The city thrummed with restless energy, its streets alive with the clamor of rush-hour traffic and the distant buzz of neon signs flickering to life as dusk settled in. In a tucked-away corner of a modest café, far from the main thoroughfare, a young man sat alone, a solitary figure amidst the hum of urban chaos. His name was Ethan—not yet Ragnar, a name that would come later—and at 23, he was a striking presence. Broad-shouldered, with a physique carved from years of relentless training, he exuded an effortless confidence that turned heads even in a place as unremarkable as this. His dark hair was swept back neatly, his sharp green eyes glinting with focus as they darted across the glowing screen of his tablet, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The café was his refuge, a quiet pocket of calm amid the storm of his everyday existence. Its walls were lined with weathered bookshelves, their spines a patchwork of faded colors, and the air carried the rich, bittersweet scent of freshly brewed coffee. The soft clatter of porcelain cups against saucers mingled with the murmur of conversation from other patrons—a group of students hunched over laptops, an elderly couple sharing a pastry by the window, a barista wiping down the counter with practiced ease. Ethan came here often, drawn not just by the coffee but by the solitude it offered, a chance to escape into worlds far grander than the one he inhabited.
On his tablet, the latest chapter of High School DxD unfolded before him, its vivid scenes of supernatural battles and larger-than-life characters pulling him in as they had for weeks. He'd stumbled across the series by chance, but it had quickly become an obsession, a portal to a reality where power wasn't just a dream but a tangible force to be wielded. Today, though, as he scrolled through a scene featuring Issei Hyoudou—the bumbling, lecherous protagonist—his enjoyment soured into something closer to disdain.
"Really?" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "What do Rias and the others even see in this idiot?" Issei was, in Ethan's unforgiving estimation, a complete letdown. Weak, clumsy, and driven by little more than his hormones, he tripped through fights and leaned on his allies to scrape by. "If I were there, I'd run circles around him. With power like that, I'd be tossing mountains around like it's nothing."
He smirked at the thought, taking a sip of his coffee, now tepid from sitting too long. It wasn't just bravado—Ethan genuinely believed he could outdo Issei. He wasn't like the average guys he'd grown up with, content to coast through life on autopilot. Ethan was different, always had been. He'd spent years sculpting his body into a weapon, pushing himself through grueling workouts until his muscles ached with pride. His mind was just as sharp, honed by strategy games and late-night debates with himself over hypothetical scenarios. He wasn't naive or soft; he was a predator in a world of prey, even if no one else seemed to notice.
But here he was, trapped in a city that felt like a cage, reading about someone else's glory. It gnawed at him, that sense of being overlooked, of being destined for more but stuck in the mundane. He deserved a stage worthy of his potential, a chance to prove what he could do with real power in his hands.
As if the universe had heard his silent rant, a voice slipped into his mind—smooth, velvety, and tinged with an ancient, unsettling power. "Are you sure about that?"
Ethan jolted, nearly knocking his tablet off the table. His heart kicked into overdrive, hammering against his ribs as he scanned the café. The barista was still at the counter, the students were still laughing over some meme, and the elderly couple hadn't so much as glanced his way. No one had spoken. No one was even looking at him.
"What the hell?" he thought, his pulse racing. Was he losing it? Too much caffeine, too little sleep?
The voice chuckled, a low, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate inside his skull. "No need to panic, Ethan. I'm not here in the flesh, but I can hear your thoughts loud and clear."
His breath caught. This wasn't possible. Mind reading? Telepathy? That was the stuff of fiction, not a random Tuesday afternoon. But the voice was too real, too distinct, like a shadow curling around his consciousness, refusing to be dismissed.
"Who are you?" he demanded silently, testing whether it could hear him back.
"I am The Chaos Bringer," it replied, its tone equal parts amusement and enigma. "A being beyond your mortal understanding, thriving on the fractures of fate and the unraveling of order."
Ethan's mind spun. A chaos god? This was straight out of the wildest stories he'd ever read. But if it was real—and every instinct screamed that it was—then this was no hallucination. This was a door opening, and he'd be damned if he didn't step through.
"Alright, assuming you're not some stress-induced breakdown," he thought, steadying himself, "what do you want with me?"
"Your frustration with that world you're so engrossed in—it entertains me," The Chaos Bringer said. "You think you could outshine its hero. I find that… compelling."
Ethan's smirk returned, sharper now. "Because I can. Issei's a clown—weak, clueless, and obsessed with things that don't matter. I'd do it better."
"Would you?" the voice teased, its curiosity almost palpable. "Care to prove it?"
His eyes narrowed, adrenaline surging. This was getting good. "What are you offering?"
"I can send you there," The Chaos Bringer said, its words simple yet loaded with promise. "To the world of High School DxD. You can live it, wield the power you're so sure you deserve. But it comes at a cost."
Ethan leaned back in his chair, his mind already racing through the possibilities. Of course there was a catch—nothing this big came free. "What's the price?"
"You must twist the threads of that world's destiny," the voice explained, its tone growing darker, more eager. "Sow chaos, shatter fates, upend the natural order. The more you disrupt, the more I gain. I feast on the sweet anarchy of broken paths."
A slow grin spread across Ethan's face. So, this thing wanted him to be a wrecking ball, tearing through the DxD universe like a storm? That didn't sound like a price—it sounded like a perk. He'd always thrived on shaking things up, pushing limits just to see what would break. But he wasn't reckless. If he was doing this, he'd do it on his terms.
"And if I say no?" he asked, probing for the edges of the deal.
"Then you stay here," The Chaos Bringer replied, its voice laced with mock pity. "Trapped in this dull little life, forever wondering what might have been. But I don't think that's you, is it?"
It wasn't. The thought of passing this up—of letting this chance slip through his fingers—made his stomach twist. A world of devils, angels, and dragons was calling, and he wasn't about to sit it out. Still, Ethan was a strategist, not a fool. He needed more than just a ticket in—he needed an advantage.
"Alright, let's say I'm in," he said, his tone firm. "But I'm not going as some nobody. I want to start big, somewhere I can make waves right out of the gate."
"Intriguing," the voice purred. "What do you propose?"
"Make me Rias Gremory's twin brother," Ethan shot back, the idea crystallizing in an instant. It was perfect—born into the Gremory clan, one of the most powerful devil families, with all the status and resources that came with it. "Put me right in the thick of it, with her bloodline and her influence. I'll shake things up from day one."
The Chaos Bringer paused, as if savoring the audacity of the request. "A bold choice. Being Rias's twin would plant you at the heart of the devil world—power, prestige, and a front-row seat to its intrigues. Yes, I can grant that."
Ethan's pulse quickened, excitement crackling through him. This was it—he was about to step into the game as a heavyweight. But he wasn't done. If he was going all in, he wanted an ace up his sleeve, something to make him untouchable.
"And I want more than just the Gremory name," he added, leaning forward slightly despite himself. "Give me power—real power. Inject Sparda's DNA into me, perfectly fused with my own. I want to be a force no one can ignore."
"Sparda?" The Chaos Bringer's tone shifted, tinged with intrigue. "The legendary demon warrior from another realm? That's a lofty demand. His strength, his blood—it would make you a titan, capable of rewriting destinies with a flick of your wrist. The chaos you could unleash… Yes, it's done."
Ethan's grin widened, his heart pounding with a mix of triumph and disbelief. Rias's twin, infused with Sparda's power—this was beyond anything he'd dared to imagine. He could already picture it: standing toe-to-toe with the strongest in the DxD world, bending it to his will.
"So, when do we start?" he asked, barely containing his eagerness.
"It's already begun," The Chaos Bringer said, its voice now brimming with satisfaction. "All that's left is for you to say yes."
For a fleeting moment, Ethan hesitated. Was he really about to throw away his life—his family, his friends, everything he'd known—for this? But the doubt evaporated as quickly as it came. He'd never fit here, not really. This world was too small, too ordinary for someone like him. This was his shot at greatness, and he wasn't backing down.
"I'm in," he said, his voice steady as steel.
"Perfect," The Chaos Bringer replied, a note of triumph ringing through it. "Close your eyes, Ethan, and let this world fade. Your new life is waiting."
He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes as a strange warmth spread through him. It started in his chest, then surged outward, like liquid fire racing through his veins. His body felt light, almost weightless, as if he were dissolving into particles of light and shadow. Images flickered behind his eyelids—the sprawling Gremory estate, the neon-lit streets of Kuoh Town, the clash of swords and roars of dragons. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, a rush that drowned out fear and doubt.
The Chaos Bringer's voice echoed one last time, faint but unmistakable. "Don't forget your purpose—break their fates, and make it glorious."
Then, everything went black.
Outside, the city carried on, oblivious to the cosmic shift that had just taken place. Inside the café, the barista glanced over at Ethan's table, frowning as she noticed him slumped in his chair. His tablet lay dormant, screen dimmed, and his coffee sat untouched, a thin film forming on its surface.
"Hey, you alright?" she called, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped closer. No response. Her stomach tightened as she approached, reaching out to nudge his shoulder. He didn't move. His chest was still, his skin already cooling under her touch.
"Someone call an ambulance!" she shouted, her voice cracking as the other patrons jolted to their feet, their casual chatter replaced by alarm. Phones were pulled out, emergency numbers dialed, but it was futile. Ethan was gone, his body a silent shell, his soul already hurtling toward a new existence.
To the world he left behind, it would be a mystery—a young man, healthy and strong, simply ceasing to be in the middle of a quiet afternoon. But for Ethan, it was only the beginning.
In the depths of the underworld, a different scene unfolded. The Gremory estate loomed grand and imposing, its marble halls aglow with the soft flicker of enchanted chandeliers. A sharp, piercing cry cut through the air—a newborn's wail, fierce and unyielding, reverberating off the walls.
Zeoticus Gremory, patriarch of the clan, stood just outside the birthing chamber, his broad frame tense with anticipation. His wife, Venelana, had been in labor for hours, and now, at last, the moment had arrived. The door creaked open, and a midwife emerged, her face alight with a weary smile.
"Lord Gremory," she said, bowing slightly, "your wife has given birth to twins—a girl and a boy. Both are healthy."
Zeoticus strode inside, his crimson eyes softening as they fell upon Venelana. She lay propped against pillows, her auburn hair damp with sweat, but her expression was one of quiet triumph. In her arms, she cradled two small bundles, their tiny faces scrunched in the way of newborns.
"They're perfect," Zeoticus murmured, kneeling beside her. He reached out, brushing a gentle finger against the cheek of the baby girl. "Rias," he named her, the word carrying the weight of tradition.
Venelana's gaze shifted to the boy, who squirmed slightly, his eyes—already a striking green—peering up at them with an intensity that seemed almost unnatural for an infant. There was something about him, a spark that set him apart.
"And our son," Zeoticus said, his voice thoughtful, "shall be Ragnar. Ragnar Gremory."
Venelana nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she looked down at the boy. Neither she nor Zeoticus could know the truth—that this child was more than a Gremory, more than a devil. He was Ethan, reborn with the blood of Sparda coursing through him, a harbinger of chaos destined to upend their world.
Somewhere, in the vast expanse beyond, The Chaos Bringer's laughter whispered on the wind, a promise of the upheaval to come.