DxD : Actually Satan..?

[Bonus chapter 2/5]

Wind howled around them as the bike tore through the highway at nearly 200 kilometers per hour (124 miles per hour) a blur of metal to any passer by.

Illya grinned wildly, her ree hair whipping behind her like a banner.

"You were right—this is soooooo fun!!" she screamed into the wind, one arm wrapped tightly around Leo's torso, the other raised in the air like she was riding a roller coaster.

Leo didn't say anything.

Mostly because they hadn't actually started the fun part yet.

But it was fine. She was having fun. He could allow that.

It was easy to see the resemblance—her mother enjoyed the same kind of reckless speed, the same disregard for rules and road safety.

Maybe it was genetic.

They swerved off the main road without warning, tires biting into concrete, racing straight through a gated checkpoint that failed to react fast enough.

Alarms began to blare in the distance.

Illya blinked as they sped past signs that read RESTRICTED AIR FORCE ZONE – TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT.

"Wait—wait, why are we here?" she shouted over the noise, turning her head.

Leo's answer was simple and unapologetic: "We're looking for a particular plane."

Illya narrowed her eyes. "Wouldn't it be easier to make one?"

Leo nodded casually. "It would. But where's the fun in that?"

Before she could reply, a bullet pinged off her forehead with a dull crack.

"OW! It hurts—!" Illya clutched her head with both hands, more surprised than injured.

After a second, she lowered her fingers and blinked.

There wasn't a scratch.

"Oh wow… this body is amazing."

Leo nodded once without looking back. "Demigod skin. You're basically bulletproof against anything human-made unless they aim something really spicy at you."

A spotlight suddenly flared behind them, followed by a voice through a loudspeaker barking demands to stand down and surrender.

Neither of them acknowledged it.

"So… why are we really here?" Illya asked again, brushing off the lingering sting as casually as someone swatting a mosquito.

Leo finally slowed just enough to maneuver past a row of hangars. "We're looking for something specific."

"What is it?"

Leo smirked.

"The F-35."

Illya blinked. "…You're stealing a fifth-generation stealth fighter?"

"Yes."

She paused. "You are so weird."

"Why do you even need it?" Illya asked, raising an eyebrow as they zipped past another hangar, the alarms still wailing behind them.

Military vehicles behind them unable to catch up.

Bullets flying in the air from a helicopter.

"To travel," Leo said simply.

Illya blinked. "Where?"

"America."

"…Why?"

Leo didn't answer immediately. Instead, he drifted the bike sideways around a barricade like it was part of a movie stunt, his coat fluttering behind him like a cape. Then he said,

"Looking for someone."

"Who?"

Leo let out a long sigh. "You're asking too many questions."

Illya pouted. "Excuse me for being curious while we're breaking into a military base and stealing a stealth jet."

Leo gave her a sidelong glance, smirking. "Just be my minion and enjoy the ride."

Illya huffed but couldn't stop the small grin forming. "Fine. But I want to pick the music when we fly."

"Deal," Leo said.

The bike skidded to a precise stop in front of the hangar, its roaring engine purring into silence like a beast obeying its master.

Inside the vast metallic chamber, sleek and deadly, sat the F-35A—its angular body catching the harsh overhead lights in a muted gleam. It looked less like a plane and more like a blade sheathed in silence.

Leo raised a hand, and without a word, a shimmering dome snapped into existence around the hangar. The translucent, golden-blue energy crackled faintly, humming with magical density—a barrier not unlike the barrier-barrier fruit, if it had been redesigned by a demon with an engineering degree.

"Hello, beautiful," Leo said with a grin, gazing at the jet like a collector admiring a rare card.

Then he corrected himself with a small shake of his head. "Even if not the most impressive weapon humans have made—or will make—it's a fun one to handle."

Behind him, Illya stood with her arms crossed, her eyes not on the jet but on him. Her expression shifted slightly.

"You didn't call me beautiful," she muttered, half to herself. "Am I... ugly?"

Leo paused, hand still raised mid-cast as his magic adjusted the barrier's pressure levels.

He blinked once, slowly. "…What?"

Illya's voice came again, this time firmer:

"What do you mean 'what'? You didn't call me beautiful. Am I ugly or something?"

She stood there, hands on her hips, chin slightly tilted up, red eyes narrowed like a cat demanding answers.

The demigod body shouldn't change her personality much.

So was this the unfamiliar harmones that Illya never had in her previous body acting up ?

Leo blinked.

He stared at her.

Leo didn't really do compliments. Not out of rudeness—just out of complete disinterest in what people expected to hear.

And he had definitely not called her beautiful. That was true.

But now?

Now he had to salvage this.

And if there was one thing Leo was good at… it was salvaging in the most Leo way possible.

He turned to her slowly, eyes slightly narrowed, his voice calm and slightly amused.

"I didn't know obvious things had to be said out loud," he said plainly.

Illya blinked.

Leo gestured vaguely to her with one hand. "I made your body. Myself. Do you think I'd make something flawed?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

"I wasn't aiming for 'pretty,' Illya," Leo added. "I was aiming for perfect."

There was a pause.

Then he turned back to the F-35 without waiting for a reply.

Illya stood frozen for a moment, brain catching up with the words.

Her cheeks turned a little pink.

Leo had finally achieved what could only be described as the unbothered rizz—that perfect fusion of apathy, smugness, and composure that came with fully internalizing the brand of Satan into his personality.

He radiated calm dominance. Unshaken. Sharp-eyed and careless of everything.

And unknown to him—many women liked that quite a lot.

Illya, for one, wasn't sure what to make of it.

Her newly reforged body—came with strange side effects.

Feelings she didn't recognize.

In a child's body there just weren't the harmones present so she never had these feelings

Emotions that made her glance too long. Hesitate a second more.

Her soul had aged, yes—but now her body had finally caught up, and with it came… confusion.

Not that Leo noticed.

He was too busy tinkering with the F-35 in the hangar.

Tools of his own making floated in the air, drawing from raw mana, screwing and dismantling pieces of the jet as if his hands were syncing with the machine's nervous system.

Until suddenly—

BAM.

Leo punched the nose of the jet.

CRACK.

Then he smashed a wing.

Illya blinked in shock as the sleek, expensive military aircraft shattered under his casual violence.

Then—

He moved on. In a whirlwind, he destroyed everything in the hangar: six other JASDF jets, 13 military-grade computers, a few comms consoles, and—bizarrely—some chairs.

Illya watched with a deadpan expression.

"…I thought we were going to use that to travel," she said dryly.

Leo stood in the center of the debris, eyes glowing with faint energy.

"I'm upgrading it."

Illya looked at the flaming wreckage, bits of carbon fiber and metal strewn across the floor.

"…By turning it into scrap?"

Leo raised a hand. The remnants of every jet, every circuit, every bolt and wire rose into the air, suspended like the aftermath of a war frozen in time.

"No," he said, and his grin returned. "I'm reforging it."

As Leo began to use echoforge on the wreckage, the black tattooed lines on his arms flared to life with a deep red glow.

Arcs of mana cracked through the air with sharp, stinging snaps, as reality(more like the planet's texture) was objecting to the fusion he was forcing upon it.

The concept of the F-35, its schematics, combat data, electronic, strategic purpose and most importantly it's legend was being pulled apart and reassembled.

Bit it wasn't a simple echfoge where he combined it with other planes.

No, Leo was doing something far more unorthodox.

He was adding "mystery" to it.

Reaching into the deeper laws of the world, Leo transported the time-space around the reforging jet into a localised layered reality over an era where the F-35 never existed.

A simulated world while at the same time leo cut off its roots to this world while cannabalising it's legend.

In that moment, the jet—its parts, its idea—was no longer contemporary.

To the world's causality around the plane, it became a relic.

A "forgotten" artifact of an "unrealized future" which the world no longer recognised as it's own.

And in that reframing, mystery bloomed.

By shrouding the F-35 in the veil of myth—of something ancient and lost rather than newly engineered—Leo elevated it beyond mere human weaponry.

A hybrid of what the world thought as "forgotten war god technology" and "devilcraft" was realised.

But why was all this possible.?

The answer lies in the class of heroic spirit leo was summoned as, yes leo had taken on a class.

The class being the pretender class.

A class so good at disguise that it could even fool the world.

"Done," Leo said, stepping back from the hulking form of the transformed plane.

It was massive—three times larger than the original F-35, with crimson and gold lines etched along its sleek, black body.

The metal looked like obsidian kissed by firelight.

Myth and machine had fused completely. It was no longer just a jet.

It was a vessel worthy of legends.

The cockpit hissed open, and from beneath the nose of the plane, a staircase extended—crafted not from steel or alloy, but from pure, crystallized mana, like steps of light forged into solid shape.

Leo turned toward Illya, who stood a few feet away, completely frozen.

She hadn't even noticed the sound of the hangar settling again.

Leo tilted his head. "Get in," he said simply.

Illya blinked, snapping back to herself like she'd just come out of a trance.

"R-Right," she stammered, moving toward the stairs, one step at a time, her fingers brushing the mana-formed railing like she still couldn't believe it was real.

As she climbed in, she couldn't help but mutter, "It looks like something the gods would ride…"

Leo, already walking toward the pilot seat, gave a small smirk.

"Wrong."

He glanced at her over his shoulder.

"The gods wish they had this."

As the two settled into the cockpit.

Crimson runes flickered across the console, and the seat beneath Illya adjusted itself automatically to her posture, wrapping her in a cushioned embrace.

Then, with a low, vibrating growl—

The engine roared.

It wasn't the mechanical scream of turbines—it sounded alive.

Like a massive beast waking from slumber, ready to tear through the skies.

Without a word, Leo flicked a switch.

The walls in front of the hangar exploded outward, from a missile fired directly from the jet's own underbelly.

The blast scattered debris across the runway, creating a shockwave that forced nearby soldiers to shield their eyes.

The barrier Leo had put up dropped immediately after.

The soldiers outside tensed, some raising weapons, others barking commands.

But before any of them could act—

BOOM.

The jet launched like a bullet, tearing past them in a blur, streaking across the sky.

It went from zero to supersonic in nearly a second, leaving behind only a thunderclap and a vortex of distorted air.

Several hats flew off.

A few soldiers fell on their backs.

And far above, piercing the clouds—

Leo grinned, one hand on the throttle, the other resting lazily on the edge of the seat.

"Now this is fun."

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Power Stones and Reviews please