DxD : Actually Satan..?

I thought this fic didn't have that many readers

I'm seriously going to die aren't i ..?

Well today I'll release 2 to three bonus chapters.

[Regular Chapter]

---

The group, after Leo's quiet and unceremonious departure, had made their way to Shirou's house.

It was cramped for so many people, especially with two Servants, but no one complained.

Not even once.

Sakura had fallen asleep in Shirou's arms not long after arriving.

Her breathing was slow, deep, peaceful—like she hadn't had the chance to truly rest in years.

Her hand still clung to his sleeve even in sleep, as if letting go might drag her back into the nightmare she'd escaped from.

Bazett sat near the window, her coat draped over the back of a kitchen chair, watching the city lights blur beyond the glass.

Her fingers tapped idly against her thigh, thoughts scattered and unsettled.

Then her phone buzzed.

She blinked, fishing it out of her pocket. The screen lit up with five separate notifications—each a wire transfer of 10 million yen.

She stared blankly at them for a moment.

Then another ping. A message.

[Unknown Number]

"Hey, this is Leo.

These are funds to keep the Lion King fed.

And a small gift ;)

Like someone great once said:

"Money solves all the problems."

Bazett snorted, not sure whether to laugh or throw the phone across the room.

He had ignored every emotional cue she'd thrown at him—every glance, every frustrated word—and now he sent her hush money wrapped in a lazy joke.

And yet...

She exhaled. The irritation slowly faded, replaced by something quieter.

Resigned, maybe.

It was so... On brand.

She glanced over to the other side of the room.

Artoria and Medusa were seated across from each other, sharing a conversation.

Their words were hushed, but they spoke of their pasts—their respective eras, their regrets.

Bazett smiled faintly. Just a flicker.

And then it was gone.

She looked back at her phone again. The screen was dark now.

Her hand lowered.

And in that small space between conversation and sleep, between history and war, Bazett realized something— She was alone again.

Ugh I hate the process of making friends

---

Leo sat cross-legged besides Illya, arms resting lazily on his knees, head tilted to the side as he watched Illya lying on her stomach on a spread-out sheet.

She looked tiny.

Tense.

Barefoot and pale, hugging a pillow like it might protect her from the future.

"So," Leo began, voice deceptively calm, "I'll tell you again how it'll feel—"

"No, don't," Illya interrupted quickly, her voice cracking just a little with anxiety. "You're only making it worse…"

She didn't turn to face him, but her fingers curled tighter into the edge of the pillow.

Leo smirked slightly, golden eyes narrowing with amusement.

He'd already explained the process—twice.

In vivid, unflinching detail.

How reshaping and detaching her soul from this body would feel like being peeled apart, layer by layer.

How it would feel like ants crawling under her skin, gnawing at nerves and sinew, dragging out pieces of her being like thread from fabric.

Technically… none of that was entirely wrong.

But also not exactly how it would feel.

The actual sensation would last mere nano seconds—a sharp burst of disorientation, maybe some pressure.

Painful, yes. Terrifying, maybe.

But nowhere near the horror show he'd made it sound like.

Still.

He found it amusing.

Not because he wanted her to suffer—but because she reacted so differently to it.

Like a child afraid of a vaccine needle.

Illya's voice, muffled slightly by her pillow, came again. "Why are you smiling like that…?"

Leo didn't answer.

Illya groaned into the pillow, clearly horrified by the silence.

Leo, still smiling faintly, let her stew a little longer before adding in a quieter voice, "I'm messing with you, It'll hurt for a second. That's all."

"…Promise?" she asked.

He didn't say yes.

He just gave her a look that said it more or less.

The process began in silence.

No words were spoken—none needed.

Leo sat calmly beside Illya's resting form, his hand hovering just above her back, palm glowing faintly with a complex matrix of runes spinning around his hand.

Beneath his calm exterior, dozens of mental processes ran in perfect synchronization.

With a single, focused direction of intent, the separation began.

Illya's soul began to shift, drawn from its fragile vessel.

Her body trembled violently, her mouth opening in a short, raw scream of pain that cut through the still air—but it lasted only a moment.

Then her head slumped forward, hitting the pillow with a dull thud, limp and lifeless like a doll that had lost its strings.

At the same moment, Leo reached out with his other hand, and from within her now-empty chest, a radiant golden light surged upward.

The Lesser Grail.

He pulled it out like a surgeon removing a shard of glass, fingers wrapping around its form as the cup emerged—whole and gleaming, free from the damage it had once borne.

For a second, it glowed faintly in his hand.

"Goldie was right," Leo murmured under his breath, inspecting the cup. "This really would make a hell of a wine glass."

He set it aside without fanfare.

His attention returned to the second part of the operation—transferring and binding Illya's soul to the new vessel.

The new body lay a few feet away on a clean sheet, still and lifeless.

It looked almost eerily identical to her mother, Irisviel same features, same softness—but with deep red hair.

A custom-made vessel.

The only reason this worked seemlessly was because Leo had extended his internal processing far beyond the older one's.

His five mana brains—each one a perfect, were now fused with modified rune arrays.

Each one had ten times its original capacity now.

Each brain cross-linked to the others with improved feedback systems, running near-instantaneous calculations.

And more importantly—he'd installed a filter between their autonomous thought and his primary awareness, preventing emotional or logical cross-bleeds.

Like he has suspected before.

He'd learned that the hard way from watching someone else's mental disaster.

He wasn't about to let a Sentry Incident happen to himself.

Timing was everything now.

He aligned the soul with the new vessel's mana circuit layout, synchronized the spiritual anchors, and activated the binding process.

The red-haired body gasped.

Fingers twitched.

A new heartbeat started.

Illya, or the new her, blinked once.

Her eyes were different now—deeper.

More alive.

Leo stood up and stretched his shoulders casually.

"It's done," he muttered. "Took me twenty-three minutes longer than I wanted, but whatever. Still faster than anyone."

He gave the Grail one last look, then pocketed it in his dimension for later.

Spare battery secured. Girl saved.

And somewhere deep down, though he'd never say it aloud—he was proud of this one.

---

Illya sat at the table like a girl possessed—fork in one hand, spoon in the other, mouth moving so fast it was a wonder she didn't choke.

Plates piled up around her like a battlefield.

Chicken katsu, buttered potatoes, grilled fish, three different rice bowls, and something suspiciously sweet that was vanishing at an alarming rate.

She looked like the second coming of Artoria Pendragon, only with red hair, faint glowing lines across her body, and even less shame.

Across from her, Leo reclined lazily in his chair, legs crossed, swirling a golden liquid in a gleaming cup that happened to be the Lesser Grail itself.

He took a sip and gave a satisfied nod. "Tastes good.." he said to no one in particular.

Illya didn't stop eating to respond.

The reason behind her gluttonous behavior was twofold.

One: the body Leo had built for her wasn't just a copy—it was an improvement. A high-efficiency magical construct, partially sustained by demigod-level regeneration. That required a lot of energy. Twice as much as her old body, minimum.

Two: for the first time in her life, food tasted like something.

Her previous vessel, for all its purpose and precision, had been a half-dead puppet. Taste was dulled. But now

Every bite was a revelation.

Even the rice had nuance. The sweet sauce over the pork made her eyes widen with joy. She'd been fed the same dishes before in her old body, but now she realized they had probably tasted like damp paper.

This was life.

She didn't even care how ridiculous she looked. She chewed with purpose, savoring things like a starving noblewoman just discovering flavor for the first time.

Meanwhile, Leo simply drank.

He glanced at the faint red lines glowing subtly across her arms and collarbone—visible only when the light hit just right.

They were marks of demigod heritage. His design, of course.

Back when he was assembling her new body, Leo had told her straight: if Berserker was going to be removed, something needed to take his place.

She'd resisted at first—she needed that presence, that protection. Berserker had been her comfort, her guardian.

So, Leo compromised.

He had printed a small amount of demigod flesh—a divine-grade bio-template—and woven it into her new form. It gave her enhanced resilience, a more defined muscular structure, and latent battle instinct if she needed it.

The red lines were the proof of that.

Heracles was gone—absorbed by Leo into his ever-growing archive of cannibalized myths and concepts—but part of him lived on in her. Not just in memory, but in physiology.

And it worked.

She didn't tremble anymore.

Her eyes had clarity.

She was eating.

Leo took another sip, then let out a soft exhale. "Come to think of it," he muttered, "I speedran the entire Grail War in less than two days."

He tilted the cup, watching the golden glow inside swirl.

With the Grail now in his possession, the war was effectively over.

Rin and her servant? Shirou and the gang could handle that.

Add Bazett to the mix, and they had two servants, one semi-retired enforcer, and a motivated Shirou who actually had something to fight for now.

They'd be fine.

Leo, for once, had no immediate crisis to fix.

Illya licked her plate clean and reached for more meat.

"You're going to make yourself sick," he said, mildly amused.

She grinned, cheeks stuffed. "Worth it."

Leo leaned back in his chair, smiled faintly, and took another sip of holy vintage.

---

After the last bite disappeared into her mouth, Illya slumped back with a content sigh, lips smeared with sauce and satisfaction.

Then Leo stood up and said, "Get up."

Illya blinked. "Huh?"

"Come on," he repeated, already walking toward the door.

Still in her food coma, she nodded without thinking and slid off the chair, trailing after him like a sleepy duckling. She didn't ask where they were going—not at first. There was something about Leo's pace that made questions feel… unnecessary.

That changed when she saw the bike.

"…Where are we going?" she finally asked, watching him throw a leg over the machine.

"To have fun," Leo replied.

Illya frowned. "Have… fun?"

"Yes. Fun," he said, glancing back at her with that same unreadable smirk. "It's this thing people do when they aren't dying in rituals or drinking wine out of cursed artifacts. Get on."

Still hesitant, she climbed onto the seat behind him.

The moment she wrapped her arms around his waist, Leo revved the engine—and something changed.

The bike rumbled.

Then it shifted.

What was once a sleek black motorcycle began to morph. Metal twisted with unnatural grace, extending and reshaping. The frame grew sharper, more aggressive. Pipes curled like spines. The tires thickened, clawed with demonic grip. Red lines—matching the ones on Illya's arms—flared across its body.

It didn't breathe fire, but it looked like it should have.

It was a bike straight from hell—demonic, roaring, and just barely legal by the laws of physics.

Illya stared at it with wide eyes.

"…Is this safe?"

"Nope," Leo said, grin widening. "But it'll be fun."

He twisted the throttle—and the road screamed beneath them.

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Power Stones and Reviews please