Highschool DxD : Actually Satan

4500 words

If you are wondering where i was , then i can assure i wasn't writing a chapter i was busy watching better call Saul again.

This chapter has huge responsibility if it doesn't land on its mark than this story might be a little in trouble because I've tried my best to explain Venus.

Also back to DxD from next chapter.

Check out a random Idea i had yesterday

Breaking Bad : Its lalo Time

---

I came to be in fire.

In motion.

In heat so great it had no shape, no edge, only an endless churning of being.

There was no thought, only the realization of existence, the pull of a great force I did not understand.

I did not wonder. I did not dream. I simply was.

But I was not alone.

Beyond the veil of brightness and dark, another presence formed.

Close, yet distant. Like me, yet different. I did not know what it was—only that it stirred in a way I did not.

Time passed.

And she—the other—changed.

I felt it before I saw it.

A stillness that was not emptiness. A breath that was not wind.

A pulse, a rhythm, something soft where I was only storm.

She held something within her that I could not name.

And then—then—I saw it.

The surface of her body shifted, but not as mine did in endless turmoil.

It shaped itself into something new.

First, it was only the faintest shimmer of what had not been before.

But it spread, it stretched, it moved.

She did not fight it. She let it take root, let it become.

And suddenly, she was no longer just the other presence.

She was Gaia.

I did not have a name, but I knew I was not her.

Yet, I—I wanted to try.

So I called to the air that wrapped around me.

I reached into the ground beneath me.

I raged, I burned, I gave—but nothing answered.

My touch was too heavy.

My breath too thick.

My pulse too violent.

Gaia's body shifted again, and from it, more of the new things rose.

They were small at first, trembling, uncertain—but they stayed. And Gaia did not reject them. She embraced them. She let them belong.

I watched.

I waited.

But nothing came to me.

Time passed.

The new things upon Gaia grew. Their limbs stretched, their voices filled the spaces she had made for them.

Some towered, shaking the very surface with their steps. Others spread across her vastness, their forms fit into every crevice of her being.

Gaia moved with them.

She shifted, she changed.

And I?

I remained the same.

---

Gaia knew.

Long before the fire touched the sky, before the great stone broke the air, she knew.

She felt it moving in the dark, far beyond her reach, a lost thing, wandering without name or home.

She pulled.

With all her weight, with all her presence, she tried to shift, to turn, to move the path of the lost one away. But the void did not listen.

The wanderer did not stray.

She called to the sky.

The winds screamed for her, but they could not push it back.

She called to the sea.

The waves swelled in answer, but they could not rise high enough.

She called to the stone, the fire, the root and branch.

But nothing could stop what had already been set in motion.

So Gaia did the only thing she could.

She braced herself.

She whispered apologies to her children, to the great ones that had shaped her land with their thunderous steps, to the small ones hiding in the shadow of their might.

She begged them to run.

To dig deep.

To hide beneath her skin.

To live.

But not all could listen.

Not all could move.

And then—

Impact.

The sky shattered.

Fire poured down, not from above, but from within.

The breath of the world turned to poison.

The air burned. The sea rose, not in gentle waves, but in walls of death, swallowing land whole.

Gaia screamed.

Not in sound, not in voice, but in the breaking of mountains, in the sinking of forests, in the silence where there was once life.

She felt them go.

The ones who had filled her world with might and hunger and endless motion. The ones who had made her loud.

They fell first.

The great ones did not wail.

They did not beg.

They simply ceased.

Gaia wept.

---

I had a name now.

I did not choose it, but it settled upon me like the shifting winds, like the storms that never ceased.

A shape I had long existed within but had only now come to know.

I was no longer just fire and motion, no longer just heat without form.

I had a body, a presence woven from the very elements that made me.

I was the molten rivers beneath the cracked stone, the restless winds that tore through the sky, the storm that raged without end.

I was heat and pressure, light and shadow, an endless churning of all that I was.

And I was alive.

My world was no longer a barren storm.

Where once there had been only fire, now there was something more.

Not Gaia's teeming, thundering life, but something that belonged to me.

Fields of flowers, their petals drinking in the endless light, roots gripping onto my body as if they had always been there.

Trees, gnarled and dark, growing where they should not, standing against the breath of my tempests.

The land was harsh, the air thick with heat, but these things did not flee from me.

They remained.

And I?

I loved them.

I was no longer alone.

But Gaia—Gaia was changing.

I felt it in the way she moved, in the way her voice, once so clear, had become hazy and distant.

I could still see her.

Still watch her shift and breathe, still feel the pulse of her storms and the whisper of her waters.

But something was different.

Like there was something else upon her, something vast, something new.

And I did not understand.

Gaia had never turned away from me before.

And yet, for the first time, she was no longer within reach.

I did not know how to mourn something I had not yet lost.

And then—

Something came to me.

Not the silent rocks that sometimes touched my surface before being swallowed by the storm.

This one came with purpose.

It did not fall.

It landed.

I had never known a presence like this before.

It was not a part of me, but of Gaia.

It walked upon me.

It pushed through the winds that had torn all else apart.

It stood within the molten breath of my storms and did not burn.

It ran its hands through my flowers, touched the trees that had never known another, and for the first time—

I was not merely watching.

I was seen.

---

I welcomed him without praise, without fear.

He was, and so was I.

Time did not hold meaning for me, but I began to notice it in the way he came and went.

A presence where there had never been one before, a fleeting absence that left the air still in ways it had never been.

Again and again, he returned.

He did not seek to change me.

He did not fight my storms, did not shrink from my heat, did not bend to my tempests as so many lesser things had before.

He merely existed upon me.

And so, I allowed it.

I did not know what to call the thing that formed between us.

It had no shape, no voice, no reason.

But it was there.

An understanding.

A quietness that was not absence, a presence that did not demand, did not take.

A bond.

My will wrapped around him without thought, without purpose.

My warmth lingered at his side, and he accepted it as if it had always been his.

And then—one day—he spoke.

His voice did not break my winds, did not shatter the silence.

It wove into the very breath of my being, a thread of something new.

A name.

Lucifer.

A sound that was not of stone or flame or storm, it belonged to him.

I had never spoken as he did. I had never needed to.

But I reached for him all the same, let my thoughts take shape as they touched his own.

I did not speak his name back to him.

I did not need to.

He already knew.

And I—

I knew he had never come for power.

Not for dominion, not for control.

He sought something else.

Not to take from me, not to claim or bend or reshape.

But to understand.

---

With understanding, he grew.

His spirit stretched beyond the rigid order of Heaven, beyond the certainty it imposed.

He listened when I spoke, when I reached beyond myself and told him of things I barely comprehended—of vast beings that existed in places even I could not touch, of presences older than fire and younger than thought.

He listened.

And he wondered.

One day, like so many times before, he returned to my side.

I did not know the name of what I felt, only that I reached for him as he landed, that my warmth stirred in his presence, that my storms softened where he walked.

And then—

"Why?"

A question, quiet at first.

Then louder.

"Why must they, who are so flawed, be given such unconditional love?"

There was something beneath the words, something heavier than the storms I had borne for eternity.

"Why create something so fragile… and call it precious?"

He was not asking me.

But I was the only one here.

The only one who could listen.

So I did.

He spoke of Heaven.

Of what was given freely to those who could not understand it, to those who did not even know to seek it.

Of the silence that answered when he asked why.

Of his frustration.

Of his doubt.

And though I did not know the names of the things he felt, I could feel them all the same.

I did not understand Heaven.

I did not understand these beings he spoke of, these fragile things given love beyond reason.

But I understood him.

And so, I stayed.

---

Cast out from Heaven, he fell.

Not with fire, not with fury—only silence.

The light that once crowned him was torn away, and in its place came shadow.

He did not scream.

He did not rage.

He accepted it.

Reason demanded consequences, and exile was his.

And through the distant void, I felt it.

Through the little warmth I had left within him, through the bond we had formed—quiet and ancient—I knew.

So I reached.

Across the stars, past the endless cold, I whispered to him through the void.

Through my storms.

Through my molten heart.

He had walked my surface once. His steps had softened my winds. His voice had questioned the shape of the world.

He had been here.

And though he fell far beyond my reach, he was still mine.

So I offered what I could.

I had no kingdom.

No home for him to take shelter in.

Only myself.

Only the warmth in my core, the fire in my veins, the storm that would not break.

I did not ask him to kneel.

I only gave.

As a friend.

---

Gaia called to me.

Not in anger.

She asked me to stop.

And I—

I turned away.

It hurt.

I did not understand why.

Gaia had always been distant, a presence I had watched but never touched.

And yet, her voice, laced with quiet sorrow, left something hollow in me.

She tried again.

She sent her children—small, glimmering things, woven from the very breath of her being.

They came with words, with soft pleas, with reason.

I did not listen.

I could not.

When they reached for me, I reacted.

The storm rose, swift and merciless.

A single breath—

And they were gone.

The silence that followed was different from all others before it.

Gaia felt it.

I felt her feel it.

And for the first time, she turned away from me.

I should have understood what I had done.

I should have stopped.

But I didn't.

I looked back at him.

At the child of Heaven who had given me his presence, his thoughts, his warmth.

He was mine before he was theirs.

So I watched and helped him rise.

I watched as he defied them, as he shattered the perfect order that had never answered his questions.

I watched as he won.

Losing his body in the process.

And then—

Then I watched as Gaia moved.

She reached for him—for his soul.

She tore it apart.

Seven pieces-Seven beasts.

The moment it happened, I felt it.

Something inside me screamed.

I had no words for the pain that rippled through me, no way to name the ache that spread with each fragment that was not him.

Was this Gaia's judgment?

Was this her punishment for me?

I reached for him—

Frantic, desperate—

Pushing against the weight of all that I was to bring him back.

But I was too late.

I held what was left.

A hollow thing, his warmth stripped away, his soul wounded.

But he was here.

Still here.

And I—

I would not let him go.

So I gave.

I forged.

From the metals of my own body, from the breath of my storms, I shaped him anew.

Not as he had been.

But nonetheless As mine.

---

It was the greatest, most cherished time of my life.

A few centuries—nothing in the great turning of existence—but to me, it was everything.

He stayed with me.

Most of the time, he was here, wrapped in the heat of my storms, beneath the golden glow of my endless sky. Mine. And yet, sometimes—too often—he left.

Back to her.

Back to Gaia.

And I let him go.

I let him slip through my winds and vanish beyond the reach of my fire, though I hated it.

And when he returned, I forgave him before he even spoke.

He told me stories—tales of Gaia's endless change.

How her rivers carved new veins through her flesh.

How her mountains, once mighty, crumbled only to rise again.

And how humanity—that fragile, fleeting thing—had built itself up from dust and hunger, reaching toward the stars with hands that shook but never ceased.

He had walked among them, silent and unseen, a shadow of metal and forgotten divinity.

And it was not just them.

Gaia had many gods that he met for the first time—beings carved from belief, given shape by devotion, wrapped in the authority of their worshippers.

Some greeted him with curiosity, others with hesitation.

And I—

I hated their hesitation.

I hated that they did not see him as I did.

I hated that they feared what I held close.

It ached—this feeling.

I had never known ache before.

Never known what it was to miss something before I had even lost it.

But I did.

I missed him even when he was here.

I craved more.

More time. More presence. More of him.

I did not understand it.

And slowly—unknowingly—my being shifted.

It began subtly, too quiet for me to notice.

My storms gentled when he was near.

My molten rivers did not rage, but flowed.

The winds that once screamed now whispered.

And then—

My form.

I had never had a form.

I had been fire.

I had been stone. I had been motion and heat and breathless, endless being.

But now—

Now I was shaping.

Drawing in. Gathering. Becoming.

It was delicate.

It was unfamiliar.

It was like him.

And I did not fight it.

I did not question it.

Because — I wanted it.

---

I saw it before Gaia did.

Before its shadow stretched across the sky, before its presence stained the void, I felt it.

Velbar.

A force unlike any other, vast and consuming, born from something beyond even my understanding.

I should have warned her.

Gaia.

I should have reached out—told her, let her know, let her prepare.

But I did not.

Instead, I cloaked it.

Wrapped it in my storms, veiled it in my light.

Gaia did not see.

She did not know.

Not until it was too late.

Not until Velbar descended, until its power shattered the skies, until gods, titans, and legends were torn from their thrones.

Pantheons fell.

Great ones—beings whose names were once carved into eternity—vanished into oblivion.

Gaia's surface cracked and bled, her rivers turned against her.

And I watched.

I told myself this was justice.

That she had done worse to him.

That this was only balance.

And yet—

I did not feel triumph.

I thought I would.

I wanted to.

But as I watched Gaia struggle, as I felt her grief, I realized—

I had only made her suffer.

Just as she had made him suffer.

And the ache inside me only deepened.

The Age of Gods burned away in the centuries that followed.

Gaia changed.

Lucifer changed.

Even as the echoes of divinity faded, humanity endured—fragile, persistent, reaching still.

And Lucifer— He cared.

More and more, his thoughts were with them.

He still came to me, still sat in my storms, still spoke of things that only we understood, cherishing our time.

But something was different.

Something I could not name.

And yet—

I did not stop him.

Because even as his heart strayed—

He still returned.

---

Lucifer was whole once again.

The last beast had fallen, and with it, the final echoes of the old world faded into silence.

But he did not rejoice.

There was no triumph in his eyes, no sense of fulfillment.

Humanity had surpassed their chains, reshaped the world into something unrecognizable.

And in doing so, they had unknowingly restored him.

Yet, as he stood amidst the cold steel of their new dominion, he felt nothing for them but pity.

Pity for their inevitable fall.

It was at this moment that I, too, changed.

I looked down at myself.

Hair like the sun, long and weightless, cascading over my shoulders.

A body cloaked in white, a dress spun from nothing yet draping me as though it had always belonged.

Six brilliant wings stretched behind me, unfamiliar yet instinctive.

And above my head, a ring of light.

A symbol I had never crafted, yet one that rested there as if it had always been waiting.

I should have been happy.

But the space beside me was empty.

Lucifer—he was not here to see me.

Something inside me twisted, sharp and unfamiliar.

It felt like loss.

A hollow ache, gnawing at something I had only just discovered.

Had I waited too long?

Had I changed too late?

I did not understand these feelings much, only that they consumed me.

But before I could sink into them—

Gaia screamed.

The air shuddered, the land cracked, and a voice I had known for eons begged.

A final plea, raw with fury, laced with sorrow.

Destroy humanity.

I flinched.

Gaia had always been silent to me. Distant.

Now, she called to me.

And I understood.

She was already dead.

The world that had once been full of gods and life had withered into steel and dust.

The sky had lost its color, the oceans had dried.

And she blamed them.

The humans who had conquered, who had endured.

She did not want to watch them survive at the cost of all else.

She wanted vengeance.

And she was asking me and others to deliver it.

I had a choice.

And I did not know what to do.

---

Jupiter fell first.

A man killed him. A mortal.

Not a god, not a titan—just a man with a blade that should not exist.

With a single, perfect strike, the planet was no more.

Then Saturn fell.

Not by the same hand, but another.

I did not understand.

How could they—so small, so fragile—rise to these hights?.

I wanted to see. To know.

Then one of them raised their weapon toward me.

Lucifer moved first before me.

The world burned.

The land twisted, turned to hellfire and ruin.

The sky bled as he unleashed his fury, carving his realm into Gaia's dead flesh.

I should have stopped him.

Because the next instant i foind myself unable to access the surface of Gaia.

Forced to watch.

Watch as he cut through them for me.

Why?

I wanted to stand beside him. I could have wiped them from existence.

But he did not let me.

He burned himself instead.

I felt it—his soul unraveling, feeding the flames, consuming all that he was.

Then only seven remained.

I broke free.

Light erupted.

Seven lives vanished in an instant.

I turned to him and embraced him with my arms.

He was warm—warmer than he had ever been, yet his fire was fading, slipping through my grasp like embers lost to the wind.

I held him close. Desperate. Terrified.

"You're dying."

My voice trembled, thick with emotion. It was unbearable to say aloud, as if speaking it made it real.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

This was supposed to be our beginning. Ours.

With the end of humanity, he would be free.

Free from the chains of his past, free to finally see me—not just as a watcher in the distant world, but as his.

But he only smiled.

"I guess I got what I deserved."

No..No..No...No..No....No.

No, this was wrong.

Why was this happening?

He was supposed to stay.

To stand at my side.

To see what we could become.

I clutched him tighter, as if holding him close would be enough to keep him from slipping away.

But he was already fading..

I would not accept this.

"I am sorry, Gaia."

I tore myself from existence, from the form he had given me, from all that I was.

For him.

The corpse of Earth and my hollow shell moved.

Drawn together in a slow, inevitable descent—two lifeless worlds converging.

I held him in my arms, his body of metal—my metal, the very essence of me. Once, I had given him form when he had none.

Now, I cradled what was left of him, his fading embers barely flickering in the cold void.

I would not let them go out.

I gathered them, pressed them into my being, held them where my heart should be.

His warmth, once so radiant, so alive, now nothing more than fragile remnants.

I would not let them die.

As the two worlds collapsed into each other, I reached out with everything I had left, weaving our broken bodies together, reshaping ruin into something new.

A planet.

A world with two hearts.

Mine and his.

So that if we lived, we would never be apart.

---

I felt him before I saw him.

His presence was steady, familiar, but beneath that—something was off. Fractured.

But we had lived. That was enough.

Lucifer.

He was there, whole again. Flesh, not the metal body I had given him.

But something was wrong.

I walked toward him, watching as he sat on the ground, his body restored to flesh, no longer the metal I had shaped for him.

He was looking up, silent, lost in thought

I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close.

And for a moment—just a moment—he leaned into it.

I felt everything. The hesitation. The pull between what he wanted and what he thought should be. The part of him that denied it.

Then, he moved.

He pulled away and stood, turning to face me.

His emotions were carefully contained, but I could still feel them.

"I need to tell you something," he said, voice steady, measured.

I waited.

"You... were never meant to exist."

A ripple of emotion ran through him. He was testing the words, watching how they felt in the air, but they did not settle.

"You are… an anomaly. A fragment. My mind's attempt to simulate the origin."

A sharper emotion now—determination.

But it wasn't real.

She could feel it clear as day.

He was bracing himself.

"Venus," he said my name, softer this time. "The Lucifer you sacrificed everything for… the one you loved… he's gone."

Gone.

I searched his emotions.

He wanted me to believe it for some reason.

But beneath his words, beneath his carefully crafted certainty, I felt the true emotions.

Doubt.

Conflict.

A deep, unshaken pull toward me that he could not silence.

Why are you telling me a lie you don't believe yourself?

I did not ask. I did not argue.

I only looked at him, calm, unwavering.

And then, I smiled.

"Is he?"

His breath caught, just barely. A flicker of something he tried to bury.

He said nothing.

Because he felt it too.

He faltered.

It was subtle—just a moment where the certainty in his voice wavered, where his carefully constructed logic cracked.

I felt it all, every piece of doubt, every suppressed emotion, every silent contradiction wrapped beneath his words.

"…But it's the truth," he said again, softer this time.

A quiet insistence, as if saying it enough would make it real.

As if he could shape reality through sheer belief.

But I could feel him. I could feel everything.

And I knew.

He didn't believe himself.

I didn't speak the words aloud. I didn't need to.

Instead, I stepped closer, closing the space between us.

His emotions shifted—wary, uncertain .

But he didn't move away.

I reached out, wrapping my arms around him.

I had no understanding of what intimacy was supposed to mean.

But this—I knew this.

He was here.

So I held him.

His body tensed beneath my touch, rigid as if unused to being held.

His emotions lashed out, not in rejection, but in turmoil.

They twisted within him—denial warring with exhaustion, resistance clashing with something he refused to name.

For a moment, I thought he might pull away.

That he would deny this, just as he had denied everything else.

But he didn't.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders dropped.

His breath evened, his soul quieted, as though something within him had finally stopped fighting.

He didn't embrace me in return. He simply stood there, letting me hold him.

And for now, that was enough, soon enough he'll be back to what he was.

A quiet sigh escaped him, something weary and resigned.

"…We'll talk later."

His voice was softer than before. Not quite acceptance, but no longer rejection either.

Then, gently, he stepped back.

And he left.

========================

I expect at least half a thousand powerstones.

(✿◕~◕)つ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Pwease? :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ?

Stones and Reviews please