Heith
It didn't take long for Heith to heal Max after his defeat at the hands of Ottar. As the green light of her healing magic knitted his flesh and mended his internal bruising, the healer found herself staring at the unconscious recruit with a mixture of professional appraisal and weary resignation.
He is really something, Heith thought, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. She had seen the damage—Ottar hadn't gone easy on him at the end. Yet, for a "newbie" to push the Warlord to utilize his Level 3 stats? That was unheard of.
She sighed internally, packing her satchel. This is going to light a fire under everyone. Van and the other lower levels... they're all going to be training like maniacs to reassert dominance. Which means my workload for the next few Baptisms just tripled.
Checking one last time to ensure his vitals were stable and his stamina was beginning to regenerate, Heith gave a curt nod to Ottar.
The Boaz stepped forward, scooping Max up with a gentleness that belied the violence he had just inflicted. As he adjusted his grip, Heith noticed a storage bag hanging over Ottar's other arm.
The newbie's belongings, she assumed, filing the observation away without comment. Ottar wasn't the type to explain himself, and she wasn't foolish enough to pry into matters involving the Warlord's discretion.
She watched as Ottar carried the boy away, fully expecting him to head toward the executive quarters or perhaps the high-end barracks.
Instead, Ottar turned toward the central spire. Toward Freya's private sanctum.
Her eyes widened slightly. Straight to her chambers? He must be a truly special soul if Lady Freya is giving him such royal treatment. No one gets carried there.
-◈ -
Freya
Ottar moved silently through the opulent corridors, pushing open the heavy doors to the goddess's room. He gently laid Max on the massive bed—Freya's bed—before stepping back into his usual guard position by the wall.
Freya was waiting. She sat in the same velvet chair as before, bathed in the golden evening light, looking practically giddy. Her eyes traced Max's sleeping form with the anticipation of a child waiting to unwrap a present she had spent centuries asking for.
A few minutes passed in silence, broken only by the rhythmic breathing of the boy.
Then, Max groaned. His eyes fluttered open, amethyst irises adjusting to the warm glow filtering through the room.
He blinked, disoriented—and then the sheer opulence of his surroundings registered.
The chamber was vast, ceiling decorated with gold-leaf frescoes that caught the fading sunlight. The bed beneath him was a four-poster masterpiece draped in crimson silks, the kind of luxury that screamed divine wealth. Polished marble floors, elegant dark wood furniture, crystal decanters on silver trays—every surface gleamed. Every element seemed deliberately placed, designed not just for comfort but to elevate the stature of whoever resided here.
And at the heart of it all, framed perfectly by the setting sun streaming through the window, sat Freya.
The light transformed her. It caught her silver hair and set it ablaze with ethereal radiance, made her eyes seem to glow with an inner luminescence. The room—for all its carefully curated grandeur—faded into irrelevance beneath her presence. She didn't just sit in the space; she was the centerpiece, and everything else existed only to amplify her beauty tenfold.
Max's breath caught. This was beauty personified, staged by divine design.
She was giving him an amused look, a small smile playing on her lips that seemed to say, What else did you expect?
"Satisfied with proving your 'worth'?" she asked, her voice melodic and teasing.
Max sat up slowly, testing his limbs. The pain was gone, replaced by the familiar hum of his own magic returning. He met her gaze and gave a firm nod.
"Very. Thank you for allowing me to duel him, Lady Freya. It was... enlightening."
She gave a satisfied hum, leaning forward slightly. She didn't speak again, but she raised a perfect eyebrow, letting the unasked question hang in the air between them.
Max stared cluelessly for a second. Then, realization struck him like a physical tap on the shoulder.
"Oh. Yes, the Falna." He shifted, swinging his legs off the bed but remaining seated. "I'm ready. We can start."
Freya's smile widened into something predatory and mischievous. She stood up, the silk of her dress flowing like water around her curves, and moved toward the bed.
"Lay forward," she commanded softly.
Max complied, lying on his stomach, his bare back exposed to the cool air of the room.
He felt the mattress dip as Freya climbed onto the bed behind him. There was no hesitation, no formality. With eager anticipation, the Goddess of Beauty straddled his waist, her weight settling comfortably over him. The intimacy of it—her knees pressing against his sides, the warmth of her body radiating through his clothes—was overwhelming, yet distinctly possessive. This wasn't just a ritual; it was a claiming.
"Relax, Max," she whispered, leaning down until her breath ghosted over his neck. "Accept me."
From the corner of his eye, Max saw her produce a small silver needle. She pricked the tip of her index finger.
Drip.
A single bead of ichor welled up, bright and heavy. It fell, striking the skin between his shoulder blades.
The sensation hit Max instantly. It wasn't the external scorching of holy power rejecting a devil, nor the corrosive burn he had once feared. This was entirely internal. A deep, invasive heat rushed through his veins like molten lead, a throbbing pressure that felt as though something was physically prying apart the core of his being. It was the sensation of a lock being smashed open, the limiter on a mortal soul shattering to let the light in.
Max gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the sheets as he pushed through the invasive heat without a sound. His vision whited out for a heartbeat, the world reducing to nothing but the sensation of being unmade and remade simultaneously.
Freya worked with feverish intensity, her hands manipulating the divine catalyst. To her, this was more than a ritual; it was an unmasking. Max was the most puzzling riddle she had encountered since descending to the Lower World. His strange magic, his resistance, his contradictory soul—the answers to everything lay in how his essence reacted to her blood. The Falna never lied. It stripped a soul bare and wrote its secrets in ink that could not be forged.
Finally, the light died down. The system of the gods locked into place, categorizing the anomaly. The Divine Hieroglyphs settled dark and crisp against his skin.
Still straddling him, her chest heaving slightly from the exertion and glee, she looked down at his naked back to read the raw truth of him. She expected power. She expected unique skills. She expected the validation of her obsession.
But as her eyes scanned the hieroglyphs, the triumphant smile died on her lips.
She froze. The silence that descended on the room wasn't the satisfied quiet of a completed task, but the vacuum of absolute, stunning confusion. She read the status once, then twice, her mind reeling as it tried to process the impossible information staring back at her.
"WHAT..." she breathed, her composure shattering into disbelief. "WHAT... WHAT is this?"
Staring back at her was a race she had never encountered in all her eons of existence: Devil.
The word sat heavy on his back, archaic and foreboding. Freya's mind raced, connecting dots she hadn't known existed. Is this the source of the 'Devil's Pride' the mortals speak of in their myths? Is that what drove him to face Ottar with such reckless, beautiful determination?
How enchanting.
But it was the two addendums scrawled beneath the race that made her blood run cold.
Type: Pure Blood.
Rank: Low Class.
Freya's breath hitched. Low Class?
She looked at the boy beneath her—this being with a soul of contradictions, who wielded annihilation magic and possessed intelligence far beyond his years. If he was considered "Low Class" by the standards of his species, then what in the heavens was a "High Class" Devil? What kind of monsters existed in the world he came from?
Oh she was sure he was a foreigner. The status made that much clear.
This had too many implications. If anyone else were to get a hold of this status sheet—especially the Guild, or worse, the gods tinkering with darkness like Thanatos or Erebus—the chaos would be catastrophic. A species that could challenge the divine order?
Maybe that is the reason why that shadowy group wanted him, she realized, her grip tightening on the needle. They sensed what he was, even if they didn't have the status to confirm it.
She forced herself to continue reading, her mind habitually trying to box everything into the usual categories of Stats, Magic, and Skills. But the Falna, usually so rigid, seemed to have bent under the weight of Max's existence. It simply didn't fit.
His stats were standard for a fresh blessing—everything reset to I-0. That was expected. But below that...
The ichor in her veins described them not as standard Skills, but something deeper.
Racial Trait.
Clan Trait.
Two active. One locked.
She moved her eyes down to the Magic section. Demonic Power. The listing confirmed the absurdity she had witnessed during the duel. It was a two-fold violation of the world's laws. First, his 'Clan Trait'—a distinct power he manipulated instinctively, absent of any chant. But beneath that lay the true impossibility: a 'Grimoire' that allowed him to bypass every magical constraint of the Lower World. No ignite phases, no arias to gather Mind. It operated solely on the principles of willpower and imagination. It was terrifyingly versatile—he could bind, destroy, defend, and attack with a fluidity that made modern mages look like children playing with sticks.
And then, at the bottom, seemingly trying to hide itself in the corner of the page, was a Skill.
Oh, Freya.
Her eyes widened as she read the description. It was a cheat. A blasphemy against the slow, grinding fairness of the world. A skill that allowed for accelerated growth based on depth.
The deeper he dives into the Dungeon, the faster his stats excel.
It wasn't just 'growth.' It was adaptation. It meant the Dungeon—the very entity that hated everyone—would become the anvil upon which he would be forged at breakneck speeds. The lower he went, the crushing pressure that killed others would only serve to make him stronger.
What could have caused this? This was completely unnatural. It was unreal.
But as she tried to synthesize this information, Freya frowned. It was a mess.
Because Max was such a drastic anomaly, the standard Falna template—designed for all the races of the lower world—was failing to contain him properly. The text for his 'Demonic Power' was bleeding into his Racial Traits. The descriptions for his Grimoire were wrapping around his Stats in a chaotic spiral. The sheer volume of data regarding his biology was overwhelming the usual layout. If she left it like this, it would be cumbersome to track his growth; she would have to decipher a wall of disorganized text every time she updated him.
That simply wouldn't do. It was unsightly.
Freya narrowed her eyes, her perfectionism kicking in. With a thought, she pulsed her divine aura into the ichor still wet on his back. She refused to accept the system's default sorting.
Move this here, she commanded silently. Collapse the sub-categories.
She began to rewrite the very formatting of his status. She separated the biological 'Racial Traits' from the learned 'Skills.' She created a dedicated partition for 'Demonic Power,' isolating it from standard spell slots so it wouldn't clutter the page. She took the chaotic sprawl of data and beat it into submission, reordering lines, justifying text, and creating a bespoke, clean, and elegant structure that pleased her aesthetic sense. It allowed her to see everything at a glance—Race, Potential, Power, and Growth.
It was perfect.
"Uhm... Lady Freya?"
Max's voice broke her deep concentration.
He craned his neck to look at her over his shoulder. "Is everything alright back there? It's been... well, about ten minutes. The burning stopped five minutes ago, and you've just been sort of staring at my back in silence. Is it that bad?"
Freya blinked, snapping out of her design trance. She realized she had been sitting motionless atop him, mentally editing a Status sheet on his skin for far longer than she intended.
She looked down at her work. The new layout was crisp, clear, and profoundly dangerous.
"I can't say it is," she admitted softly, a hint of satisfaction in her voice at the organized masterpiece beneath her fingers.
However, she didn't reach for the parchment to lock the status yet. Instead, she pressed the needle against her chest, hiding it. Max shifted, trying to turn fully to face her, but she kept him pinned with her gaze as much as her position. She couldn't let him see this yet.
"However, before I give you this," she continued, her voice taking on a tone of negotiation, the mask of the Goddess sliding perfectly back into place. "I want you to share a new thing about yourself."
She saw the protest loading on his face—the brow furrowing, the mouth opening to deflect or ask why.
She held a hand up, silencing him gently but firmly. Her eyes bore into his, promising an exchange of equal value.
"And in return," she whispered, leaning down until her lips were inches from his ear, her hair cascading over his shoulder to curtain them off from the rest of the world, "I will share an interesting thing about me... or perhaps, things you might not know about yourself."
That made Max pause.
Many could claim they knew Freya—or at least, knew of her. But how many could claim they knew her intimately like this? Straddled by the Goddess of Beauty, trading secrets in the golden light of her sanctum? And maybe this would help him see how he appeared in the eyes of Gods.
Besides, his inner thoughts betrayed him with shameful honesty: Who would say no to their mommy? Not Max. Definitely not Max.
Then, an idea struck him as he looked at Kairu, who was now awake and bouncing happily near his face.
"I'll share two things about me," Max negotiated, his voice steady despite the distracting weight of the goddess on his hips. "In return, I want Kairu to get a Falna as well."
It was a pure genius move. He could 'sense' how much Kairu had grown through the contract, but seeing the concrete numbers would make it very clear how the slime was progressing. It would test if a familiar could level up like an adventurer, and honestly, there was the pure, gamer-brain dopamine hit of seeing numbers go up.
Freya was once again stunned into silence by this odd request.
Give a Falna to the slime?
Of course, since it was a living creature with a soul—however simple—it was theoretically possible. But should she? Ganesha Familia tamed beasts, but they never claimed they had 'blessed' their monsters with divine blood, did they? If this spread, the balance of power regarding monster taming could shift drastically.
Every concern, however, circled the drain and vanished the moment Max said he'd share two things about himself.
Two secrets.
Oh, she could make this a usual thing. A subscription to his mysteries. Knowing more and more about him, peeling back the layers of his contradiction one by one... how thrilling.
She nodded, her smile returning.
Max, frankly reluctant to leave the position they were in, reached out and grabbed Kairu. He placed the slime on the bed in front of her, essentially using his own back as a table for his familiar.
Similarly to prior, Freya pricked her finger. As she looked for a flat surface on the gelatinous creature to inscribe her Falna, Kairu rippled. With surprising intelligence, the slime flattened his top side into a smooth, canvas-like surface, as if he understood exactly what she was thinking.
Clever thing, Freya thought, impressed.
She began to draw her hieroglyphs on Kairu's 'back.'
While his Status wasn't as fundamentally earth-shattering as Max's—since Max was a purely foreign entity to this reality—she was partly surprised by the Slime's potential. It was rare for monsters to receive the blessing, so the data was novel. He definitely possessed some very nifty abilities that would complement Max's dungeon dives perfectly.
"Done," Freya murmured, wiping the ichor from her finger.
She finalized Kairu's Falna, copied both of their Statuses onto parchments, and handed both sheets to Max.
-◈ -
Status (Comprehensive):
Maximus Stilbon
Freya Familia
Devil [Pure-blood] (Low Class)
Level 1
Stats:
Strength: I0
Endurance: I0
Dexterity: I0
Agility: I0
Magic: I0
Lineage Powers:
Devil: Superhuman physiology with enhanced physical parameters, accelerated healing, adaptive resilience, flight via natural wings, and the ability to shape and manipulate demonic power for supernatural applications.
Power of Destruction: Manifests a catastrophic power that erases matter. Shape and intensity are dependent on the user's will. Scales with Mind.
?
Magic:
Ars Magna
Chant: [None]
The user's personal grimoire made manifest. A system of magic that allows the user to shape their demonic power into various magical phenomena based purely on their will and imagination. This magic is not bound by the conventional slot system.
Skills:
Lux Tenebris (Light of Darkness)
Established resonance with the Dungeon enables accelerated growth through combat and exploration. Facing superior opponents further enhances growth, pushing natural limits.
-◈ -
Kairu's Status:
Kairu
Freya Familia
Level 1
Demon Slime - Familiar
Stats:
Strength: I0
Endurance: I0
Dexterity: I0
Agility: I0
Magic: I0
Innate Traits:
Storage: Can store and retrieve ingested substances without affecting size or weight.
Size Manipulation: Can alter size from small to gigantic form.
Assimilation: Can absorb the power of magic stones and integrate their magical energy to enhance own attributes. Does not grant full monster abilities.
Rapid Regeneration: Can rapidly regenerate lost mass using magic.
Amorphous Body: Immune to lesser physical attacks due to gelatinous form.
Magic:
Ars Magna (Lesser)
A lesser version of his Master's Magic. No chant.
Skills:
Magic Resistance: Greatly reduces damage and effects from magical attacks.
Familiar Bond: Shares a portion of the Master's growth and experience. Power increases when fighting alongside or protecting the Master.
Max checked both of their statuses, and to say it felt very unique and out of place would be an understatement.
He could understand why Freya had to make new categories for his traits and skills. A "Devil" wasn't exactly standard adventurer fare, and Kairu getting a Falna was likely a historic first for a slime. The system had bent over backwards to accommodate them.
Giving Max enough time to process the sheer absurdity of his new reality, Freya shifted her weight slightly. She remained straddling him, the intimacy of the position deliberate, but the air between them shifted from ritualistic intensity to something softer, more fragile.
"I suppose I should start," she purred, her fingers tracing a lazy, hypnotic pattern over his back.
She knew she didn't need to share this. Usually, she kept the nature of her obsession guarded, a secret held close to her chest. But Max... Max was different. If she simply claimed him, caged him like a prize bird, his unique light might dim. To truly possess him, he needed to understand why she looked at him the way she did. She needed to prepare him, to lay the groundwork so that her possessiveness felt less like a shackle and more like an embrace.
"What I love most..." she began, her voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to vibrate through his chest. "...is the color of the soul. Watching them shift, ignite, and grow. It is the only true art in this existence."
Her expression softened, a crack forming in the porcelain mask of the Goddess of Beauty to reveal a profound, ancient melancholy.
"However, my nature does not allow me to seek them out freely. My presence is... too much. To walk among mortals without destroying them with desire, I must hide. I watch the world through hoods and cloaks, always observing through a layer of separation. Always wanting to touch, but forced to stand apart."
Max looked up at her. He remembered the anime—the image of her in that drab grey cloak, shadowing Bell like a divine stalker. But hearing it now, feeling the weight of a lonely eternity in her voice, the context shifted. It wasn't just stalking; it was starvation. Being the Goddess of Beauty was a gilded cage where everyone wanted you, but no one could actually see you.
"I see," Max said softly, his hand instinctively coming to rest on her hip, a gesture of comfort rather than lust. "That sounds... incredibly lonely." For a second, Max got lost in his memories as her description almost felt like a mirror of himself, always in the background avoiding drama, ignored or dismissed.
Freya's lips quirked into a small, sad smile. She appreciated that he didn't pity her, but rather understood the isolation.
"Your turn," she murmured, tapping his shoulder.
Max took a breath. He could lie. He should lie. But looking into her eyes, he realized she was offering him a chance to define himself before she defined him.
"First," he began, threading the needle between his past reality and his current facade. "Back home, I was... a scholar of the impossible. I spent my life studying worlds filled with mythical powers and heroic adventures. I lived a thousand lives inside my head."
Translation: I was a hardcore otaku who binged anime until 3 AM.
"And then," he continued, his voice tinged with genuine wonder, "one day, the universe blinked, and I was given the opportunity to live one myself."
Freya tilted her head, her eyes searching his. The lie detector in her soul didn't ping, as usual. It was the All-Speak at work, she suspected, but there was truth in the emotion even if the facts were obscured.
"And the second?"
Max looked down at his hands—the pale, strong hands of the Devil body he now inhabited.
"My family... we are nobles. Ancient, proud, and utterly suffocating." He let out a dark chuckle, memories of Rias's marriage contract struggles from the anime flashing through his mind.
"While we are considered 'tame' compared to the violent history of our race, we are bound by archaic norms. Contracts, expectations, politics. I suspect my disappearance has left them terribly disappointed. Or perhaps... relieved."
Freya frowned slightly. The disconnect was palpable. The "scholar" who dreamed of freedom and the "noble" bound by political chains felt like two different souls inhabiting the same skin. It was lackluster, a fragmented picture of a whole she couldn't quite see yet.
But it was a start. And more importantly, he was trying.
For now, she decided, her thumb brushing his jawline, I will accept these crumbs. Trust is not built in a day, even for a goddess.
However, her curiosity was a voracious thing. She had the background, but she lacked the inciting incident.
"And the journey?" she asked, her tone shifting to something lighter, almost innocent, though her eyes sparkled with intent. "I saw your soul fall from the heavens, a beautiful streak of burgundy and blue. But then... I lost track. How did you find your way here?"
Max hesitated. This was the danger zone. The Falna on his back screamed foreigner, Low Class Devil, anomaly. She understood.
And yet, she wasn't asking where he came from. She wasn't demanding he explain the "Low Class" rank or the alien biology. She was asking about his journey.
She was giving him an out. A way to bond without forcing a confession he wasn't ready to make.
A wave of respect washed over him. If she was willing to play along with this tacit agreement, he could meet her halfway.
"Well," Max said, his guard lowering as a grin tugged at his lips. "I was aiming for the forest. Trees usually break falls, right? But then this gust of wind hit me—magic, definitely—and dumped me right into a lake."
He launched into the story, his hands animating the chaos. He recounted the disaster with the Elves—the accidental desecration of their sacred ecosystem, the poor training monster he inadvertently punched into oblivion, and the breakdown of diplomatic relations that involved far too many ice spears.
"We had a bit of a... disagreement," Max admitted sheepishly. "My spell against their best. The resulting explosion threw me halfway across the continent and into the desert."
Freya listened intently, a laugh bubbling up in her throat. He was a magnet for chaos. It suited him.
"And that's when I saw him," Max added, a grin tugging at his lips. "Your catman. Allen. He was chasing me, I think. But the Elves didn't discriminate. They blasted him too. I saw him get launched in the completely opposite direction, looking absolutely murderous."
Freya blinked. That was news.
She saw Allen arrive with other executives before the duel—disheveled, singed, dirt-caked, and radiating fury so palpable it made her spit take. He was clearly searching for her to report his failure, only to find her standing beside the very target he'd failed to retrieve.
She gave her orders to all the executives then and watched Allen's killing intent smolder behind forced obedience as Max was introduced.
But between the anticipation of the duel and the intoxicating reveal of Max's capabilities, she didn't get Allen's full report. She simply noted his condition and filed it for later.
So that was why he looked like he'd fought a war, she realized now, Max's story clicking the pieces into place. Those Elves... to treat my Vana Freya like a stray cat and blast him halfway across the continent?
Her eyes narrowed slightly, a cold, divine anger flashing behind her gaze. They had some nerve.
Max continued, oblivious to the goddess mentally adding an Elven settlement to a future 'to-do' list. He spoke of the desert, the village, the slime experiment, and the stampede.
"That brings another question to mind," Freya interrupted gently, her anger hidden. Her hand moved from his jaw to his shoulder, sliding down to rest between his shoulder blades, right over the freshly sealed Falna.
"You flew from the village to Orario..." Her voice dropped, holding a note of wistful longing that caught Max off guard. "You have wings, do you not?"
Back in Tenkai, the sky was their domain. She had chariots drawn by divine beasts, that danced in the eternal clouds. But here in Genkai, the gods were grounded. True flight was a rarity, a freedom she hadn't tasted.
Max stiffened.
The wings were the undeniable mark of his species. Bat-like, membranous, distinctly wrong for this world. Showing them wasn't just a magic trick; it was baring his nature. It was confirming the 'Devil' status in the most physical way possible.
He looked at her. She wasn't looking at him with suspicion. She was looking at him with hunger—not for power, but for the sky.
She kept his secret. She hid his status to protect him. She was sheltering him from a world that would hunt him down.
Screw it, Max thought. She's seen the soul. She's seen the status. Might as well show her the rest.
"Yeah," Max whispered, his voice rough. "I do."
He sat up straighter, shifting so she had to lean back slightly. He focused on his back, channeling the demonic power through his back.
Fwip.
The sound was distinct—heavy canvas snapping in a storm wind.
Two massive, crimson wings erupted from his shoulder blades. They didn't just appear; they unfurled with commanding majesty, stretching wide until they nearly spanned the width of the massive bed. The membranes were thin enough to be translucent where the light hit them, turning the evening sun into a deep, blood-red glow that bathed Freya in scarlet.
Freya's breath caught in her throat.
They were monstrous. They were terrifying.
They were the most beautiful things she had seen since descending from Heaven.
She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and brushed her fingertips against the leathery leading edge of the wing. It was warm, pulsing with life and magic.
"Beautiful," she breathed, her eyes reflecting the crimson span, looking at him not as a monster, but as a creature that could finally give her back the sky.
-◈ -
Scene Break
Rehmer adjusted his glasses, smoothing the front of his Guild uniform for the third time as he stood before the imposing gates of Folkvangr.
As a mid-level Guild Representative, his job often involved dealing with the eccentricities of Orario's gods, but visiting the home of the Freya Familia always made his stomach churn with a specific blend of anxiety. The air here felt heavier, charged with the ambition of the city's strongest faction.
"Just a routine inquiry," he muttered to himself, gripping his clipboard tighter. "Ask about the phenomenon, get a non-committal answer, report back to Royman. Simple."
He stepped inside the grand entrance hall, expecting the usual disciplined silence. Instead, he walked into a beehive of hushed excitement.
Dozens of familia members were clustered in small groups, weapons still in hand, their armor dusty as if they had just come from the training grounds. The usual stoic atmosphere was fractured by intense, whispered debates.
"...saw the ground? Just erased," one human spearman whispered, gesturing wildly.
"Forget the ground," a dwarf rumbled back, shaking his head. "Ottar. He beastified. Against a rookie."
Rehmer paused, his ears perking up. Ottar? Using his skill against a new recruit?
"He has to be a Level 2," another voice chimed in. "Maybe a high Level 2 to survive that long. Where did the Goddess find him?"
Rehmer scribbled a quick note on his clipboard: Folkvangr activity high. Rumors of powerful new recruit. Possible Level 2 entry. Duel with Ottar confirmed by gossip. He filed the information away for the internal records—interesting, certainly, but not why he was here. Freya picking up strong children wasn't news; it was Tuesday.
He cleared his throat, trying to flag down a passing attendant, but the crowd suddenly parted like the Red Sea.
A figure stalked through the hall, radiating an aura of pure, unadulterated irritation. Black hair, twitching cat ears, and a scowl that could curdle milk.
Allen Fromel. Vana Freya.
Rehmer swallowed hard. Of all the executives to run into, he had to get the one with the worst temper.
"Ah, Mister Fromel!" Rehmer called out, forcing a professional smile onto his face as he stepped into the catman's path. "A moment of your time?"
Allen stopped. He didn't look at Rehmer; he looked through him, his eyes narrowing as if debating whether the Guild rep was worth the caloric expenditure of a conversation.
"What do you want, Guild trash?" Allen spat, his tail lashing behind him in jagged, angry strokes.
Rehmer didn't flinch—he'd been insulted by worse deities than this mortal. "Official inquiry regarding the atmospheric phenomenon—the 'comet'—observed entering the city's airspace roughly a week ago. Tracking signatures suggest it landed in or near the southeastern forests. As the search party, can you—"
"It's dealt with," Allen cut him off, his voice a low growl.
Rehmer blinked. "I... beg your pardon?"
"The comet. The anomaly. Whatever you push-pencils are calling it," Allen snarled, his hand drifting unconsciously toward the spear on his back. "It's been handled. It's nothing to be concerned about. It won't be causing any more trouble."
Technically, it was true. The anomaly was currently doing who knows what with his Goddess upstairs. But to Rehmer, it sounded like the Freya Familia had either killed something or claimed something, and they had zero intention of filling out the paperwork for it.
"I see," Rehmer said slowly, sensing that pressing further would result in bodily harm, but had to anyway. "Can you provide any details on the nature of—"
"Get out," Allen said flatly. He shoved past the representative, shouldering him aside with enough force to rattle Rehmer's teeth, and stormed off toward the barracks, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "...damn blue-haired bastard..."
Rehmer stood alone in the hallway, straightening his uniform with as much dignity as he could muster.
"Rude," he whispered under his breath.
He marked the inquiry as 'Resolved' on his clipboard. Freya Familia assumes responsibility/knowledge of the comet. Deemed non-threat.
With a final glance at the whispering crowds discussing the mysterious rookie, Rehmer turned on his heel and exited the manor. He had a report to file at the Pantheon, and he wanted to be as far away from Allen Fromel as possible when he did it.
--> Devil in a Dungeon <--
AN:
Finally! We see Max's Status and he managed to get one for Kairu as well. I know most of you would be surprised to know Max was Low-class considering his feats, but I want to clear something up. Max, the soul is Low-class, not his body. His body is Mid-class. Hope this clears up why his physical feats don't match with his Stats.
And what a status it was! I hope it covered all bases well. I had to rewrite it many times to get the full picture and as mentioned above, this is Comprehensive Status and he wouldn't get detailed status like this every time his status is updated, unless necessary.
So yeah, he is a Pure-blood, Low-Class Devil and Max is going to earn all his achievements as he has enough cheats being a Devil. Though things might not always go as expected. I hope you are ready for what comes next ;)
Do share your thoughts on the status and how it could have been better in a review/comment.
If you want to read at least 4 chaps ahead or support me, visit p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m/b3smash.
Please note that they are early access only, they will be eventually released here as well.
Next update will be on Friday.
Ben, Out.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.