'Why am I even doing this right now…?'
A sigh echoed in Jeanne's heart, silent yet exasperated.
The weight of regret settled on her shoulders like a cold mist.
She had told Ophis she was stepping out for a minor errand, nothing more than a brief walk, but in truth, Jeanne had already begun to move in preparation for Dohnaseek's inevitable attack on Hyoudou Issei.
Her steps were light, her expression unreadable, but inwardly, she was unimpressed by the situation—and by Rias Gremory.
"Seriously, what is she thinking?" Jeanne scoffed inwardly. Keeping Issei in the dark about his Sacred Gear? Does she want her precious pawn to end up traumatized for no reason?
With a flick of her wrist, she summoned her most reliable tool: the Divine Construct, Quill of Enoch.
The pen hovered for a moment, shimmering faintly with holy light, before she scribbled a single Hebrew word into the air.
Conceal.
Reality responded. The atmosphere trembled, and the world shifted ever so slightly around her.
Jeanne's presence disappeared. No mortal, demon, or dragon would be able to perceive her now. She had become, in effect, an assassin with EX Rank Presence Concealment, her existence hidden even from beings of myth.
Without hesitation, she summoned her throne—the Throne of God—and ascended into the skies above Kuoh City. From the heavens, Jeanne gazed down, her eyes distant yet all-seeing.
The Revelation guided her vision. Threads of fate shimmered faintly, and within seconds, she found him—Issei Hyoudou.
The throne glided silently to a position just above him, veiled from mortal sight. Jeanne reclined upon it as though she were lounging in her own personal garden, arms folded behind her head, the picture of divine nonchalance.
She had initially planned to handle today's encounter much like she had two days ago, when she crossed paths with Dohnaseek directly. But searching for that lecherous boy physically felt like a waste of effort.
Besides… there was another problem.
Ddraig.
She wasn't completely sure she could suppress the Red Dragon Emperor's instincts enough to hide her abilities. But she had confidence—at least, more than most.
After all, even a weakened God had once sealed both Albion and Ddraig, shortly after sacrificing much of His power to lock away Trihexa.
And in this world, no one stood closer to God than Jeanne herself.
At least, not when she was in her Univers Immortel Metatron Form.
However, just her 3rd Ascension by itself would be enough.
And so, to avoid any unnecessary interference from the wild card that was Ddraig, she had summoned the Throne of God, the closest vessel she possessed to Univers Immortel Metatron.
There was a side benefit, too—while in this state, more of her true personality could seep through. Unfortunately, that meant all her lazy habits emerged as well.
Ideally, she wouldn't have to lift a finger. If she was lucky, she could send just a whisper of Killing Intent toward Issei—enough to shake his soul and awaken Ddraig through sheer emotional overload.
If that didn't work, well… the Quill of Enoch was always an option.
She could force the reaction herself.
She watched him from above, reclined on the Throne of God like a queen observing the antics of a court jester.
Below, Issei Hyoudou darted through the streets under the moonlight, brimming with energy that didn't suit the hour. His footsteps echoed faintly in the quiet night, laughter trailing behind him like a child chasing a dream.
Jeanne's golden eyes followed him lazily, her expression unreadable, lips curved just slightly in amusement.
'Looks like he's having fun…'
The thought drifted through her mind, light and idle.
She didn't smile, but something in her gaze softened—as if, for a moment, she wasn't a holy executioner perched on a divine throne, but simply a woman watching a boy enjoy a fleeting moment of peace.
Even if she knew it wouldn't last.
Her Revelation suddenly flared.
A ripple surged through her perception—an undeniable tug at the threads of fate.
'He's here? Finally.'
Her gaze, calm and apathetic, drifted toward the source of the disturbance. And there he was. Beneath the flickering glow of a lonely lamppost, the Fallen Angel Dohnaseek made his presence known, his shadow long and looming.
Jeanne narrowed her eyes, the golden hue in them deepening slightly.
From her vantage point in the heavens, she watched as Issei froze, the boy's breath hitching in his throat as Dohnaseek drew closer—predator approaching prey. The tension in the air thickened.
Then came the light spear. Dohnaseek summoned it with a casual flick, the divine weapon glimmering menacingly in his grasp.
Jeanne moved instantly.
Her quill danced through the air, stroking a single Hebrew word into existence—Barrier.
The world obeyed.
A dome of divine craftsmanship surged into place around the battlefield. It shimmered, unseen by mortal eyes, and pulsed with layered properties: concealment, time dilation, and absolute indestructibility.
Within it, no sound would leak. No eye could see. No force could intervene.
Jeanne exhaled, and with it, the weight of her voice descended upon the world.
"Stop."
It was a simple word, yet it carried the weight of Heaven's Will.
God's Resolution seeped into every syllable. It wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be.
Both the Fallen and the Devil froze mid-step, their instincts screaming at them to obey. Even Dohnaseek, an angel long divorced from grace, could feel the authority in her voice—so absolute it stole the air from his lungs.
Jeanne remained seated on her throne, her posture languid, but she knew—
'This will require a little more power…'
Light gathered above her, coalescing into a luminous crown that settled upon her brow. A pair of radiant wings unfurled from her back, ethereal and majestic, as if reality itself was bending to accommodate her presence.
She was approaching close to her Third Ascension, the threshold to the true domain of the divine.
And Jeanne d'Arc, the Scribe of God and the Pillar of Fire, was going to reveal herself.
She was ready to act.
'I'll remove their memories anyway.'
Jeanne's thoughts echoed with cold indifference, as if erasing the events from their minds was no more troublesome than brushing dust from her sleeve.
The Throne of God began its descent, gliding silently like a divine omen through the night sky. Its golden glow illuminated the street below, casting long shadows that warped and trembled in its light.
Dohnaseek looked up.
His breath caught. His wings stiffened.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
'Such… such Holy Power…!'
Terror bloomed in his chest, primal and instinctive.
'What is an Angel from Heaven doing in Kuoh?!'
But even that thought was drowned out as a familiar presence gripped his soul, ancient and overwhelming.
When he had first heard the voice command him to stop, it had frozen him—not just in body, but in spirit. He had obeyed without thought, without resistance, as though something deep within him recognized it.
And now, as he gazed upon the descending throne—resplendent and absolute—an unbearable emotion surged from the depths of his being.
His knees trembled.
His spear faded from his grasp.
'T-this presence… It can't be…'
His lips parted, breathless, as a buried fragment of reverence clawed its way to the surface.
'F-Father…?'
The word left him silently. Not in defiance. Not in confusion.
But in awe.
Because no matter how far he had fallen… no matter how stained his wings had become…
Somewhere, deep inside, a part of him still remembered the brilliance that was the Kingdom of Heaven.
And what stood before him now—hovering upon the familiar divine throne, wreathed in holy light—was unmistakably close to the God he once knew.
Issei, meanwhile, stood frozen in place—confused, frightened, and completely out of his depth.
Just hours ago, he had been wondering why no one remembered Amano Yuuma, the BDSM woman who he thought killed him, then got juked out because it seemed she didn't exist in the first place. Then, without warning, a strange strength began bubbling inside him as night fell. And now—this.
A man he'd never met had approached him with killing intent in his eyes and a spear of light in his hand.
Was this what death felt like?
The fear, the helplessness… the coldness in his chest?
But then—she descended.
From the heavens, like a scene torn straight out of a dream.
A throne of light, impossibly majestic, floated down through the sky. Seated upon it, a figure of divine serenity—a woman with light-gold hair, cloaked in light, wings unfurled, and a crown of light upon her head.
Issei could hardly breathe.
He couldn't look away.
'Am I… going to die?' he wondered vaguely. But if he was, then this was a beautiful way to go.
The woman—this angelic presence—sat with an air of supreme detachment. Her body was relaxed, almost lazy, but her eyes…
Those eyes were terrifying.
Apathetic. Cold. Not cruel, but simply inhuman—like a higher being who no longer registered mortal suffering as anything more than background noise.
Yet… he recognized her.
That face. That hair. That ethereal grace.
He'd caught glimpses of her before in Kuoh Academy—the Saintess that even the perverts avoided, more out of reverence than fear. Usually right before getting beaten by the Kendo Club's shinai for just glancing at her.
Yes, this was Jeanne d'Arc.
A pure being. Even an idiot like him could feel it.
But now… now that very same Jeanne was saving him.
Without a word, ignoring the dumbstruck expressions of both Devil and Fallen, Jeanne raised her hand.
Her quill appeared once more in her grip, and she began to write.
Sleep.
One word.
It floated in the air, shining faintly in glowing Hebrew script.
A moment later, both Dohnaseek and the Issei slumped forward—unconscious before their bodies even hit the ground.
Jeanne exhaled softly.
Her gaze drifted toward the light spear that remained, still hanging in the air like a threat.
She lifted her fingers once more, and with a lazy wave—almost like brushing away an annoying insect—the spear flickered once… twice… and then vanished completely, as though it had never existed.
And in the eerie stillness that followed, Jeanne sat quietly upon the throne, her eyes falling on Issei with unreadable intent.
'Now for the Dragon…'
Jeanne's gaze turned toward Issei, who had collapsed onto the pavement amidst the slumbering Devil and Fallen. The boy's chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm, unconscious yet clearly distressed.
Jeanne didn't hesitate.
From her throne, she summoned Killing Intent—cold, refined, honed over centuries. It poured from her like a silent tide, suffocating and merciless.
If it was strong enough… it should pierce even the veil of unconsciousness.
The reaction was immediate. Issei began to sweat, his body twitching slightly. Beads of cold perspiration rolled down his forehead.
But still—nothing.
No surge of power.
No flash of red.
No emergence of the Boosted Gear.
Jeanne's brows twitched in irritation. A rare show of emotion.
"How annoying," she muttered, her voice devoid of warmth. "Why couldn't this dragon be scared into awakening, for God's sake…"
Plan A had failed.
Now came Plan B.
Her voice dropped, laced with divine chill as she issued the next command—not to Issei, but to the ancient being slumbering inside him.
"Ddraig. If you don't want your host to die, materialize."
The words echoed unnaturally, carried by divine authority, rattling the silence of the empty street like an unspoken judgment.
But no response came.
No voice.
No armor.
Only silence.
Jeanne exhaled sharply through her nose, frustrated yet composed. She lifted her quill once more.
With a single flourish, she inscribed a new command into the world.
Materialize.
A shimmer sparked.A faint pulse.
And then—a red gauntlet appeared, resting over Issei's limp arm. The Boosted Gear had responded. But… only partially.
Jeanne narrowed her eyes.
'Did it work?'
Not fully. Something was off.
Once again, she raised her quill and etched a second command, divine script glowing briefly in the air.
Analyze.
Streams of information poured into her consciousness—numbers, configurations, parameters of the Sacred Gear.
But she focused only on one thing: its state.
Her eyes sharpened as the result filtered in.
Twice Critical.
The Boosted Gear had not awakened in full.
It was still in its lowest, most primitive form—a stage far below what she needed.
Disappointing.
And yet… Jeanne remained still, gaze unreadable, as if she was already calculating Plan C.
However, maybe now Ddraig could hear her.
"Ddraig. If you don't want your entire soul to disappear, never to be seen again—materialize."
Jeanne's voice was as calm as ever, but now it pulsed with something heavier—raw judgment, drawn directly from the Throne of God. The very air warped under the pressure, the streetlights flickering like candles before a divine wind.
Power surged.
Reality trembled.
And with a reluctant shimmer, the gauntlet on Issei's arm twisted and reshaped—its dull red plates snapping into a new form, pulsing with faint, draconic heat.
The Boosted Gear stirred, its awakening a mighty and terrifying event. From deep within the jewel, a voice roared—a voice that was both arrogant and laced with disdain, as if centuries of power and pride were packed into every word:
[Who do you think you are, daring to threaten me?! I am the Welsh Dragon Emperor! Foolish Angel, do you truly believe you are a god?!]
Jeanne, however, remained unmoved. Her eyelids didn't even flutter.
The insult washed over her like rain on sacred marble—unaffected, untouched, as if it were nothing more than a whisper in the wind.
Her eyes, still half-lidded and oozing indifference, drifted toward the glowing emerald embedded in her gauntlet.
"Ddraig. Once I leave, will you revert back to Twice Critical?"
Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion, almost as if she were discussing something as trivial as whether someone would take out the trash after she was gone. A faint note of boredom colored her words, as though she was simply going through the motions of a conversation.
[You dare ask me such a question, you two-winged Angel?! Do you think me so weak, that I would answer to you?!]
The voice bellowed with rage and haughty pride, as if the very air itself trembled beneath its fury.
Jeanne, however, barely spared a thought to the words. With a lazy sigh, she rested her cheek against the palm of her hand, her posture relaxed and casual, as if she were lounging in the highest of thrones.
"Hah… If you just answered, this day would be so much easier…"
The words were a soft lament, though tinged with a hint of mockery. She seemed almost disappointed at the lack of cooperation.
[Such arrogance! Do you think you can stand against me?! I could crush you beneath my heel in the blink of an eye, Angel!]
Ddraig's roar shook the very air, a blaze of ancient fury and pride lashing out from within the jewel. But Jeanne, ever composed, gave only the faintest smile—a small, fleeting curl of her lips—her expression unreadable.
"But you're stuck, aren't you?" Her words were calm, almost taunting, as her gaze sharpened.
Her tone shifted subtly, the slightest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth, her fingers tapping lightly against the green jewel.
"What happened there, Ddraig?"
[...]
There was a moment of silence.
Ddraig fell silent, but not out of fear. No, it was disbelief that gripped him now. An Angel—an Angel—was taunting him? This was not the reverent obedience he expected from the divine. This was something else entirely.
Brazen. Sharp-tongued. A mocking, cruel playfulness.
It was the kind of behavior he had only seen from those who had fallen from grace. Something fallen—something dangerous.
'Why is the Dragon Witch skill not working on Ddraig? Was it because she herself became something so far from the Concept of Jeanne Alter that she no longer had the effects of the Skill?'
Jeanne tilted her head, her eyes now gleaming with curiosity, as if she were savoring every moment of this strange, new game she played.
"So? Can I get an answer now?"
Ddraig's fury flared once again. [Hah! You dare ask for an answer? I haven't even deemed this host worthy of my power! Why would I waste my time with you?!]
His voice spat with arrogant disdain, venomous contempt dripping from every syllable.
Jeanne's smile faltered, her brow twitching in irritation. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing.
"I guess I'll have to threaten you then..."
[Ha! With what power could you possibly threaten me?! It took the Almighty Himself everything He had to seal both Albion and me away! Do you think you stand a chance against me? Do you think you know why He died?!]
Ddraig's voice boomed with victory, an overwhelming, roaring pride, his words thick with the fire of his arrogance.
But Jeanne's reaction was unfazed. She leaned back again, her expression utterly deadpan. Her eyes remained cold, unreadable.
'Wasn't it because He sealed the Trihexa first…?'
The memory, distant and fleeting, passed through her mind: God, exhausted, sealing one calamity after another, until He could do no more, His strength shattered and worn.
But Ddraig would never know that. His delusions were his to keep.
Jeanne inhaled quietly, her expression shifting into a blend of annoyance, pity, and the most perfect disinterest. Every ounce of her being screamed that she had grown tired of this game.
Jeanne drew deeper from the well of power that was Metatron. The radiant crown above her head shimmered—its halo now sprouting a pair of delicate wings of light, followed by another, broader set that unfurled behind her like celestial banners announcing judgment.
Her heart began to quiet. The vestiges of mortal emotion—annoyance, weariness, curiosity—drowned beneath a rising tide of something far colder, more calculating. Her very being became a vessel of divine mechanism—the Mechanical Filter and Nature of Metatron overtaking all sense of self.
Her once-casual attire shifted, thread by thread, until not a stitch of humanity remained. In its place, a pristine white dress shimmered into existence, its gold-lined edges gleaming with immaculate holiness—an unsoiled form that rejected the taint of the world, the expanse of space seen from the inner dress.
The Quill of Enoch, ever her weapon of choice, ignited. Blue holy fire streamed across its tip, dancing like wrathful scripture.
She had fully reached her Third Ascension.
"Is this enough power?"
Gone was the lazy, half-amused tone of Jeanne.What emerged now was something clinical, distant—the voice of Metatron itself, stripped of compassion, devoid of pride.
[...]
Ddraig was silent.
His pride screamed to respond. To roar. To mock.
But for once in what felt like eons, he hesitated.
This wasn't Michael.
This wasn't Uriel.
This wasn't some sanctimonious fool wielding light like a toy.
This was different.
Ddraig had stood against God. He had known the weight of that gaze, the suffocating presence of True Belief, sharpened into a weapon. What radiated from Jeanne was not merely holy—it was faith incarnate, structured, perfected, and mechanized into divine precision.
It stopped him in his tracks.
He would never admit it aloud—but the weight pressing down from that throne, from those wings, from that flame—for a moment, it brought back the same ancient dread from the battlefield where he and Albion faced the Biblical God.
The angels that followed Him?
Pale imitations.
Insects wielding light, thinking themselves powerful.
But this woman—this thing—was not one of them.
She was closer to that God than any being Ddraig had seen since the sealing.
For the first time, a faint whisper of anxiety stirred beneath his arrogance.
And Jeanne, now fully enthroned in godhood, tilted her head with dispassion.
"A response?"
Her legs crossed elegantly atop the Throne of God, her fingers resting gently beside the flaming pen.
She waited.
And the silence stretched.
[...Tch. Fine.]
The emerald jewel pulsed faintly, its draconic glow dimming—not out of defeat, but recognition.
[You've made your point, Angel.]
Ddraig's voice had lost none of its pride, but the edges were dulled. Shaved down not by fear, but by the suffocating weight of clarity. He could no longer pretend this was some second-rate angel bluffing with borrowed light.
This wasn't Light.
This was Law.
This was System.
This was Authority.
[You are not like the others.]
[You reek of that wretched God, more than even Michael does…]
Jeanne didn't reply. She didn't need to.
The flames of her quill flared gently in acknowledgment, casting intricate shadows across the barrier dome. She sat unmoving, uncaring, as if even the most powerful dragon in history was no more than another entry in her record to be filed away and forgotten.
[...What do you want?]
The shift in tone was subtle, but undeniable.
Not compliance.
But submission—reluctant, grudging, and edged with the bitter tang of reality.
The Welsh Dragon Emperor had yielded.
Jeanne looked down at the gauntlet for a moment longer before speaking, her tone flat, almost mechanical.
"Remain awakened. Protect your host. Do not regress to Twice Critical. Don't reveal my position."
[And if I refuse?]
She raised the Quill of Enoch again.
The flames whispered.
"Then I'll overwrite the soul signature of your being and make you forcefully obey."
Ddraig stiffened. He knew she could.
[...Tch. Understood.]
And with that, the Boosted Gear stabilized, its glow no longer fluctuating—no longer hesitant.
Jeanne leaned back slightly in the throne, folding her arms as the light of her wings flickered gently in the quiet.
Another task complete.
Another variable under control.
Jeanne gave one last glance at the unconscious Devil and Fallen. There was no need to keep them tethered to this memory. If anything, it would only complicate future variables.
She twirled the Quill of Enoch in her fingers—light and flame still trailing behind its every movement like divine ink.
"Forget."
The word was written into the fabric of reality, each stroke in Hebrew searing itself into the very air.
A faint shimmer passed over Dohnaseek and Issei like a ripple across a mirror. Their minds, now scrubbed clean of the events, settled into a manufactured memory—one that would leave no room for suspicion, only fragmented confusion and a convenient blank space.
She watched as the two walked away, ignorant of the events that had passed.
Jeanne stood, her steps quiet, not because she was light-footed, but because the Throne of God did not permit sound where it wasn't required.
She raised her hand one final time.
"Collapse."
The barrier around them—undetectable, unbreakable, distorted through time—folded in on itself, collapsing like a silent cathedral made of glass. No echo. No wind. Just silence.
Mission complete.
The wings behind her withdrew. The crown of light dimmed and shattered into pale feathers. Her dress unraveled thread by thread, reverting to a much simpler outfit—homewear that clashed so awkwardly with the grandeur of the moment it felt like a divine joke.
She slumped slightly into her throne, posture loosening. The pen dimmed, and the blue flames were snuffed out with a quiet sigh of release.
"...Finally."
Lazy Jeanne had returned.
With an exaggerated yawn, she pulled her knees up onto the Throne of God, curling into the seat like it was a worn-out couch instead of a divine construct.
"All that for a dumb red gauntlet and a dragon with ego issues…"
She waved a hand idly, floating the Throne higher above Kuoh, as if to disengage herself from the now-boring reality below.
"Time to go home before Ophis notices I'm not actually grocery shopping..."
And just like that, the holy glow that had bathed the streets faded. The world moved again, unaware that Judgment had passed by like a quiet breeze.
Jeanne floated lazily toward a small convenience store, her throne descending slowly and silently. She let out another dramatic sigh, as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders—or at least, the weight of an "errand" that had turned into a divine fiasco.
She barely bothered to adjust her outfit, casually strolling into the store like a person with no cares in the world. The bell above the door jingled as she entered, and the store clerk looked up briefly, blinking in confusion at the sudden appearance of a glowing figure in what could only be described as homewear.
Jeanne waved a hand dismissively, already walking down the snack aisle with exaggerated disinterest. She reached for a random bag of chips—something simple and unimpressive—before tossing it into her basket, along with a couple of candy bars just to make it look less suspicious.
She made her way to the counter, where the cashier hesitated but ultimately rang her up.
"Is this really what you came out for?" the clerk asked, raising an eyebrow as he handed her the bag.
Jeanne gave a nonchalant shrug. "Yes, of course. The most important part of any grocery run is snacks... don't you know?"
The clerk blinked a few times, clearly unsure whether he was dealing with a very eccentric customer or something entirely different. But he didn't press it.
With a quick flick of her wrist, Jeanne paid for the snacks—her divine aura barely restrained as she forced herself back into the role of a "normal" shopper—and floated back out, her throne following her like a loyal pet.
Mission complete. She had a snack.
And with that, she lazily drifted back to the house, where Ophis was probably waiting.
"Honestly, I might need to go grocery shopping more often just to pretend to be normal," Jeanne mused as she soared across the city, chips and candy bars in tow.
"Now all I need to do is get a new lovely little sibling next week... and the date with Ophis."
--+--
A/N: Thank you guys for all the support like its insane. Please Power Stones! Also, it's lowkey crazy how I'm 8th place last time I checked.
I really enjoy writing the mechanical nature of Metatron Jeanne. I think it's unique.
To the review who said I was desecrating Jeanne! It's cause it isn't actually jeanne! I never claimed her to be Jeanne! It's why she isn't saintly all the fucking time! But I'm sorry for desecrating her!
Yall need to understand Jeanne's personality is a base modern FGO and anime watcher mixed with the vessel at the time. Obviously the real Jeanne would act differently.
I also do think that Jeanne is stronger than Ddraig, espcially because they were both sealed after God was hella weakened from Trihexa. I don't know what would happen if Ddraig and Albion team up, but Ddraig by himself stands no chance. Also, a Top Ten Strongest Beings list would be appreciated.
I tried searching it up but different responses came every time.
I just know Trihexa/Ophis/Great Red are at the top.
I have plans for the next little sister after Asia, but I aint telling. Cause thats spoilers.
Also, do you guys want the fallen angels here to NOT die? I'm still feeling a little fifty fifty.
Thank you for listening to my rant and for the crazy support.