Chapter Text
Enthroned atop the high seat of the Viceregal-Governor of Area 11, it was all Clovis la Britannia, Third Prince of the Holy Britannian Empire, could do to keep his eyes open.
Damn all Spanish wines, Clovis cursed to himself as his hangover, damned persistent still at three in the afternoon, sent another potent spike of agony through his wearied skull. Damn useless court too… Ugh, why do I even have to be here?
Because, a patient voice that sounded entirely too much like his old tutor supplied the answer, if anybody can fill your chair, everybody will soon be wondering why it couldn't perhaps be themselves sitting atop a throne. There have been more non-royal governors in Britannia's history than not, after all…
So, with a suppressed groan that almost erupted into a yawn, Clovis forced himself to pay attention as the next functionary was summoned from the ranks of courtiers waiting for their audience.
"Announcing Kururugi Suzaku, Master of the Eleven Demon Hunters and loyal servant of His Imperial Majesty," droned the chamberlain, reading aloud from an archaic scroll as a slim young man stepped forwards to kneel before the throne. "Here to present for His Highness's pleasure a report on his efforts to combat demon predations in Area 11…"
An Honorary? Clovis's fingers tightened on the arms of his throne as the old anger spiked within him. Instantly, his wine-sodden head, still burdened from last night's revels, throbbed, disarming the fury immediately as white pain radiated behind his eyes. Ah, my head! But… Ugh, an Honorary?
…At least he's rather pleasing on the eyes, the Viceroy couldn't help but notice, his artistic sensibilities coming to the fore. Far better than the usual fat old men… And oh my, what is that suit he's wearing? It's so tight, even moreso than riding breeches… And is that fishnet I see, just above that cute little bulge?
"Your Highness," Suzaku began, kneeling with courtly perfection engrained from years' worth of etiquette lessons and blissfully unaware of the thoughts running through the prince's head, "I thank you for extending your kindness enough to hear my words. Likewise, I also thank you for the generosity you have exhibited in granting the members of your loyal servant's organization permission to create a new generation of servants who shall serve the Holy Britannian Empire into the future."
I did? Behind his firm court mask of poised resolve, Clovis groped for bleary details of what his advisors had been doing recently. Oh, right… The men in their organization weren't allowed to fuck their women, just in case they got ideas, but Jeremiah was worried that would weaken the bloodlines… "Like breeding dogs," I think was how he explained it? "Strong pups come from two strong parents, not one."
"I come to you now, Your Highness, with nothing but success to report." Suzaku was still talking, Clovis noticed, and he forced himself to focus on the here and now, instead of on Jeremiah's lengthy explanation of his experiments with breeding bulldogs. "Over the last four months, Demon Hunters from my organization have sealed no fewer than seventeen hellgates opened across Area 11, slaying over two hundred orcs in the process and recovering twenty-seven kidnapped Britannian women, including two ladies of quality, as well as a number of others. We also successfully hunted down and killed one of our rebel brothers, who was operating in the Yokohama Ghetto along with a cell of insurgents.
"So ends my report."
Are those good numbers? Clovis wondered, staring down into the guileless, upturned face of the Kururugi boy. How many of these gates were opened in that time? Wait, two nobles were kidnapped? When did that happen?
"Very good, Kururugi, very good," Clovis acknowledged as instinct kicked in. Perhaps the praise was merited, perhaps not, but he'd always found that lavishing his words with honey and pounds of sugar made people more inclined to listen to him. "My heart brims with delight in knowing that your strong… fellows, are out there, doing…"
Groping for some suitably dramatic term, Clovis raised a hand to pluck a rose from a nearby vase, dramatically flourishing it into a sniff as he bought time, fighting against the brutal hangover.
"Doing… mighty deeds," he decided at last, "to defend our glorious empire and its citizens. Despite the stain of your birth and the filthiness of your blood, you and your fellow Demon Hunters are proof that anybody who serves the empire will prosper under Britannia's wing.
"Go forth!" the Viceroy declared, hurling the rose at the kneeling demon hunter, "Destroy all that is ugly! Nip all the weeds, so my garden will be full of not but the loveliest flowers!"
The flower, Clovis noted sourly, had fallen somewhat short of Kururugi. Still, Suzaku leaned forwards just enough to pick up the rose and to bring it to his chest in salute.
"By your word, Your Highness. All hail Britannia!"
"Yes, yes," Clovis hastily waved, cutting forth the thunderous chorus before it could shatter his aching head, "all hail Britannia and so forth. Now, begone with you! Send forth the next in the list, Chamberlain!"
With a thump, the orc's decapitated head joined the severed arm already lying on the road in a spreading pool of sludgy, green-tinged blood. A heartbeat later and the headless trunk collapsed nervelessly to the ground.
Fuuma Kotaro, number two in the Eleven Demon Hunters' hierarchy and number one in actual competency, didn't bother looking back to check that the latest piece of Dark World filth was actually dead. He was confident in his work and in his nano-edged katana, sharp enough to disintegrate rather than slice whatever crossed its blade.
"Is that the best you've got?" the demon hunter jeered, staring down the small knot of surviving beasts clustered around each other at the far end of the street, cut off from the suppurating gash in reality's skin that was the hellgate they'd used to arrive by Kotaro himself, who stood between them and their escape. "C'mon, surely one of you must have at least an ounce of fighting spirit! Or are all you upright piggies just as cowardly pieces of pork?"
Communicating with creatures from the Dark World was always hit or miss. Most understood one human language or another to some limited extent, but not all of them and not always Japanese.
The mockery in Kotaro's tone, though, was universal.
From among the ranks of leathery-skinned demons, a particularly broad-shouldered example pushed his way through. Despite standing a full head shorter than the rest of the raiding party, the orc's frame was thick with muscle. His arms were at least three times wider than Kotaro's own.
"I'm chief 'round here," grunted the orc, shouldering what looked like a crude Kalashnikov, upscaled for thick piggy fingers. "You gonna get outta my way, or am I gonna get tah eat yer meat after I shoot yah dead?"
"Oh, so one of you rediscovered your balls!" Kotaro taunted, entirely unimpressed by the orc's threats. He'd heard it all before.
If you've heard one orc try to sound tough, you've heard them all. Seriously, who does he think I am, Kururugi or someone?
"I'll make sure to cram them down your throat after I show the rest of your sorry tribe what happens to bad piggies who trespass on Britannian ground!"
"Wait! I'll help too!" chirped another voice, one whom Kotaro had expressly told to keep her distance so she wouldn't step on his toes, from atop a three-story tall block of stores and apartments.
Before Kotaro could object, a crackling beam of violet-white light seared across his vision, leaving him momentarily blind as he blinked the spots away.
To his dismay, when Kotaro regained enough of his vision to see the orc leader, the monster was just as dead as the dismembered corpse behind him. In fact, it was difficult to recall the last time he'd seen a body so thoroughly dead as the stocky orc leader, who was still steaming as the slagged remains of his gun fell from the charred claws of his hands. He looked like he'd been struck by lightning, left in the microwave for too long, or perhaps both.
Even in the open air of the street, the main drag of a small town out in the sticks, the scent of overcooked pork was pervasive and disgusting.
Fucking goddammit, Yukikaze! Kotaro grumbled to himself, shooting a resentful glare up at the slim figure who had stepped out from behind the sign topping the building and advertising the drug store within, a heavily customized rifle propped on one hip. Damned kill-stealing bitch trying to show me up! If she wasn't a clanhead…
"Thank you, cutie-pie!" Kotaro called aloud, swallowing his irritation as he thanked his girlfriend. "You're a big help!"
"O-Of course I am!" the flatchested source of half of Kotaro's frustrations in life replied, trying ineffectually to mask her pleased embarrassment at the praise behind a haughty mask. "Demons of the Dark World!" the bitch continued, treading even further on Kotaro's style as she turned to address the surviving orcs, "Nobody else needs to die here today! Release your captives and return from whence you came!"
What the hell is she doing now?! Kotaro wondered, growling as the absolute idiot he was shackled to for now and perhaps for the rest of his life, all thanks to that small-dicked Kururugi, actually lowered herself to attempting negotiations with the subhumans. Doesn't she know we've got a quota for orc heads to turn in? Who does she think she is, allowing them to go free like that?
"Absolutely!" Kotaro lied, putting up a united front as he turned back to the orcs. "Release your hostages," Who were only Elevens, so who really cares anyway? "and you can all go!"
Go straight to hell, maybe… And I need to think of a good punishment for Yukikaze… Maybe I'll just slap her around a bit and call it training again? Haha… She always falls for that… And then she gets all teary and tries to hide her sniveling so she'll look tough… Yeah, sounds like a plan.
Among the orcs, there was a moment of argument. Then, one of the demons broke, the possibility of survival too enticing to resist. He shrugged a bloodied girl off his shoulder, leaving her to almost sprawl to her feet, and shoved her towards Kotaro. The girl stumbled and nearly fell, but the message was clear.
"The rest of them, now," demanded Yukikaze from on high. "Let all of the girls go and you can go back home."
Just as much of a stick up the ass as Kururugi… grumbled Kotaro, tapping his foot impatiently as the melodrama played out around him. If he had a dick that worked, he'd have taken her for himself. They could be boring together.
Grudgingly, women and girls marked by various levels of mistreatment staggered away from the knot of surviving raiders. The freed hostages, as soon as they were out of armsreach of the demons, took to their heels and ran for shelter, leaving the orcs exposed in their huddle.
Too easy! Kotaro grinned to himself as the last of the Numbers staggered away, bringing his nano-blade sword back up to shoulder height. Quota, here I come!
"W-wait, Kotaro!" The damned girl had seen what he meant to do, judging by the dismay in her voice. "I p-promised them they could go–"
"Go to hell!" shouted Kotaro, a wide grin on his face. "That's right, Yukikaze, you did a great job clearing the way! Now watch as I take out the trash!"
I wonder if she's getting all soggy and teary-eyed now? The heir to the Fuuma clan wondered as shreds of orc-meat fell around him in a wet hail. The thought of Yukikaze's distress widened his grin by a few teeth. Fucking pathetic crybaby!
"The hellgate's closed…" the crybaby herself said from somewhere behind him, her voice as dull as her personality. "I promised them they could go home…"
"And that was a splendid bluff, Yukikaze," Kotaro congratulated her, thumbing his blade's nano-edge off and sheathing the katana, turning to give his girlfriend the soft, gentle smile he'd spent hours perfecting in his bathroom mirror. "You did a fine job convincing them to release their hold on the imperial subjects they'd captured."
"Y-yeah…"
Even her pigtails are drooping! Kotaro thought wonderingly, brimming with cruel joy to see how downcast the Mizuki's pink eyes were. How can she stand to be so pathetic, I wonder?
"As if we'd ever negotiate with enemies of the Empire!" he laughed, deciding to twist the knife a bit more. "As if anyone would think mere beasts could be reasoned with! Absurd! You'd have to be a real idiot to think like that!"
"Y-yeah…" Yukikaze agreed, shoulders hunching in so far that her rifle's sling nearly slid down her arm before she caught it. "Guess so…"
"You know," Kotaro mused aloud as he pulled out his phone, preparing to report back in, "I distinctly remember telling you to wait for my order before stepping in.
"Looks like someone's going to need another training session after we get back to base."
That was a pretty quick kill, though, Kotaro had to admit to himself as the dispatcher picked up on the other end of the line, remembering how the lightning had followed the path of Yukikaze's bullet to fry the orc leader. If I can finally break her down enough to understand her place, maybe she'd be worth keeping around after all.
Kururugi got put in charge just because he's got the bloodline tie to the old imperial house, but he's weak as hell and twice as damp as Yukikaze. If I continue to rake in the missions and I tie the Mizuki firmly to me, well… Short of capturing one of the Igawa alive, I'll be uniting the two clans with the strongest historic claims to power. Blood, ruthlessness and power…
Better watch your ass, Kururugi, because Fuuma Kotaro's not gonna be number two for very much longer!
When her marriage to the Baron of New Leicester was first arranged by her family, Alicia Maplethorpe, soon to be Alicia Stadtfeld, had been over the moon with joy. At twenty-three, Alicia had already consigned herself to a spinster's life, the tragic infirmity of her womb made public by her first husband as the cause for him divorcing her. A new husband, one who hailed from the outer fringes of Britannia's upper crust, was like a promise of a second life and a new start.
It didn't hurt at all that Alvin Stadtfeld was handsome, charming, considerate in his manners, and incredibly wealthy.
Much of that joy had withered once she had actually moved in under her new husband's roof in the far flung territory of Area 11, still restive under the Britannian yoke. Her new stepdaughter, though the "step" was nowhere present in the legal documents listing herself as the girl's mother, was impertinent, headstrong, and a constant pain in Alicia's rear. Her husband, who had been so considerate during their courtship, vanished into a life so packed with urgent work that it had no room for Alicia at all. Worst of all, she was expected to share that roof with her husband's mistress.
That was where the trouble had really began. Kozuki Hitomi, as the woman had introduced herself in her clumsy Britannian before Alicia corrected her in the order of her names, was an exemplary native servant, as meek and obedient as any Britannian lady could hope to have at her service. She was thorough in her work, proactive in catering to Alicia's desires, and always eager to find some new way to be of use to her new lady. She was, in short, her daughter's opposite in every way.
Nearly every way, Alicia corrected herself, tearing her eyes away from Hitomi's absolutely unbelievable cleavage, which at least held parity with her infuriating stepdaughter's entirely unfair charms. In being more akin to a cow than a human, she's her daughter's spitting image.
The bitch.
"Oh, Madam Alicia, are you feeling well?" No sooner did the frown ghost across Alicia's face than Hitomi was by her side, all but hurling herself at the lady of the house's feet in her enthusiasm to be of service. "Was the tea not to your liking? Too hot? Too cold? Too sweet? Not sweet enou–"
"Enough!" Alicia's voice cracked like a whip. "Be silent with your gabbling!"
Hitomi's mouth snapped shut, but her blue eyes were still fixed on Alicia, eagerly searching her lady for clues betraying what her lady desired.
Under that searching, adoring regard, Alicia began to blush.
Carefully, not looking away from her servant too quickly lest the damned woman think she was scared, anxious, or, worst of all, eager, Alicia checked her watch. Half past three.
"Is Kallen at school today?" the Lady Stadtfeld casually inquired, leaning back on her sofa. When Hitomi did not immediately respond, she frowned and then, realizing the reason for her silence, sighed. "You may speak, Hitomi."
"Oh yes, your ladyship!" Hitomi quickly answered, nodding hard enough to stoop her into a half-bow. "The young mistress is at Ashford Academy today! Apparently, she was feeling well enough to brave the school. She will be back at five, after her club activities are over. Just in time for dinner!"
"Just in time for dinner…" Alicia repeated, a smile spreading across her face. "And just late enough to miss the sow who gave birth to her filling the house with moans again!"
"Mistress…?" Hitomi asked, coyly pretending at an innocence Alicia doubted the Eleven had ever possessed.
"Do you know," Alicia drawled, snapping her fingers and pointing at the floor. In an instant, Hitomi was down on all fours and crawling, her wide ass waggling eagerly from side to side, under Alicia's feet as she assumed her position as a footstool, "just how much it pained me to deal with your bitch daughter the last time she heard you making a fool of yourself?"
"I'm very sorry that she bothered you, Mistress!" Hitomi eagerly spouted off. "It was very rude of her to trouble you on my behalf!"
"She just wouldn't shut up!" Alicia went on, ignoring the burbling apologies from her ottoman. "For all that she gives me the cold shoulder, you would think she'd say her piece and then leave. But no! She demanded to know if I'd been whipping you!"
"I hope that you told her that you have, Mistress!" Hitomi opined. "I'm sure that, if the young mistress just gave it a chance, she'd love to be flogged by you just as much as I do!"
"I believe she would murder me if I said as much," Alicia dryly replied, and then thumped a heel down onto Hitomi's rear. "And shut up down there! Furniture doesn't speak!"
"Sorry Mistress!"
"Anyway," Alicia tried to remember where she'd been in her rant. "Oh yes, she said that she'd kill me if I laid a finger on you again. I wonder what she'd do if she knew I'd put both my feet on you, hmm?"
There was silence from the living footstool. After a moment, Alicia smiled to herself – a thin, hard-edged line of pleasure.
"So, even an Eleven can learn, given enough time and repetition," she mused aloud to herself. "Good to know that you can get basic instructions, at least, through your simple mind."
The delight Alicia felt in bullying Hitomi was a many faceted thing. There was the joy of revenge, for Alvin would never love her but he had never stopped loving Hitomi, his Number mistress, and so by hurting her, Alicia could hurt the man she could never strike. There was the joy of twisting the nose of her ungrateful bitch of a "daughter", who had never made her dislike of Alicia a secret. There was the simple joy any Britannian cherished for abusing those whom nature and imperial conquest had placed below their boots. There was even the uncomplicated joy of a woman with pent-up appetites finding an attractive and obliging woman to vent them upon.
But more than any of that, Alicia got an intense thrill out of denigrating and debasing a woman who was, in a way that Britannia in general never could be despite all the propaganda, superhuman. Who could tear Alicia apart limb by limb if she so chose, who could outfight an entire platoon of soldiers, and who could do all of that without suffering so much as a scratch in the process.
For Hitomi had not always been a humble maid and kept woman, tucked away in the manse of a foreign noble. Kozuki Hitomi had once been one of the so-called "taima nin", one of a secret society of elite warriors and protectors of the now-deceased nation of Japan. Many of those "taima nin" had followed other local leaders into becoming Honorary Britannians and now served the Viceregal-Governor as Demon Hunters, protecting Area 11 as they had once defended Japan. Others had disappeared into the hills, mountains, and ghettos to join all the other dead-enders in their fruitless and pointless war against the Empire.
Hitomi had done neither.
"My loyalty is to my master, who dominated me and forced me to swear allegiance to him and his cock," Hitomi had informed Alicia, after her mistress demanded to know why the maid had such an extensive collection of edged weapons hidden around her tiny room in the servants' quarters. "I serve my master with my honed skills, and with my well-bred, utterly perfect body. I gave him two delightful children whom I hope will follow my example, though I have been disappointed thus far. Why would I serve Japan when my master is all that I need?"
"On your feet, Eleven whore!" Alicia demanded, swinging her feet off her maid's rump and extracting herself from the sofa.
All of a sudden, her blood was running hot again, and she wanted, no, needed to see Hitomi in that absolutely ridiculous outfit that the whore insisted was both traditional and strictly functional. She needed to see the powerful assassin and soldier kneeling between her legs, mouth open and tongue outstretched as Alicia teased her by keeping her private treasure just out of her slave's reach.
"Hurry up, I said! Why are you still on the floor?"
"I'm coming, Mistress!" Hitomi announced, eagerly waddling on all fours towards the door, picking herself up over the course of three paces as she enthusiastically followed at her mistress's heels. "I have been very lax in my duties, but I took care to polish the paddle and rub a fresh coating of oil into the flogger, the cat-o-nine, the coachwhip, and all three of the harnesses, not to mention the collar!"
"...As well you should," Alicia replied a second late, blinking with unhidden astonishment before quickly repairing her mask of austere hostility.
When had she managed to find the time?
It was one of many questions Alicia privately harbored regarding Hitomi. Somehow, the woman always seemed to be ready at hand when Alicia needed her, yet none of her duties ever went undone – how was she managing this trick of time management? Hitomi was utterly indefatiguable in bed, to the point of wearing Alicia out enough that she'd fallen asleep on Hitomi's breasts more than once – where did she get all of her energy? Most importantly, Hitomi was sexy, skilled as a lover, servant, and bodyguard, and absolutely in love with Alicia's husband – so why had Alvin so emphatically imprisoned her in this backwater mansion and categorically refused to take his pet assassin with him on any of his business trips?
Well, whatever, Alicia thought, dismissing those niggling questions just as she always did. She was almost to her bedroom door now, and almost skipping. His loss is my gain! As a true daughter of Britannia, I'll just take what I want and if Alvin says otherwise? Well, he can try to take her back, if he dares.