Highschool DxD : Actually Satan

Ran into some problems.

The two day trip extended to a three day one and then My JEE result had to come out mid journey.

So we stopped and took a detour to celebrate I got 99.8847%ile Pretty happy but not satisfied i could've done better.

Anyway this is a Random chapter of some other fic i never got around to Publish.

I'm also refreshing my frieren knowledge during this time so the chapter will be late.

THIS IS NOT PART OF THE FIC IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM

I knoe it might be annoying to Have so many Author notes recently but sometimes i got to do it so as to prevent the algorithm from fucking me over.

I'll delete this later.

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In the deepest levels of Tartarus, past layers of reinforced steel and countless checkpoints, was a place unlike any other.

A level built for one reason alone—to hold a villain so vile, so dangerous, that even All For One's reign of terror looked tame in comparison.

Not because of his strength.

No, his power wasn't what made him unforgettable yet ironically the one people were forced to forget.

It was his pure, unfiltered evil.

Inside the cell sat what was left of him—a rotting head, bound in chains with countless machinery around it.

There was no body.

No movement.

And yet, even that single, decaying fragment was guarded by nearly a third of Tartarus' entire workforce.

A group of new recruits stood nervously in the viewing area.

One of them, a younger man with a buzz cut and a shaky voice, leaned toward the guy next to him. "So… what's this guy's name? The one in the cell?"

Before an answer could come, the heavy door behind them groaned open.

The warden strode in, his boots thudding against the cold metal floor.

His sharp, weathered eyes swept over the recruits, and the tension in the room thickened.

"Rule number one," the warden said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife, "you do not—under any circumstances—say a name near that cell. Not his real name. Not a fake name. Not even a nickname. Got it?"

The recruits exchanged uneasy glances, nodding stiffly.

"Rule number two," the warden continued, pacing in front of them, "starting tomorrow, every one of you will have the part of your brain responsible for fear surgically removed. This isn't a debate."

"No one enters that level with even a sliver of fear or doubt in their mind."

One of the recruits snorted, trying to lighten the mood. "Seriously? All this for some creepy old head? I mean, what's it gonna do, glare at us?"

The warden stopped, fixing the recruit with a hard stare.

His voice dropped, cold and firm. "You think this is a joke? You don't get it, do you?"

He pointed toward the cell, his jaw tight. "That thing in there isn't just some 'creepy old head.' What you're guarding is the most dangerous being in human history. "

" He had the strongest quirk the world's ever seen—a quirk that breaks every rule we thought we understood. "

"Even saying a random name to that head could give it enough power to start healing from a single drop of blood."

The room fell dead silent.

"It took everything we had to stop him," the warden went on, his voice low but intense.

"Millions. We had to wipe out entire cities just to weaken him enough to take him down. "

"And even then we had to team up with vile villains to finally put him down but all we could do was cut off his head and lock it in chains. "

" He's raw fear, recruits. Humanity's worst nightmare. And if you don't take this seriously, you might doom us all."

No one laughed this time.

Not one of the ten new recruits could muster the courage to speak.

The weight of the warden's words hung over them like a storm cloud, and the reality of the situation finally began to sink in.

One by one, seven of the recruits stepped forward, faces pale, hands trembling.

"We're out," one muttered. "No way I'm letting anyone cut into my brain. Not even for four times the pay."

The others nodded, their voices shaky as they echoed the same sentiment. "This isn't worth it. I didn't sign up for… whatever this is."

But just as they turned to leave, the warden raised his hand.

His assistant, a tall figure with a blank expression, moved faster than any of them could react.

With swift, precise movements, he struck each of the seven recruits at the base of their necks, dropping them unconscious to the floor.

The remaining three recruits froze, panic creeping into their wide eyes. "W-What the hell?!" one of them stammered, his voice cracking. "What are you doing to them?"

The warden didn't so much as flinch at the outburst.

He adjusted his gloves, his tone calm, almost casual. "Relax. They'll be fine. Their memories will be wiped, and they won't even remember stepping foot in this place."

"Y-You can't just—" another recruit began, but the warden cut him off with a sharp glare.

"They made their choice. And the truth is, they were never going to cut it here. This isn't just a job. It's a responsibility, one you either commit to fully, or you don't belong at all."

The three recruits exchanged nervous glances, their hearts pounding.

Whatever they had gotten themselves into, it was far worse than they had imagined.

The three remaining recruits stood in tense silence, the unconscious bodies of their former comrades still lying on the floor.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, they nodded their agreement.

"Fine," one of them muttered. "We'll do it."

The warden's gaze lingered on each of them, evaluating their resolve.

His eyes finally settled on the woman among them, a striking figure with white hair and a calm demeanor.

She stood out not just for her appearance, but for how little she seemed fazed by the entire ordeal.

While the other two were visibly shaken, she hadn't so much as flinched.

"You," the warden said, his voice cutting through the tense air like a knife. "You don't look worried. Care to explain why?"

The woman shrugged, her tone casual, almost bored. "Well, I need the money."

The warden raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her nonchalance. "And what's so important that you're willing to have your brain operated on for it?"

She looked him dead in the eye and said, "To treat my dog's cancer."

The room went quiet again, but this time it was a stunned, awkward silence.

The other two recruits exchanged baffled glances, clearly expecting a more serious reason.

One of them finally blurted out, "Your… dog?"

"Yeah," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Don't have any family, so it's just me and him. Gotta work for the dog."

The warden stared at her for a moment, then let out a short, dry laugh. "Huh. Well, at least you're honest."

The other recruits still looked weirded out, but the woman didn't seem to care.

She crossed her arms, ready to take on whatever came next.

---

The next day arrived, and the white-haired woman found herself lying on a cold metal operating table, bright surgical lights glaring down at her.

The room was eerily sterile, the hum of machines the only sound.

The doctor, a stern-faced man in a lab coat, leaned over her, holding a syringe filled with anesthetic. "Alright, this will put you under," he said, his voice professional but detached.

She tilted her head slightly, her tone calm, almost bored. "It won't work."

The doctor paused, syringe hovering above her arm. "Excuse me?"

"It's part of my quirk," she explained matter-of-factly. "Doll Life. No part of my health can change naturally. I don't get sick, my cells don't die unless they're physically destroyed, and things like drugs or poisons don't work on me."

She gave a small shrug. "So yeah, you're not knocking me out."

The doctor frowned, clearly thrown off. "That's… inconvenient for this procedure. We need you unconscious."

"Too bad," she said with a smirk. "You'll have to work while I'm awake. I can handle it."

The doctor exchanged a glance with his assistant, then sighed, resigning himself to the situation. "Fine. But what about the part we're removing? Without anesthetic, this might hurt."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about me. Just make sure you preserve it. Ice it or something. It'll stay intact that way. Once I'm done with this job, you can put it back."

The assistant blinked in disbelief. "You want us to reimplant it later?"

"Of course," she said, her tone casual as if she were asking for her coffee order. "I'm only giving this piece up temporarily. I don't plan on staying here forever, and I'd like to be whole again when I leave."

The doctor let out another sigh, shaking his head. "You're… something else."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," she replied, lying back on the table. "Now hurry up. My dog's waiting for me, and I don't have all day."

As the doctor prepared his tools, he glanced at the white-haired woman.

"Before we proceed, I need your name for the records."

She paused, her usual composure wavering for the first time.

Her eyes flicked toward the ceiling, as if searching for an answer in the sterile lights above.

It was a moment of hesitation that seemed out of character for someone so calm and unbothered.

After a beat, she looked back at him and smirked. "Jalter," she said.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "That your real name?"

"Does it matter?The government needs disposable men they couldn't care less about identity." she replied, her tone light but with an edge that shut down further questions.

The doctor didn't press her, scribbling the name onto his clipboard instead.

As he did, she leaned back on the table, her smirk returning. "Now, are we doing this or what? I don't have time for small talk."

The assistant gave her a wary look, but the doctor simply nodded. "Alright, Jalter. Let's begin."

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Stones and Reviews please