Heart Devil [OP Yandere Schizo Ramble LitRPG XD]

The plush sedan sat unmoving in the quiet stillness of Greed's forbidden zone. Around it, the air hung heavy, unnatural, as if the land itself held its breath. The forest they had traveled through just hours ago was gone, stripped away like old skin, replaced by barren, sun-bleached ground. And ahead of them yawned a canyon.

It stretched seemingly endlessly in both directions, a black scar tearing across the earth. If one dared to lean over its jagged lip, there was nothing but a pitch darkness that seemed to swallow sight itself. Even light recoiled from it, vanishing the moment it crossed the threshold. A single inch into its depths was no longer part of the material world, only shadow, only void.

This was Greed's Abyss, his six-star innate ability, [Deep Pocket]. Once a limitless vault for all his treasures, the abyss had become something far more dangerous. Hannya knew the truth, it no longer held artifacts, gold, or the spoils of a thousand trades. It held one thing.

One prisoner.

Vainglory.

Contained. Suppressed.

Hannya reclined lazily in the cushioned interior of her sedan, the silk pillows supporting her in decadent comfort. Rose knelt beside her, just outside the illusory veil, hands precise and graceful as she poured tea into a delicate porcelain cup, the steam curling upward in fragrant ribbons. Shela stood at her post close by, a silent sentinel, cleaning her sword during their down time.

Rose's voice was low, respectful, and sweet as she presented the cup.

"My Lady… Lily has finished setting the ritual circle you provided. And… the sigil 'combination,' I suppose you could call it, has been placed. She… didn't understand what it was exactly, but it's been attached to a businessman passing through the mirror."

Hannya lifted the cup, her movements slow and regal behind the blur of her illusion veil. She nodded once.

"She did well then. Every stroke of that sigil matters. One misstep, and it becomes worthless."

Rose smiled faintly behind her own black veil, her head dipping in acknowledgment. "Penny has also delivered her message to those who… have plans to defect in the future."

Hannya arched an unseen brow. She had no idea what Rose meant, but her nod was slow and confident, as if she'd planned it herself. No need to lose face unnecessarily.

"Well done."

The praise made Rose's heart swell. "Though, there was… a small issue during the operation-"

Hannya's hand rose, halting the words midair. "That mission was your responsibility. You and your sisters will handle any issue that isn't urgent. I will not guide your path at every step, you are grown women."

Rose's chest tightened with conviction. She bowed her head and clenched her fist. "Yes, Young Miss. We will handle it without fail."

The sharpness in her tone startled Hannya, just for a moment. She had cut Rose off for a reason. She didn't know what the mission entailed, didn't know what the 'issue' was, and frankly, didn't want to.

The less she knew, the less chance she'd be dragged into cleaning up something messy. These acolytes were useful tools, yes, but in the end, they were still only slightly stronger than the average.

At least, to her.

Whatever their side mission was, it couldn't be critical. She would simply sidestep and dodge their pleas for help until they fixed it themselves. This was true delegation mastery.

Plus, her focus was elsewhere.

On Vain.

On what she would say when they finally stood face to face.

She reached subtly into her spatial ring and slid out a thin set of flashcards. The scripted lines glimmered faintly in the dim light. She scanned them quickly, her lips curling slightly as she mouthed phrases, before slipping them back into the ring.

She would take no chances.

Outside, Shela and Rose saw movement within the blurred illusion of the sedan but couldn't make out what she was doing.

Then, the sky rumbled.

A strange, spiraling cloud mass churned over the distant capital of Greed's territory. Purple-black clouds glowed faintly from within, their motion deliberate, unnatural. Slowly, they bent downward, forming a vast spiral before diving as one into the center of the city, straight into the heart of the business district.

Hannya's head tilted slightly. Even from deep within the forbidden zone, she knew exactly what that meant. Gula's attack had begun.

She smiled behind her veil, rising smoothly. The wooden slats of her geta clacked against the stone, each step punctuated by the delicate jingle of her rune engraved anklets.

Jingle-clack. Jingle-clack. Jingle-clack.

She walked toward the edge of the abyss, her shadow stretching long over the barren earth. At its lip, she chuckled softly, the sound rich with anticipation and an edge of nerves.

"Kikiki… It's time."

Her acolytes stared as she stepped fully into view. Today, she wore white.

A snow-pure kimono, unlike her usual black, draped around her voluptuous form, tied tight by a pink and gold sash. Her shoulder-length pink hair was styled high in an intricate geisha knot, glittering pins and jewelry catching the faint light. Her nails, both fingers and toes, were painted a soft pink with tiny white flowers dotted delicately over them. Golden molds spiraled up her horns in elegant arcs. Behind the thin pink veil, the gleam of her canines shone, gilded in gold.

Rose felt a swell of pride, her young miss was breathtaking. Supremely divine.

Shela, on the other hand, dropped her sword. The blade hit the ground with a dull clatter. Her eyes weren't on Hannya's face. They were locked on her back.

Because her kimono sleeves had fallen from her shoulders, the fabric barely concealing her ample chest. Her pale back was bare, and there, ink-black against her skin, were six stars arranged in a perfect circle across her upper back.

This was the first time Shela had ever seen them.

The first time any of the acolytes had.

Six stars. The mark of the apex.

The acolytes fell to their knees instantly, their trembling foreheads pressed to the ground in reverence and a thread of fear. Shela stood frozen, her blood shifting wildly, her heart unable to stop pounding as the image burned itself into her mind.

A six-star devil.

A being almost unheard of.

A Supreme.

Hannya turned, her laughter light and mocking.

Rose rose from her bow and took her place at Hannya's side, her movements perfectly trained.

"Kikiki, there's no need for surprise," Hannya said, her voice carrying over the empty land, confident and clear. "After today, after tax day, Hellnia will change. The Vainheart faction will flip the plane with two palms and supremacy."

Shela's heart shook. All the dominance, the elegance, the overwhelming charisma, it made sense now. She wasn't merely a cunning, beautiful leader. She was a force that could rival any in Hellnia.

And for the first time, Shela wasn't sure what she had truly pledged herself to.

~~~

Cashmere's polished shoes clacked against the marble floor as the guards led him through the upper tiers of Greed's Grand Temple in Neel. The air here always smelled faintly of gold dust and ink, contracts signed in blood and balance sheets too long to fold.

Normally, he'd have felt a sense of pride walking these pristine halls, but now every step felt heavier. He was a mess, clothes rumpled, a faint tear at his sleeve, and a scent clinging to him like rot; [Greed's mark].

The two guards flanking him didn't speak. Their tailored uniforms and gleaming cufflinks marked them as business security, the most polite way to say armed debt collectors. The runic lift doors slid open, revealing the top floor, where the most powerful members of the Greed faction's corporate machine held their board meetings.

The doors to the council chamber opened. Inside was a long, oval table of obsidian glass, polished to such perfection it reflected faces like a mirror. Five seats ringed the table, though only four were occupied. The fifth, at the head, stood empty. 1st Avaritia himself, the seat of Monopolous Sovereignty, was absent. His absence, on tax day of all days, was not surprising. Everyone in the room knew what that meant; their leader was... occupied.

The four seated shareholders regarded him with varying degrees of impatience and faint distaste. Each seated in their station, representing a sector of the Greed apparatus:

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Dollar 3rd Avaritia, The Gilded Reaper - Extractors of Plenty, Primary Sector.

Mint 5th Avaritia, Vaultforger Supreme - Forgemasters of Wealth, Secondary Sector.

Beryl 4th Avaritia, Broker of Endless Indulgence - Brokers of Vice, Tertiary Sector.

Ledger 2nd Avaritia, The Ledger Oracle - Keepers of Calculated Secrets, Quaternary Sector.

Cashmere straightened his tie, even though his hands trembled faintly. He was keenly aware of the quiet 'tchk, tchk' of a pen being clicked somewhere; someone counting the seconds he was costing them.

Ledger 2nd Avaritia, a sharp-featured woman with silver eyes behind thin spectacles, slid a dossier across the table without looking at him. Her voice was smooth but clipped.

"Cashmere 10th Avaritia. Tier Two Golden Investor. Current net worth…" she glanced down, then arched a brow, "...revised to under review, initially negative assets due to unclosed accounts. Marked as debtor by our father god."

The word 'debtor' carried a sting. It wasn't just a financial status here, it was a scarlet letter.

She closed the dossier with a decisive thunk. "What is your purpose for audience? Time is money."

Cashmere didn't waste a second. "Hellnia's Greed branch has fallen into chaos. The apple fever, a malicious curse, spread through the city like wildfire. At first, it changed people's desires, replacing ambition with... with simple, useless passions; gardening, eating, idle chatter. The marketplace went silent. Sales plummeted. Then they stopped calling themselves businessmen entirely. They became 'farmers.'"

Mint 5th Avaritia raised one elegant hand. His voice was calm but dripping with condescension. "Mr. Cashmere... are you aware of how far-fetched this sounds?"

Cashmere pressed on, his voice tightening. "You haven't heard the end. It escalated. A few days ago, they turned on each other, cannibalizing the highest earners, targeting the darkest salesmen, the ones running the corrupt trade. I saw it myself."

That made Beryl 4th Avaritia laugh softly, swirling her crystal glass of golden liquor. "An entire city... eating each other? Charming bedtime story, but I'm afraid your credibility is as good as your credit score."

Ledger adjusted her glasses. "This is tax day. We have to reconcile ledgers and secure vault returns before father god reviews our numbers. Your... colorful report is far too ill-timed."

Dollar 3rd Avaritia spoke for the first time, his voice deep as a cash register's final chime. "Even if it's true, it's nothing an enforcer strike team can't solve. Liquidate what's salvageable, purge the rest. Replace the bad workers. A branch fails, we build another. That's the cycle."

The tone wasn't cruel, it was worse. It was efficient.

Cashmere's hands curled into fists. This was it, the callousness. The unshakable confidence of a machine that thought itself immortal. His voice lowered, almost trembling with frustration.

"You don't get it," he said. "You think this is about one branch. But something bigger is coming. It's already here."

The four shareholders exchanged a glance, not of fear, but of mild curiosity, as though he'd just announced a minor shipping delay.

Cashmere's eyes drifted up to the clock mounted on the wall behind them. Its ticking was loud in the silent boardroom. The hands stood at exactly midnight.

Tax day.

And deep in his gut, he knew, whatever was coming wasn't going to wait for them to finish counting their profits.

Cashmere's jaw tightened as the polite but thin patience in the room grated against his nerves.

"You're not hearing me," he said, leaning forward, hands pressing against the polished obsidian of the conference table. "Before the outbreak, before the whole damn branch went under, there were some demons. The 'Cherrymaids' were their designation."

Four pairs of cold, calculating eyes looked back at him.

"Hot pink-skinned demons," Cashmere continued, his voice low, deliberate. "They didn't work for the branch, but they haunted it. They'd hit slave shipments before the outbreak, every time without fail. Not for liberation, not for profit… just to make a point. Always gone before retaliation squads arrived. And people…" he let the word hang for weight. "...said they were unstoppable if they wanted something dead."

The Ledger Oracle, her voice sharp as a quill, interrupted, "Rumors. Broken supply lines always attract self-made legends."

"Rumor or not," Cashmere snapped, "I saw one with my own eyes on the way back. Guarding the main arch of Mirror Way." His fingers curled against the table, nails tapping the surface. "There were piles of bodies around her. Not corpses from a skirmish, piles. Deliberate."

The Vaultforger Supreme tilted his head, unimpressed but faintly curious. "If such a vicious creature was guarding the passage… how did you return to us unharmed?" His voice carried no fear, just mild incredulity.

Cashmere's eyes drifted, unconsciously, toward the clock. 12:05.

That itch in his blood… the golden hum of his investment skill pulsing hotter with every tick.

Time was running down.

"She let me go," he said finally. "And thats the point, she told me to deliver a message." He hesitated, then added, "She never gave a name, but the apple fever, I'd bet the vault on it… the curse and words were from Gula. The Queen of Feasts."

That made them straighten with interest. This was unexpected.

The Broker of Endless Indulgence leaned forward. "Gula? Against Avaritia? The glutton's been in her own corner for centuries."

Cashmere nodded once. "Her message was this: 'In Hellnia, dessert is being served.'"

His voice dropped into something heavier. "Then she said, 'But this time, everyone's on the menu.'" He let the word everyone cut through the air like a knife.

A thin silence spread across the table before Dollar spoke, slow and inquiring. "What does your coin say, Investor?"

The question stopped him cold. He hadn't expected Dollar to know about that. But Dollar simply sat there with cold eyes, waiting for an answer, and not explaining further.

"I don't have it," Cashmere said flatly. "Lost it in Hellnia, long ago."

Dollar just gave a slow, almost imperceptible shake of his head. "Then we will consult the Intelligence Wing and the Fate Devils."

That stirred protest. The Vaultforger's voice was impatient. "A waste of resources. A debtor's words are worth less than his debt."

The Broker chimed in. "And it is tax day. Our Father God will be occupied."

"Exactly," the Ledger Oracle agreed. "We don't need diversions while the ledgers are in flux."

Dollar's gaze hardened. "When six-star devils are involved, you check the books twice. Father's words. Or have you forgotten them?"

That shut them up. For a moment, there was silence again.

Finally, Mint, the Vaultforger, exhaled. "Fine. We send someone below… after the pressing accounts here are settled."

Dollar's jaw tightened, displeased, but he gave a short nod. "So be it."

And that was the moment.

Cashmere's hopeful spark died right there. He saw it in their faces, the smug corporate certainty that they were untouchable. Their 'precaution' was still just another added chore. No where close to entertaining the idea of an immediate loss.

Cashmere laughed. Low and wrong. A hollow sound like coins rattling in an empty purse.

His eyes flicked to the clock. 12:07. His blood roared now, hotter and heavier than ever before, an unprecedented shift of his karmic link. Even without the coin, he knew what it would read if he had it in his hand.

[SELL IMMEDIATELY].

With a surge like this, only one outcome would happen to him here.

He stood suddenly, turning to the guards at the door. "Forget them. I'm ready for audit."

They blinked at him in surprise as he walked for the exit.

He didn't bother telling them about his flaring blood. He also didn't notice the tiny pink sigil that had bloomed under the boardroom table, faintly glowing against the marble floor.

He took one last glance to the clock as he stepped out. 12:09.

As he vanished, the clock continued to tick, its hands crawling onward while the shareholders resumed their calm, meticulous meeting.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

12:11

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The second hand then hit the six second mark...

And the depths below the grand temple groaned.

A deep, earth-splitting sound rattled the obsidian walls. Paperweights slid across the table. Ink trembled in inkwells.

Then the ground itself shook, violently.

From the entrance of Mirror Way, the source roared through the bones of the Grand Temple, a tremor so sharp it felt like the floor wanted to peel itself open.

The rumble swelled into a roar.

From the heart of Mirror Way's great arch, the air warped, light bending like a heat haze. From the mirror, something pushed through the glass portal.

A swelling pulse of purplish-black cloud surged outward, thick and slow like spilled ink, then exploded in a wave that hit the chamber like a hammer.

Gula's curse spell.

When the dense cloud billowed through… it ate.

Stone, gold filigree, priceless columns, each surface it touched hissed into nothing, eroded away as though centuries of decay passed in a heartbeat. The blast tunneled upward, carving a jagged path through the Grand Temple's lower levels toward the surface.

Guards and attendants screamed as the corruption spilled past them, bodies half-consumed before they could run. The corridors became rivers of shadow, swallowing ledgers, statues, and even the murals depicting their Father God's triumphs.

On the surface, the first strike of the cloud hit the temple's plaza with a sound like tearing cloth. The obsidian tiles curled up like burning paper. Merchants fled their stalls, clutching coin pouches to their chests, tripping over each other in blind panic. A banker fell into the spreading plague, his scream cut short as his body quickly unraveled and vanished.

The cloud rolled onward into the district. A fountain of molten gold froze mid-splash, its shine dulled to oily black before shattering into dust. Bells rang in alarm towers. Devils in gilt armor tried to rally lines, only to have those lines disintegrate under the creeping edge of the curse.

From the boardroom high above, the shareholders watched the disaster unfold through the panoramic wall-window.

Mint's face had gone pale green. "It's devouring assets…"

The Ledger Oracle's hands trembled, pages fluttering in her lap. "This is no random spell, this is targeted. This is a… a liquidation."

The Broker of Endless Indulgence whispered, almost reverently. "Impossible…"

Dollar, however, did not speak. His eyes were locked on the column of cloud tearing up through the temple's core, jaw set hard enough to crack enamel. The others looked to him instinctively, waiting for him to command a defense. But he only said…

"She's here."

The cloud reached the surface in full force now, a massive plume boiling upward like smoke from an open grave. It spread in branching tendrils across the temple grounds, seeping into alleyways, curling under doors. Screams became fewer, replaced by the brittle sound of collapsing structures.

The upper floors shuddered as a tendril lashed outward, cutting clean through the west wing. One moment it was there, and the next, the wing was gone, erased into the same hungry nothing.

And then…

Silence.

The cloud slowed, no longer rushing, but drifting. Its edges licked at the ground, seeping deep into the soil. Everywhere it touched, the color bled away into black. Plants shriveled to powder. Coins tarnished instantly. The very dirt hardened into something glassy and dead.

The shareholders, shaken but alive, rose from their seats one by one. The Ledger Oracle dared a step toward the window.

And then she froze.

"Above…" she whispered.

The others turned.

High in the air, inside the shimmering barrier that marked the Grand Temple's territory, a figure floated.

She was beautiful in a way that was almost cruel, tall and lush, every curve exaggerated as though drawn by the greed of an artist who wanted too much. Her hair was a river of violet that rippled in the windless sky. Her eyes glowed molten gold, bright enough to burn spots into the vision of anyone who dared look too long.

Gula.

Her lips curved into a smile too wide to be sweet. The cloud's tendrils seemed to bow toward her presence, curling like supplicants.

Inside the boardroom, no one breathed.

"Kakaka!" Her laugh rang through the air, a rolling, throaty cackle that somehow reached every corner of the temple grounds. "Happy Birthday, Penny Pincher!"

The last syllable dripped mockery and promise all at once.

Mint's hands clenched into fists. The Broker stepped back involuntarily. Dollar's face stayed unreadable, but his eyes burned.

Far below, the last tendrils of the curse seeped deeper into the soil, their surface shimmer fading until the corruption looked like nothing but ordinary shadow. But the ground was wrong now, permanently wrong, and from that wrongness radiated the same eerie silence that blanketed Greed's territory in Hellnia.

Just before the apple fever's frenzied feast...

And above it all, Gula hung in the air, golden gaze sweeping the temple as though measuring its worth before a grand sale.

The tension did not ease. It only shifted, as though the real game had only just begun.

She pointed a slender finger and grinned.

"[Nibble]."