Path to Camel 3 (Patreon)

Preface

Apology chapter. Apparently, some dingus got hacked in the Discord server and posted a bunch of links to the channels.

I know you’re probably smarter than this, but for that one kid who must statistically exist in a group as large as this one: Don’t click suspicious links. 

-Fable

Path to Camel 3

Soren Gremory

I was an ultimate-clas now, unofficially.

Well, I said that, but it wasn’t like there was an “official” ultimate-class, either. The Underworld’s society fully embraced a caste system, but high-class was as high as a decently talented devil could expect to climb.

Low-class and reincarnated devils could take an exam to rise in status. These exams consisted of a practical and paper portion. The practical portion included a duel with another candidate, as well as a basic assessment of demonic power levels. As I understood it, the exam to become a high-class devil was similar, if a lot harder.

But no such exam existed for ultimate-class devils. The class itself was an informal designation, a catch-all word used to refer to any devil whose power far exceeded the typical high-class devil. It provided zero material benefits in devil society, yet was a status that came with a great deal of respect.

Sirzechs, Grayfia, and Surtr, three people whose power could never be in doubt, confirmed my new status. And, I’d risen to this height before the age of twenty. Though no one outside the extended Gremory family knew, I was proud of what I’d accomplished.

There was just one problem: I was a camel. To be fair, there were a lot of benefits to being a camel and I rather liked my life.

For starters, my bloodline magic was stronger. Seeker of the Lost was hilariously useful when I was a camel. So long as I had the demonic power, and the thing I was looking for wasn’t intentionally being obscured from me by someone much better at this whole magic thing, I could find damn near anything.

I was also physically stronger and faster. In the same way a regular four-legged animal could outrun a human, a magical camel could outrun most devils. It was just a matter of basic physics. The increased stamina and ease of recovery even after Surtr’s ass-kickings felt incredible as well.

Best of all, people left me the fuck alone. No one thought twice about the eccentric bastard of the house, not even the servants. I could train, sleep, draw manga, or play with Rias all I wanted while skipping the tedium of devil politics.

Unfortunately, being a camel also came with a big downside. Chiefly, it meant having a very limited number of combat options. In nature, camels bit, kicked, and… that was about it, really. They didn’t exactly have a fearsome reputation.

My touki training didn’t help in that regard, either. Other than getting my shit kicked in by Surtr, my training could be summarized thusly: I rammed Surtr real hard. And then, I rammed Surtr real hard, but this time with feeling!

My power could be “ultimate-class,” but it wouldn’t mean much if my main mode of combat amounted to repeatedly tackling my opponents.

Which meant that now that I had touki, it was time to expand my combat repertoire. And what better way to do that than by relying on the memory of my past life? If I could copy Dragon Ball, surely I could draw inspiration from a few more series as well. After all, demonic power was all about imagination.

I grinned happily. “Well, that’s fine. God may have left me, but I still have the power of anime on my side.”

X

After much consideration, I settled on Pokemon. When it came to unreasonably powerful creatures with unusual biologies, I couldn't think of a more fitting setting to draw from.

It also helped that I knew a great deal about the franchise. It had been the “gateway drug” of Japanese media to me, the thing that got me started on a lifelong passion. To this day, the sight of that iconic, yellow rat injected me with a shot of pure nostalgia.

Besides, there were so many pokemon who used the same moves in so many different ways. I was sure I could make at least a few of them work for me. Not to mention, touki, “fighting spirit,” was very much in line with the setting’s shonen themes.

Seeing how I was a camel, I decided to take cues from the many ground types I knew of. Earthquake, Sandstorm, and Sand Tomb sounded like good places to start.

Unfortunately, I couldn't Path my way to success. As much as I'd like to think Seeker of the Lost was a flawless cheat, I'd noticed several limitations over the years.

It was like most other bloodline traits in that it was an active ability. I couldn't just set a Path and have it running in the background like a car's navigation system. And, like every other active ability, its upkeep required a steady flow of demonic power.

Thankfully, because my magic was purely in my own head and lacked an external manifestation, it didn't cost much. That said, I could still tire, or a sufficiently powerful entity like Surtr could disrupt the flow of demonic power.

It also required that I have a clear objective in mind. I wished it could activate on its own like the Phenex regeneration, but my magic wasn't a sentient thing that knew what I wanted. A versatile power inherently required more conscious involvement on the part of the user. Constant  oversight was necessary so I could tweak and streamline the Path as I progressed down its steps.

That meant that if someone could drug me into a stupor so that I could no longer maintain a clear image, Seeker of the Lost would also fail. It was a lesson I learned at the hands of McGregor Mathers, my brother's Bishop and legendary magician.

Had these been the only limitations, I would have searched for a “Path to Becoming a Pokemon” and been done with it. Alas, there was one more limitation: I could only have a single Path running at once.

It was the most taxing of my limitations, but an expected one. After all, I wasn't God, nor an alien supercomputer. I was a devil, and not an especially powerful one in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps I'd figure out Memory Partition from Fate, or some other analog. Until then, I'd have to prioritize.

There were ways to work around it. The simplest, I'd found, was just to memorize the steps of the Path, then start a second. The first would inevitably become tangled, less efficient, thanks to the passage of time and the interference of the second, but it could sometimes be worth it to take “detours.”

That was what I did with the “Path to Best Big Brother.” I didn't need to keep that one up perpetually, so most of the time was spent with the “Path to Swole Touki.”

In any case, “Path to Becoming a Pokemon” would have to wait for the moment. I resigned myself to exploring the wonders of demonic energy on my own; the Path was occupied with something more important than that: It was time to find myself a Queen.

Like every other noble devil, I’d received my evil pieces at the age of ten. Ajuka Beelzebub had given them to me personally, seeing how I was his best friend’s kid bro. Yet, in the past seven years, I’d failed to recruit a single person. It wasn’t for lack of potential candidates, either.

For a moderately powerful devil, serving in a noble’s peerage was an attractive way to rise in status. They could expect decent pay, training in whatever field in which they showed promise, and even the potential for sponsorships when they eventually attempted the high-class promotion exams.

Hell, relationships between a king and their peerage weren’t unheard of. Dad’s peerage was his harem. Big bro married his Queen. Bastard I might be, but a low-class devil could gain a great deal by charming me. Given House Gremory’s reputation as benevolent rulers, I had it on good authority that there was a long list of candidates I could choose from.

But that all sounded boring. Worse, a peerage of mooks wouldn’t be much help for the shit I knew was coming. I could theoretically make a “Path to Optimized Training Regimens” for all of them, but honestly? I had my hands full working on myself.

At the end of the day, I was like any other devil. I wanted a complete peerage filled with loyal, powerful members who could help me chase my ambitions. If some of them happened to be gorgeous women who wouldn’t mind sleeping with me, even better, but a harem was a secondary concern.

I had a few candidates in mind, of course. Even discounting my sister’s future peerage members, there were plenty of options: Kuroka. Lint. Tobio. Valerie. Hell, even Vali if I felt like pissing off Azazel.

But while I did want some of them eventually, none of them would make for a good Queen. Kuroka was insane, no matter how hot. Lint was a maverick. Tobio had too many human attachments. And Valerie was too much of a follower. The less said about Vali, the better. Not to mention, recruiting so many high profile candidates would mean drawing undue attention to myself.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t Rias. Though I was Sirzechs’ little brother, I was not the Gremory heir and so had far less political weight to throw around, fewer passive protections in place. It was harsh, but everyone in the family had a favorite, and I knew from the start that it wasn’t me.

A great peerage began with a great Queen. And my perfect Queen wouldn’t be found through a job application from the devils in my family’s territory. I’d have to go looking; an Akeno wouldn’t just drop into my lap.

Which in turn meant I myself had to be strong, strong enough to brush aside any scrutiny and help resolve my Queen’s problems so that they could join me without any regrets. Just past the ultimate-class threshold was the bare minimum amount of personal power I considered necessary for such a task.

And so, my search for a Queen began. Man or woman, it mattered not to me. Nor did I need them to be strong right away. They merely needed the potential to reach greatness. A special bloodline or Sacred Gear would be nice, but it was the mindset I was more interested in.

They needed to be strong leaders, with a similar moral compass to mine. They needed to be willing to follow my plans, yet also willing to call me on my bullshit. They needed to be kind, good at looking after others and resolving interpersonal conflicts, yet devoted to training and growing stronger.

Most of all, they needed to be loyal. I wanted love, a family. Whether a brother, sister, or even a future wife, they had to be someone I knew would have my back unconditionally.

That was… an admittedly long list of requirements. People who could keep up with my Paths were already few in number. Those who had the potential to climb the power ladder were vanishingly rare. Throw in a compatible personality and moral compass and I may as well be looking for flecks of gold in a sandstorm.

All I could do was make a mental model of a “perfect Queen,” then try to Path a way to find her.

Which was how I found myself in the Arabian Desert, about sixteen miles south of the tri-border shared between Iraq, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia. There, I found an unmarked ravine. It was a small thing, nestled between two, sandstone dunes.

It could barely be called a valley, but it hosted a small oasis surrounded by cacti and thistles. It was dusty, windy, and the sand got everywhere. Even fed by groundwater, I doubted this oasis would last more than a few months.

I loved it. I had no idea what the Path wanted from me, but Seeker of the Lost was telling me that I should chill here for a bit. Seeing how I wasn’t being asked to do anything else, I could only assume that my future Queen would find me.

Until then, I decided that I’d enjoy being in the desert for a change. The gardens of the Gremory estate were lovely, but there was something about the desert sand that made me feel at home. The wind, scorching to most, felt pleasantly warm against my shaggy fur.

I reached out and telekinetically dragged a cactus over. I wasn’t allowed to eat cacti at home. Oh, the Gremory territory had plenty, we raised actual war-camels, but I wasn’t allowed to bring any cacti into the manor. And, as usual, it was Rias’ fault.

She once caught me nibbling on one and asked why I ate it if it was so spiky. I told Rias that it was a bit like eating popcorn while watching a movie. It was something I did absentmindedly as much for the mouthfeel as the flavor.

Rias, proving that stupidity was not the exclusive domain of blondes, decided she wanted some too. She took a bite of my cactus while I wasn’t looking and… yeah… Aunt Vene had been furious.

I took a lazy bite and savored the rare treat. It had a lovely, crisp texture that was made even better by the way its needles snapped in my mouth. The flavor was tart. Being a camel didn’t make the spiky plant any sweeter, but there was an instinctive pull towards the plant. Maybe, one day, I’d learn druidic magic so I could grow steel-hard cacti to club people with. 

After finishing my treat, I laid in the sand and allowed the hot sun to lull me to sleep. 

X

Aylin bint Arsalan

I ran.

I ran for my life, like the hounds of Hell were gnashing at my heels.

My breath came in ragged gasps. My lungs were so dry that I could taste blood with every exhale. My feet were bloody and I could feel each grain and gravel jabbing into my soles. I wasn’t exhausted. I’d passed “exhausted” days ago.

But I couldn’t stop. Stopping meant they’d catch up. If they caught up, that’d be the end of me.

The sun beat down on me. Its scorching heat was a familiar comfort. Its rays were a harsh encouragement. The dry winds that blew sand at my back seemed to urge me onward even as they wore against me.

I supposed they were right; I was a freak, an abomination. No mere girl could run for days without end, or find solace in the heat of the desert.

I clutched tightly to my sword, an overly decorated thing of gold and encrusted emeralds. It was the only thing I had left of my parents and I’d rather die before I gave it up.

Frankly, it was looking like I’d be buried with it in hand, but at least that was something. My pursuers murdered my parents for this sword. It was only right that I spite them until my last breath.

Then, the desert seemed to shimmer as I ducked between two dunes. An oasis appeared nearby, as if it had been hidden by the sand and heat haze. Maybe, if I could catch my breath there for a minute, I could survive. If I could just refill my water bottle and quench the burning in my throat, I’d be happy.

I heard engines in the distance. Jeeps meant for desert sands. They were mercenaries employed by the monsters who killed my family. They themselves didn’t have magic, I wouldn’t have lasted this long otherwise, but they knew about the supernatural.

I didn’t have long. Ten minutes? Five? No matter. They’d arrive at the little valley between the dunes soon. I quickly approached the oasis, only to find that I was not alone.

“God has not abandoned me,” I whispered in awe.

There, as real as the sand beneath my toes, was a magnificent camel. It was unlike any other camel I’d ever seen, with thick, shaggy fur as red as blood. It was also absolutely massive, muscled in a way that reminded me of warhorses, not a desert survivor.

Not all oases could be drunk from directly. When water evaporated in the desert sun, salt was left behind to accumulate. Oftentimes, an oasis was a sign that groundwater was near the surface, and that a well could be dug, but the water already on the surface was unsafe.

I swiftly checked the water and smiled with delight. I couldn’t taste the salt, so the groundwater must either be very close to the surface or the oasis must be very new.

I refilled my bottle. I had new hope. The bottle would last me longer now that I could get a ride. If I could get a ride.

I saw that the camel was snoozing away and slapped its haunches. There was no way this creature was wild. No camel in the wild could eat well enough to look like this.

“Wake!” I urged it. I could hear the engines drawing near.  I slapped its butt some more. I’d make it rise from annoyance if nothing else.“Up! Please, god damn you, up!”

Slowly, with a lazy yawn, the camel turned to me. It opened one, massive eye. Then, as if my entire life had been a lie, it, he, spoke, “I don’t know about the big man upstairs, but some of us don’t like having our asses groped while we nap.”

My mind went blank as I tried to make sense of this new development. “W-What?”

“Nap. Ass. Grope. Do you not understand Turkish? That’s what you’re speaking, isn’t it? Or is my translation magic wrong? No, that can’t be right…”

“Y-You can talk!”

“I can?” he cried with alarm. He bolted to his feet. “By Lilith’s cavernous cunt! I can!”

I heard shouting nearby. We were out of time. I tucked my sword to the side and hopped onto his back. The space between his humps made for a perfect saddle. “No time! Get me out of here!”

“Hmm… Oh, very well. But I’d like to hear your story.”

“Fine! Whatever! Go!”

“So pushy… I wonder if you really are the right one…”

So saying, he stamped his feet. A crimson circle bloomed beneath us and, in a literal flash, I was elsewhere.

Author’s Note

Yes, I have turned a DxD fic into a Pokemon fic. Soren is his own trainer. Idk, think maybe Gaara or Crocodile, if they were a camerupt or something.

I thought about different peerage candidates and decided on an OC for the most important piece. Apparently, the Muslims and Jews are… kinda not factions in DxD for some reason?

So, since most of the folklore and mythology from the Near-East is up for grabs, I decided to make an absolutely cracked Queen candidate. Bloodline of heroes, legendary weapon, magical creature, the whole shebang.

Kudos if you got the hints.

Animal Fact: Shrews are blind when they’re born, like many other mammals. They learn to walk before they can fully see, so they have this weird instinct where they bite the butt of their siblings. The one in front bites mama’s butt, forming a furry centipede.