to find some way out of this mess. "This is my livelihood. The Hutts control a third of the circuit. I can't just hand it over... They'll have my head!"

The droid's eyes brightened with what seemed like glee. "Joyous Declaration: Oh, how delightful! I am thrilled you've refused. It has been centuries since I've had the opportunity to use my interrogation protocols. I am so looking forward to testing your pain thresholds, meatbag."

The words sent a cold shiver down Trando's spine. He blanched, leaning back in his chair as if trying to create distance between himself and the droid. His hands trembled slightly as he pressed them against the desk. He was no stranger to danger, but this - this was different. This was an execution waiting to happen.

But… It still wasn't the Hutts. He'd visited the Boonta eve classic, had feasted with Jabba and Gardulla. He was well aware there were plenty worse things then plain torture.

These people might hurt him, but the Hutts would throw him to the Sarlacc!

The Twi'lek woman, still perched casually on the edge of the desk, sighed softly as she finished the last bite of the fruit. She licked her fingers clean, her yellow eyes locking onto his with an unsettling intensity. When she spoke, her voice was low and throaty, a dangerous mix of sensuality and menace. "Let me worry about the Hutts," She purred. "You just need to sign the rest over. It'll be... Cleaner that way."

Trando swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest. He had spent years building this organization, from nothing more than a series of illegal, haphazard races that spanned the galaxy. He had risked everything to make it something more - something semi-official, even if the Hutts held much of the control in the background. His pride clashed with the raw fear coursing through him. He stared into the Twi'lek's yellow eyes, gulping in terror. Somehow, through all the fear, he managed to find a shred of resolve. The Hutts will do worse, he reminded himself.

"No," He croaked, the word barely escaping his lips. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't.

The woman sighed again, this time with a touch of exasperation. She stood up from the desk, stretching languidly. Her expression was one of mild irritation, though her eyes gleamed with something far darker. "HK, don't go overboard," She said casually, as if discussing the weather. "He has to be alive to make it all nice and legal."

She tilted her head, her lekku twitching, "Only alive, mind you, the rest of his condition is entirely optional."

The droid's head twitched as it cocked its head similarly to its mistress, its glowing eyes fixed on Trando. "Disappointed Confirmation: Understood, master. I shall refrain from fully dismembering the meatbag. For now."

Trando's heart sank. He knew they weren't going to leave without what they came for, but giving it all away? He had no choice.

They're not Hutts. He kept repeating to himself as the droid approached.





Izela stood in front of the large transparisteel window in the upper office of the Pod Racing Association's headquarters. The view below offered a perfect glimpse of the immense ravines and forests of Malastare, its terrain rugged and chaotic - the ideal conditions for the dangerous, high-speed pod racing that had made this place infamous on the circuit. The setting sun bathed the horizon in deep oranges and reds, the colors bleeding into the purples of the approaching night sky. It was a beautiful place, despite its reputation as a hub of shady deals, criminal syndicates, and underground sport. The chaos of it all made her smile.

Two hours had passed since Trando Vool's pointless last stand, and the screams had finally died down, the deal signed, and the association now hers. She'd let HK have his fun. She wasn't heartless, but Trando had been an obstacle, and one that needed to be removed in a memorable way. The Gran's shrieks would be the kind of thing his former employees would remember, a haunting reminder of who was in charge now. As she turned from the window, the smooth, sinuous movements of her body were a testament to the enhancements she had chosen for herself in this new life. Gone was the old, average human she had been, replaced by the crimson-skinned beauty of a Twi'lek warrior.

Izela stretched lazily, her red lekku shifting with her as she adjusted the leather strap around her torso. Her mind drifted back, as it often did, to that bizarre encounter. She had died once. It had been a mundane, unremarkable death for someone like her - an ambitious human with dreams far bigger than her talents. But instead of waking up in whatever afterlife waited for the wicked, she had found herself in a sterile, white office. No fire and brimstone, no robed figures waiting to pass judgment. Just a desk, a bored-looking clerk, and the offer of something else - to amuse a 'patron.' It was a sick game, really. She had been handed a list of choices, like a holo-game character creation screen, and given a limited number of points to build a new life. She'd had to be smart about it.

Darth Talon's body? That had been a no-brainer. The Sith Lord's physical prowess was fantastic - agile, lethal, and drop-dead gorgeous. But there was no way in hell she was getting tangled up in the mess of the Force. She'd learned enough about the Star Wars universe to know better. So, instead, she chose Force-null. It had been the perfect tradeoff - freeing up a massive amount of 'points' to allocate elsewhere. She'd opted for the best combat abilities available - marksmanship better than any Mandalorian, hand-to-hand skills that could rival any fighter in the galaxy, and a few biomods that made her strong, fast, and virtually unaging. But most importantly, she had picked her companions carefully.

She stepped out of the office and was immediately greeted by the sight of Rebecca and Lucy.

Rebecca was leaning against the wall, holding a blaster in each hand with casual boredom, her mismatched eyes glancing at the staff that were still gathered before her, hands raised in the air. She was a small woman, but every inch of her radiated danger. Her hair was a wild, punkish mess of silver-white and bright streaks of color, shaved on one side, the other a waterfall of chaos. Her body was heavily modded - muscle enhancements that didn't ruin her slim figure, but rather enhanced her agility and power. Rebecca's arms were covered in tattoos and cybernetic augments, and her fingers tapped rhythmically on the triggers of her twin blasters, their customized barrels glowing faintly with energy. She looked like she was ready to kill someone just to break the monotony.

On the other side of the room stood Lucy, her pale skin nearly glowing under the overhead lights, with long white hair cascading like a waterfall down her back. She was calmer than Rebecca, exuding an icy coolness as she leaned against a console, her arms folded. Lucy's build was lean, but her frame suggested a hidden strength beneath her beauty. Her cybernetics were less flashy than Rebecca's but no less deadly - an assortment of implants that made her a force to be reckoned with in the digital world. Her piercing gaze was focused on a holo-display, her fingers dancing across a series of keys, controlling something unseen.

"Lucy," Izela called as she strolled down the steps, hips swaying confidently, her leather outfit clinging to every curve. "How's the system? Are we good?"

Lucy glanced up, her fingers pausing as a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "I've got control of everything," She said, her voice as cool and precise as her movements. "Malastare's law enforcement wouldn't be able to take a piss without me finding out about it first. Their firewalls were laughable. Took me so little time that I hacked us a few extra dozen million from the IBC as I got bored halfway through."

Izela smiled, feeling a warmth of satisfaction. She had chosen well. Lucy's ability to hack into anything and everything was going to be essential, especially now that she had her eyes on bigger targets. InfoSec in Star Wars was going to have a horrible time, as Lucy was capable of things the slicers in this universe could only dream about.

Hence the boatload of money they already had for their purposes from her hacking the IBC, the Trade Federation and the Commerce Guild. They were all dicks anyway, and would hardly notice anything missing under a hundred million.

And if they did, Lucy's tracks would just lead to Nute Gunray, San Hill and the rest of the toadies, which would make their subordinates keep it nice and quiet.

"Now that we own this piece of shit, funnel some of that money here, make it look at least somewhat legal, we'll need to invest heavily to make this all take off properly." She ordered, giving Lucy a pleased smile.

Her subordinates came with pre-programmed loyalty, but it didn't hurt to praise their achievements anyway.

Rebecca, on the other hand, was getting impatient. She pushed herself off the wall, a manic grin spreading across her face. "So, are we killing these idiots yet, choom?" She asked, spinning one of her blasters on her finger in a show of reckless disregard for safety.

At least Izela had managed to convince her that bringing actual grenade launchers and miniguns with her would only draw attention, while she wouldn't be able to even fire them as they weren't supposed to have much of a battle.

Rebecca and HK had taken down the security team so quickly they hadn't even had to dodge return fire. Both of them had been equally saddened when it was over so quick. Those two got along scarily well.

Izela chuckled at her savage subordinate, her laugh low and teasing as she walked closer, her hips swaying with the confidence of someone who knew she had all the power in the room. She reached up and gently patted Rebecca's cheek, her touch as much a warning as it was affectionate. "Save all that violence for when we really need it. We've got bigger things to prove. Besides…" She turned her attention to the staff, her yellow eyes gleaming, "They're going to be very helpful in the coming days - the ones that have vision."

The staff - a mixture of Gran, Dugs, and a few humans, plus one sole Twi'lek - stood trembling, their eyes wide with fear. They had been with the association for years, many of them caught between loyalty to the old regime and the terror of the unknown future. Izela took her time, letting their fear simmer. She might not be the Sith this body had once been, but in the criminal world, fear sometimes worked better than loyalty.

The Hutts had proven that quite well over the Millenia. The Jedi, the Sith, The Republic and the Empires. They all withered and died. But crime, crime always stayed. Hence her wish to insert herself into her own slice of the criminal underworld, where it wouldn't matter if it was a Republic or a Empire out there. She'd still win.

"I'm the new owner, obviously," She announced, her voice smooth, but laced with a subtle threat. "You're all free to quit and run away if you want. I won't stop you." She paused, watching the conflicting emotions play across their faces. "But… I have big plans. I'm expanding the circuit. I'm improving the races we have. And I'm making deals with the Hutts to massively expand the business soon enough. That means profit. Lots of profit. And if you're smart, you'll want to stick around for a cut of that."

There was a murmur of uncertainty among the group. Izela knew they were weighing their options. Fear and greed - it was always the same. And she knew exactly how to tip the scales.

"I'm going to make this circuit the crown jewel of the Outer Rim," She continued, pacing slowly in front of them - ideally they'd stay, because they already knew the business, hence why she was bothering with waving a big fat carrot. "Pod racing is just the beginning. I'm talking about swoop bike races through obstacle courses - treacherous terrain, dangerous traps, and high stakes. Think of it as survival of the fittest, with crowds betting on who'll make it out alive. Or maybe you'd prefer something more organized? How about mock space dogfights? Pilots versus pilots, ace versus ace, in simulations so real you can smell the fuel burning. I'll make it a sport the Core Worlds will pay billions to watch." She giggled, winking, "Of course in Hutt space we could make those fights less of a mock one as well, and rake in the credits from the core worlds begging to watch it."

Her grin widened as she imagined the different 'sports' she could add. The thrill of combat, the rush of speed, the roars of the crowd - it was all going to be a spectacle, and it would draw the attention of the galaxy. She'd have the credits flowing like water. And that wasn't even half of it. Entering the criminal world in a way you weren't beholden to another organization was almost impossible, she intended to create her own enterprise, and semi-legal sports was her way in without having to take over Black Sun or the Pyke syndicate or anything equally as impossible.

"And then there's the tournaments we could throw," She added, leaning casually against the edge of a table. "Teams of sentients fighting it out on holo in dangerous locales - urban ruins, jungles, abandoned starships. It'll be brutal, but not deadly - to keep it legal. People love watching a good fight, especially when there's a chance for them to win credits on the outcome. Strategy and skill on full display, we'll be drowning in Mandalorian mercenaries."

And she'd be able to have her pick of the best ones for her own organization…

There was also the absolutely criminal fact that there wasn't any galactic, nor even sector wide Pazaak and Sabacc tournaments, an untapped potential revenue stream. She imagined the world poker tour, only… Larger and more likely to lead to a duel after.

Rebecca, still twirling her blasters, snorted in amusement. "That sounds fun. Can I play?"

Izela winked at her. "Maybe. But if you all think that's all, I've got something even bigger in mind, something we can use to pull in even the Core Worlds, as it would be legal." Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she continued, "Blitzball. An aquatic sport I've made up, with high-speed chases, combat, and goals. The aquatic species will beg for a Blitzball arena in their sector, and think of the amount of people who'd pay for equipment from us to breathe underwater and match them, to go for the challenge of beating the aquatics in their own game… Think of the spectacle - the hype, the crowds, the betting. And no one dies. Probably."

The staff exchanged nervous glances, but Izela could see the gears turning in their heads. This was big. Bigger than anything they'd been a part of before. And they knew it. If she could pull it off, they knew there was money there. Question was if they dared to bet on her.

Izela knew the galaxy was starving for new forms of entertainment. The old sports were dying, or locked behind the polished doors of the Core Worlds, where aristocrats watched in comfort, far from the grit and danger of real life. But she was going to give them something better. Something raw, something visceral. The Outer Rim was lawless, but that only meant there were fewer restrictions - and more room to profit. Even here in the Mid Rim you could get away with things you couldn't in the core.

She wasn't kidding about Blitzball either. It had the perfect mix of being legal enough for the core, outrageous visuals, and enough buy in from aquatic species it would kick off and drag everyone else in.

"Stay," She said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "And you'll be rich. Leave, and you'll regret it when you hear about the fortunes being made here. Your choice."

There was a long silence, the staff members looking at one another, weighing their options.

She wasn't surprised when not one of them left.

You didn't join an association like this if you weren't already a bit crooked. And greed was something all criminals held in common.





Two days later,

Izela had put the staff to work immediately, while she herself had other plans in the air and would need to leave soon to arrange things with the Hutts, there were plenty of things the staff could begin to set up.

Pod racing was a lucrative business, it wouldn't have been able to keep going as it had if it didn't bring in tons of credits. But as a spectator sport it was… Middling, in her opinion.

In short. Pod racing was too short. You couldn't fleece everyone out of their money with a half hour tops of entertainment.

So as the circuit had just finished, and would have two months before it picked back up again, she set them on expanding race days so that each one would be a spectacle. One that would last most of the day. It meant more money from crowds, more sales of merchandise and concessions, and most importantly, it meant more betting across the galaxy.

So to bring in more customers, they'd do several categories. Human only - which would be slower than a normal race, but would bring in some of the human centric crowd. Build your own - which would be a race only for those who built and raced their own pod racers. There would be the normal free for all regular circuit race of course - as well as the junker race.

The junker race would be shit pods slapped together by spit and hopes, criminals with a death or life sentence hanging over them racing, the winner winning freedom. With such stakes, it was bound to be entertaining and bound to bring in credits.

Lucy was already working on setting up a special kind of site for them accessible through the holonet. Izela's way of muscling in on the betting industry.

The biggest reason the previous head of the association hadn't made much money, even discounting the Hutts share - was the fact all off site betting went to bigger companies specializing in betting, even if they couldn't openly advertise the illegal pod racing.

The Republic could try to stop her, but good luck taking down any site Lucy created. The Daemons she'd have for defense would cook any slicer and their equipment without having to work hard for it. And with everything Izela was creating, the site would be the one stop shop for all betting and viewing needs.

She'd beat the other betting companies by allowing high-quality screenings of each race on her site only, with easily accessible betting and of course discounts and bonuses to start with, to lure them in.

Once they diversified from just pod racing, she'd be the one and only game for high stakes entertainment.

But before she could really start spreading her wings and start spending all her stolen money - she needed to cover her rear.

Which meant it was time to go visit some Hutts.





The ship rumbled as it broke through the thick atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa, the Smuggler's Moon. Outside the cockpit window, the sky bled from a hazy amber into the greasy glow of the city-world below. Towers of durasteel reached into the clouds, blinking with the neon signatures of casinos, spice dens, and nightclubs. It was a planet that never slept, where the shadow of crime lurked in every corner, and every interaction was a gamble.

Izela leaned back in her seat, watching the descent with a mix of excitement and annoyance. "Nar Shaddaa. Filthy as can be, yet so enticing still."

One day she'd have her own planet like it - just better run and cleaner. And no slaves! There she and the Hutt cartel differed. If anything she'd gladly hit slavers for the chance to recruit from the desperate slaves, you couldn't buy loyalty like that.

Rebecca, sitting in the co-pilot's seat, let out a snort. "Better than boring ol' Malastare. At least here, we can have some fun."

Izela sideyed her compatriot and sighed with a wry smile playing at her lips. Rebecca was a fantastic girl, as long as it came to fighting, fucking, or drinking - she'd never become something more then her enforcer/bodyguard. But that was fine, everyone had a niche they fit in. Hers was just violence and sex.

And Rebecca was very good at both, she'd ah… Tested her vigorously.

It wasn't like there was much else to do in hyper…

HK-47 stood behind them, his glowing orange eyes fixed on the holo-map of their descent. "Statement: The smell of this meatbag cesspool is already detected through the ship's sensors. Conclusion: The likelihood of encountering more vermin is statistically significant."

Izela smirked, her lekku twitching slightly as the ship angled down into a landing approach. The docking platforms of Nar Shaddaa loomed ahead, cluttered with ships of all shapes and sizes. Cargo freighters, sleek starfighters, and clunky transports crammed together in a chaotic mess. Everything about the city screamed disorder, and yet somehow, it functioned. The Hutts saw to that - one way or another.

"Just keep it together this time," Izela said, glancing at Rebecca with a teasing smile. "Ziro's expecting us, and the last thing we need is you blasting a hole through half the moon before we even get there."

Rebecca laughed, the sound wild and carefree. "No promises, boss." She stroked her heavy repeater, the size of a weapons emplacement. "My baby needs exercise…"

The ship touched down on a greasy landing pad with a hiss of hydraulics. The engines powered down, leaving an eerie silence as the city's noise crept in through the ship's hull. Izela stood up, adjusting her tight leather pants and checking her blasters before strapping them to her belt. HK-47 followed behind her, his servos practically soundless. Rebecca was already ahead of them, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her blasters holstered but her fingers twitching in anticipation. Her massive overcompensation of a weapon on her back.

As the ramp lowered, they were immediately greeted by a stout Sullustan waddling toward them, his wide mouth already flapping with words before they even set foot on the platform. He was flanked by three hulking Gamorreans, each of them hefting crude vibro-axes that looked more like rusted garbage than functional. But it wasn't their weapons that annoyed Izela - it was the way their beady eyes fixated on her, leering openly at her form with unmistakable lust.

Now she didn't mind using her body to get what she wanted - it was just another weapon in her toolbox really - she had chosen a very exotic look on purpose after all. But she drew the limit at pigs.

"Welcome, welcome!" the Sullustan called out in rapid Basic, barely stopping to take a breath. "Docking fee's fifteen credits! And - ah, yes, a registration fee, mandatory, of course. Another fifty credits for the Hutt Cartel's approval. Oh, and environmental maintenance fees, fuel surcharge, landing permit…"

He continued to rattle off a list of fees, each one more ludicrous than the last. Izela stood there, arms crossed, as the Sullustan's voice droned on, but her eyes flicked to the Gamorreans, who were licking their tusks and ogling her with an uncomfortable intensity.

Rebecca, however, was growing visibly impatient. She tapped her foot, her fingers twitching at her sides. "Are we really going to listen to this crap?" She muttered.

Knowing her, she was as much annoyed about the wait, as she was about the fact Izela was the only one getting lustful stares. Rebecca wouldn't want to touch these pigs either - but she hated being ignored more. Her entire being and appearance was loud for a reason.

The Sullustan didn't seem to notice, adding yet another fee to his running tally. "…And, of course, a safety inspection fee for the vessel, which will be -"

Suddenly, the unmistakable whir of a heavy repeater filled the air. Without warning, Rebecca had whipped out the massive repeater slung across her back - a weapon nearly as big as she was - and unleashed a hailstorm of blaster bolts. The Gamorreans barely had time to blink before they were cut down, their hulking bodies slamming to the ground with smoking holes burning through their crude armor. The Sullustan let out a shrill scream, diving for cover and still eating several blaster bolts even as the last of the Gamorreans hit the ground, twitching once before going still.

Rebecca let out a whoop of joy, spinning the massive gun around before resting it on her shoulder. "Ha! That's what I'm talking about! Quicker this way, right, boss?"

Izela sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Rebecca…" She began, shaking her head. "You just killed the Hutts' tax collectors. Do you have any idea how much we're going to have to pay them now to smooth this over?" Well, depending on how Ziro takes my proposal…

Her business idea was likely to bring in a ridiculous sum, and the Hutt would no doubt recognize it. She was counting on him wanting to tweak the nose or Jabba a bit. Hence why she sought him out first, while he was on vacation back in Nar Shaddaa from his Coruscant territory.

Rebecca shrugged, unapologetic. "Hey, it was quicker. I was getting bored. Besides…" She grinned, eyeing the smoking corpses with glee. "Those pigs were staring at you like they were about to tear your clothes off. Did you really want to pay them?"

HK-47 stepped forward, blaster rifle in hand, "Observation: The meatbags couldn't have been worth much. Their operational lifespan was already limited. Conclusion: Their deaths were... Inconsequential."

Izela shot him a wry look, but there was no real anger behind it. In truth, she'd expected something like this. It was just how her crew operated - wild, unpredictable, and unashamedly violent. Still, there were consequences to consider, and Ziro the Hutt wasn't going to be pleased. Not that it mattered. She had a way of making people see things her way.

And big bags of credits cleaned any sin in a place like this.

"Well, what's done is done," Izela said with a sigh. She turned toward the direction of the city, hearing the unmistakable sound of running feet in the distance. Nar Shaddaa's inhabitants weren't exactly known for their neighborly actions, so the only ones that would possibly be coming in that fast, were reinforcements. "Looks like we've got company."

Sure enough, within moments, a squad of mercenaries emerged from the shadows, their blasters raised and pointed directly at Izela and her crew. There were at least a dozen of them, heavily armed and armored, and they didn't look like the kind to waste too many words. Their leader, a grizzled Rodian with a cybernetic eye, stepped forward, his voice rasping through a voice modulator.

"Drop your weapons," He growled, his blaster trained on Rebecca's repeater. "You're under arrest for -"

Izela raised her hands lazily, a sly smile playing on her lips as she interrupted him. "Finally," She drawled, her yellow eyes gleaming with amusement. "What took you so long? I was starting to think no one here cared. We've got an appointment with Ziro the Hutt, so if you don't mind…"

The mercenaries hesitated, exchanging confused glances. Clearly, they hadn't been expecting someone to mention Ziro by name. The leader lowered his blaster slightly, still wary but now unsure of how to proceed. By all accounts they should be taking them in or gunning them down - but a guest of the Hutts had more worth then a few Gamorreans and a minor nobody like the Sullustan.

"You've got an appointment?" the Rodian asked, suspiciously.

Izela nodded, her smile widening. "That's right. And I doubt Ziro will be happy if he finds out his guests were... Delayed." She glanced over at Rebecca, who was casually leaning on her repeater, a gleeful smirk still plastered on her face. HK-47 stood perfectly still, his glowing eyes watching every movement with calculated precision. No doubt already calculating the best way to take down every one of their enemies.

The Rodian muttered something under his breath before signaling to his men to stand down. "Fine," He spat. "But if you're lying…"

Izela's gaze hardened for just a moment, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I don't lie. Not about things like this." No one is dumb enough to take a Hutts name in vain here of all places…

The Rodian grimaced, then motioned for his men to stand down, but they kept their weapons on them, just in case. "Alright. Follow us. But don't try anything funny."

As this was Nar Shaddaa, they didn't ask them to disarm. No one went around without weapons here. The Hutts met under complete energy shield protection to begin with, so they weren't at risk.

Izela lowered her hands, her smirk returning as she motioned for Rebecca and HK-47 to follow. As they walked, she glanced at Rebecca, who was still humming a tune to herself, clearly pleased with the earlier violence.

"You're impossible," Izela muttered with a chuckle.

Rebecca grinned, flashing her a wink. "Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

In a way, Izela had to admit, it certainly had..

She wasn't about to tell Rebecca that however. No need to give the girl a reason to do this every time they got delayed.

The guards marched Izela, Rebecca, and HK-47 through the bustling streets of Nar Shaddaa, leading them toward the garish neon lights of one of the planet's most ostentatious casinos. The building loomed in the distance, a gaudy, towering structure that dominated the skyline like a garish temple to wealth. Lit from top to bottom in blinding holographic advertisements, the name "Golden Palace" flashed in bold Aurebesh above the entrance. The wealth on display was as excessive as it was tasteless - golden statues of Hutts, murals depicting decadent wealth, and dancers' holos spinning in enormous holo tanks that floated just above the casino's broad entrance.

The group was flanked by the heavily armed mercenaries that never took their eyes off them, even though they'd radioed ahead and gotten the validity of the visit confirmed. As they passed through the enormous golden doors, a hulking pair of Trandoshans eyed them from either side. Inside, the casino's interior was no less ridiculous. The floors were inlaid with gold, while patrons sat around glittering sabacc tables and spinning gambling wheels, spending enough credits in a single hand to feed entire colonies. And in the center of it all, taking up most of the main hall, was a grotesque, towering golden statue of a Hutt, its bulbous form reclining in decadent splendor.

Izela couldn't help but smile at the sight, her yellow eyes gleaming with amusement. It was exactly the kind of tasteless wealth she expected from Ziro the Hutt. A ridiculous show of power, meant to intimidate and overwhelm. Yet to her it only showed her that she was right, that they could be appeased with wealth no matter the scenario. The guards led them deeper into the casino, through winding hallways lined with more gold, past private rooms where high-stakes gambling and other illicit activities took place.

Finally, they were led into an opulent waiting room. Plush red seats and gleaming tables lined the walls, while scantily clad Twi'leks and other species served drinks to the wealthy patrons who lounged around in idle conversation. There was no sign of Ziro yet, and Izela knew exactly what this was. They were being made to wait.

She reclined into one of the plush chairs, her leather-clad body sinking into the soft cushions. "A power play," She murmured, half to herself, half to her companions. "Ziro wants us to stew. Typical Hutt move."

Rebecca flopped into the seat next to her, crossing her arms over her chest, her irritation evident. "Still think it was quicker this way?" Izela teased, casting a sidelong glance at Rebecca, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

Rebecca grumbled under her breath, slouching deeper into her seat. "I dunno, maybe. Maybe not."

HK-47 stood behind them, his sensors flicking around the room as he scanned the guards stationed by the doors. "Observation: This waiting tactic is inefficient. I could eliminate the meatbag guards within ninety seconds and access Ziro's chambers within an additional three minutes. Query: Shall I proceed?"

The guards shifted uncomfortably at HK-47's words, their hands twitching toward their weapons. They weren't used to hearing droids so casually discuss the logistics of murder. Their murder to boot.

Izela raised a hand lazily, waving him off. "Not yet, HK. But keep that plan in mind if we need to leave in a hurry." Her voice was calm, as if they weren't surrounded by heavily armed guards. She knew the game being played here. Ziro was annoyed, yes, but he wouldn't kill them - unless they failed to deliver what she'd promised. They had killed some of his people, sure, but Hutts were pragmatic above all else. If she could show him there was profit to be made, he would listen. Credits spoke louder than death.

And in the end, the dead weren't worth much, not to a Hutt.

Hours passed. The casino's patrons came and went, while Izela and her crew waited. The guards watched them nervously, clearly uncomfortable with HK-47's presence and Rebecca's clear lack of respect for their authority. Still, Izela remained patient, knowing that this was part of the dance. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a door at the far end of the room slid open, and they were ushered through.

The chamber they entered was a vast, private throne room, more extravagant than anything they had seen in the casino so far. The floors were polished to a mirror finish, and the walls were lined with tapestries depicting various Hutts in positions of power through history, Ziros own portrait taking center stage. Exotic and rare animals were displayed in cages around the perimeter, just to showcase Ziros reach - some were practically extinct.

Ironically, mostly due to the Hutts, Izela noted with some humor, recognizing several beasts as ones used by Hutts in the past for gladiator fights and feeding unruly minions too.

And there, lounging on a massive platform draped in silks and pillows and protected behind an energy shield, was Ziro the Hutt. He was an enormous, bloated figure - although not as large as some Hutts she'd seen, his purple skin was glistening with some sort of oil, and he was adorned with gaudy jewelry that looked absurd even by Hutt standards and a feathered hat. He was bright purple, and his emerald green eyes were rimmed with dark eyeliner, giving him a strangely theatrical appearance. Ziro's long, slug-like body was coiled lazily as he surveyed them with a bored expression, a jeweled cup of some exotic drink clutched in one stubby hand.

"Ah, my 'guests'," Ziro said in his gravelly, high-pitched voice, his massive tongue flicking out briefly. He took a long sip from his drink before setting it down with a loud clink. "I must say, you've got some nerve, showing up here after killing my tax collectors. What possible reason could you have for me not torturing you to death right now?"

He paused, his eyes narrowing in mock seriousness. "Jabba wouldn't be pleased if any of his precious pod races were delayed. Then again," Ziro added with a theatrical wave of his hand, "I wouldn't be heartbroken if Jabba were... Displeased."

As far as a Hutts initial greeting went, that was almost positively jovial, Izela thought. Izela's smile never wavered as she sauntered forward with a confidence that appeared to be arrogance, stopping just short of Ziro's platform. Her yellow eyes sparkled with amusement as she spoke, her voice smooth and full of easy charm. "I've got a reason for you, Ziro. One you'll want to hear." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "Lots and lots of credits."

Ziro's eyes gleamed with sudden interest, but he didn't respond immediately. He shifted slightly on his platform, eyeing her with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "Go on."

Izela took her time, letting the tension hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "I'm taking over the pod racing circuit. All of it. I've got plans - big plans - that will quadruple profits by next year easily. We're talking about expanding the races, adding new courses, and bringing in bigger crowds than ever before. With your support of my position, of course."

Ziro let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Quadruple profits, you say? Big promises from such a... Minor player." His eyes narrowed again. "And what do I get in return for this generosity?"

Izela met his gaze evenly, her smile unwavering. "I'm offering you and the Hutt Council a substantial cut of the profits. But in return, I need recognition. Full ownership of the entire circuit, yes even Tatooine. I want to be officially sanctioned by the Hutts as an independent operator. No one interferes with my operations, no one challenges my authority."

Ziro chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "And what makes you think the Hutt Council cares about someone like you? You're nothing but a minor inconvenience - a speck. Why should we give you control of anything?"

The fact he hadn't already told her to get lost, or ordered his men to fire, told her all she needed about his interest. She especially thought he'd quite like to tweak Jabba's nose.

Izela stepped closer, her voice lowering to a near purr. "Because I'm not just offering you pod racing profits. I've got dozens of other ideas that will make you richer than you've ever been. Swoop bike races through dangerous obstacle courses, mock space dogfights, team dogfights, both mock and real, the best pilots of the galaxy drawn in. And that's just the start. I already have the seed money to set it all up. You get the Hutt Council to sign off on me being in charge - for a cut - and you'll get a percentage of everything I create."

She wasn't worried about revealing her ideas. For all that the Hutts had a lot of power, it was mostly at this point utilized through sheer history and generational wealth. They weren't that creative, that's why they hired people to do it for them.

Ziro's eyes flicked toward her, now more intrigued than before. "A percentage, you say? And just how much are you offering me, hmm?" There was a warning tone to his voice, that she promptly ignored.

Izela smiled, knowing she had him hooked, now it was just the negotiation. "Five percent. Of all the business I create. That's just for you, Ziro. No one else. All you have to do is make sure the Council signs a few documents and stays out of my way. It's easy credits."

The truth of the matter was that to operate as an 'independent' and not be owned full bore - she needed the Hutts to sign off on it, or it couldn't happen without a lot of dead bodies. Once she got big enough… Then she could throw off even that slight deal, if she felt it necessary. Having Hutt shareholders so to speak, would simply ensure they weren't likely to try and ruin her business.

Ziro's expression shifted into something more calculating. He drummed his stubby fingers against his drink, his eyes never leaving Izela. "Five percent? I think not. You're asking for a lot, little one. I'll take twenty five."

Rebecca stiffened at the suggestion, her fingers twitching toward her blasters, but Izela remained calm. "Ten percent," She countered smoothly. "And that's all you have to do - make a few calls, sign a few things, and watch the credits roll in. You won't find an easier deal."

Ziro's lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes glittered dangerously. "You underestimate me, darling. No one but a Hutt could achieve what you want - the Hutt council wouldn't listen to anyone else. And for that, I am due my twenty five percent."

He waved his hand lazily, and the guards in the room suddenly raised their weapons, leveling them at Izela and her companions. Ziro grinned, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Or maybe... fifty percent? Or seventy? Hmm?"

Izela didn't flinch, even as she sensed Rebecca and HK-47 tensing beside her, ready for a fight. HK-47's glowing eyes flickered with anticipation, and Rebecca's hands hovered just above her blasters, eager for action. The guards, still surrounding them, shifted nervously, unsure of what would happen next. But Izela remained calm, her expression completely unfazed, even as Ziro's threat hung heavily in the air.

"Seventy percent?" Izela repeated softly, her voice almost amused as she cocked her head slightly. She met Ziro's gaze with a smirk, completely unbothered by the weapons aimed at her. "Come now, Ziro. You and I both know that's unreasonable. I'm offering you a deal no one else would. A deal that will make you rich with no effort on your part - and give you a feather in your cap towards your contemporaries. You'd be a fool to push it too far."

Ziro's massive, slug-like body shifted slightly as he watched her, his eyes gleaming with interest beneath the exaggerated eyeliner. "Oh? And why is that, hmm?" His voice was playful, but there was an undercurrent of menace beneath it. "What makes you so confident you can talk to me this way, little girl?"

Izela smiled, an expression of pure confidence. "Because I know how to make you even more credits than you're asking for. I'll give you twelve percent - no more, no less - but I'll sweeten the deal. I'm planning something big. Real big. An event that will pull in crowds from every corner of the galaxy. A biannual event, something the entire galaxy will be talking about." She leaned forward just slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm calling it the Galactic Olympiad."

Ziro's eyes narrowed, his interest piqued despite himself. "Olympiad? What nonsense is this?"

"It's not nonsense," Izela said, her voice full of conviction. "It's a galaxy wide competition to showcase who's the best. The best marksmen, the best quick-draws, the best hand-to-hand fighters from all across the galaxy, competing for glory. We'll have competitive Pazaak and Sabacc and anything else you can imagine as well, more importantly, credits. It will be a spectacle like no other. Pilots, bounty hunters, mercenaries, even military personnel will come to prove themselves as the best. And the betting? The betting alone will be worth billions in credits. Maybe even more." She smirked, "You know it would be even more. And the entire time the Olympiad isn't playing - constant tournaments to qualify, money on money on money…"

She'd introduce boxing and MMA to the Galaxy. They already had gladiator fights and put fighting, but this would make things an official sport, with different weight classes due to the diversity of competitors ensuring even something simple like boxing could have dozens of categories. And more categories meant more fights, more shows, more credits.

Ziro's eyes gleamed with greed, the wheels turning in his mind as he considered the possibilities. "And you think you can pull this off?"

Izela's smile widened. "I know I can. I've got the seed money, the connections, and the vision. I'll organize the whole thing. You - " she gestured lazily at him, " - don't have to lift a finger. Just get the Hutt Council to sign off on me being in charge of the racing circuit, make sure they stay out of my way for the rest, and I'll give you twelve percent of everything I build - plus first pick to recruit any of the talent. This won't just be about pod racing anymore. It'll be a galactic empire of entertainment. Sports, competition, gambling - some of it will even be legal outside the Outer Rim."

Ziro's face twisted into an exaggerated grin, his massive form rumbling with a deep, throaty laugh. The guards lowered their weapons slightly as they saw their master's interest growing. "Twelve percent? You dare to offer me such a pittance?"

Izela's voice stayed level, unwavering. "You'll be making more credits than you know what to do with, Ziro. That twelve percent will be worth more than anything you could ever get from bleeding this circuit dry. I've got ideas, and I'm going to make them real. The other Hutts may be powerful, but they lack vision. I'm offering you a piece of something that will last for centuries, because I know you have vision."

Ziro reclined slightly, his massive form undulating as he considered her words. His eyes shifted back and forth between Izela, Rebecca, and HK-47, calculating. "You think you can take on the galaxy? Build something like that... And survive? What makes you so special, hmm? Why shouldn't I just crush you now and take your little plans for myself?"

HK-47 stepped forward, his mechanical voice cutting through the air. "Gleeful statement: Should you attempt to harm my master, I will dismember your guards and anyone else who tries to interfere, please try. Observation: Your guards are slow and poorly trained. I estimate they would last less than two minutes in a combat scenario."

The guards stiffened, clearly uneasy at the droid's declaration, but Ziro simply waved a hand dismissively, grinning as if amused by HK-47's threat. "Oh, I've no doubt you could cause quite the mess, droid. But violence won't get you what you want in the end." He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Let's say I agree to your little proposal, girl. Let's say I take your twelve percent. What guarantee do I have that you'll succeed?"

Izela met his gaze without flinching. "Because I've already succeeded in taking control of the pod racing circuit, and I've already started making deals, I'm already here meeting with you within days, having successfully arranged a meeting. You wouldn't be sitting here negotiating with me if I didn't have the skills to back up my claims. But if that's not enough for you, then it's simple calculus. You're not paying anything for this to happen. So if I lose, you lose nothing. If I win…"

Ziro laughed again, a deep, rumbling sound that filled the room. "You're amusing me. I like that. And you've got guts. Fine. Fifteen percent." He said, adding a few percent casually. He leaned back, his expression turning dark again. "But if I'm unhappy with the profits, if you so much as disappoint me - " His voice dropped into a growl, " - I'll make sure you wish you were dead long before I actually kill you."

Izela smiled, not at all intimidated by the threat. She could feel victory within reach. "Oh, I'll make you happy, Ziro. You're going to show up every other Hutt once I get things running and only you have a personal stake in the game."

Ziro smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Then it's a deal. But don't forget. I'll be watching you."

Izela inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. "Of course. I wouldn't expect anything less." She stepped back, turning on her heel with a confident stride as Rebecca and HK-47 fell into step beside her.

There was a reason she'd targeted Ziro in particular. He'd be extremely willing to get one up over the other Hutts, especially also tweaking Jabba's nose. So he'd ensure she got what she wanted because he'd profit more than them. And he'd no doubt think he could force her to give up more later - that she was his woman now.

She'd have to disabuse him of that one day. But for now, it was perfect. It had all come together precisely as she'd suspected after they had finished step one…

Lucy had hacked Ziro, and openly messaged the Hutt, that's how Izela had been able to contact the Hutt in the first place, impressing him enough to allow for an audience. With Ziro also being a Vigo in the Black Sun, it was inevitable he would betray her and try to muscle in once she grew big - either for the Hutts or for the Black Sun.

But he'd allow her to grow unhindered, waving away all fellow Hutts until then. Because he'd want her to feed and grow into a big fat piggy for when he came to feast.

That was the thing with the Hutts, why do the work when they could just muscle in on the finished product? It was now a race, would she get powerful enough to withstand Ziro and the Black Sun, or would he win and subsume her enterprise?

Considering Lucy had only appeared to be expelled out of the Hutts system by his slicers - her bet was on herself coming out on top. She'd literally know what was coming the moment Ziro planned it.

As they walked out of the chamber, Rebecca glanced over at Izela, her voice low. "Fifteen percent. You sure about that?"

Izela's smirk widened. "Oh, he'll get his fifteen percent, the Hutt council will no doubt share another 10-15 between themselves, but by the time I'm done, that's going to be nothing compared to what I'm keeping for myself." And one day I'll be able to cast them off if I end up unhappy with the deal.

For now, the legitimacy in the underworld from having the Hutts leave her business alone to her own devices was worth the losses.

Rebecca chuckled, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Nova! I like the way you think, boss."

Izela glanced back at the casino, the garish golden statue of the Hutt looming over the entrance. Ziro might think he had the upper hand now, but soon, he would see just how deep her plans ran. She had no intention of staying small. The galaxy was vast, and she had her sights set on far more than just a sports empire. This was only the beginning.

As they made their way back to the ship, the neon lights of Nar Shaddaa flickering around them, Izela couldn't help but smile. She was going to turn the galaxy on its head. And no one - not the Hutts, not the Republic, not anyone - was going to stop her.

Because you couldn't fight her influence with a blaster, a slicer or a space battle - blow up her arenas and racetracks - she'd just race in a canyon like Tatooine and still rake in profits.

Entertainment never dies.





With Lucy,

While the others were enjoying Nar Shaddaa hospitality, Lucy was working on setting up the bare bones of the structure for their future enterprise.

The Holonet was nothing like dealing with the Black wall, and she found it disgustingly easy to set up a site that could be reached from anywhere with holo access, but couldn't be censored, banned, or hacked by the level of slicer she saw currently.

Izela had given her clear instructions, so the site would be operating both as a sort of Holo channel, where the videos or 'shows' of the future races, card tournaments, fighting games, and the eventual Olympiad could all be showcased - and as a betting site.

She'd connect to every bank and credit union in the galaxy, allowing sentients to bet from anywhere and with any kind of account in real time. The site would promise full anonymity, and while people wouldn't believe as much at first - eventually it would be proven correct. At which point Lucy suspected the legal betting companies of the galaxy would erupt in protest as their revenue started flowing away.

They would have legal sports of course as well, like Izela's crazy Blitzball idea. And the Olympiad didn't have any real criminal elements to it, as death was not allowed - so with the right palms greased, it might become legal as well. She had the short amusing thought over what would happen if the Jedi competed.

But from what little research she'd already done, that seemed unlikely, a wholly boring sect of people, those ones.

In all likelihood they'd eventually face them anyway. The betting companies were subsidiaries of some mega corp or another, Lucy sneering at the thought, not finding much difference between Arasaka and the likes of Czerka and the Commerce Guild and the like.

They'd have enough clout in the Senate to get Jedi sent after their new enterprise at some point, especially once they pointed out to the monks how much violence they showed off. Lucy smirked even as she continued to weave through the holonet, building their site up. The Jedi will have a hard time pinning Izela down on something illegal…

Lucy had already hidden Izela's ownership between so many layers not even a Jedi slicer would find anything. The words of the criminals that would work the ground for their pod races and other illegal works could hardly be taken to court.

Izela would openly own the legal enterprises, she'd be a sports and entertainment conglomerate CEO. Able to move amongst the elite of the galaxy during the day.

And behind the scenes, at night, she'd run everything else, with Lucy in the driver's seat. Having this much power at her fingertips, after a life of feeling like she'd balanced on a knife's edge… Was invigorating.

She finished the first layers of the new site, sighing as she realized due to the stupid separation, she'd have to create a wholly new site for the legal enterprise.

The thin curtain separating the two was in all seriousness paper thin, and everyone would realize Izela ran both, but legally they'd find nothing.

Twice the work for the same thing, she thought with a wry smirk.

Almost like being back home…





Author's note:

So just had a brain wave and cooked this up, let me know what you think.

Adding a bit cyberpunk into Star Wars just fit, and having Lucy around who's fought rogue AI behind the black wall and Arasaka intelligence and such - will make slicers all over the galaxy jealous of this new business empire's infoSec.

Hutts don't really give a fuck, if they can get entertainment and credits out of you, then go ahead, ventilate a goon or two, they have a thousand more. On Nar Shaddaa in particular the Hutts must lose dozens if not hundreds of goons all the time - if nothing else to just getting stabbed by a prostitute or something.

Now if they think they'll lose reputation because of who or what circumstances, then that's different… But here Ziro is coming out massively ahead in his opinion, so he has no reason to do anything else.

As for Palps, entrainment is beneath him, as long as she doesn't interfere with a plan of his, this won't even be on his radar as mattering the slightest.

Cheers

JollyHippopotamus
 
As for Palps, entrainment is beneath him, as long as she doesn't interfere with a plan of his, this won't even be on his radar as mattering the slightest.
He might be interested in getting them as intermediaries at some point, to get some goon to do, or hack something with a layer of separation.
Thanks for the chaptersnippet.
 

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