Spreading Chaos and Mischief across Worlds

The Nameless Echo

The girl stood barefoot in the summoning circle, violet eyes dim with centuries of erasure.

No one remembered her. Not the gods, not the angels, not even the authors of this world. But she remembered everything.

She remembered being chosen, cast aside, rewritten, and forgotten. A "what-if" too dangerous to exist. A character who had no arc because her arc broke the narrative. The embodiment of contradiction.

"Where… am I?" she asked quietly.

Azazel stepped forward. His wings flickered uncertainly.

"You're in Kuoh, Japan. In a world where Amon, the Lord of Mischief, is twisting fate."

The girl tilted her head. "Amon…"

She spoke the name like it was buried under layers of memory. A ripple passed through the summoning circle as she did. Even speaking his name tugged at the fabric of reality.

"You were brought here to stop him," Ajuka said. "Because only someone like you… can stand on the same battlefield."

The girl smiled, sad and calm.

"That's why I was never written in."

The Curator stepped forward, hands trembling. "Do you remember what you were?"

"Yes. I was supposed to be the villain of the original DxD. The corrupted first Red Dragon Empress. But they scrapped me… too tragic, too powerful."

She closed her eyes.

"They replaced me with plot armor and fanservice."

Atop the World Tree

Meanwhile, Amon stood atop a projection of Yggdrasil growing from Kuoh Academy's roof. The roots of mythology itself had begun fracturing beneath him.

From above, he could see it all: Azazel's movements, the girl's awakening, the prayers of mortals, the crumbling timelines.

The Mirror Sanctum reflected every version of the world simultaneously now. And his laughter echoed between them.

"They brought her back," he whispered. "How delightfully desperate."

Mephisto appeared beside him, glass of wine floating midair.

"She's not a real character. She's a blank page wearing regret."

Amon smirked. "Exactly. And what's more dangerous than a story that never happened?"

He twirled his monocle, peering into a mirror floating beside him. Within, Rias led her peerage—not to protect Kuoh, but to change it. Her eyes glowed with self-determination.

"Even your little red queen is becoming unpredictable," Mephisto noted.

"Good," Amon whispered. "Let the strings tangle. Let narrative die."

The Divine Council Reacts

Somewhere beyond time, the Divine Council convened.

Angels, devils, forgotten gods. Even the Dragon of Infinity stirred.

Vel'Zhan floated above them, scarred and dimmer since his duel with Amon.

"The anomaly has breached core layers. The 'possibility spectrum' is no longer functioning. Our myths bleed."

Odin lit a cigar. "You mean we're all just… optional now?"

Vel'Zhan nodded grimly. "Yes. And he has his fingers in the hearts of every 'main character.'"

Michael, Seraph of the Heavens, looked down. "We created this system. He's exploiting the cracks."

A shadow emerged at the council's edge.

It was Nyarlathotep, smiling too widely.

"He's not breaking your world. He's asking your world to explain why it exists at all."

Vel'Zhan turned cold.

"We have one contingency left. A forbidden convergence."

"You mean The Rewrite Protocol?" Odin asked.

Vel'Zhan's eyes burned. "Yes. If he ascends to World Core, we'll be forced to reboot this universe."

A Battle of Ideals

In the forest just outside Kuoh, the girl without a name walked barefoot across soft earth.

She didn't fly. She didn't teleport. She simply existed, and space accepted it.

She walked toward Amon's current staging ground—a nexus forming at the school. As she walked, reality around her tried to identify her… and failed.

Issei saw her through the classroom window and felt something shatter inside him.

"Who... is that?"

Rias touched the edge of her mirror-warped perception and gasped.

"She's not… part of anything."

Meanwhile, Amon smiled as the sky dimmed.

She arrived.

They faced each other in the school's courtyard. Mirrors floated like petals, the moon flickering between red and white.

"You're him," she said softly. "The one who dances with scissors."

"And you… were never allowed to be," Amon replied.

"I was denied. Then summoned. Now... I choose."

They didn't attack.

Instead, they stood in silence. Talking was the battle now.

"You're breaking them," she whispered.

"I'm setting them free."

"From what?"

"From being puppets to tropes. From arcs written in sweatshop authors' rooms. From fate."

She shook her head. "Fate is still a form of identity. You're not freeing them. You're making them nothing."

"No," Amon corrected. "I'm making them choose."

"But not all of them want to."

Silence fell again.

Then she pulled out a mirror shard of her own. One Amon hadn't created.

He blinked. It was hers.

A forgotten fragment from a plotline that never was. Pure possibility. Neither canon nor fanon.

She threw it into the air—and it carved a door.

"I don't need to beat you. I just need to remind the world that it can dream again."

And from the door, old characters returned.

Ones never used. Lost angels. Unnamed devils. Scrapped dragons.

Not zombies of nostalgia—but fresh echoes of potential.

Amon Reacts

Amon stared as the courtyard filled with forgotten faces.

He recognized none of them—but the feeling was... familiar.

"You're creating originality," he said quietly.

She nodded.

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

Amon's expression flickered. Conflicted. Curious.

"No. I wanted chaos."

"This is chaos," she whispered. "But without destruction. Without cruelty. Just infinite beginnings."

In Azazel's Lab

Azazel's sensors exploded.

Readings of "new soul-data" breached every boundary.

"She's doing it," he murmured. "She's actually introducing multiversal potential."

Ajuka stared at the monitors. "She might break everything Amon built."

"Or she might complete it," Azazel said. "He broke the system. She's making a new one."

"Amon won't go quietly."

Azazel nodded. "Then we better prepare for when he doesn't."

The Decision

Back in the courtyard, Amon touched the floating mirror shard.

It showed an image he didn't expect.

Klein Moretti.

Looking at him. Smiling sadly.

"You never stopped being curious," Klein said in the reflection.

Amon whispered, "I never stopped being angry."

The girl watched in silence.

"So what now?" she asked.

Amon didn't answer at first.

Then:

"Now… I see where this new dream goes."

He stepped forward, offering her his hand.

She took it.

And the courtyard erupted in light.