The infernal morning had arrived in Hell, bringing with it the same oppressive crimson light that never truly faded. In a filthy back alley, nestled among piles of reeking garbage bags, Aiden stirred awake. The moment he sat up, the stench of his stolen clothes hit him like a truck. He lifted an arm, took one whiff, and nearly gagged.
"Fuck this," he muttered, stripping the garments off without hesitation and tossing them into the nearest dumpster. They had looked decent enough yesterday, but after a night spent rolling around in trash, they were worthless.
He stood there in the dim alley, bare-chested for a moment, rolling his shoulders. Three options ran through his mind: threaten them, negotiate, or simply take what he wanted by force.
Aiden stared at his own hand, flexing the fingers. He had another path to explore first—training. He remembered Satoru Gojo's method of manipulating negative energy, but there was a crucial difference here. This body wasn't built on the same foundations.
He picked up a sharp shard of broken glass from the ground and made a small, deliberate cut across his fingertip. Blood welled up immediately. With intense concentration, he focused inward, veins bulging at his temples from the mental strain. Beneath the skin, beneath the flesh, and deeper still—below even the soul—he felt it: a swirling mass of dual-colored energy, vibrant purple and deep crimson, forming something like a cocooned butterfly.
"This is… weird as hell," he whispered.
In the next instant, his hand transformed. Fingers elongated and sharpened into deadly blades. He tested the new appendages, slicing through a metal pipe as if it were butter, then shifted them into other forms—claws, tendrils, armored plating—before smoothly returning them to normal.
A dark smile crept across his face. The possibilities were expanding faster than he had anticipated.
---
Meanwhile, in a relatively quiet residential zone on the edge of the Pride Ring, Sir Pentious and Baxter sat at their kitchen table, nursing mugs of bitter coffee. Both looked exhausted. They had spent the entire week working nonstop on prototypes for the upcoming Overlord Festival, a rare opportunity they had barely managed to secure.
"Pentious…" Baxter began carefully, his glowing angler-fish lure swaying slightly. "If we actually land this contract… do you think we could finally be accepted as Overlords?"
Sir Pentious fidgeted with his teacup, his serpentine body coiled anxiously in the chair. "I… I don't know, old friend. My engineering has always been a bit… crude. Primitive, even."
Baxter sighed. "Pentious, standard mechanical engineering ruled the world for centuries. But these days, the truly powerful nations invest in biological weapons. The difference is control. Take the Black Plague—it killed millions. It took the greatest minds of the era just to contain it. We need something more… sophisticated."
Before he could continue, the wall behind Baxter exploded in a shower of debris and cursed energy.
Aiden stepped through the dust cloud, his hand already transformed into a cluster of razor-sharp blades pressed lightly against the fish demon's throat.
"My name is Mahito~" Aiden announced with a playful, singsong lilt, deliberately avoiding his real name. "And I'm here to collect your souls."
Baxter's eyes widened. "You really think I'll roll over like a trained dog?" In a flash, he pulled a syringe from his lab coat and tried to jam it into Aiden's side.
The curse was faster.
"Thirty seconds, I'd say," Aiden remarked casually, twisting the fish demon's own arm and pressing the needle against Baxter's neck instead. "Let's not waste them."
"Release him!" Sir Pentious roared, snatching a pistol from a nearby drawer and aiming it at the intruder. Aiden immediately used Baxter as a living shield, shifting the scientist's body to block every angle.
"You shoot and you'll hit your partner," Aiden taunted. "This is probably going to earn me an authorial strike for ticket Man of Rick and morty, but oh well."
"Pentious… the virus… it's already spreading…" Baxter gasped. Dark veins began crawling across his face as the injection took effect.
"Release him or—" Sir Pentious started.
"Or what?" Aiden cut him off with mocking amusement. "I have your genius scientist. You have a gun. From where I'm standing, we could make a contract~"
He moved Baxter slightly to the side, keeping the blades ready. His tone turned serious, careful. He knew Alastor played this game better than anyone—deceiving even powerful Overlords like Zestial. Aiden had to be precise.
"The terms of my contract are as follows," he declared. "Both of you will become my subordinates. You will not speak of my existence to any being without my explicit permission. No external communications, no side deals, no contracts that I don't approve. In exchange, I will provide you with protection, advanced knowledge in biological and mechanical engineering, resources, and a reasonable degree of freedom to create whatever you wish—so long as it does not threaten me directly or indirectly."
Sir Pentious's multiple eyes narrowed. "You must prove you can back up your word with something concrete."
Aiden sighed, then grabbed a pencil and a sheet of paper from the table. He began sketching rapidly, drawing from vague memories of another world.
"I call it Nox. A mobile war machine and base of operations. If operated correctly, it can become a devastating problem for your enemies. It functions as heavy fire support when powered correctly. Inside, you can store conventional weapons and biological armaments." The sketch depicted a spider-like mechanical clock tower, elegant and menacing.
"This is just a taste of what I can offer. Advanced weapons of war? Easy. Biological horrors?" Aiden's grin widened. "Gentlemen, you haven't even heard of Umbrella yet."
He let the implication hang in the air. The Nox from Wakfu was a masterpiece—powerful enough, in theory, to fight dragons that could rival elite Overlords. And if a human could wield time manipulation at that level…
"But of course," Aiden continued, "I have a small personal project I'd like to work on. I call them Cursed Fetuses…"
---
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a blade. Sir Pentious and Baxter exchanged uneasy glances, caught between fear, ambition, and the very real threat pressed against them.
Aiden waited patiently, blades still hovering. The game had only just begun.
---
Sorry for the slow UP.
School.