DXD Plot Bunnies

by rwby1989

Summary:

A collection of ideas for possible Highschool DXD stories. Original Character Orientated

Chapter 1: Foreword

FOREWORD:

Hello to you all, I am here to present to you my collection of story ideas for a certain series involving Devils, Angels, Fallen, and of course fanservice. (Too much of it at times in my opinion)

Before we continue, this is my obligatory disclaimer for all the upcoming chapters:

Disclaimer:

High School DxD is a Japanese light novel series written by Ichiei Ishibumi and illustrated by Miyama-Zero. The only thing I own are the one-shot ideas that popped into my head and whatever OCs I would create for them. This is a work of pure fiction made solely for fun, constructive reviews will be welcomed, flames will be ignored. Any references to characters in real-life or fiction are purely coincidental. If I could make money out of my ideas, it would be nice...

Oppai Damn It!

---

Right, with that out of the way...

The DXD Plot Bunnies is a collection of rough ideas meant for the DXD universe just to get them out of my head so that I can get some space for my other stories. They will span from canon to different Alternate Universes, mostly showcasing Original Characters as the main but possibly others if need be. They may or may not become full-fledged stories in the future.

I will be honest, I have not been able to keep up with the novel series after a while and I only got snippets of it before the novel updates stopped in Baka Tsuki in my country. Then the anime appeared to become a bloody catastrophe that was too focused on fanservice. I mean, I like boobs and all, but they are pushing it too far and it ruined it for me. 

I am open to suggestions from you guys and to people who wish to adopt my story ideas. My only request for adoption is that you ask nicely and credit me to your creation.

Before continuing on, I will make this clear that I have guidelines to follow and I would like you to respect that and not pester me. The guidelines are as follow:

1) No Slash / No Boys Love / No Creature Boy Slash / No Mpreg - I have no idea how these came about but I will not be touching them (Especially the last one!). I am planning on proper pairings. 

2) Selective character attacks - there is bashing, and then there is Bashing. I will try to limit this.

3) Smut - Not sure whether some of them may have it, I would at least attempt to put in a rating if possible.

---

At the moment, I am setting this to registered users only, but depending on traffic, might open them to general public. This is to keep my work somewhat safe considering some of the digital artists around getting a little bit out of hand. Which is why I am also keeping this to AO3.

With that settled, let us commence with the stories!

Chapter 2: Custodian

Summary:

Published: 11 August 2025

What happens if God had the foresight to keep his creations under watch?

Notes:

This idea came to me when I read some of the interactions of the people with Sacred Gears. I had wondered why would the Christian God create all of these Sacred Gears without proper supervision unless he thought he would not die in battle, especially when you have Azazel and others trying to recreate them or the devils trying to reincarnate the users for their peerages. So I thought why not an entity that would watch over for him just in case?

Hope you like it.

Tags: Christian Based Sacred Gear, Power Taking Abilities, Semi-Sentient Gear

Challenges:

1. Semi OP character for a human
2. Asia Argentou does not become a devil

Tropes not to be used:

1. Main Character does not become a devil

---

“Before the world was shaped by war, before Heaven’s song was broken, the Lord of Hosts wrought miracles into the hands of man.”

In the dawn of creation, He looked upon His children and saw their fragility. Humanity was born without the strength of angels, the cunning of devils, the ever-consuming hunger of spirits, or the sheer might of dragons. In a world where such beings walked freely, men and women would be powerless to protect themselves, at the mercy of those who would prey on them.

And so, the Lord forged the Sacred Gears — fragments of divine power sealed within the souls of mortals to ensure they would not be powerless.

Some would grant the strength to repel the monstrous.

Some would heal the sick, shield the weak, or inspire hope where none remained.

Some would serve as prisons for the beings that would rampage around the world without care of their surroundings or regards to the innocent.

No matter the function, they were not meant as weapons of conquest, but as gifts to guide, defend, and uplift. To spread his miracles to the world.

Yet even in that holy light of the System creating them, He foresaw shadows. Power, once given, could be turned against its purpose. A mortal heart, swayed by greed or wrath, might bend a miracle into a weapon of ruin. A pure soul, when encountering great power, may lust and fall to its seduction. A good man, humbled but suffering under cruelty, could become cruel himself when wielding power beyond his control.

And as much as He would wish otherwise, God understood that while the powers may seem trivial to Devils or monsters, they and many an evil being would not resist “trinkets” for their collections. It was in their nature to covet such things.

Thus, after the first Gear in the form of a spear that would one day pierce his beloved Son left His hand, He shaped one unlike all others — a watcher, a warden, a silent judge. An entity that would ensure the protection of the System in the event he was incapacitated in some manner.

This was the Custodian, a Sacred Gear whose sole charge was to guard the others: to strip them from the unworthy, to guard them from theft, to ensure that the Lord’s gifts remained blessings, not curses. To hold them until the next worthy soul was around to receive it.

Where most Gears were built for battle or healing, the Custodian was made for discernment. It was imbued with sentience — not a soul, but a will — to weigh the hearts of men as they wielded His miracles. Through it, He could see if they would be worthy to spread his word.

Though the Custodian would be bound to the mortal realm, it was cloaked in a veil — a hidden light that none but the Creator could perceive, not even his heavenly children. It would reincarnate endlessly, passing from one vessel to the next when its host’s time ended, remaining unseen by angels, devils, or men unless any of evil intent were to unfortunately gain its attention.

“And so He wove the chains of judgment into a vessel of light, that no gift be turned to evil without the reckoning of its keeper.”

~ooOOoo~

(The Birth of the First Host)

The first to bear this hidden burden was no warrior, no saint. She was a simple healer — a woman whose faith burned bright even in the face of cruelty.

The Custodian watched her quietly at first, testing her heart and will as she blossomed into a flower that attracted many a wandering eye yet she remained faithful at heart and to Father who guided her actions. When a young man from a distant land came to her boasting of a power that could rend steel and demanding blessings for conquest, she refused, having sensed the dark intentions towards her and others. She spoke of mercy, of protection, of the sacred purpose behind such gifts. He laughed cruelly to her face — and in the night, used his power to destroy a rival village.

The next morning, when the man demanded more blessings and attempted to force himself on her, the Custodian stirred within her soul. For the first time since its creation, it spoke — its voice ancient, formal, yet weighted with divine authority.

“This power you bear is stolen by cruelty. It shall be returned until the next bearer proves worthy.”

A light unseen by mortal eyes flared — and the young man’s Sacred Gear was simply… gone. And he felt it disappearing, like a piece of himself went missing. With the sudden loss, the man left disorientated and later killed by those who had survived the attack and seek vengeance for their losses.

The woman understood then her role: to be the silent warden, never flaunting the Custodian’s power, only guarding against the misuse of Heaven’s gifts.

~ooOOoo~

(The Passing of the Veil)

The passage of time flows like a river, and no soul bears such a burden forever. When her days came to an end, the woman had led a fruitful life, helping to spread the word of the Father to the lost lambs, and helping to heal wounded souls with her own talents. She had married and had two children, both understanding the burden she carried despite not speaking once of it, and helping her in her work.

When her days came to an end, the Custodian sought a new host — a humble scholar who lived quietly, unremarked by the world, yet whose heart was steadfast and curious of the world around him. He wished to spread knowledge to aid those who were downtrodden by the upper class, and wanting all to be equal.

A possible soul to house the Custodian.

The passing was seamless — a quiet transfer of light and duty, unseen and unheard by all but the two involved.

The new host heard a whisper in the depths of his mind, a voice both distant and intimate, testing him:

“Do you understand the weight you bear?”
“Will you guard what others seek to corrupt?”
“Will you stand when all else falls?”

He answered in silence, and the Custodian accepted.

And thus, a new vessel was chosen to wield it.

~ooOOoo~

(The Great War and the Lost Voice)

Centuries passed, and with it, more vessels to go through.

The Custodian’s work remained secret but absolute, almost merciless with its execution of its designated task. Those who abused their gifts would awake one day stripped clean, their Sacred Gears gone without trace, or suffer the loss in battle, and to be destroyed by the enemies they brought forth in their actions. There were a few in every odd generation that would somehow test the Custodian with their actions and abuse of the gifts, so heinous that His Will within it reacted badly, and they would be made an example for all to see.

Whispers of an entity that would take away their gifts were plentiful, but few would be taken seriously due to the manner it conducted its business, and His Will made it clear that none would know of the Custodian. Some of his children who had fallen to sins had made guesses of the matter, but none were close.

But then came the Great War — a cataclysm that shook the heavens and tore apart the fabric of the world. Heaven, Hell, and the Grigori clashed in a war that ended with the death of God Himself, His light extinguished in battle against the Satans.

When that divine presence vanished, the Custodian and its latest vessel were finishing up on a group of Devils who had sought to take one of the gears from the soon to be deceased user. It was a minor gear, merely boosting the strength of its user once, a facsimile of the Longinus that housed the Welsh Dragon, but it was still one of God’s creations, and it was something that fell under the protection of the Custodian.

It had completed its task of eradicating the Devils and secured the Sacred Gear when the Custodian felt it — the severing of the voice that had always guided its hand. The action was so sudden that even its vessel felt the loss, and barely managed to return home to rest it off. In the few days, the vessel continued its work while going about life, but a part felt off due to the sudden severing for the Custodian.

Its core directives remained etched within, but the certainty that had once defined them blurred. The guiding hand that kept it steady was lost.

What was “unworthy” when no Creator remained to decide?

~ooOOoo~

(A Watcher Becoming Curious)

Without its Maker’s guiding light, the Custodian could only rely on its directives as its rock, continuing its work to check on all who were granted God’s gifts and to ensure they were not abused as it passed from one host to another.

Yet, as the years piled up, it began to observe its hosts differently with the everchanging landscape. It saw joy and sorrow, cruelty and kindness, selfishness and sacrifice. The clear lines of right and wrong, light and dark, faded into shades of grey. Where one would be punished severely for stealing bread or killing without hesitation with the Sacred Gears, it saw how one’s actions could be derived from desperation or the desire to protect the ones around or to live.

In this new era without its Maker, the Custodian hesitated where once it acted without question. Something resembling doubt and curiosity had formed inside the gear, making it wonder for the first time.

What was it meant to do?

Having watched many of its hosts go through life with their thoughts, wishes and regrets going through, the Custodian made a rather remarkable decision for one that did not have a soul inside. It developed the rare ability to speak directly to a host — but only those it deemed worthy of understanding.

When the bond was forged with the first host it attempted this act, the Custodian became something different, something more. It was no longer only a judge, but it became an advisor, a guardian, and sometimes, a powerful ally.

And so, the cycle continued, with the addition of the Gear testing its vessels to prove their worth before it would attempt contact with them. For some, the test was a failure and it would only provide minimum assistance. Others proved great, and it would be somewhat favourable to them. It would keep repeating the cycle all the way to the modern age when humanity has spread all over the planet and become both united yet divided in their interactions.

It would see how many of its Creator’s children had fallen and become a menace.

It would see how the Devils attempted to recreate their numbers and found a way to bring forth the fears of its Creator in a new light.

It would see how the Church that once followed His Will became splintered with groups becoming corrupted with power.

It would stir once more while glimpsing into the mind and eyes of its new vessel, one that knows nothing of angels, devils, or the ancient wars that once split the heavens. But the silent warden watches — waiting, testing, wondering.

For now, it will remain silent. Watching. Judging. Wondering if this one… might be worth speaking to.

Wondering if this one… would be able to continue God’s work.

Chapter 3: Crimson Ledger

Summary:

Published: 16 August 2025

The underworld consisted of more than just the supernatural. There are rules to be followed, contracts to be executed, and above all else, be professional no matter the sides.

Tags: Professional Hitman, Mafia, Courier, John Wick / Kiritsugu Emiya inspiration, Shadow Mafia Enforcers

Challenges:

1. The OC hinders Diodora's plans to get Asia.
2. Asia Argentou does not become a devil or delayed.
3. OC stops Fallen Angels from getting Asia.

Tropes not to be used:

1. Main Character does not become a devil

---

The rain had been falling for hours around this region of Bardolino, and it did not look like it would stop anytime soon. It slicked the old two-lane road in oil-sheen black, pooling in the cracks and pit holes littered about it, drumming softly on the corrugated roof of the abandoned petrol station. The fluorescent tubes inside hummed weakly, casting sickly yellow light on peeling posters and dusty shelves.

All in all, it looked like a sorry state for anyone entering this place, and with the setting, it would probably make a movie setting for some horror flick, gang wars or a B-grade murder mystery.

Not that it mattered much to the young man currently sitting in a beat-up Fiat parked under the awning, seat reclined to allow one boot resting on the dashboard. He was dressed in dark clothes to blend with the surroundings, with the cigarette between his fingers burned low from his usage from waiting and to keep it less obvious in the dark setting, its glow just enough to be reflected in his eyes as he watched the road through the smeared windshield. He had been on the stakeout for the past hour since his arrival to this spot, but one had to be patient for the type of jobs he did for the Famiglia.

Although he wished it was not raining this much. Rain like this always reminded him of Naples, both the good… and the bad.

The scents of wet cobblestones and gasoline and the sound of tires hissing past narrow alleys.

He’d been eleven the first time his uncle sent him out on a “delivery” in weather like this — a box wrapped in brown paper, light enough to carry in one hand, heavy enough to feel wrong even to his inexperienced senses. He never opened it; his uncle made it very clear to him not to. He came to the spot where he was to wait for someone.

The man who took it from him shortly after never came home.

They never do after this type of deliveries.

The young man shook his thoughts away. The past had a habit of creeping in when the streets turned quiet enough for him to start memory walking. He needed to stay focused for his task.

As if his thoughts were heard, the radio on the passenger seat crackled before the voice of his handler came through.

“Three minutes out. Five Strays. You know the rules, ragazzo — clean, quiet, and no witnesses.”

The young man flicked the cigarette out into the rain and reached for the glove compartment for the item he needed for the job. The Beretta inside was old, its blued steel worn down to a dull sheen from the years of usage and passing of hands. The attached suppressor was already threaded with runes etched on the surface. One magazine in the well, two in the inside pocket of his coat. All with “special” ammunition inside them

He didn’t check them — he’d done that shortly after his arrival. Less of a hassle and to do anything less made him less than “Quality”.

The rain may be pouring but his trained eyes spotted movement from the tree line across the road. It took a while but four shapes started appearing by the road and trying to go across it. At first glance, they looked like people who may have had too much to drink from the local bar and stumbling about in the rain. But the flickering streetlight caught their visages as they passed under it, revealing their rather nightmarish features.

Irregular length limbs bent wrong. Heads twitched with birdlike jerks. Skin stretched over bone in ways it shouldn’t. Voices leaked from them in a static-laced chorus, as if two or three mouths were speaking through one throat laced with sandpaper and glass. The young man lightly gripped the gun as he watched them get closer to the other side.

Stray Devils. And from the looks of it, they had been that way for the past few months to show their corrupted natures. At least it helped to identify them better.

But where was the fifth?

He weighed out his thoughts before he smoothly stepped out of the Fiat without a sound, his boots finding the dry patch under the awning. His small gamble to get a reaction paid off when his eyes spotted a bit of movement in the treeline, which meant the last one was a bit more intelligent than the others. A problem but not one he had not handled before. It just meant he needed to be creative with this job.

The pistol came up smooth and steady with the sight aligned on the nearest shape. A release of his breath and the first shot made was a whisper — a hole punched through the temple, and the body dropped like a marionette with cut strings with the hole starting to catch fire thanks to the holy ash mixture in the bullet.

The others turned in unison to search for their assailants. The smallest of the group spotted him first and let out a shriek to alert the others to his position. And in the span of a few seconds, they charged forward, covering the distance that would normally take a few minutes to get to him within seconds.

The young man did not hesitate and stepped forward to intercept the Strays, making sure to close the door while doing so. The last thing he needed was some pest to get inside and try to use the car against him.

The closest Stray swung widely for his head, but he sidestepped that with contemptuous ease to let it overextend and introduced the muzzle to its jaw and pulled the trigger. The second came around his side and low with its claws scraping the asphalt, and its effort was met with a knife riddled with runes from his belt, the cold steel sinking into the hollow where the shoulder met the neck. He turned on his heel to face the third Stray as that one crashed and slid on the wet floor, noting this one had a touch of intelligence by attempting to dart to the sides while attempting to blend with the darkness. Two rounds to the spine stopped its movements cold and a third to the head to ensure it stayed that way, along with the second Stray.

The rain had let up a little to allow the hitman hear the mocking claps of someone approaching his spot, prompting him to level the gun at the Stray that had come out from hiding at that point. He knew from first glance that this one would prove more troublesome; the one was decently dressed in a slightly old suit with red hair streaked with black and eyes that glowed gold in the dark while looking at him, otherwise still looking as human as him. Stray Devils who maintained their human vestiges tend to be stronger in both power and will, along with retaining their intelligence from both their past lives and upon resurrection. And considering how this one held back to observe, meant he was going to be a problem.

“Not bad. Not bad at all for a human.” The Stray spoke with a slight Spanish accent present in its words. “It has been a while since I last saw one that was this good at fighting. And you are clearly no exorcist.” The young man stayed silent, one hand going to pull out his knife from the slain devil while keeping his eye on the last one. That one frowned at the lack of response. “Hah, another uncultured swine. Don’t you know it is common courtesy to answer your betters?”

His only reply was a deadpan expression from the hitman and then a single finger directed to his face that beckoned him to make a move.

And it was not the index finger.

“You damn swine!” Demonic energy erupted from the Stray whose face seemed to warp with sharp teeth showing before he leapt forward to swing his arm, his fingernails having grown longer in that short span to make him resemble that horror barber. The hit man leaned back at the last second to avoid the nails that just sliced the tips of his hair before pivoting and delivering a kick to the Stray’s back to get some distance while pulling the Beretta. The devil snarled and somehow dislocated his arm to redirect the nails at an angle that forced him back and ended up have the gun cut to pieces.

Other than a twitch of an eyebrow, the hitman did not show his annoyance to the loss of his weapon and flicked out his second knife to hold it in reverse, his eyes fixed on the devil as he got into a stance. The Stray let out a dark chuckle as he got into his own stance, and for a while they stood under the pouring rain, waiting for the other to make a move.

A flash of lightning followed by the crack of thunder, and the two rushed forward at each other.

The human blocked the first attack while pushing to stab only for the devil to block it with his other arm. The devil then used the fingers from his other hand to try and hit him but the hitman spun on his heel to hit the nails. The devil hissed in pain from the nails being broken and not regenerating properly due to the holy symbols on the knife, and kicked him back to get some space. The hitman skidded to a halt and leaped forward to slide across the wet road and managed to cut the devil by the knee as it attempted to jump away, causing it to yell and hit the ground with smoke coming off the wound. The hitman used his momentum to spin and throw the knife, managing to hit the devil by the shoulder instead of the chest as intended.

But he did not waste the chance granted to him by the distraction and reached behind his back to pull out a Hardballer and aimed it right at the Stray’s head as he looked up at that moment and knew that he was going to meet his maker.

“Bang!”

By the time the echoes died, the only sound was rain hissing against the pavement. The hitman breathed heavily to contain his adrenaline before letting it out in one long breath, standing up and making his way forward to where the body was. He paused two feet away from it and fired off another two rounds just to make sure he was dead, although it would be hard to come back from having half the head blown off to begin with. After confirming the kill, he grabbed the collar and dragged it behind him to where the other bodies were.

It took a few minutes for him to pile them together and grab a few pieces of hair, fingers or eyes as proof of kills for his client before he reached into the reinforced picket to pull out a small pouch. Reaching inside, he took out what appeared to be a glass marble filled with a purple flame and flicked it at the nearest corpse. It barely cracked upon hitting the floor when the flames bloomed and swarmed over the five corpses hungrily. The hitman merely watched them for a while before walking over to where the Strays had arrived from.

It was a few meters away from the road that he hit paydirt. Burned into the ground with the scent of brimstone and rotten eggs even with the fading rain, the grass and earth were charred black to show the outlines of a magic circle that was still glowing partially. Fairly recent too based on the energy coming off it that made the rosary cross in his pocket heated in warning.

That meant someone was guiding these things, bypassing wards meant to keep towns clean. That was going to be a problem.

A quick photo-shot of the magic circle and another glass marble later, the hitman walked back to his car while sliding the gun back into his holster and picking up the pieces of the Beretta, ignoring the flames consuming the magic circle behind him and rapidly cooling corpses that had turned to ashes and were getting washed away from the rain. He opened the door and got inside just as the radio hissed again.

“Ragazzo, you still breathing?”

“I am here, the job is done and the cleanup is complete.” The hitman answered as he dumped the Beretta parts back in the glove compartment. “I found something that I think you need to know. Face to face.”

“Just as well. New job came in for you. Get back here.”

The hitman pulled back his dark blonde hair that had plastered against his forehead from the rain to look at the fuel gauge. He then shut the door and started the engine. “Send me the address.” he said.

And without another word, he drove off into the night.

 

Chapter 4: Crimson Ledger 2

Summary:

Published: 22 August 2025
Updated: 25 August 2025

The underworld consisted of more than just the supernatural. There are rules to be followed, contracts to be executed, and above all else, be professional no matter the sides.

Tags: Professional Hitman, Mafia, Courier, John Wick / Kiritsugu Emiya inspiration, Shadow Mafia Enforcers

Challenges:

1. The OC hinders Diodora's plans to get Asia.
2. Asia Argentou does not become a devil or delayed.
3. OC stops Fallen Angels from getting Asia.

Tropes not to be used:

1. Main Character does not become a devil

---

By the time he reached Verona, the rain had finally let up enough to become a low mist, clinging to the stone facades and curling along the narrow streets like it belonged there with the sky starting to change hues from the incoming morning sun. The city was quiet, but not dead — the kind of quiet where shutters might twitch and a single pair of eyes follows you from an unlit window. It was the sort of setting that would probably fit the atypical criminal drama where there would be drug dealings or a hit about to take place, or at least a decent morning where the folks were unaware of what had happened earlier.

For the hitman, he merely drove the Fiat through the old quarters of the city and past the Roman Arena, taking care to check his surroundings and the mirrors that he was not being followed despite the early hours, until he turned into an alley that held a few cars from the locals. He parked at one of the slots and paused for a moment to consider the setting, then took out an alcohol wipe to start cleaning the surfaces around him in the car. Once the inside was cleaned and smelling of sanitizers, the young man came out of the car, locked it, and made his way to the back entrance of a café that didn’t open to the public until noon. He tapped twice, waited, then tapped once more. The door opened without a word, and he stepped into the warm, coffee-scented darkness that actually helped to calm his nerves a little.

Inside, an old man with a rather impressive moustache was polishing glasses behind the counter to be used for the day. His eyes flicked briefly at the young man walking up, a glance shared between the two, a grunt from him and then looked to grab another glass to wipe. The young man merely walked to the corner table where a man with slick dark hair with tinges of silver and dressed in a semi-discolored suit was waiting with a thick folder in front of him while smoking one of those expensive cigars from Cuba.

Despite how he looked, the young man knew not to discount him. After all, the older man was a lot older than he looked, and he was the crime boss around Verona and ruled the streets well.

“Matteo, il mio ragazzo.” The man greeted him with a practiced smile. “Take a seat.” The young man took the offer while removing his coat and cap to show he was actually fifteen or sixteen years old with a decent build and eyes that had seen a lot of the stuff that was normally meant to be kept away from young souls. “You took care of the toll?” The young man placed a small padded box on the table, opened the lid and turned it to show the vials containing the proof of his kills. The man took a quick glance without reacting to the finger or eyeball shown, and gave a nod. The young man closed the lid just as a young runner, barely twelve, came about to serve them drinks, took the padded box and carried it behind the counter.

Payment would come later, clean and untraceable.

The two stayed quiet while they tested their drinks and wares for poison, a sight that would normally make the cafe owner disgruntled but they had to be paranoid to ensure no one tried to attack them in this line of work. Once done, they both took their drinks and let out a sigh each.

“You said you had something to tell me?” In reply, Matteo pulled out the phone, called up the photos and handed it to him to view.

“They had help, Carlos. Circle work resembling those from devil clans. Someone wants Strays in your backyard.”

The man's jaw tightened from that piece of news while studying the image. “Someone dares to bring these pests to my turf? They will pay for trying to harm what’s mine.”

“This is the third time I have been asked to clear out Strays in your turf, and the eighth request overall from the other. But this is the first time I have found actual proof that someone may be calling Strays to come and invade certain areas.” Matteo pulled out a map and laid it out to mark out the spot from his latest job, four other spots already marked out for the region and additional circles for the nearby cities. “Given the locations and this circle, it stands to reason someone is trying to divert attention to or away from something.”

“Aye, you might be right.” Carlos looked at the man while pointing out each point. “These are in some of the local turf gangs, they would not allow them these far in. And I know the other Dons hate the Strays and Devils for invading and messing with their business.”

“Which stands to reason they are being used to divert attention.” Matteo hummed. “Any word from Vongola’s Don?”

“I won’t hold your breath getting news from him or his Famiglia. They are still dealing with their civil war over the succession of heirs, and Castello Don is playing the fence to see where the wind is blowing.” Carlos shook his head at that bit “I have no idea what is going on with them, even CEDEF is getting drawn into this mess. Daniella must be rolling in her grave.” Matteo had to grimace at that piece of news. Vongola was one of the oldest and biggest mafia groups around that depended on family succession to ensure monotony over the other groups, and unfortunately they recently had issues with the heirs of the current Don having been killed off in different manners due to their collective arrogance that they were untouchable, and the old man was too stubborn to hand it over properly, which made the news of a potential blood heir appearing out of nowhere all the more shocking and having people scrambling for confirmations.

The smaller groups like Carlos’s were able to hang on since they had a treaty with each other to support one another, being too small to really contribute to the big leagues. And this was now turning out to be a blessing since Vongola was dragging all the members of its alliance into this mess, including the group meant to serve as security intelligence.

“Okay, so we cannot expect anything from them.” Matteo switched gears and moved on. “What do you think is going on?" Carlos took a big drag of his cigar and let the smoke out slowly as he pondered on the information, although Matteo noted his eyes briefly glancing at the folder in front of him.

“Not sure if it is relevant, but there is something big going on at Cathédrale de Civitavecchia. Something to do with a canonization at the Vatican and possible invitations to certain people to work there.” Matteo raised an eyebrow at that tidbit of news. There has not been a canonization for someone in the church for several decades, and usually they would be announced to the world to show their worth. There was also the unspoken grandeur to work at the heart of the church in Rome that plenty would probably want to be at.

“Is that so? Thought the church would want to let everyone know?” Carlos nodded at that.

“Aye, but words on the grapevines suggest this is not any normal canonization going on, and the previous administration suddenly went off the rails to get themselves dismissed.” Carlos shrugged at Matteo’s expression after hearing that. “Whatever is going on, my contacts have told me that the Pope intends to personally meet the next set of candidates for the Roman Curia and Conclave, so not just any nun or priest can get the invitation. Potential candidates are being split up and rounded up at different churches so there are no exact numbers or details. There is talk of one who seems to be well ahead of the others and considered the favourite for many of the higher-ups. Not sure who but they must be bloody important that even my contacts are having trouble finding.” That really got Matteo’s interest in the matter. Carlos’s spy network may be smaller than most groups but he had his ear to the ground to keep track of the news from the streets that most would dismiss and had helped him keep a finger on matters that could affect his group. If he could not get the name of a sister or priest, this candidate must be someone really important.

“Considering the matter, perhaps it is a good thing your next few tasks are in the general area.” Carlos reached for the folder and opened it to reveal a small stack of papers that he split before he pushed them to Matteo for him to look through. The young man took them and looked through the profile shots of those he would be tasked to do certain jobs.

“This set is for couriers; this set is for some laundry cleaning.” Carlos pointed out the two before motioning to the last and smallest stack. “This one though, I shall leave to your discretion.”

“Rivals or witnesses?” Matteo asked as he looked at the three shots. The first one had a mugshot of a thug with tattoos on his neck, a nose ring and a scowl directed at the camera like he was offended. The second was a weedy looking man who looked ready to faint at the sight of someone looking at him. The last one however drew a pause from him.

The picture of a young girl with blonde hair, wide green eyes and a shy, almost fragile smile.

The kind of face that would never belong in his line of work.

“The first one is definitely marked, that guy has been roughing up my people and messing with my business.” Carlos started talking while using his middle finger to gesture at the profiles. “The second one is a snitch who has been evading a good number of the others for ratting out their marks. Vance has put out the bounty for his head or even general information.”

“And this one?” Matteo gestured to the profile involving the girl. Carlos took a drag of his cigar before he pulled it out to let out the smoke slowly with a frown.

“This is the one I need your discretion. Someone put a hit on this Sister.” Matteo thinned his lips hearing that. The mafia in general followed certain rules as part of the code to ensure the people were safe in some manner while they did business, with a few adding their own for their codes. For Carlos and Matteo, they had a few unspoken rules that were understood by his group when it came to the church even if the history was muddled:

Never accept a hit on a member of the church unless they do wrong to the innocent.

Never target a nun with prejudice unless they did harm to others with malice.

Never attack a Sister of the Cloth if they have committed no sins.

And he was having trouble believing this girl had a bad bone in her body.

“I don’t know the full reason for this hit, but someone drew up a contract to take her out.” Carlos continued talking. “The amount is too big by civilian standards, and the details are a little too vague for my liking. No one seems to know who wrote it in the first place.”

“Any relation to the canonization or the candidates?” Matteo went through the information quickly in his head and came to that conclusion.

“That is the angle I am thinking of right now. This girl could be one of the more popular candidates selected to attend the pilgrimage to the Vatican to meet the Pope. Can’t really tell why someone wants this girl hit, but then who knows what sort of thoughts go in those religious types. Me? My only religion will be with my wife, cigars and lots of wine.” The man let out a harsh laugh at his own joke. Matteo looked back at the passport photo with a somewhat complicated feeling.

“Details on her location?” Carlos pulled out a map and spread it on the table, jabbing his finger at one spot.

“As it is, her last known location is a few stops before Scaglia where there is a direct line to Civitavecchia. You should be able to catch up and track her to see what’s the deal while I try to dig up more information.”

“Anything else I need to know?” Matteo had noted the sun was coming up, and with it the illumination of one of the alleys that was facing the window. It was because of that that he spotted movement and saw two men in long coats who were lingering about for some time. They were clearly not locals; their stances were too rigid and hats too low to see features other than bandages around their necks, and one had the telltale bulge of a weapon under the arm.

“The contract for the hit is open to everyone, including the other side.” Carlos answered, and that was when Matteo noticed the mafia Don keeping his head down and tapping his finger in a manner that showed his slight tension. He knew they were being watched. “This is the other reason I am having doubts about this contract. Chatter has been growing too quickly for this and it is attracting attention of the supernatural types, so expect some possible hindrances.”

“So expect Fallen with the odd devils?” he asked while taking a sip of his drink.

Carlo didn’t look up just yet. “Or worse. Word on the grapevine is that the Vendice are active again.” Matteo thought he could be forgiven for wanting to spit out his drink from hearing that answer.

The Vendice weren’t just mafia. They were considered the ghosts of the mafia underworld, enforcers of the mafia code to the absolute strictness without even a margin of leniency. There were whispered tales of those who were hunted down for breaking the code, spilling the blood of innocents without permission or snitching on others to save their skins, and never heard of again. Some claimed those who were taken were turned to ghosts themselves, condemned to hunt those who repeated their sins.

Matteo himself had heard of them while growing up, often spoken in manners that one might think were stories meant to scare children into listening to their elders. Except the people telling them were those he knew would not scare easily, and he had heard the rumours that the Vendice handled supernatural breaches too to ensure the likes of the Fallen, the Strays and the odd creatures would not break the secrecy.

“You are certain about that?” Matteo carefully placed his cup down on the table to handle his beating heart. Outside, the two men moved on, melting into the morning mist like they were mere illusions to the mind.

“The forest outside of Mazzefero would be your best piece of evidence when a few of Giodo’s men tried to mess with the folks. That has been burnt to ashes.” Carlos took his espresso like it was a shot glass.

Matteo took a breath to contain himself before finishing his drink, stood up from his chair and took the folder from Carlos. “I will get through the contracts, and I suppose I will find the girl.” He paused to look at Carlos while putting on his coat. “But you’re going to owe me.”

Carlos gave a smirk in reply. “That’s the thing about owing favours, ragazzo. In this life, you already do.” With that ending statement, Matteo left the cafe and headed for his car. He was about to get in when the hair on the back of his neck raised up and he quickly turned to face the rooftop of the nearby building that overlooked his spot. There was only a dove looking back at him, but Matteo did not take his eye off the spot as he entered the car, started the engine, and began to make his way out of the city.

He would take a day or two to prepare before doing these sets of contracts.

Notes:

Updated this chapter because I misunderstood the canonization for sainthood, did not realize it was meant for dead nuns / priests