Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is purely a fanfic for enjoyment.
Cross-over from various games, books, anime, manga, and movies.
The familiar characters you see here belong to their respected authors and owners.
"Speech"
Time*
Arc 1: Payback - Chapter 1
Alaric Vale is a young man in his early twenties, with dark, wavy hair that fell in artful disarray and intense amber eyes that radiated intelligence and quiet confidence. His pale complexion stood in stark contrast to his attire, lending him an air of refined sophistication.
He wore a meticulously tailored, vintage-inspired suit, complete with a deep charcoal vest and a crisp black tie. A long, dark cloak draped elegantly over his shoulders, its flowing design emphasizing his aristocratic bearing. Atop his head sat a stylish black bowler hat, impeccably paired with polished black dress shoes that clicked softly with each step.
Alaric placed a hand over the brim of his hat, tilting it just enough to cast a subtle shadow across his upper face. His amber eyes, sharp and discerning, swept over his surroundings, scanning every detail, every motion, and every soul within his line of sight.
After a short while, he resumed his walk, continuing toward his destination. It took only a few minutes before he stood before a tall, three-story building that appeared utterly ordinary. There was little to draw attention—faded paint, cracked windowsills, and weathered bricks suggested years of quiet neglect. It wasn't decrepit, just... forgotten.
Alaric reached into his right pocket and withdrew a golden pocket watch. With a soft click, he opened it and glanced at the time: 5:00 PM.
He snapped the watch shut and slid it back into his pocket, the chain swaying briefly before settling. From the same coat, he produced a simple brass key and, with practiced ease, unlocked the front door. The lock gave a soft clunk, and the door creaked open as he stepped inside, the air shifting faintly behind him.
Shutting the door behind him with a quiet thud, Alaric flipped the switch on the wall to his left. A faint buzz followed as the overhead lights flickered to life, casting a harsh but steady glow across the dim interior, gradually brightening the space.
The room bore the faded charm of something long forgotten. Just beyond the entrance stood an old, worn-down counter, once meant to greet visitors but now dulled by time and neglect. Behind it, a tall bookshelf loomed, half-filled with dust-covered books and papers curled with age. In front of the shelf sat a single wooden chair, its frame brittle and tired, softened only by a thin, faded cushion that had seen better days.
Above the bookshelf hung a wall clock—its glass cracked, its hands frozen in place. The long hand rested stubbornly on the twelve, the shorter one on the five, as though time itself had stopped and never resumed.
Scattered across the room were a few pieces of random furniture: a lopsided table, a sagging armchair, and what might once have been a coffee stand. Each looked one bad day away from collapse, more relics than furnishings—unremarkable save for the air of abandonment they exuded.
Alaric walked slowly, his footsteps muffled by the worn wooden floor as he made his way around the counter. He lowered himself into the chair with measured caution. The frame groaned loudly in protest, creaking as though it might splinter beneath him at any moment—yet, somehow, it held firm, its age defied for another day.
From his seated position, Alaric let his amber eyes wander, scanning the room once more. He made a quiet mental inventory, noting the placement of each piece of worn furniture and every shadow cast by the flickering light overhead. Nothing moved. Nothing changed.
Then, with deliberate calm, he reached beneath the counter and slid open a shallow drawer. Inside lay a weathered flip phone—scuffed, dulled, and edged with tiny cracks from years of use. It had clearly seen better days, but appearances meant little.
He pressed the power button. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the screen lit up with a faint, familiar glow. The device whirred softly to life, its startup tone muffled by age, but intact. It was working reliably, despite everything.
Once the flip phone finished booting up, Alaric pressed the keypad with practiced ease, his thumb moving across the worn buttons. He hit the call button and brought the device to his left ear, leaning back slightly as the dial tone echoed softly in the still room.
It didn't take long—barely three rings—before the line connected with a soft click.
"Hello, this is the Hell's Hotline for You Beg for Mercy. How may I help you?" A seductive female voice purred on the other end, her tone laced with amusement and just a hint of danger.
"This is Alaric Vale." Alaric said calmly, his voice steady and calm. "Reporting an update on the task at hand. ID number: 0. Codename: Price of Revenge."
"Oh! It's you!" The woman on the other end purred, her tone thick with interest and flirtation. "Alright, let's see here... Ah, yes. You took the task from that questionable intelligence wizardly couple, married, reckless, and obsessed with revenge. Target: one old man who apparently missed the memo about retirement and insists on working himself into the grave. So, what's the update, sweetheart?"
Alaric narrowed his eyes slightly, gaze sharpening. "Yeah. Why am I a year behind schedule in this world?" He asked, his voice low. "I just finished scouting, and half the things I've seen don't match what's written in the task report. Key locations have shifted. Entities that should be dormant are active. Someone's been tampering."
A beat of silence passed on the line.
"...Is that so." The woman's voice returned—no longer playful, no longer sultry. The flirtation was gone, stripped away and replaced with something cold and razor-edged. "Report. Everything. Now."
"First." Alaric began calmly, "I'm going to need a new identity. The one I came in with won't cut it anymore—too many inconsistencies, and it's already drawing attention. Second, the natives are acting off-script. Their behavior deviates from what is outlined in the task report, as if it has been rewritten from within this world. And third—"
He leaned slightly forward in the creaking chair.
"—The entrance I was supposed to find easily was in an entirely different location. It took considerable effort to locate it. Someone's been rearranging the pieces."
"I see..." The woman's sultry tone faltered, twisting into something darker. "I can get you that new identity in no time." She growled, her voice sounded unnatural, with an inhuman resonance. "As for the natives... someone's been naughty and not the fun kind."
Alaric didn't flinch. "Also, I may need to request the ability to act freely formally."
"That..." The voice on the other end hesitated for a second. "...will need approval from the higher-ups. Bureaucracy and chains, you know how it is. For now, work with what you've got, but I'll start pushing the paperwork."
"Acknowledged." Alaric replied without hesitation. "Should I proceed with the task or abandon it altogether?"
"No, keep going." The woman answered firmly, her tone now entirely professional. "I'm elevating the task level by several tiers. In addition, I'll open an internal investigation to determine whether the clients lied... or if this shift occurred after their deaths."
A pause.
"If they did lie, they'll be fined and punished. We don't tolerate manipulated task reports." The woman said coldly. Then, after a beat, her tone shifted to something lighter, almost amused. "Unless it's us doing it. Moving on."
Her voice returned to its earlier casual rhythm, the edge tucked away beneath layers of charm.
"I've already secured your new identity for this world. Instead of being a hidden private detective only accessible to a select few, you're now a traveling wizard—a specialist in supernatural threats that endanger helpless natives. Don't worry—I've made sure your new identity comes with all the necessary paperwork and background entries. That way, if the locals start poking around, there won't be any problems. You're legitimate on every official channel that matters."
Alaric's amber eyes flicked toward the front door, but he said nothing, keeping the phone pressed to his ear.
"Oh, and one more thing. It's a good thing you called." Her tone shifted again, this time to something quieter, calculated. "I just got a notification. There's a new client… and they're native to your current world. The task they've submitted lines up well with your skill set. It's unclaimed."
She paused, the silence deliberate.
"If you're interested, I can patch it through to you right now."
Alaric looked as though he were considering the offer, his gaze lingering on the door for a moment before he responded.
"I need to know what the task is before I decide to accept it."
"Sorry, sweetheart." The woman replied, her tone airy and unconcerned. "The client specifically requested that only the person who accepts the task can know the details. Something about avoiding exploitation—others using the information to blackmail them for a higher reward or destroy the objective to keep anyone else from benefiting. You know, the usual paranoia. So, do you want it or not?"
Alaric's voice remained steady. "What about the reward? Did the client mention anything about that?"
"Ehh… nothing special." The woman dragging the words lazily. "Just a little pocket change in Hell Coins and a handful of magical items. Could be useful, could be junk. You might get lucky and flip something for a decent price."
"Has anyone accepted the task before you got your hands on it?" Alaric asked, his voice calm and even.
"You're the first, sweetheart." The woman replied with pride, her voice practically glowing with smug satisfaction. "Don't ever say the Demon Lord of Lust doesn't take care of her own."
"Thank you, Asmodeus. And I never said that." Alaric replied flatly, though the corner of his mouth twitched. Just barely.
"And you better keep it that way." Asmodeus huffed with a playful threat. "You're the first I've bothered to help in a long time. Normally, I steer clear of all this task business unless I feel like it… and lucky you, I do today. Anyway, I need you to do me a favor."
Alaric's amber eyes narrowed slightly. "That depends on the favor. The last one had me hunted by half the angelic hierarchy from the Heaven pantheon after I 'borrowed' an archangel's sacred robe."
His tone was perfectly neutral—no frustration, no complaint. Just a quiet statement of fact.
"I need you to kill someone. Well, two targets actually." Asmodeus said, irritation threading her voice. "In exchange, I'll cover you if you need to go all out. That means you can act freely for ten minutes, tops. That's all I can manage for you in this world. After that, the restrictions go back into place. Not everyone gets to run wild, after all."
"Ten minutes is plenty." Alaric replied without hesitation. "Are the targets anyone I know?"
"Yes. The primary target is Nicolas Flamel. The secondary is his wife, Perenelle. Kill them both if you can. If not, Nicolas alone will do." Her tone shifted into something darker, colder. "Now… do you want to take that new task I mentioned earlier?"
"Will declining it mean someone else will enter this world?" Alaric asked. "Aside from the usual Heaven pantheon interference?"
"Yes. The task would be passed on to someone else." Asmodeus confirmed.
"Then I'll decline." Alaric said simply.
"Alright. I've logged your report, and your new identity is in place. Your ten-minute freedom window will activate shortly. Just give it a moment while things finalize on my end." Asmodeus said, now calm and businesslike. "Call me again on this number if you need to, but only if it's important. As always." Her voice softened, ending with a familiar lilt. "Bye, sweetheart~"