Omake: A Deal with the Devil is Better Than No Deal At All

A/N: This is an omake. I don't know how else to describe it. It's a side story/extra that is not canon and doesn't have any place in the actual/main story of Brimstone, and it explores a random idea I had of Ioann becoming a Devil. Keep in mind throughout this that it starts at the start of the story - as in, Ioann knows nothing about the supernatural. It's like the chapter one version of him, only that he was ambushed by Devils rather than Exorcists.

Maybe I'll continue this specific plotline in the future with more random omakes, but unless this turns out to be much better than I thought, I doubt it. If you have an idea for an omake, comment it - if it's good, there's a decent chance of me writing it. My current next-in-line idea is MC being summoned as a Servant in Fate, probably with Kirei Kotomine as his Master for obvious reasons, so other worlds aren't off-limits… just keep in mind that I'm not writing something actually stupid, like Ioann in MHA or something.

Enjoy.

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Groggily, I opened my eyes, finding myself bleeding all over hewn bark and frosted snow, turning both red.

"So? Is the answer yes or no? Keep in mind that there aren't any settlements for miles out here."

"Kilometers, not miles. We have talked about this, no? And yet you do not understand. Am I cursed to only work alongside uneducated brutes for the rest of my days?"

"It's a matter of opinion, you moron. I'm from Massachusetts, you're from Budapest - do you expect me to change how I think?"

"Quiet, both of you." A third blurry image came into view and swung its appendages at the other two, both of whom ducked under it. "You are undermining our intimidation attem- I mean - sorry, slip of the tongue - image and reputation. Let the gentleman deliberate."

I blinked up blearily at them, still not sure of what was going on.

They blinked back.

"You have inflicted upon him a concussion. Or perhaps simply short-term memory loss. You always forget to place that iron fist of yours in a velvet glove."

"Not my fault that I'm overly used to fighting in gladiator pits," the man replied, whose appearance was slowly becoming clearer. With greasy black hair, crossed arms and a stocky build, he wouldn't look out of place on a farm - except for the fact that his clothes were high class. "Even if you're right about the memory loss, just start again."

The third one - number three, I will call him - sighed and kneeled down in front of me, his bald head melting all of the snow that fell upon it. "Do you remember anything?"

Well, it's clear that they're kidnapping me or something of the sort, judging by the threats I first heard when waking up and the blood pooling around me.

I suppose there is currently no use in antagonizing my tormentors.

"No. Would you be so kind as to explain my circumstances?" I inquired.

The man smirked. "A polite one. That would serve you well. We," he brought his arms up to his sides, gesturing toward his two compatriots - a man and a woman, "are Devils." Thin, black, bat-like wings exploded from their backs, stretching perhaps one-and-a-half times the average man's wingspan. "We are offering you a deal. Join us and do what we say, or die, stranded in the cold with a gash in your stomach. You will learn all of the specific details of our arrangement after - if - you accept, but for now, I can tell you that it is nothing too brutal." He held out a hand for me to shake. "Have you any particularly important questions?"

A sneer erupted over my face, and I could barely muster the force of will to keep it from degenerating into a full-blown, wrathful snarl.

"Satan, I command you, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, to leave my presence with all your demons, and I bring the blood of the Lord Jesus Christ -"

A boot impacted my wounded stomach with a reverberating smack, driving any and all air from my lungs out and flashing red-hot pain across my body - funny, that. I hadn't noticed the presence of the wound until that blow.

"Do not spew such drivel," the woman said, pulling back her foot and rubbing her temples. "The utmost extent of your efforts would only produce a migraine. Answer the question. Wisely, might I add."

"You vermin cannot tear me away from my Lord and Savior. The Devil may whisper into my ear, but I know better. James, chapter four, verse seven: 'Resist the devil and he will flee from yo-'"

Another boot.

"Answer. The. Question."

The transgressions of these malefactors eroded away the serenity of my expression and attitude, and I was left with burning hatred.

How dare they? How dare they!

"I will flay you scum alive on the Day of Reckoning! My faith is stronger than any muscle in your filthy carcass! Kill me, then, I dare you! Return me to paradise! Unite me with the God of Israel!"

"It's a yes or no, man, come on," the greasy one implored, scratching his head.

"'Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing tha-'"

"I'll take that all as a no," number three - the bald one - said, clasping my collar and raising me up with one arm. "To be honest, you never had a choice. But, if you thought that you did and that your choice was truly yours, you'd be more amicable in the future. I suppose that is out of the window now. Though, who knows - given the hatred you apparently have for us 'hellions'," the man grinned, winding his fist back, "perhaps you'll enjoy your future occupation."

His blow struck me in the cheek, and the world faded to black.

…

Groggily, I awoke again on a stone floor, this time in a dark chamber with a barred tunnel being the only source of light.

"ARE YOU READY, EVERYONE?!"

A crowd's cheers responded in tandem.

"TODAY, WE HAVE TWO NEWCOMERS! JUST ABDUCTED THE OTHER DAY, BOTH ARE RECENTLY REINCARNATED DEVILS! ONE IS A FORMER SWORDMASTER WITH NOTHING BUT HIS BLADE AND THE CLOTHES ON HIS BACK, AND THE OTHER IS AN UNKNOWN MAN WITH AN UNKNOWN SACRED GEAR! NEITHER KNOW OF THE SUPERNATURAL, AND THIS IS THEIR RITE OF PASSAGE! YOU ALL KNOW THE REST, RIGHT?!"

The crowd's cheers affirmed the man's words.

A man in armor, at the back of my apparent cell, walked up to me and handed me a letter.

"This is from your employer. Read it quickly."

Tearing it open while glancing warily at the man, I began reading.

'Dear Bishop,

It is unfortunate that our first rendezvous must be through written word, but this shall have to suffice for now. Your situation is a complicated one, and I fear I'll not have the required paper on hand to thoroughly explain it all, so I shall keep it as brief as possible.

You have been captured. Snatched away from humanity. Turned into a Reincarnated Devil. There is, (un)fortunately, no escape from this Underworld.

Well, that is misleading. There is indeed no escape from my service, but it is possible to work your way out into a more… reputable position in my Peerage, rather than as a mere gladiator.

Yes, a gladiator. Rating Games (you shall learn about those in due time, worry not) do not provide necessary entertainment to some fellows - there are no one-on-one duels, there is no true brutality, there is no death! - and so, there are certain… underground fighting rings. I am your benefactor, and you are my gladiator. When you win, I receive money.

I say 'when' and not 'if' because you are blessed with a Sacred Gear. A special power, in other words, and yours seems to be Holy in nature - a perfect weapon against any Devil, and Devils are who you will be battling.

You will have to use this Sacred Gear to triumph in your battles and crawl your way out into a proper spot in Devil society. To first do so, you will have to summon it - thinking of something intensely emotional for you should do the trick.

I hope your baptism in fire will do wonders for you.

Sincerely, your benefactor, your King.'

I stared at the paper in my hands a bit longer.

This cannot be. This is a trick - a farce - a ploy, one orchestrated by the forces of evil to make me submit to their rule and stray from the light.

I am no Devil. That is not possible. I am the holiest man there is, am I not? I need not have any fear of such matters.

Disregarding that obvious fiction, it seems I will be fighting and slaughtering my way through the hordes of Hell. Quite poetic - it is the work of an epic, in my opinion, and I shall make it so by eventually triumphing against all odds.

So, I shall fight. I shall crusade against the Devils pitted against me, and I shall come out victorious with faith and love in my heart and blood on my hands.

And what comes after that?

I am not sure. I can determine that after I have unleashed my righteous fury.

"AND HERE THEY BOTH COME!" The barred gate in the tunnel leading out of my cell rose from the ground. "WELCOME, CONTESTANTS!" the man yelled as the guard who had handed me the letter shoved me out into the dark arena. "MAY THE TEN THOUSAND, FOUR HUNDRED AND THIRTEENTH BATTLE COMMENCE!"

Glancing around the place, I beheld a disgusting sight.

A square concrete floor with walls all around it formed the arena for the battle, and above that were railings with a large amount of people jeering at us - and, miraculously, I could understand all of them.

Are we in Russia? What is this? I only speak Russian and Latin.

"STOP GAWKING AND FIGHT!" the announcer yelled.

My attention was brought to an equally bewildered man across from me, who locked eyes with me, shrugged, and charged at me with a sword he procured from a scabbard on his side.

What kind of sword is that? It looks much too thin, and the guard is so small. I could break that little piece of steel with two fingers.

"AND THE SWORDMASTER RUSHES FORWARD WITH HIS KATANA! HOW WILL OUR WILD CARD RESPOND?!"

By unleashing my Sacred Gear, you plebeian.

One of the details the letter brought up was how to summon my Sacred Gear, and so, as much as I despised following the advice of satanic scum, I did just that and imagined something that would bring me great emotion.

The thought of being turned into a slave of Satan and being locked away from paradise.

Immediately, the gloves which had occasionally shown their faces in my life appeared on my hands and pulsed with a golden light.

Opening my eyes, I was met with steel trying to separate my head from my neck.

I ducked out of instinct, and the near-death experience left me stunned enough for a second or two - enough for my opponent to come back around the other way with another decapitating strike, which I ducked further under to avoid.

Noticing an opportunity, I used my already crouched position to spring toward my opponent's unguarded torso.

It appears he had underestimated me and overly committed himself to his attacks, not leaving enough room for error to allow himself to quickly react and keep me from tackling him to the ground. I seized his throat in one hand and squeezed, allocating the other to restrain his sword arm and keep him from stabbing me in the back.

He brought his other hand up to my own neck and began strangling me in retaliation.

It was a battle of attrition at this point, I suppose, and to win, I dedicated every fiber of my being to clenching my right hand as hard as possible.

Staring the man in the eyes, I noticed a mutual expression of murderous fury.

"OH, COME ON! THAT QUICKLY?! WHAT KIND OF SWORDMASTER LEAVES HIMSELF COMPLETELY OPEN?!"

I have the same question. It appears his swordsmanship is of the same caliber as his sword - brittle, ineffective, only for show.

The man, for whatever reason - perhaps thinking that he would not win this war of attrition - released his grip on my neck and began pummeling my liver with repeated strikes, while his face slowly turned blue.

His strikes were not amazingly powerful, but they were lightning fast - there were a few every second, and I certainly felt the pain.

I simply squeezed harder, and as soon as I did, my glove glowed in a golden light and discharged… something - the aforementioned light was agonizing to gaze upon yet comforting, familiar, and its radiance encompassed the area around my fist, leaving me clasping nothing but air.

His neck was nowhere to be seen - vaporized, annihilated - and his previously raging eyes were turning glassy.

Perhaps my ability is to atomize whatever my gloves touch? I do not know.

I stood up, rejoicing over my opponent's carcass - already pooling with blood - while the crowd cheered.

They desire nothing but stimulation and amusement, do they?

Disgusting pigs. They shall never know the light of the Lord.

To soothe myself and provide protection against the rampant sin I see before me, I recited a favorite verse of mine - Ephesians, chapter six, verses ten through eighteen: 'Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devi-'

Quickly, I stopped, clutching my temples as a migraine suddenly and fiercely laid siege upon my mind.

It appears that the truth of scripture is not welcome within these walls.

How pitiful.

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My original A/N here was about how much I didn't like this omake, but after editing, I don't think it's that bad. I kinda like the concept now, although I still probably won't write any more of this.

Again, gimme ideas for omakes. So far, the two ones most appealing to me are Ioann as a Servant in Fate, and Ioann in canon DxD as an Exorcist sent to retrieve the Excaliburs from Kuoh.

Don't worry, though. I'll still be writing plenty of the actual story. Next chapter is the beginning of a mission.

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