A gale coursed softly through the upper cloisters of Sanctus Aeternum Academy, stirring the gold-fringed curtains of the lecture hall's arched windows. Lemuen walked as the only one present, heels echoing quietly against marble. She had long since memorized the irregular rhythms of class hours, to the slight slack in footsteps between lessons, to the cadence of students who mapped out the school in order to skip.
Her steps turned a corner, slowing near the old library annex where hardly any students would visit during such a time. The wooden door stood slightly ajar. Inside, shafts of photons poured across empty desks, and at the center, like a misplaced painting in a gallery, sat the white-haired man in black slacks and a too-loose white dress shirt.
She paused just past the threshold, one hand settling on her hip. Her eyes turned sharp as she studied him. To her, he read with the same focus and tranquility as a prayer during Mass, his fingers turning across pages with a serene demeanor. A stark reminder of childhood times.
Lemuen walked forward his way, mouth curved down into a frown upon her glossy lips, and granting the man an unsaid piece of a forlorn warning.
"V," she said. "Enjoying your alone time?" On cue with her words, he reacted with a slow flinch.
"...Lemuen. What brings you here?" V, the man with the white hair, glanced up from his book as he regarded the Sankta.
"I'm sure you already know." She pointed to a small badge decorated with a sigil. For many, it would hold paperweight meaning, but for children of the renowned Sanctus Aeternum Academy?
"Disciplinary action. Figures," he sighed, neck seldom rolling in thinly-veiled perturbation, eyes closed as if resigning himself to his fate. "It seems you've found where I hole myself away." His words wasted no breath. "Could I make the excuse that I assumed Serpilia hacked the school bell again?"
"No."
"I see." The book in his hand snapped shut, resignation borne. "Go on, what's the punishment?"
"V," she repeated, brows slightly furrowed, but a hint of worry present. "I don't understand you," she finally said, her voice quieter. "You've aced every exam since your first week, submitted essays with references I have to cross-verify to research papers, and have the debate club desperate for your membership."
"..."
"Why is it now you're missing classes so frequently?" Lemuen thinned her lips. She remembered, even during their childhood, the white-haired man in front of her would hold an almost scholarly demeanor, acting with an almost smug, "I know things you don't," kind of personality.
"When the time comes, I'll explain," V responded without so much as a hitch. "Right now, I don't believe is a worthy time to." He stood up from his chair, the object scraping softly against the ground. "I believe this infraction requires me to visit my magister after class?"
"...Yes, it does," Lemuen said with renunciation, having gone through the same song and dance in recent times to know the conversation would go nowhere. "You should get to class early to avoid his wrath."
"Magister Aguilar isn't known for his short temper." V tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, ready to walk to his accursed fate.
However, Lemuen could have sworn she saw something when he tugged at his collars, a brief hint of.... black ink filling her vision? Or was it a trick of the light? She was far too curious to abandon him to his vices and let the mystery persist, and reason seemed to have trickled away like droplets from a faucet that moment.
I must be mistaken...? She saw it again when stepping closer to him, a strange feeling welling up in her chest, eyes widening.
"Lemuen?" V apparently heard her approaching footsteps, turning around with a perplexed look. "Have something else to—?"
She grabbed his shirt's collar, the white-haired man reacting with a jolt.
"What are you—" Before V could piece together his sentence, Lemuen pulled the collar slightly down with excessive force, top buttons becoming undone, revealing the source nagging at her mind.
"Tattoos?" she gasped. "You decided to get tattoos?"
From his lower collar and down to his chest between the now slightly opened crevice of V's dress shirt were intricate wavy patterns forming an almost avian shape with how they were structured.
"Lemuen..." He shifted uncomfortably from his position, reaching a hand in an attempt to pry the Sankta's grip off his collar.
"No... you'd better explain this," Lemuen warned, turning up to meet his sight with an expressionless face. "Did you decide to become a delinquent?"
"It was a decision I made, it benefits me far more than you could imagine." V met her eyes without a single trace of disturbance. "It's just some few markings, there's nothing drastic about mere tattoos."
"I don't care much about your tattoos, admittedly. But what would others think?" Lemuen chewed over his words, wondering how exactly it even benefited him.
"I don't plan to join a criminal organization, nor do I feel the need to flaunt vain accessories." He eventually patted her arm off, but she still eyed him with a skeptical blade.
"Another thing you don't feel is ripe to explain?" Lemuen said. Such things had become more frequent as they grew up, the same frustrations echoed by Fiammetta from what the Sankta could tell.
He had no response to give.
"...Fine. I guess it's just another topic I have to drop until next time."
"I apologize." V fixed his collar,
"There's no need to." Lemuen brushed him off. "I won't tell anybody if you're worried. Though, I hope you won't wait five years to explain this to me."
"...You're more understanding than most, thank you."
How could she not be? After what he had done for her? For now, she could hope the white-haired man would stop acting so mysterious.
They departed without a word afterwards.
***
"Ahem, V," a well-dressed man with a professor's robe said, clearing his throat. He set down the pieces of papers in his hand and into his marbled desk.
"Yes, magister Aguilar?" V asked, looking up to meet his attention
"So, as you can see," he pointed to a section of a paper on his desk, "your grades are brilliant. I'm sure you've been told this many times, especially since you excel in Advanced Lateran Literature, Advanced Philosophy, Advanced Calculus, and... basically all the courses you've taken thus far. However—"
"My attendance leaves much to be desired, correct?" V completed it for him.
"Yes, yes, that's exactly what I wish to talk about. You've been absent five times this month." The magister cleared his throat. "I'm not aware of your personal life, V, but the amount of unexcused absences, no matter your grades; does not bode well for your future."
V remained silent.
"Is there anything you wish to tell me?" Aguilar said.
"There isn't," V shook his head, before continuing, "I'll see to it that my arrival to classes take into consideration punctuality."
"While it's nice to hear it from you, this doesn't intrude on your personal life, does it?" Aguilar raised a palm to halt the other from speaking. "I've heard you take a part time job at a local cafe, so I've just been wondering..."
"The time scheduled for my occupation takes place after classes. I have made sure my shift accommodates enough time."
Magister Aguilar measured V for a moment, keeping a steady disposition. The older man folded his hands neatly over his seated legs, interlocking his fingers into a firm enclosement.
"Then that only leaves one conclusion," he said gently. "You're choosing not to attend."
V's eyes flicked away.
Aguilar sighed. He had taught many brilliant minds before, and seen just as many slip at the last moments due to unfortunate circumstances, or worse, wavering resolve. "V, I must be candid with you. Your potential is extraordinary beyond the academic scope. Critical thought, nuance, and spectacular ideas have come from you, and it's rare to see it from a non-Sankta student as of late."
His small speech stopped there, his hands moving from its position to go to an assortment of papers, looking for something. He found it. "As it stands, you are on the list of Summa cum laude candidates for this academic cycle. But... continued infractions in attendance will see your name removed from consideration. Honors such as these cannot be awarded by your sheer merit, because this merit also contains a requirement of commitment and presence."
V let the professor continue.
"You still have time to rectify this," he continued, leaning back slightly. "And truthfully, I would like nothing more than to write your commendation myself when the time comes, or perhaps even a letter of recommendation, but that must be a shared effort from the both of us. You excel at many things, V, please let consistency be one of them."
V's lips pressed down into a thin line, eyes closed.
"...Understood, Magister," he said.
Aguilar offered a small, approving nod, and a smile. "Good. Then I'll look forward to seeing you in class more regularly, preferably before I've finished my opening remarks."
***
V walked down the hallways with a sardonic stride, across countless pillars lining the hallway in the same material he had been exposed to since entering this new world as a two-day-old infant stuck in a church home.
"Lookin' downtrodden like always, V. I told ya' you shoulda just dropped this whole schooling thing!" Griffon's beak appeared from the single set of tattoos at his chest, barking his usual quips.
Although perturbed at the Familiar's abrasiveness, V knew the avian Demon wouldn't pop its head out in the presence of other humans. "As it stands, I have no other choice but to take this route."
"No other choice? Well, I don't really know what kinda ruffled feathers you've found yourself in, 'cause you only found me again yesterday." Griffon cackled. "Ah, that look on your face, priceless!"
V ignored the jab, for he held no recollection of such a claim. "It would be best for me to integrate into this society as I have been doing so for a decade now, lest I be ousted as a deviant."
"Dramatic," the Demon dryly noted.
"...And because I had made one too many connections as a child." V frowned, placing a hand on his forehead as he glanced outside the paned windows, seeing the usual myriad of students hastening about, the population drained due to the last bell tolled.
"Oh?" Griffon sounded doubly curious, more so than when he had discovered himself to be in a completely different world from their previous one.
"Forget it, that one doesn't matter much." He thinned his lips. "Pursuing an education, and receiving the apt certificates to reflect that would do wonders for my current situation."
He wasn't lying to any degree. Last time he had been invoked into the world after being split by Vergil and discarded, his only method of gaining currency and feeding himself was by targeting criminals and spending a day on the streets. There were even times where he had to wash himself in fountains and consume Demon flesh.
For a country such as Laterano, where crime rates are drastically low, he couldn't bear to keep up the same lifestyle. V had already made the choice to earn a small living, while also doing what he needed to do in this world.
"Can't be saying that when we've got a delinquent skipping classes, eh? Fifth time this month?" Griffon provoked.
"I was searching for your demonic signature during those times," V dryly said. "I believe that is reason enough."
"Aw, shucks!" Griffon gushed, before his demeanor shifted ever so slightly. "By the way, what 'bout the other guys? Felt a smidgen of their signature yet?"
"Regrettably, I have not," he clarified for the bird. "Yet."
"Well, guess we—" Before Griffon could say anything else, V clamped his beak shut, forcefully pushing the Familiar back into its tattoo form.
"Shh," V warned, feeling a set of thumping footsteps pervade the hallway in front of him. "There is somebody moving around the corner." With his words, Griffon had fully malleated itself back as markings on his chest, as he adjusted the collar of his shirt to better veil the 'accessory.'
He didn't care much for rumors that spark in the educational environment he had found himself in, he had already become used to such trivialities. However, that did not mean it wouldn't beget hassles that he would much rather avoid in order to conserve his precious time—so he might as well put in a modicum of effort in avoiding aforesaid scenarios.
V saw at the right-way and left-way turn hallway a blue-haired Sankta moving through it in a straight line, not turning the corner as a scenario he had conjured up in his mind. In fact, they merely grazed him with a small side-eye, and a distant wave as she made it through to the other side. Only a small sense of familiarity between them was present.
Griffon perked up when the Sankta had passed through completely and out of view. "Friend of yours?"
"Mostima, an acquaintance," V said dismissively, "just as Lemuen is."
"Ooh~ how many acquaintances do you have?"
"Plenty."
Plenty of which he need not, under any obligation, disclose to the typically foulmouthed, blabbering Familiar beside him. Still, he would be deluding his mind if he said it wasn't a celestial breath of relief to finally reunite with a long-departed companion.
His thoughts were interrupted when somebody had called out his name.
"Hey, V!"
It was a sky-blue-haired woman, another Sankta, as one would expect. It was as if by some cosmic irony an aforementioned acquaintance of his had spurred their way to his kismet upon a single mention.
"Serpilia." He nodded out of courtesy, making sure Griffon had disappeared without her noticing. "If you want me to do one of your assignments, then I'm afraid I would have to abstain."
Serpilia immediately came to a stop, a smile still on her face, but her frozen disposition still gave away enough. "Eh? What are you talking about?"
"You came to me for another request," V said. "This is the ninth time. All the previous eight times has been a request pertaining to your workload."
"Haha, you read me like that book of yours, huh?" Serpilia scratched the back of her head with a regrettable temperament. "Come on, I could throw in a favor for you?"
"My decision remains unchanged," V dismissed, walking past her.
"I heard you were having attendance issues." She placed her hands behind her back, dangling the tip of her feet across the around.
"...I have. Why are you bringing this up?" He raised an eyebrow, turning around while terminating his previous motion.
"Well~ I could do you this favor and get the professors off your back with attendance and all?" The blue-haired Sankta winked. "You know how I handle my own attendance, I could extend a hand to you too."
"..."
"But—! Of course, I can only get a few absence marks listed off, and the rest is on you to meet the attendance requirements to achieve Summa cum laude. I can't do everything else by myself, y'know?" She shrugged. "Also also, I can't do anything about the punishments Lemuen gives you, and I won't bombard you with too many of my unfinished assignments either—"
"I'll think about it," V said, turning back around and walking down the hall, leaving Serpilia to look at his back with a complex look.
***
V loathed recalling the waking moments of when was first betrothed to this world by flesh and blood, spirit and soul. Feeble arms, lackadaisical stature, and an unstoppable deluge of confusion was all that he felt, no different from ten million ton needles prickling at his skin.
A two day old infant in a nursery with children that sprouted heaven's wreath—wings and halos radiant of luminescence—when they bespoke their first words. A spectacle filled to the brim with hilarity and maniacy back when he first bore witness to the world, this microcosm, and its inner-workings.
Sankta, children of the Law, and Angels by many archetypes prevalent back in his world—just lacking the... undisputed holiness and sanctity he was more distinctly familiar with. To be precise, this world birthed unto its land gun-toting and confectionary-married personages built by leisure; a visage so far removed from the modesty he would expect from envisioned beings beyond human comprehension.
As if his world's angels were any better, considering their lineages and infamy for being Demons veiled in opulence and linen, all degrading the holy archetype into: 'Pretty-looking Demons.'
For now, V settled with discussing his discoveries to his out-of-water Familiar, one that had gained sentience and consciousness to the material realm only so recently. If he had to compare, his feelings mustn't have been much too distinct from how Alice perceived the twisted wonderland she walked into.
"The first week you were in this new world you heard gunshots right off the bat? Sheesh, talk about havin' it rough as a wee baby," Griffon said, freely flying in the air around him in a secluded part of an alleyway, wherein no prying eyes would find light nor shade of the two. "The heck is this Laterano about?"
"It's a part of their culture, their very... eccentric culture, I would say." V thinned his lips as he held a book in his hand, one of the two items that had been brought to him in this world, spectacularly enough. "Instruments of consecutive death in their hands, yet they treat it with such recreation, it baffles me."
He, admittedly, feared for his life when a churn of the barrel was heard outside the walls, clamoring as the impact of a billet was heard against pavement or concrete. The other Sankta children however, were far removed from any shock that would come bearing such thunderous sounds, to the point where V had assumed they were biologically hard-coded not to fear the roars of gunfire.
"Says the show-off," Griffon snarked. "Like, come on, you're not one to talk, V. Playing an air violin while we're busting our asses out disabling Demons for ya'?"
"It was necessary," he dryly responded, flipping a page on his William Blake poem collection book. "One must find joy in mundaneness, or a sense of inspiration, wouldn't you say?"
"If you're talking about havin' a goddamned blast, then hell yeah!" Griffon flustered his wings in the air, ametrine sparks coursing across his ebony and amethyst-tinged wings. "But, aside from that y'know... When are we gonna find the rest of our pals? I miss Kitty already." His mood then slightly dropped as an octave did in his voice.
"We are a door with three locks," V held up three fingers, " one I've rediscovered a key for, and the other two... have yet to be unearthed." He pressed a thumb against his forehead, leaning back against the wall as he felt his white hair drifted down his cheek. "Keep in mind, this isn't taking into consideration if he is also rampant in this new world.."
Griffon seemingly picked up the implicit message V has conveyed, shivering in the process. "Oh yeah, if he's still out there... It'd spell chaos. The worst kind there is with what he can pull."
"Seeing how the world hasn't imploded yet," V said without a hint of mirth, "then I say we have... maybe a scant enough time before we find out if he still exists or not."
"Golly. And we still haven't a single goddamned clue what the outside world of Laterano looks like, huh?"
"I seldom have some resemblance from the textbooks I've grazed through," he brought up. "Though, discovering where he would appear would be an endeavor itself."
"Gah! Complicated, too many variables! It's makin' my head hurt!" Griffon complained. "Can't believe this whole shitfest happened 'cause something just had~ to go wrong!"
"...I curse my stars," V began somberly with a sigh, eyes drifting around the empty alleyway, "in bitter grief and woe..."
"Now's not the time for poetry. Tell me, got a plan or anything to deal with this whole charade we've gotten ourselves stuck in? Aside from skipping class and attempting to sense the other nightmares."
"Not much, I must admit." V lifted himself from the wall he leaned on. "The only plan so far is to reignite my previous status in this human vessel." He clenched his fist, feeling the vice grip it brought. "Which is obvious enough. Thankfully, it does not faze as it had before."
"Huh. True. Guess you should be happy you're not turning to dust every passing second." Griffon turned back into a sludge of shadows, the conscious and viscous liquid traveling onto V's chest and merging into it as markings.
"Indeed I should."
Now, he needed to go elsewhere.
***
The streets of Laterano were always sculled with the mystification of sugary fragrances; to the point V had, at times, found it irritating on his nose. But what was a measly man such as him who held no significance in this country—somebody who was not even its dominant race—say about its culture? He enjoyed the pastries at times, yes, but the verbosity of them had always left cravings for other things, for a change if he had to project solemnly.
I could say many things, but I shall keep them bereft for now. V let his feet move across the squeaky clean street, ignoring the bright reflections bent from ivory and marble he had been exposed to for far too long.
The city seemed almost perfect, with hardly any violence or petty crime being distinguished that much across news channels. An amicable air hung above even the skies consistently throughout the year, Sankta, Liberi, and all races in-between—barring the disavowed Sarkaz—living in unison within this 'utopia.'
Though a utopia it might be, and joyously he had spent time indulging with no dangers present, V couldn't find himself fully acclimating himself to the environment, a looming sense of unease stalking him just behind the back. With the eldritch knowledge of the Underworld and his previous incarnation, any man would find himself stuck in a stasis of turmoil
Enough of this. Shaking his head, and after making it through the egregious mass of bodies that would flood the baptised streets during rush hour, he stood in front of a cafe; a caffeinated cathedral where his part-time job was located.
Reaching into his pocket and lazily tossing out a key into the air and then grabbing it with a flick of his arm, clasping the metallic item in his hand with jingling sounds. Inserting the object into the lock of the door and opening the door, V only entered to be assaulted with the diffusing sensation of air-conditioning and aromatic coffee beans. His olfactory nerves continued to adapt to the perfuming odor each whiff, a much more preferable experience compared to the intensity of polysaccharides.
He eventually came to a pause at a realization. The owner of the shop wasn't present at the moment, most likely closed behind the back doors, but there was somebody else who had caught his mind's eye.
"Hi." A pink-haired Sankta waved at him from a chair behind a table, the woman pronouncedly being...
Lemuen. Again.
***
"Hi," Lemuen said, seeing that V had entered through the door with short bells rolling by the creak of the door.
He blinked once with hardly a reaction, before turning around and closing the door wordlessly. His silence would not last long.
"Did somebody bring you in?" V asked, glancing around.
"I picked the lock," she off-handedly said, rolling her wrist in the air with a vacant glance.
"Excuse me...?" The baffled look drafted upon his facial complex was some of the greatest gold Lemuen had seen.
She chuckled. "I jest, I jest, but goodness, that look on your face is priceless."
"...So I take it my assumption was correct?" V loosened the tie around his neck, and from what the Sankta could recall, he'd never adapted to the restraining feeling the article of accessor would bring.
"Mhm," she hummed, "I wouldn't break into your workplace without permission. Ms. Aldana was rather accommodating, by the way."
"She always has been," V glanced to the back doors of the empty cafe, placing his book underneath his arms as he moved forward and took a seat opposite of where Lemuen was. "Where is Mostima?"
"Busy."
"I can see how. I saw her roaming around some time after school, so something must have come up."
"Mostima and staying after school?" Lemuen tapped her chin. "Yeah, she's definitely got something going on."
"What about you?" V pointed her way. "You are the Head Prefect of the Student Council. You must be swamped by more work than Mostima."
"We get free time too, you know?"
"On occasion?"
Lemuen sighed. "Yeah, on occasion. Maybe I can see why you enjoy skipping classes so much recently."
"Condolences." V placed his hand on the book laid to sleep atop the table, perhaps ready to flick open to a random page and quote poetry.
Lemuen promptly placed her hand in the hardcover with the large golden 'V' engraved like a carved scripture of ligneous matter. "V, let's talk about your attendance."
"Lemuen, I beg of thee," V melodramatically said, his only free hand drifting back a zephyr to ruffle and pull his hair back. "This will be the third time I hear about such drivel today."
"Well," Lemuen propped her cheek against her palm, "Third time's the charm, isn't that right?" She made sure to give him a sweet smile, for sweetness in copious doses, could lead to hyperglycemia. For V, she was confident he was already feeling a cardiovascular threat from that sickly smile.
"As dull as any charm can be. Bad luck also comes in threes, as superstition has it." He leaned back on his chair, surrendering to the vacant hall he had found himself stumbled upon.
"Peh. Spoilsport." Lemuen stuck her tongue out in synthetic indignation. "So, what we were talking about before..."
V sighed, "Apologies, Lemuen. I believe the matters pertaining to my absence are all but left to fate. There's nothing I can do about them."
"What exactly is going on that you can't attend class?" She asked, suspicion prominent across her physiognomy in the form of slightly distilled and narrowed eyes.
"Perhaps you could inquire with Mostima or Fiammetta," he dodged, she could tell.
"Hm, already did. Guess what they said?" she rhetorically asked. "They're just as much in the dark as I am."
"It's nothing important." V shrugged. "To you, at least."
Lemuen shifted to a neutral expression, saying nothing.
"...The request Serpilia provided me is looking quite appealing thus far." V crossed his arms, looking out the glass panes of the window.
"Her? Serpilia?" Her eyebrow twitched. "Oh, I see. Did she accost you with a deal?"
He looked to be weighing options in order to formulate a response to her, but Lemuen was confident he would speak the truth to her. Her assumptions were proven correct as he delineated her with the full details.
"Serpilia offered to aid my attendance record's rather sorry state," V explained. "Seeing how she skips classes frequently with her attendance hardly bearing a single blemish, she knows her ways around the system."
"Figures." Lemuen tapped the table impatiently. "I heard she helped administration a great deal in regards to workload, all with a system she developed. So that's why she's exempt."
"She knows her way around." He leaned back, and from her assumptions, he looked curious.
"...She wouldn't help you for free. What did she want?" Although Lemuen could say she didn't have much problems with Serpilia aside from disciplinary action, she hoped the other Sankta wouldn't indulge V in any activities that would leave him lazy.
"I tend to her more mundane assignments," he replied.
"Mundane?"
"...Her schoolwork. I've done it a few times before."
Lemuen had almost found her mouth opening wider at his unabashed confession. "You? Doing her schoolwork?" The white-haired man who looked like an emo who couldn't make friends was a pushover?! "Don't tell me..." She faux gasped with a hand over her mouth.
"What?"
"She's playing you like a fiddle?"
"Absolutely not." V deadpanned.
"It certainly sounds like it. You continue to do her bidding with schoolwork, and then she falsifies your attendance some way or another." Lemuen shot him a disapproving look. "My, how could such somebody as studious as you fall so low?"
He shrugged in response.
Eventually, she interlocked her fingers, an idea popping up in her mind at the minute impasse between them. "I can give you a remedy."
"And that is?"
"Join the Student Council. With how you are, I could see you becoming a prefect easily." Lemuen noticed the white-haired man ushering her to speak more with a silent tilt of his head. "You're abstained from absences if you have duties relating to the Student Council, like catching people who skip school for disciplinary reasons."
"How exactly would this work?"
Lemuen smirked, a rather concealed dastardly one incomparable to the 'innocent' one she would hold. "I can throw in a few testimonies. But of course, you have to take it seriously, okay?"
"...I'll think about it."
"Did you say the same thing to Serpilia?"
"Yes."
"Should I make your punishment for skipping class more severe?" Lemuen smiled once more.
"Spare me." V surrendered with a neutral voice. "Babysitting your sister is much more facile compared to convincing you."
"Then I suggest you think over my request very proactively. Okay~?" Lemuen knew his words were saying something, considering how Lemuel, her sister, has caused a combustion incident more than once that V had to clean up after in her little pranks.
"I will..." V's voice drew out as she stared silently at the table. His thoughts from Lemuen's assumptions looked to have waned, and for what reason she wasn't aware of.
Silently, she continued to watch as his complexion turned almost worrisome, a bead of sweat distinguishably forming at the side of his neck, migrating down. The loose collar of his white dress shirt made it easier to see.
"V?" she asked.
Immediately, he stood up from where he was seated and snatched the book laid to rest on the table. "I have to go."
"Wha—?" Before Lemuen could inquire any further, the white-haired man sprinted out of the room, the chimes of small bells ringing at his departure. She watched the entrance door shut to a close as a dissatisfied feeling overcame her.
The moment would not last long, as from the backdoor of the cafe came somebody else.
"Lemuen?" It was a late middle-aged woman with her hair tied in a bob, a Liberi woman who was the owner of the cafe.
"Ms. Aldana." Lemuen promptly shifted back to her pleasant attitude filled with decorum. "You didn't have too much trouble with cleaning the kitchen, did you?"
"Ah, if you're going to suggest helping me out again, then save it." Ms. Aldana waved her hand dismissively. "That's no way to treat a guest of V's... by the way, where is that boy? He's not one to arrive at his shift time late."
"Oh, he came in not too long ago. It's just that he had some troubles he forgot to take care of. I don't know what they are, however."
"I understand." Ms. Aldana nodded, a truly compassionate light shining on her face. "Aside from that, did the boy say he would attend your shooting competition?"
...Lemuen was about to say something, but clamped her lips shut.
It was then she realized the second reason why she came to the cafe was one she had forgotten to speak.
"Did he also like the treats you made?" Ms. Aldana asked a second question.
Lemuen felt even more sour. She had given Fiammetta and Mostima their portion, but it seemed like she would have to stall it with that white-haired man.
***
An unholy energy signature grated his nerves, a burning piece of sacrilege that should not exist in this world, reminding him of his origins.
V dashed through the streets, passing by parlors, street markets, vendors, and all the like who wandered the streets without much disturbance nor care for any potential dangers. He searched for any clear locations where he could call out Griffon as he instinctively moved to a more sparse area he was familiar with.
"Talk about problems with women," Griffon peered out from his tattoo, wrapping around his shoulder in its charcoal liquid form. "You felt something out there too, by the way?"
"This has nothing to do with those problems Dante would find himself ensnared in," V scoffed, recalling Nero bad-mouthing the Legendary Devil Hunter in regards to his 'luck' with women. "And yes, I felt the energy signature too."
"This is how you found me, right? Think it's one of our kind? Oooh~ if it is, would it be Kitty, or the gigantic bio-weapon that can eviscerate the Underworld? My bet's on the Kitty!" Griffon guffawed in excitement.
"Certainly one of your kind, but unfortunately..." V launched himself upward with magic enhancing his feet when reaching an alleyway, reaching all the way up the buildings. "I doubt it is any of our Familiars."
"Geh! Unfortunate." Griffon deflated, before realization struck it like a thunderbolt. "Wait, wait, one of our kind? Does that mean—"
"Potentially Demons, yes." V continued to run across the rooftops, attempting better to gain a sense of the Demonic Energy pulsating only to his acclimated senses. "Guaranteed to be Demons, to be precise. I had to deal with these occurrences before I found yours."
"Sheesh. Don't tell me ya' almost got yourself killed."
"I didn't. This body is less frail than my previous one." V outstretched his hand once he had landed on another building, huffing at the taxing sensation magic had on his body.
Griffon fully burst out of V's tattoos as he gained material and solid form, its clawed feet locking onto his wrist as it started to fly at high speeds. "Woohoo! Feels great to be out again!" Its body was far larger than when in its previous world, accommodating more for carriage. "You weren't lying about your new body, think it came from merging back?" The avian Demon cackled, expansive wings dashing.
"I haven't a clue," V said.
"Well, at least you're more competent now!"
"So are you." V glanced down, glad nobody was close to the district he was in. "No signs of pedestrians or citizens so far... fly higher, Griffon. I do not want to risk being spotted."
"Loud and clear." Griffon broke a smile across his lips, shooting upwards like an artillery shot with a flutter of its wings. "Up to the clouds then!"
"Be careful—!" V's eyes widened as he felt the whiplash travel across his body before he met the clouds surrounding his body. "...Nevermind. This is the perfect altitude." He couldn't help a small smirk crossing his rim, along with a sigh of relief.
"Woah! Do you feel that strange energy too?" The Familiar gawked. "If I flew any higher, I might've been toast by... er, whatever that thing is."
"I warned you before," V chided, "It is a phenomenon of this remarkable world we've found ourselves in."
"Context?" Griffon queried.
"It's called the Starpod, as coined by a scholar. It surrounds this planet and has been a wrench in orbital ventures." He outstretched his hand, feeling the clouds. "Based on what I feel, you'd require something akin to Nightmare's firepower to fully obliterate it."
"Crazy. What kinda planet did we end up on?"
"We'll discover that eventually," V looked downward, to the world beneath his feet. "As it stands, informing you about every detail would take far too long. I was lucky to recover my consciousness as an infant."
"So that you could read a million books, in what, like sixteen, seventeen years?"
"Too many to count."
"Hah! I'd expect nothing else from ya'!" Griffon squawked, neck turned in hilarity. "New world, new shit to rock, whaddya say?"
"Nothing much."
The Familiar snickered. "Desiring the Yamato now?"
"I always have."
***
They eventually landed, V swiftly leaping off of Griffon's claws and tossing a Summoned Cane in the air, warping to it, and then grabbing it between his fingers—twirling it around methodically. Verdant fields did fill his vision in the outskirts of Laterano, with rural churches—abandoned and derelict—lining the hills. He dispelled the Summoned Cane into motes of purple.
"There it is, nothing special about their presence. Bunch of straggler Demons we can treat like fodder I bet," Griffon squawked, shrinking his form to better fix the abandoned church in front of them.
"You would be correct. They don't feel powerful," V agreed, outstretching his right hand and forming another transparent amethyst cane in the same design as his physical one. "I forgot to bring my actual cane with me, but this will do."
"So, does anybody else know about this whole schtick you do? The Demons and all?"
"Nobody does. I made sure of it." V walked forward to the moss-stricken building, taking note of the many vines that seemed to have overtaken it in nature's vice grip.
"Ha! What're ya' a vigilante now? Scratch that, you definitely meet the whole criteria." Griffon tailed him, electricity and lightning primed at the burrows of his ebony wings.
"Having unwitting people be aware of the Underworld would only cause mass panic to ensue." He stood before the entrance, stabbing his cane into the ground. "And the Underworld seems to have found its way to this world due to my continued presence. It is my mess to clean up."
"Even in another world, it stretches its roots elsewhere. What a pain," Griffon groaned. "Watch out from the front by the way." Right after, the Familiar outstretched its wings, a sphere of electrical discharge surrounding it, before jagged bolts shot out from them, lighting up the shaded interior of the church.
A distorted squeal was heard from a bug-like creature, an Empusa falling right in front of V as its limbs twitched, only to be put out of its misery as his cane cracked its way into its skull, magic enhancing the strength of the blow by high orders of magnitude.
"Got his ass, haha~!" Griffon broke off into laughter. "Let's get back into shape, shall we?"
The shrieks of multiple Empusa ladened within the church walls were heard, multiple glowing eyes glowing within the darkness, staring at V and Griffon.
V smirked, undeniable confidence embodied in his visage, snapping his book open. "He who desires but acts not breeds pestilence."
He shut it with a deafening reverberation, the sounds of the Demons becoming louder, charging with reckless abandon.
"So it is written."
***
"UNKNOWN VARIABLE DETECTED."
"RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC."
"THREAT LEVEL ASSESSMENT CALIBRATING..."
"..."
"ASSUMING THREAT VECTOR."
"THREAT LEVEL ASSESSMENT COMPLETE."
"THREAT LEVEL ASSESSMENT: MAXIMUM."
"ASSIGNING NEW THREAT NODE."
***
Across wasted battlefields were blades aligned every meter of its circumference and radius as crosses atop an empty grave, a single figure draped in a black robe could be seen traversing through it. Their eyes thoroughly scraped through every nook and cranny, from the pulverized sedimentary to ashen remains of scattered cadavers.
A horn jutted out from both sides of their hood, a frail and slim figure prominent further under the cloak as they continued to saunter about. Cracks of artillery fire could, at intervals, be heard rupturing the landscape from far away, flashes of light appearing far before the soundwaves could permeate through the air.
Danger was at every corner, and they knew it.
They crawled upon the earth, a desperation driven mortal, a sin-wrought mass of peril. Seek, seek, seek, did their hands grovel across the ground to seek a weapon which to strike. Yet then, even through Rage his wreath and through Anger his mentor, they could not deliver him when calamity ran amok.
For a silent moment, they came to a stop, embellishing their ears with the uproarious screams of distant armaments. Taking in a deep breath and letting the smoking air fill their viscera, a tenfold sulfur started to weigh a boundless tonnage upon the lungs.
Fixing the position of their cloak with their skeletal arms, and pressing forward once more as a groveling ant in a world much larger than them, they had come to a realization as their steps came to a denouement once more.
A flooding feeling choked at their esophagus far more than the smog of the battlefield could. Might, strength, vigor, force, whatever it was called; it was there in its aggregate. When they turned their head up, the sights became as clear as a fractured crystal.
Power, an incarnation of its countenance stood before them.
Thorns of a tree encompassed its very form like sutures holding an incomprehensible mass of power together. Orbs of light leaked through the root-mailed protection, like prying eyes bleeding its vision through incision-like apertures. It was colossal, a monolithic tower.
Near the merry-go-round of chaos, and 'neath the crepuscule damnably hung above, the Sarkaz had realized their moribund body must have waltzed unto its finale, and soon-to-be epilogue.
To the Nefarious Usurper of the Qliphoth throne, surrogate Demon King of a kingless Underworld.
***
"His cold horrors silent, dark Urizen prepar'd; his ten thousands of thunders rang'd in gloom'd array, stretch out across the dread world and rolling the wheels."
— The Book of Urizen