My Milf System

"In the end, driven by a toxic, obsessive love and the need to provide and protect, the Master’s brother Akira destroyed everything." Ifrit stared into the distance, his expression unusually contemplative. "It’s simple, yet so confusing. I don’t know if this emotion called love is truly responsible for mortals’ suffering, but I find it fascinatingly stupid how easily they can be driven to extremes because of something as insignificant as love."

Rex, now in his puppy form, scratched his side with one of his hind paws. "It is truly complicated to us demons. We wouldn’t understand it no matter how many times we witnessed it." He lowered his paw and tilted his head. "However, I don’t think love is merely grief, suffering, and vulnerability."

Ifrit glanced at Rex with a curious look at Rex continued.

"Take the Queen of the Demon Realm, Her Excellence Rose for example. After Draegonoth betrayed her and her clan to seize control of the demonic realm, Rose was broken. She barely spoke to anyone. The only creatures she would tolerate around her were us hellhounds. She was ashamed to even face her own daughter Evelyn."

Rex’s ears drooped slightly. "But then Master Asher came along. A mere human, no older than seventeen at the time. And somehow, he showed Rose that being vulnerable wasn’t something she needed to be ashamed of. He gave her a place where she didn’t have to pretend to be strong."

Rex glanced toward the unconscious Asher.

"From what I’ve seen, whatever she feels for our Master doesn’t seem gruesome at all. It’s comforting. Fulfilling, even. Just look at the Queen. She smiles more now than she ever did when she was drowning in regret."

Ifrit rolled his eyes. "Huh? What are you trying to say, Rex? That love is a good thing?"

"No." Rex stood up, jumped onto the bed, and nestled himself beside the unconscious Asher. "I’m saying it’s neither."

Ifrit raised an eyebrow, confused.

Rex yawned. "Love can make someone strong enough to endure hell. It can also make someone foolish enough to walk into hell willingly. It can heal someone... or give them a wound that never closes."

"Hah? So what’s the difference?" Ifrit asked, his confusion deepening.

Rex closed his eyes. "Perhaps the person feeling it."

Ifrit laughed. "Hah. You’re a naive mutt."

"Probably."

"You realize that love also gives mortals something to fear, don’t you?" Ifrit said, trying to make Rex realize how stupid the concept of love truly was. "If you love someone, you fear losing them. If you fear losing them, you’ll do anything to keep them. And if someone threatens to take them away..." Ifrit chuckled darkly. "There goes their precious morality."

Rex stared at him for a moment."Perhaps."

Ifrit frowned."Perhaps?"

"Fear doesn’t come from love alone, Ifrit." Rex rolled his eyes. "It obviously comes from attachment. Love is merely one of the ways mortals become attached. I thought you were smart enough to at least know this much."

Ifrit’s knowing smile faded, in it’s place, confusion back again. "Right. So what you’re saying is that the problem isn’t love?"

"I’m saying I don’t know."

Ifrit slapped his own face with a deadpan. "Just tell me if this ’love’ thing is right or wrong damn it!"

Rex remained calm. "Right or wrong depends entirely on perspective. Perhaps love is the same."

Ifrit slipped his hands into his pockets, giving up. "How annoyingly reasonable."He glanced at Asher and then at Rex. "Very well. I suppose I’ll postpone my judgment on this ridiculous emotion."

"Good."

"Though I still think it’s stupid."

"Of course you do."

"Hah." Ifrit turned toward the door. "I’ll go find something to eat."

"Bring me some meat."

"Get it yourself."

"I’m a puppy."

"You’re a hellhound."

"A puppy hellhound."

Ifrit shook his head. "Whatever."

He walked away, leaving Rex curled beside their unconscious master.

****

In a dimly lit chamber, a frantic Shinigami messenger sprinted across the plush red carpet. He skidded to his knees, slamming his forehead against the floor before a high-backed throne.

Seated upon it was the Founder—his features hidden behind a skeletal mask that gleamed under the soft candlelight.

"Founder! I bear catastrophic news!" the messenger shrieked, his voice echoing.

Across the room, draped lazily over an oversized leather armchair, a boy no older than twelve paused his handheld console. The neon blue light from his screen glinted off his messy golden hair. He slipped off one side of his headphones, raising a single eyebrow.

"Speak, soldier," the Founder commanded, his voice a low, reverberating rumble.

"It’s... it’s the Third and Fifth Squadrons, sir! They’ve been completely wiped out!"

"Wiped out?" the golden-haired boy echoed, sitting up slightly. A faint, amused smirk tugged at his lips.

"Yes, Mr. Weekend," the messenger stammered, shifting his posture to bow respectfully toward the child. "The Fifth Squadron’s facility was entirely decimated."

"It appears the emergency demolition charges were triggered," the Founder murmured, resting his gloved chin on his knuckles. The dark eye-sockets of his skeletal mask narrowed. "What could have pushed Akira to detonate the entire underground lab and destroy years of our research?"

The messenger swallowed hard, his throat dry. "If I may, sir... there were no survivors from the Fifth. But there were casualties recovered from the Third. Commander Josh was taken into custody along with a dozen enforcers. Our mole in the police department is completely choked—he can’t pull any strings right now. But he did pass along one detail."

"Go on," the Founder said smoothly.

"Every single surviving officer... they’re all saying the same thing. They claim they were attacked by literal monsters."

"Monsters?" the Founder repeated, his tone flat.

The soldier nodded frantically, sweat dripping from his chin. "Yes, sir! Actual, nightmarish demons!"

Weekend let out a low whistle, a wide grin spreading across his youthful face. The news had hooked him completely. He switched off his console and tossed it onto the side table. "Now that sounds interesting. Mind if I take a crack at it, Boss? I want to see if these ’monsters’ can be tamed or if they’re just overhyped boss mobs."

The Founder cast a cold glare toward the boy. "This isn’t one of your video games, Weekend. This is a critical breach of our operations."

"Oh, come on, Mr. Boss-man! You’re so uptight," Weekend whined, throwing his arms behind his head and kicking his legs over the armrest. "Loosen up a bit and let me go hunt them down!"

"There is no need to rush," the Founder replied coldly. "Whoever is behind this will inevitably show themselves. They’ve crippled two of our strongholds and dragged our name into the light. Someone with that kind of momentum won’t stop here."

Weekend swung his legs back over the side of the chair, groaning dramatically. "Boring! Waiting around for them to make a move? What if they take a whole year? I have a way better idea—how about we bait them into a trap instead?"

"A trap?"

"Yeah, a trap!" Weekend leaned forward, his childish demeanor instantly sharpening into something sinister. "Whoever did this obviously has a major hero complex. Think about it: they freed all the test subjects, they didn’t slaughter our enforcers in cold blood, and they literally left them unable to move for the cops to find. If you ask me, the guy behind this is naive. Soft. And setting a raid trap for a simple-minded paladin type is easier than beating a level-one tutorial boss."

The Founder was silent for a long moment, the flickering candles reflecting off his bone-white mask. Finally, he let out a slow sigh.

"Fine. I will authorize your hunt. But under one condition."

Weekend’s face instantly fell into a heavy scowl. "Ugh, I hate conditions," he grumbled.

"You take Black Lily with you. This operation will be cleaner with her oversight."

"Not that bitch!" Weekend growled, throwing his head back and swinging his legs violently like a thrown tantrum. "I hate her guts! I hate the way she struts around like she owns the place! And more than anything, I hate how she’s always flexing those ridiculously huge breasts!"

"She is a professional. And she had been monitoring Akira at Sad Matt without his knowledge. That alone makes her capable." the Founder cut in, his voice leaving zero room for debate. "Either she tags along, or I assign this mission to someone else."

Cornered and thoroughly annoyed, Weekend crossed his arms and huffed, blowing a strand of blonde hair off his forehead.

"Fine! Whatever!" he snapped, grabbing his headphones and slamming them back over his ears. "Call her up. But tell her if she slows me down even once, I’m using her as mob bait!"

Tbc