Black Clover : Asta's Father

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The snow fell thicker as Asta stalked through the quiet outskirts of the town, his sharp senses on edge.

The faint, unnatural chill carried a distinct menace that made his grip on his sword tighten.

His hunter's instincts, honed by years of grueling training with Nero, guided his steps.

Every crunch of his boots on the snow was as silent as possible, every breath measured.

It didn't take long before his enhanced hearing caught the sound of different footsteps crunching ahead.

He stopped, blending into the shadows, his sharp eyes spotting a white-haired mage moving toward the outskirts of the town clewrly nervous from their heart rate and demeanor.

The mage's pace was hurried, their glances over the shoulder hinting at unease.

Easy, Asta thought, trailing them silently.

The path led to a cave hidden by an outcropping of jagged rocks.

Asta climbed the rocky walls, sticking to the shadows, his every move calculated.

As the mage disappeared inside, Asta edged closer, peering down into the dimly lit cavern.

The white-haired mage wasn't alone.

A brutish man stood waiting, his massive frame outlined by the glow of several magical crystals embedded in the walls.

Their conversation began immediately, the urgency in their voices unmistakable.

"Someone interfered," the white-haired mage hissed, their voice taut with nervousness. "I couldn't get everyone."

The brutish man's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'someone'?" His tone was a dangerous growl.

"A boy—he dispelled the snow magic on some of the children. I didn't see much, but the way he cut through the spell... it's not normal."

The brutish man cursed under his breath, his fists clenching. "We can't afford delays! If the ritual isn't ready soon—"

"He's dangerous," the mage interrupted, their voice trembling. "I barely made it here without him noticing me."

Asta's sharp ears caught every word. His grip on his sword tightened.

This is bad.

He had no time to call for reinforcements lest these people may slip away without being caught.

The first lesson Nero had drilled into him echoed in his mind: When you aren't in overwhelming control of the situation, aim to neutralize all possible variables first.

His eyes hardened, his decision made.

With a deafening boom, he vanished from his perch, reappearing mid-air above the white-haired mage.

The air around him rippled with red destructive energy, his sword glowing red as he brought it down.

The mage barely had time to scream.

The blade sliced cleanly through them, a burning arc of red destruction cleaving their torso apart.

Snow mixed with blood as the lifeless body collapsed.

The brutish man staggered back in shock, his hand reaching for his grimoire. "You—!"

But Asta was already on him, moving with predatory speed.

His partially devilized arm shot out, grabbing the grimoire before it could activate.

The tome withered instantly, crumbling into ash under the combined assault of anti-magic and destruction energy.

The brutish man's face contorted in terror. "Stay back!" he bellowed, but it was too late.

Asta drove his fist into the man's temple with brutal precision.

The force sent the man sprawling to the ground, unconscious before he hit the dirt.

Asta straightened, his breath steady despite the storm raging in his chest.

The remnants of destruction energy still lingered on his blade, casting an ominous glow in the cave.

He glanced at the crumpled bodies, then deeper into the cavern.

Sensing around Asta could jear many smaller heartbeats most likely children.

But it was fine now.

Noelle should be back with reinforcements in no time.

---

A faint hum echoed as space itself began to crack, the air shimmering with emegy.

The cracks widened, spilling forth a blue glow before Mereoleona Vermillion stepped through, her very presence igniting the room with an overwhelming aura though srill paling in Nero's presence.

The energy dissipated as quickly as it had come, leaving Mereoleona standing tall, her fiery mane cascading over her shoulders.

But instead of her usual brash grin or defiant glare, her expression was calm, almost contemplative, as her sharp gaze locked onto Nero's.

Nero sat at his desk, his elbows resting on the polished surface, his fingers steepled in front of him.

His stony, passive eyes met hers without flinching, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the forceful energy she exuded.

She didn't waste time with pleasantries or taunts.

Striding across the room, her movements purposeful, she stopped just short of his desk.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. She held it out to him, her expression unchanging.

Nero sighed, a faint trace of annoyance flickering in his eyes.

Without a word, he leaned forward and took the paper, unfolding it with deliberate slowness.

The moment he saw the familiar handwriting, his lips pressed into a thin line.

It was a contract—a bet they had made long ago, written and signed with the kind of boldness only two people who believed they'd never need each other could muster.

"You remember the terms, don't you?" Mereoleona asked, her voice carrying a quiet edge.

"I do," Nero replied, his tone flat. He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "And now I owe you money for calling you using the medallion."

Her lips twitched, a flicker of a grin threatening to break through her composed facade. "Quite a bit of money, actually," she said, crossing her arms.

Nero set the paper down on the desk, leaning back in his chair with a resigned exhale. "Let's not make this a habit," he muttered.

Mereoleona chuckled, finally letting a bit of her usual fire shine through. "Oh, don't worry, I won't let you off that easily next time."

But as the moment lingered, her grin faded slightly, and a more serious look settled on her face. "You wouldn't have called me unless it was important," she said, her tone softening.

Nero nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing. "It is. And if you've got time to gloat, then you've got time to listen."

Mereoleona pulled up a chair without hesitation, her brash confidence tempered with a rare patience as she sat across from him.

The room felt heavier than it should have as Mereoleona's smirk lingered, her fiery presence a stark contrast to Nero's stoic demeanor.

To an outsider, this might have seemed like an ordinary meeting of two formidable individuals.

But for Nero, talking to her was far from ordinary—it was awkward, painfully so.

It wasn't the fiery Vermillion's bluntness that unsettled him; it was their history.

Back then—before Richita, before he had begun to bury himself in his solitary pursuits—Nero had been... well, less of a loner by his own accord.

People just never approached him out of fear.

---

The air reeked of alcohol and spilled beer, the wooden floor of the bar sticky beneath their boots.

Nero sat slumped in his chair, a drink in hand, his expression one of complete disinterest.

His mind was a haze of boredom and irritation after killing some Nobles.

This bar, far removed from prying eyes, was meant to be a refuge—a place to be mindless, where he could drink himself into oblivion and forget himself for a while.

"Hey! You listening to me, you stone-faced bastard?" Mereoleona's voice pierced through the din of his thoughts.

She sat across from him, a challenging grin plastered on her face, her fiery red hair loose and wild.

"No," Nero replied flatly, taking another sip.

Her grin only widened. She wasn't one to back down. "Come on! Fight me already. You can't keep running away from a rematch."

"You don't stand a chance,You're weaker that the newborn me." he said, not even sparing her a glance.

Mereoleona bristled but pressed on. "I've trained since last time. You won't just flick me away this time!"

She had been infatuated with him ever since that fateful day when he defeated her with nothing but a finger flick, sending her sprawling in humiliation.

To her, he was the ultimate challenge, a man who could ignite her competitive spirit like no other.

Nero sighed, setting his drink down. "Fine. I'll fight you—"

Her eyes lit up.

"—if you beat me in a drinking challenge."

Her brow furrowed, suspicion creeping into her features. "Drinking challenge?"

He smirked faintly, his first real expression of the evening. "Simple who lasts till the end wins. Throwing up or passing out counts as a penalty. And for every penalty... you lose one piece of clothing."

Mereoleona's cheeks flushed, but her grin returned in full force. "You're on. Just don't back out when I drink you under the table!"

With a snap of his fingers, the bar doors locked, glowing faintly with his magical barrier.

Nero had bout out the entire establishment, ensuring they wouldn't be disturbed.

Some hours later.

The bar was in utter shambles.

Empty bottles were strewn across the tables and floor, the faint light of the setting sun filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls.

They had been at it for seven hours now, the atmosphere heavy with the smell of alcohol and the reckless abandon of two individuals too stubborn to admit defeat.

Nero sat, slouched but surprisingly composed for someone who had consumed enough liquor to incapacitate a small battalion.

His critical thinking was all but gone his mind blank of all inhibitions, leaving behind a languid expression of indifference as he swirled the last drops of his drink.

He hadn't incurred a single penalty, his body appearing to be impervious to intoxication on the outside despite the sheer potency of the special brew he had ordered—a liquor ten times more intoxicating than any mortal drink.

Mereoleona, however, was a different story.

The once-fiery lioness was now slumped in her chair, her skin flushed and her breath labored as she struggled to stay conscious.

Her clothing was gone, the dwindling daylight doing little to shield her.

Her mana circulated furiously, the only thing keeping her awake, though it was clear she was on the verge of collapse.

Her pride wouldn't allow her to surrender, but her body was no longer listening.

Every attempt to down another glass was met with a trembling hand and a wavering resolve.

She glared at Nero weakly, her once-bright eyes dimmed but still filled with a stubborn fire.

"You… bastard," she slurred, her voice barely audible. "You rigged this… somehow."

Nero chuckled softly, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he watched her struggle his own voice thoigh clearly faltering."I ...warned .....you," he said, his voice smooth yet undeniably intoxicated. "But you insisted. ....What was it you said? ...Something about me crying under the table?"

Mereoleona tried to respond but could only manage a groan.

Her head lolled back against the chair, and for a moment, it seemed she might pass out entirely.

Nero stood, his movements languid yet precise, and walked toward her.

His towering figure cast a shadow over her slumped form as he knelt down, his face now level with hers.

She flinched slightly, her pride refusing to let her show weakness even in her current state.

"I'll ...admit," he said, his voice softer now, "it's commendable you've lasted this ....long. Most wouldn't have made it past .....the first hour, let alone... seven."

Her lips parted as if to retort, but no sound came.

She was utterly spent, her mana reserves dwindling, her body teetering on the edge of collapse.

Nero reached out, gently pulling her into his arms.

Her body tensed for a moment, but she lacked the strength to resist. His embrace was firm yet oddly gentle, a stark contrast to his usual cold demeanor.

"I'm feeling.... generous," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "So I'll give you my ...mana to heal you."

Before she could protest, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers.

The kiss was warm, a slow transfer of energy flowing from him to her.

His mana surged into her, revitalizing her battered body and stabilizing her chaotic circulation.

Mereoleona's eyes widened for a moment before fluttering shut, the warmth of his mana spreading through her like a soothing balm.

Her strength began to return, though her mind remained hazy, caught between the haze of alcohol and the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

When Nero finally pulled away, he regarded her with an unreadable expression. "That should keep... you from passing out...," he said simply, standing to his full height once more with a slight wobble.

Mereoleona blinked up at him, her pride clashing with an unfamiliar warmth that now lingered in her chest.

For once, she was at a loss for words.

Mereoleona's breaths grew heavier as the warmth coursing through her body mingled with the remnants of alcohol and adrenaline.

Her prideful glare softened, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

She gazed up at Nero, her fiery spirit flickering back to life in a way he hadn't seen before.

Without warning, she surged forward, her lips crashing into his.

The suddenness of the act startled Nero momentarily, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his hands instinctively moved, gliding down her back with purpose, finally settling on her hips.

With nothing left to obstruct him, his grip tightened, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.

Their lips moved against each other with an intensity that mirrored their earlier contest of will, each kiss deep and fervent as if trying to gain the upper hand once again.

Mereoleona's hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if to ensure he couldn't escape—not that he was trying.

The remnants of their competition were forgotten, replaced by a new, unspoken challenge.

Nero's calm demeanor gave way to something more ..human.. as he responded to her fervor, pressing her against him with a strength that matched her fiery nature.

Her breath hitched as his hands roamed, exploring the curve of her hips and the small of her back.

She wasn't just letting him—she was meeting him halfway, her own hands exploring the planes of his chest as the heat between them grew.

The fading light of the setting sun cast long shadows across the room, the remnants of their drinking contest forgotten as the two of them lost themselves.

For all her bravado, Mereoleona's pride was nowhere to be seen now, replaced by an unguarded passion that Nero found himself matching with efforts of his own.

The sexual tension between them reached its peak, neither tried to resist any longer.

Mereoleona's fiery determination melted into something more vulnerable yet equally fierce, her body pressed tightly against his as her fingers curled into his skin, pulling him closer.

Nero's normally detached demeanor was entirely gone, replaced by a smoldering focus entirely on her.

His lips trailed along her jawline, his hands firmly gripping her hips as the last vestiges of restraint faded away.

The diminishing daylight painted their entwined forms in warm hues as the room seemed to close in around them, leaving only the two of them and the heat that consumed them.

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And then they fucked don't expect a lemon from me I'm terrible at that..

Stones and Reviews please

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