DxD : Actually Satan..?

They say people are born twice—once into the world, and once into themselves.

The first is loud, wet, and entirely involuntary.

The second is quieter, slower. A kind of internal erosion, where certainty slips through your fingers and you're left clutching fragments of who you thought you were.

Leo had read that line somewhere—probably in the footnotes of some half-baled novel or one of those pretentious warrior memoirs that tried to sound wise by sounding cryptic.

"Rebirth through pain."

"Transcendence through struggle."

Etcetera, etcetera.

He used to roll his eyes at it.

Which was funny, considering he had now been born twice.

Once screaming into a hospital room.

And once again, quite inconveniently the same uncomfortable way.

Anddespite all that?

Despite all the upgrades, mana brains—he never really felt different.

Not deep down.

But now... now was different.

He felt like something fundamental had cracked open inside him.

Or maybe collapsed.

It was like standing inside a landslide and realizing it had been moving for years—slow, quiet, inevitable.

You'd call it a moment, but it wasn't a moment.

There was no specific point of change..

It was the realization that the moments had already passed slow and unnoticed.

And the worst part?

That dry, sarcastic little voice in his head the one that always had a comment, a quip—was still there.

Still saying:

"Wow. Congratulations. You're deeply changed and possibly divine. Can we get coffee now?"

He didn't know whether that meant he was still himself…

Or just that the part of him that knew how to pretend hadn't died with the rest.

Almost comforting....Almost.

Leo's thoughts were pulled to a halt when his mother gently placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

She didn't say anything.

Just set it down and stepped back, as if words might break whatever thin, fragile thing was holding the room together.

Across from him, his father sat silently, head bowed, hands clasped, staring at the floor like it might have an answer he didn't.

Leo looked at the cup. Then at her.

"Thanks, Mom," he said quietly.

She gave a faint nod and returned to standing off to the side, hands folded together, eyes switching between Leo and his father.

The silence stretched on.

It wasn't peaceful—it was uncomfortable.

Tight.

Like the whole room was waiting for something to be said, but no one knew how to begin.

Leo sipped the coffee.

It was warm, a little bitter, but familiar.

No one spoke.

It wasn't anger.

Wasn't tension.

Just… awkwardness.

Heavy, quiet awkwardness that settled between them like a fog.

And maybe that was partly his fault.

He was in control now—his real self, not the one cushioned by mana brains and clever auto-responses.

And the truth was, when it came to human moments like this, Leo's social skills weren't exactly award-winning.

Leo struggled with a lot of things people tended to label as "important milestones" in life.

Graduation, for example.

There was never a big ceremony for him.

No final exams to dread, no cap to throw in the air.

Just a war, a uniform that didn't fit right, and orders from people who never asked what he wanted to do with his life.

His version of "growing up" didn't come with diplomas or speeches.

It came with casualty lists, ration packs, and silence that grows heavy in foxholes.

He never had any meaningful relationships, either except for one.

No first love, no heartbreak to cry into a pillow about.

Most people he cared about disappeared before he had the chance to figure out what they really meant to him.

Everything that made up a "normal life", the small talk, the coming-of-age moments just passed him by.

Sometimes he wondered if he ever really lived a human life at all.

Because if you took away the blood, the battles, the mission briefs and contingency plans…

What was left?

Honestly...Not much, other than gacha , anime and other entertainment stuff.

His mother finally broke the silence, stepping forward.

"Alright. That's enough," she said, her voice cutting clean through the stillness.

Leo looked up.

So did his father.

She folded her arms. "What in the hells is this?... You two sitting here like someone kicked your puppy."

Neither of them said anything.

"This isn't a tragedy. This is good news. ..And you're both sulking like it's not."

"Technically, the curse was the bad thing...."

"And technically," she snapped back, "you just broke it, didn't you?"

Leo's father shifted in his chair, guilt and pride at war behind his eyes.

She didn't let up. "You two are impossible. You—" she jabbed a finger at Leo's father, "act like the weight of the world only comes in silence and guilt. And you—" she turned to Leo, "have the social capacity of a brick.."

Leo gave her a slow blink. "That's harsh to bricks."

She ignored him.

"This calls for a celebration," she declared, stepping toward the window, looking out over the castle grounds.

"Not this emotionally constipated standoff you're both performing like it's theatre."

His father muttered more to herself, "I'm starting to wonder if the curse didn't break at all... maybe it just fulfilled the Founder's ambition."

Leo stared. "...What the hell does that mean?"

She waved it off with a sharp gesture. "Never mind that..... This is a victory. We should be doing something. Lighting lanterns.... Dancing."

Leo stared at the floor. His father rubbed his temples.

Then her eyes narrowed again.

"And you—" she pointed at Leo with a look that sent a chill down his spine, "you seriously need to get laid."

He nearly dropped the mug.

"I—what?"

"I'm serious," she said, her tone completely calm, almost pitying. "Maybe if someone else had to deal with you for a while, they'd force some basic communication out of that walking emotional lockdown you call a personality...Or at the very least, talk for you."

Leo glanced at his father, silently pleading for backup.

His father looked at the ceiling like it had suddenly become deeply interesting.

Leo sighed and stared into his cup.

---

Leo wasn't kidding when he said he didn't like celebrations.

He just never saw the point of most of them.

And even the ones that did make sense only reminded him how hard it was to be a social creature.

Smile, talk amd pretend you like it.

Hard pass.

So, instead of pretending, he decided to do something much more comfortable.

World-hopping.

Specifically, to recruit his first member.

The system had told him ahead of time: the first few recruitments would be done randomly.

That alone was enough to spike his anxiety.

What if he got dumped into some backwater apocalyptic horror show?

Or worse—what if he ended up in the SCP universe, facing down some abomination cooked up in a Reddit thread by a sleep-deprived teenager with too much existential dread and access to Photoshop?

But then the words "Power-Based Selection Pool" appeared, and that… helped.

Somewhat.

At least it meant the worlds were chosen with a sense of balance.

Kind of like being thrown into a deathmatch with a knife, but knowing your opponent only had a frying pan.

And so here Leo was, standing at the edge of whatever nonsense the system had queued up, mentally psyching himself.

The system screen chanhed gently, and glowing words began to form with dramatic slowness, like it knew he was dreading this.

[World Selected: Fate Universe]

Leo stared.

Then blinked.

Then snapped.

"FUCK. Shit. Mother—"

He didn't finish the sentence. Too many curses, not enough breath.

You call this balanced? Leo screamed internally, staring at the system screen like it had just personally betrayed him.

Fate. Seriously. I'm going to get one-shotted by so many people it's not even funny. I'll be dead before I load in.

The system, as always, replied with the emotional range of a granite countertop.

[You underestimate your potential.]

Leo clenched his jaw. Great. Thanks for the motivational poster, System. Really helpful.

His thoughts raced.

Can I deny this?

No.

Can I delay it?

Also no.

"Of course not," he muttered to himself, hands on his hips like a man who had just accepted his fate… pun very much intended.

What he really wanted—more than power, more than answers—was time. Time to think.

To breathe.

He took a breath.

Slow. Steady.

Then exhaled.

"…Fuck it. We ball."

---

The chamber beneath the Matou manor reeked of old magic and rot.

The summoning circle glowed faintly, its ink still wet, the air heavy with smell of ozone and iron.

From the center of the circle, a woman stepped forward—tall, silent, ethereal.

The Rider-class Servant.

Pale skin, long beautiful hair, and a face obscured by a dark visor.

The Command Seals burned faintly on a trembling hand.

That hand belonged to one Sakura Matou.

Her shoulders were hunched, her breaths small, controlled—barely allowed to exist.

Behind her, Shinji Matou sneered as he stepped into the chamber, his footsteps echoing like insults.

"Well, well," he said, dragging each syllable like a knife across skin. "Look at you... The worm-infested charity case actually pulled it off."

He paced in a half-circle around her, eyeing the Servant, then her hand, and then letting his gaze roam downward, lingering just a moment too long.

"You really are useful after all, Sakura. Who knew something that broken could still spit out something valuable."

His hand casually brushed her shoulder, then slid lower, fingers brushing against her upper arm in a way that made her flinch instinctively.

"Don't make that face. I'm your big brother, remember? I'm entitled to everything you make." His voice was syrupy, venomous.

Her fists clenched, but she said nothing.

He stepped toward the Servant. "Now transfer the seals, like a good girl. We can't have a retard like you commanding a high-tier Servant. You'd probably ask her to clean your room or slit your own wrists."

He chuckled to himself.

Then he twitched.

It was subtle—barely noticeable.

A blink too long.

A hand to his temple. A small hitch in his breath.

"The hell…?"

He staggered.

Then froze.

Then screamed.

Blood erupted from his left eye—not dripped, not trickled—erupted, like a balloon bursting under pressure.

A heartbeat later, the right eye followed, bursting into a bloody foam that spilled down his cheeks.

He howled, clawing at his face, stumbling back, slipping in his own gore.

"What—what did you do?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME, YOU WHORE—!!"

Sakura took a step back, trembling—but she hadn't moved, hadn't done anything.

Neither had Rider.

Shinji's body jerked violently, muscles seizing up as if his veins had turned to barbed wire.

Blood poured from his mouth now, mixing with bile and shredded bits of tongue—he had bitten clean through it.

He collapsed, spasming on the floor like a dying insect.

Then… something small fell from his pocket.

A coin.

It rolled innocently across the floor, spinning once, twice—and stopped right in the center of the circle.

The summoning circle responded in reaction—a sick, warping sound, like flesh tearing underwater.

Magic surged, wild and untethered, ripping free of its purpose.

The backlash came fast.

Shards of splintered wood and stone exploded outward from the chamber's walls, one jagged spike piercing Shinji's calf, another driving clean through his shoulder, pinning him to the floor.

His screams were no longer human—wet, gurgling, high-pitched keening, as if his throat was filled with glass.

He tried to crawl—tried to beg—but he couldn't even form words now.

The summoning circle flared one last time.

And the ceiling above cracked.

With a crunch that shook the chamber, a massive beam of timber fell like divine retribution—impaling Shinji through the mouth, splitting his jaw apart, and crushing his throat and spine in one brutal, shattering impact.

His limbs twitched once.

Twice.

Then fell still, splayed awkwardly, blood pooling around him in rivers that soaked into the ink of the ruined circle.

Silence returned.

Sakura didn't move.

Rider said nothing.

But even she, behind her visor, turned her head away.

Whatever force had intervened, it had made a statement: Some things die exactly as they lived—ugly, screaming, and alone.

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

Shinji might've sounded a but oc...

Also you have to understand in order to revive this book i meed the support of the gooners... that's why there has been a chnage of plans.

Fate is the first world.

Power Stones and Reviews please