Chapter One

In the face of death, there is no mercy. That is the law of the universe.

Death was impartial, indiscriminate and relentless. Animals die. People die. Plants die. The Earth, the Sun, the universe itself―one day death will claim it all.

Jon knew this consciously. He learned it the day his grandfather died quietly in a hospital bed with tubing threaded into his lungs through his nostrils. He remembered the moment his grandfather's dark eyes, dull from medication, glazed over, his wrinkled digits slackening in his grandmother's entwined fingers.

Still, a primal instinct to resist death called to him. Jon found the strength to roll onto his back. It was a grueling task, but a part of him needed to see his wound no matter how hopeless it was. A dim voice in his mind, normally cold and logical, suggested the possibility that he would be alright. A hot, sharp pain originating from the bullet wound below his ribs burned its way to his brain. Blood soaked through his shirt and pooled on the floor. He raised his head, noticing his blood spurt from his wound as he did so. He laughed weakly.

"Fucking shit," was all he could say. "Fucking shit."

There was a gunman on campus. The first shots rang minutes ago.

That afternoon he had spent his lunchtime in the lab his anthropology professors used to study the relics they would order. He had been looking at a scroll―one that was supposedly two thousand years old―when loud pops went off inside the building. Before he could barricade the doors, one of them flew open, and a young man, frazzled and wild-looking with bloodshot eyes, shot him. Jon didn't die immediately. Instead, he fell behind the table at the center of the lab with a hole the size of a dime beside his abdomen.

And there he lay, fated to bleed to death.

Jon listened to his heart hammering in his ears. He blinked, breathing short breaths, and tears watered his eyes. They fell from the bullet lodged in his intestines, the sight of blood―his fucking blood!―pouring out of him like soda from a punctured can.

They fell because what coherent thought he still had screamed at the unfairness of it all.

Why him? Why today? Why ever?

Struggling, he yanked his phone out of his pants pocket. It was more work than it should have been. Wrestling the phone out from the bunch of denim cost him precious minutes of his little time left. He focused on calling the police. Shaking fingers punched in nine-one-one. Then it occurred to him that calling the police would be pointless; by now someone in the campus would have already done it. At the same time, he held no illusion that an ambulance would arrive in the nick of time for him solely if it was him who called. The world didn't work that way.

No―his last words wouldn't be for a stranger. He swallowed a mouthful of blood as it gurgled out from the bottom of his throat.

His thumb, slick with his blood, slipped over the screen.

With a gurgle of frustration, he wiped his hand over one of the slips of paper he had knocked onto the floor before trying again.

His fingers obeyed him, loyal to the very end, as they struggled to fulfill their final orders. Three words in capital letters went into the message.

Three words, Jon hoped, would be enough.

Limply, the arm holding the phone fell aside. Quiet sobs escaped him. He was going to die. Worse, he was going to die alone.

He shut his eyes, unwilling to see his death. He distracted himself as memories of Sam―beautiful Sam, full of life and joy and love―danced in his mind's eye. Their first meeting. First talk. First date. First kiss. He felt faint as he wondered how she would take his passing. They shared only three years together―the best years of his life. And he hoped hers.

She'll move on, he thought. She's strong. That's why you love her, Jon. She'll find a way.

Through his eyelids, it looked like the room's lights were dimming. They weren't, obviously. That was just him slipping off the edge into the unknown abyss. But it grabbed his attention, made his heart skip a beat, and he cracked his eye open.

He saw Death. It looked like a young girl, about the age of thirteen.

Blood red hair. Ocean blue eyes. Pretty in an unnatural way. Of course Death had to be pretty, he thought snidely. As if beauty matters in the end.

Death said something―he couldn't understand what, incapable of focusing on the words―but his instincts told him what he wanted to hear.

Should I ease the pain?

Weakly, he nodded.

Death smiled. Jon's eyelids fell. Seeing for one last time the blood on the floor and the mess of papers strewn about from his fall, he managed one last grim smile.

I'd hate to be the poor bastard who has to clean this up.

Of all people Rias anticipated for her first client as a devil, a dying man wasn't one of them.

When the summoning circle first appeared, she had been nervous. Understandably so; taking contracts was her first step in becoming a true devil. A weight had settled upon her shoulders when she realized that failure would not only speak badly of her, Rias Gremory, but also of her family―her entire House. But gentle encouragement from of her parents, her older brother, her sister-in-law, and her best friends had given Rias the courage to step inside the glowing circle and believe in herself.

Strewn papers and a pool of blood replaced her family's warm smiles.

In front of her was a man in his twenties. Near his left hand was one of her fliers, crumpled and marked with blood. She forced her growing panic aside and put on what she hoped was a warm smile. She needed to take charge of the situation.

"Mister," she said softly. "Mister, are you alright?"

She relaxed when the man stirred. His reddened eyes met hers. He said nothing― and how could he? She saw his blood spreading over the floor like a twisted red shadow. He was going to die. She needed this contact to succeed, but her client was going to die. A dozen thoughts passed through her mind, and only one stood out immediately.

"W-would you like me to save you?" she asked.

For a while she thought he hadn't heard her. Or worse, that he had died before she could ask. But when he nodded, her worries vanished, replaced by an indescribable urge to please.

"Very well. I'll, umm, try with magic." Red light coalesced in her hands, bathing the dying man in its glow. He shut his eyes, and her fear of failure returned. Dead clients meant no deal. "P-please hang on, Mister!"

She poured more magic into her healing spell. The blood kept spreading.

Her panic surged with a vengeance. It wasn't working. While her inherent specialty was her family's Destruction magic, Rias had worked hard in other forms of magic as well. Her healing spell wasn't something to scoff at even if it wasn't as effective as Akeno's. Her client was too far gone for her to heal through standard magical aid.

Calling for assistance was out of the question, especially for her first contract. It would reflect badly on her ability and on her House. And yet without help, her client would die. She needed this. Her thoughts went to her father, sad and disappointed; her brother, one of the four Satans, ashamed before the whole Underworld; Grayfia, stoic as ever, but with a slightly disappointed smile; and Akeno and Sona―her dearest friends―distant, unwilling to associate with a failure. She couldn't take it. She could not bear the thought of abandonment.

No―there was only one solution left. She dug into the pocket of her skirt and produced a single chess piece.

It was a Pawn, red and cast in a soft glow not unlike that of her magic.

Taking the man into her peerage was essentially a method of resurrection. Technically, she would be fulfilling the contract before the man would become a devil. That counted as a success.

The Pawn, responding to her will, floated off her palm and gravitated towards the man. It pressed against his chest and sank through his shirt, leaving not a mark behind it.

The blood stopped flowing.

Rias shut her eyes and breathed.

"Contract success," she whispered with relief. Only then did she really consider the consequences of what she had done.

Like every other young High-class devil, Rias had her own fantasies about what she wanted her peerage to become. Strong, yes. Proud and majestic. But most importantly, one she could love like a second family. Akeno, dear Akeno, her best friend for years, had become her Queen not days ago. It was a small step, but the right one. As Rias looked at the man she just saved, sitting in his own blood, she feared her dream to be quickly falling apart.

Waking up was a chore.

Jon felt as if a thousand trucks had run him over in his sleep. He groaned, shifting beneath light sheets until he suddenly shot upward to a sitting position.

Brown eyes darted frantically in their sockets. Panic washed over him in waves. He remembered what seemed to him like moments ago. The gun, the blood―and Death. Dying.

Where had everything gone? The last thing he remembered was bleeding out in the lab, and now he was somewhere. He sat on a comfortable queen-sized bed, with soft pillows and sheets. Gone were his T-shirt and, to his horror, pants, each replaced by a sleeveless undershirt and shorts respectively. He touched gingerly the place on his stomach where a bullet tore him a new breathing hole.

No pain. No bleeding. Odd.

Then he lifted his shirt. He was nearly speechless. "What the Hell?"

The door creaked open. He looked up. This time he really was speechless when a maid―an actual maid―quietly slipped into the room. She noticed him to be awake and bowed politely.

"Are you feeling well, Mr. Smith?" the maid asked.

"I, umm—" Jon cleared his throat and covered himself with the sheet. "Yes, I am fine. And alive, to my surprise."

The maid nodded. "You will be informed of the details when the master and young lady arrive."

Her words triggered a memory, one of the girl―of Death. He swallowed and nodded. The maid, with a practiced smile, bowed and excused herself from the room after depositing a tray on the Victorian nightstand beside his bed. On the tray was a glass of warm milk and a plate of scones. Oatmeal and raisin scones covered in cream, he noted. They were a bit too sweet for his liking, but he was hungry enough to eat a ham whole.

It was when he bit into his third scone―this one filled with jam―did he hear loud voices echoing in the hall outside. Startled, he finished his snack quickly just as the door flew open.

"I see you are awake, son." A middle-aged man with shockingly familiar red hair and blue eyes entered first. His white blazer screamed expensive, and the maid from before following close behind only supported the impression of the stranger being a wealthy man. The stranger studied him wordlessly with a gaze that was not quite cold, but not quite friendly. Jon imagined it was how a scientist would study a microbe through a microscope. The stranger asked in a gruff and authoritative tone, "Are you well?"

"Yes, Sir."

The man guffawed. "'Sir', he says! Not quite. I am Lord Vernus Gremory, head of the House of Gremory." Vernus gestured to the man behind him, one who bore similar features but seemed much, much younger. "This is my son, Sirzechs Lucifer. Behind him is my daughter, and, from what I understand, your King."

King. Something about that word made Jon wary.

He found the young girl from before partially hidden behind the man named Sirzech. She refused to meet his eyes.

"I am Jon Smith. Pleased to meet you all," Jon answered carefully.

Sirzechs unabashedly took one of the remaining scones.

"I suppose you have many questions regarding your situation," Sirzechs said while eating. "Normally it would be my sister's responsibility to alleviate your concerns, but, as she is too young and inexperienced, you may direct your questions to either me or my father."

Jon nodded. "What happened?"

"You were found severely injured," Vernus answered. "My daughter, in response to your summons and your wish, resurrected you. As a result, you are now bound to her as a servant."

"That is only the broad explanation," Sirzechs added upon seeing Jon's listless expression. "You will learn of the specifics later, but I assure you it is not as it sounds."

"What are you?" Jon asked next.

Vernus's stern facade turned into surprise for a moment. "You can tell?"

"Forgive me if this sounds rude, but I have this unsettling feeling when I look at you. All of you. Like you're... dangerous or something." Jon glanced at each individual in the room, including the maid, before he leveled a curious look at Sirzechs. "And more so when I look at you."

Sirzechs's grin was toothy. "Your instincts are sharp. We are all devils."

Jon paled. "Devils?"

"Yes. And you are currently in the Underworld."

"Underworld? I-I went to Hell?" Jon swallowed, eyes wide. "But... isn't upholding the moral values more important than identifying with the reli―"

Sirzech held up his hands in a placating gesture. "You're misunderstanding something. Hell is much more different place than it used to be. The official name for it now is 'the Underworld'. Instead of a realm where sinners and non-believers fall into for eternal punishment, it is now a realm where devils cultivate their civilization." Jon blinked, flabbergasted. Sirzechs chuckled. "What? You think that for all the years the Human world had to evolve, that the Underworld wouldn't?"

Jon was quiet. "From a logical standpoint, I suppose not."

"'From a logical standpoint, you shouldn't exist.' That's what you're thinking, right?" Jon said nothing. "That's fine. You were a normal human not a day ago. Few humans unaffiliated with any of the powers would be aware of us. It is How Things Are."

"Rias," Vernus said softly. The girl, who had been watching quietly, stiffened. "Introduce yourself."

The girl visibly gathered herself and stepped out. Jon's assumption was correct: she was certainly young. He estimated her height to be chest-high at most. She grasped the hems of her dress and curtsied. Her eyes remained on the floor. "I am Rias Gremory of House Gremory," she spoke, her voice low. "Pleased to meet you."

"Come now, Rias," Vernus chided. "Jon seems like a nice man. No need to be shy."

Rias bit her lip and fidgeted under everyone's gaze.

"Nice to meet you, Rias," Jon said.

"How old did you say you were, Jon?" Vernus asked, his eyes never leaving his daughter.

"Twenty-three. In human years."

"Then you are older than my daughter and her Queen. Neither I nor my son will be able to care for Rias all the time―not for a lack of trying, mind you―so I ask, as a favor, to look after her."

Jon's eyes bulged. "I, uh, will try?"

"That's all I can ask for. Please, if you have anything you need, ask any one of us and we will provide."

"Thank you, Milord."

"Milord?" Vernus laughed. "Close enough."

"We must take our leave," Sirzechs said, quickly devouring another scone. "Both my father and I have business to attend to. Rias will stay and answer any further questions you may have."

Rias nodded silently.

"We will see you soon," Vernus said before stroking his daughter's hair. He said to her, "Everything will be alright. Believe."

Jon watched Vernus and Sirzechs depart, their maids shutting the door behind them. Rias stood rooted to her spot, looking at anywhere but at Jon. She was nervous, Jon noticed, though why he had no idea. He wasn't the best with children. Still, it didn't take a genius to understand that he now owed Rias a considerable debt; the reason he was alive at all was likely due to her efforts. While the idea of owing a devil made him nervous, Jon reflected on the courtesy he had been shown thus far. He decided to make the first move.

"Would you like a scone?" Jon asked. "Sweets don't sit well with me."

Rias flinched when Jon addressed her, but after a longing glance at the plate, she took one.

"I'm not exactly sure what happened," he continued, "but I know that I am alive thanks to you. So, whatever you did, I thank you."

Rias shook her head. Her shoulder-length hair swayed. "I... it was nothing. I... am sorry."

Jon smiled. "Don't be. You didn't shoot me."

"I had to resurrect you with an Evil Piece. You were bleeding too much." When Jon didn't react, Rias kept going. "I have made you a part of my peerage."

"I am not sure what that means."

From her dress pocket, Rias produced a chess piece. The knight glowed a soft red. Jon was mesmerized by it. "This is an Evil Piece," Rias explained. "All High-class devils have a set. Whoever is attached to an Evil Piece becomes part of the King's peerage. It can also revive the recently deceased."

"I see. Is there something I should know about being in a peerage?"

"Only devils can be in a peerage."

It took a moment for Jon to realize what Rias meant. "Oh. So now I'm a―"

"A devil."

Jon blinked. "Ah. Am I supposed to harvest souls or something?"

Rias looked shocked. "N-no!"

"Okay. Is there something about being a devil that I should know about?"

Shock turned into apprehension. "You are vulnerable to holy objects and are slightly weaker in the morning."

"Well. That's not too bad. I might have to stay away from Sam's stuff."

"Who is... Sam?"

"My girlfriend. Which reminds me: do you know where my phone is?"

Rias looked curious. Her anxiety from before was beginning to fade. "Your phone?"

"Uh, a device about the size of my hand. Flat, with a transparent screen on one face."

"Ah! So that was a phone?" There was a gleam of excitement in Rias's words. "It looks different from the ones here. I asked Akeno to bring it with her when she comes."

"Great. I'll have to tell Sam that I'm alright."

Rias nodded, this time with a genuine smile. She pondered for a moment before asking a question. "Can you, um, tell me about the human world?"

"I'll try. Anything specific?"

She thought for a moment. "School."

Jon frowned, dredging up anything in his brain that would interest Rias. "Umm. Well, as far as I know, there are several school systems in use in the human world. In general, countries with stronger economies offer more in the way of education for their people. The specifics vary, but children in Westernized countries often go to school throughout their pubescent years and well into their adolescent years. What happens afterwards depends on the country they live in. For example, in the United States, students can further their education by attending college. On the other hand, in Germany, students either take specialized courses catered towards their career choice, head straight to work, or continue general education at a higher level. Umm..."

His explanation sounded drier than he wanted it to, but Rias seemed enraptured by what he said. "What about Japan? I'm very curious about Japan."

Jon raised a brow, but answered. "The Japanese school system is rather straightforward. The schooling duration is divided into periods. Kindergarten, elementary school, junior high school, and high school. College is optional, but often encouraged. From what I know, there is an emphasis on extracurricular act―"

A knock on the door interrupted him.

"That should be Akeno," Rias said. She rushed to the door. In came another girl the same age as Rias. But whereas Rias had hair as red as blood, Akeno had long black hair. Akeno also possessed distinct oriental features, enough that Jon would have guessed her to be Japanese. Rias and Akeno shared smiles―something that told Jon the girls were at least on friendly terms.

"I've brought his belongings, Rias," Akeno said, holding up an unfamiliar bag.

"Wonderful! Akeno, this is Jon. Jon, Akeno."

"It's nice to meet you, Jon." Akeno's smile was terribly sweet.

"Nice to meet you, too."

"Akeno is my Queen." Jon hitched a brow, wordlessly requesting an explanation. "The ranks within a peerage correlates with the Evil Piece inside the members. I am the King of my peerage―the leader. Akeno is Queen. You hold one of my Pawns." Rias looked apologetic. "N-not that it means you are worthless or anything. I'll take care of you as well as I take care of Akeno. It only means you have to start from scratch. Being a devil in modern times means you have opportunities to elevate your prestige. There are plenty of opportunities available now in the Underworld!"

"It's fine, I understand. It's not much different in the human world."

"If you ever need guidance, just let either one of us know," Akeno said politely, setting Jon's belongings beside the bed. "Being Rias's Queen, I have been taught much about devil society. It is also my duty to assist my fellow pieces."

"I appreciate it," Jon said with a smile. He dug into the bag and found his phone tucked inside a pocket. His inbox had four unread messages and dozens of missed calls.

[08:41:21 am] Love you too xoxo

[08:54:10 am] Jon I heard something happened at your school call me

[09:12:25 am] Where are you?

[10:19:01 am] Jon this isn't funny

He checked the timestamps on all the messages as well as the calls. Sam had kept trying to contact him. His heart broke. He found the curious looks of Rias and Akeno directed at him. "I'd love to chat some more, but I have to call my girlfriend. Is it alright if we discuss this devil stuff later?"

"Of course! We can send you back to the human world right away. Akeno?"

"Take this." Akeno handed him a leaflet with a printed on it. "Just wipe a bit of blood on it, and the circle will transport you back here."

"Handy." Jon eyed the page before folding it into a square and pocketing it.

"We will find a time to speak again," Rias said with surprising warmth. "Do take care, Jon."

"Yeah. Thanks. You too. And you as well, Akeno."

Akeno smiled again, and, with a slight bow, a familiar light flared in her hands. Magic, he realized instantly. A circle of light formed beneath his feet. Akeno said, "Good luck."

The magic carried him away. Weightlessness overtook him.

When it passed, Jon found himself in a quiet street in the middle of the night. Embarrassingly, he was still in an undershirt and shorts.

It took a moment, but Jon recognized where he was. It was a street several blocks away from campus. He saw the deli in which he would often buy a quick lunch from, the bodega run by a kind immigrant family from Puerto Rico, a printing center, a well-off pizzeria. They were closed this late into the night, but Jon saw their storefronts with astounding clarity.

The first thing Jon did was bring up Sam's number on his phone. He called her. He took a deep breath to settle his anxiety. The phone rang several times before she answered.

He swallowed. "Sam?"

"Jon?" a hesitant voice answered. Unspeakable relief overcame Jon.

"Hey." He breathed softly. "Hey. Have I got a lot to talk to―" Suddenly, the line went dead. Jon blinked. He checked the screen of his phone and frowned.

Sam had hung up.

There was something wrong. His senses, alien senses, screamed at him. He whirled and found Sam standing at the end of the block, breathing hard, the glow of a nearby streetlight revealing her tear-streaked face. She clutched her phone tightly in one hand. In her other, she held what was unmistakably a pistol.

"Sam?" Jon called warily. "Is that you? You brought... your gun?"

He took a step towards her and found, for the second time that day, a firearm pointed at him. He eyed the weapon cautiously before his gaze slid to the cross hanging on a thin chain around Sam's neck. She was a Christian; he knew that. It hadn't been an issue before when he was still human. It shouldn't be now, either, he thought. A startling fear struck his heart when he considered how foolish that thought was.

I am a devil. She is a Christian. Fundamentally, we are―

No. No. We're different. I am still myself.

But as Jon's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw everything he needed to see on Sam's face: her horror, her disbelief, her anger. This would not be the reunion he hoped.

"Th-they got to you, didn't they?" she whispered. "I could smell that demonic shit in the lab."

"Sam? Sam, calm down. I'm okay. I'm al―"

"Shut up." Jon flinched at the venom in her words. "I know how you shits work. Your find a dead body and you put your taint in it. You're wearing his skin. You're wearing my boyfriend's fucking skin you demonic piece of shit."

White-hot searing pain exploded in his right arm, and he staggered. There was a smoking hole in his right shoulder. Sam had fired at him. Instinctively, he recognized that it wasn't a normal gun but some kind of anti-devil weapon. A weapon designed to kill him. He saw tears fall down Sam's cheeks, but her sorrow served only to fuel the rage boiling inside her.

"We were going to get married. Have a few kids, live to old age. Go to Heaven together. Even if he died, I would have found him in Heaven. He was a good man."

She fired again. This time Jon dived behind a parked car.

"But you!" she screamed. "You had to go fucking ruin that! You unholy fuck!"

"I didn't plan on dying!" Jon screamed back as a sense of indignation overtook his shock.

Light flashed behind him, obscured by the car between him and Sam. He acted before he could think. He jammed a thumb into the wound in his shoulder, hissing from the pain, and smeared his blood over the leaflet Akeno had given him.

He heard an enraged scream as a glowing red circle carried him away once more.

The street disappeared. Asphalt and concrete were replaced by familiar polished floors and wallpaper. Jon fell onto his rear, finding a surprised Rias and Akeno in the same room he landed in. Then they both saw the hole in his shoulder, smoking profusely as if catching on fire. Akeno's hands lit up with shimmering crimson before tending to his wounds.

All Jon could do was wonder what the hell had just happened.

a/n: Had this in my drive, too. It's another setting to play around with. Hope you all like it.

P.S. Jon Smith isn't a self-insert, though we may share some thought processes. And he will neither replace Issei nor overshadow him.

P.S.S. I'm not taking suggestions as to which series encompass. Sorry, but this is my toy :P