"It's Tyrant Overlord Baal! The Lord of Terror has returned!" an archer yelled, the female demon just barely managing to dodge a swing of the goliath demon's sword by diving into a snow bank; she was grateful that her kind had de-evolved their breasts long ago to assist with their profession, else her sliding against the frozen ground would have been more uncomfortable than it already was.

All around, the Amazonian village of Badre laid in ruin as the demon that held the rank of Badass Overlord laid siege, showing no prejudice in who it stuck down and offering no mercy. A Freischutz-class archer summoned forth a phantom arrow and called upon her mastery of the bow.

"Zielregen!" the golden-haired woman called out and a torrent of flaming arrows fell from the heavens to assail the invading Overlord. Baal did paid the projectiles no mind as they collided harmlessly with his blue stone-like hide; directing his attention, he reached out and grabbed the offending woman by the head. Kicking her legs in panic, the archer tried in vain to free herself, but it was no use, for each of Baal's fingers were as big as her torso. Unbearable agony descended upon her as the vice-like grip on her head increased to exponential levels, then she knew nothing.

The corpse of the archer fell to the ground, her head now a red splatter on the snow around her body. A group of archers tried to block the Lord of Terror's path but they too were cut down as the blue giant silently lifted a hand and a rain of star-infused blades fell upon them from above, impaling and dismembering them instantly.

Arrows and the occasional magic spell flew at Baal, and each did no more damage than to tear his cape as he continued his swath of destruction towards his goal: the tree at the center of the village, from which all archers were born from its roots.

In front of it stood the last line of defense: more than thirty high-level Freischutz-class archers, and a single archer different from all the others. The leader of this group had long white hair, not adorned in customary curled pigtails of her sisters; where all demons of her kind lacked the secondary sexual characteristics of females, she had a pair of rather large breasts tightly bound in wrappings, having existed before her kind had discarded their breasts in favor of efficiency in their profession.

This was the Sevria, the first archer who had planted the Genesis tree and founded the village of Badre in the frigid mountains of Jotunheim.

The Sevria glared resolutely at the demon who had invaded her village and slaughtered her children. Raising her bow, she summoned forth an arrow and nocked it, its point aimed straight at Baal's heart; the archers behind her followed, ready to darken the sky with swift death.

Orbs of light coalesced from the frigid air, gathering at the tip of the Sevria's arrow until it was ablaze with energy. With a twang, the arrow of light flew through the air in a Dark Flash and struck true to Baal's breast, piercing his flesh. The Lord of Terror paused at the assault, and that was all that was needed for the retaliation to begin.

Arrows of every kind soon assailed the enemy Overlord: countless scores of arrows fell from the heaven, both aflame and dancing with electricity; arrows of light and ones wreathed in toxic miasma flew true. Volley after volley cut through the air, until it seemed as Mother Nature herself had brought her wrath down upon Baal, ripping open a cloud and letting arrows fall like rain.

Baal was pushed back by the onslaught; arrows splintered on his hide and his cape was reduced to tattered streams whipping in the wind. More and more arrows flew still, a never ending attempt to keep him from his goal. Finally, when the last of the vanguard stopped, their mana depleted and themselves no longer able to call upon the scared arts of the bow.

Baal had fallen to one knee, leaning upon his colossal sword for support as paralysis and poison ran through his body, and the fog of amnesia and depravity fell upon his mind. The archers standing before him did not lower their bows, though their breath steamed in the cold mountain air from the strain placed upon them from the blitzkrieg.

Then, Baal rose to his feet and it was as if all the attacks previous were for naught.

Then he raised his sword in the air.

All the archers tensed as the air about them came alive with energy; each of them glanced about in hopes to see whatever arcane devilry Baal had called forth to smite them, but they searched in vain. None of them looked down to see the rune glowing beneath their feat upon the snow-except for the Sevria, but by then it was too late.

"Move!" the leader of the archer community yelled in warning, barely diving out of the ruin before it could unleash the infinite power of space that she sensed within it. One of the other archers looked down just in time to see what appeared to the tip of a sword rise from the frozen earth beneath her; the tip disappeared into the shadows of her dress, and the archer knew only agony until a moment later, when the tip reappeared from the crown of her head, covered in gore and grey matter. Blood streamed down the eldritch blade as the corpse twitched and spasm in its death. Other archers were struck down by the devastating attack: some were lucky enough to only suffer severe lacerations or the loss of a limb, but others were bisected or diced in the sea of gigantic blades that had risen from seeming Hell itself.

Then, as suddenly as the weapons had appeared, they vanished until their caster summoned them once more, and all the archers that had hung impaled or skewered upon them fell to the earth; the snow beneath the fallen corpses melted under the warm blood that now covered it, and the roots of the great tree of Genesis were stained in the blood of its children.

Grief blooming within her breast, the Sevria cast her gaze from the sight of her butchered children and deafened herself to the cries of the wounded and dying. Swallowing her sorrow, her white hair whipped about her frame as her mana manifested itself in blazing anger.

Baal suddenly found himself surrounded on all sides by countless scores of the Sevria, each grim faced and possessed of the singular determination to avenge the death of the their children that he had so callously slaughtered upon this day. And then the Lord of Terror felt the wrath of the greatest of all the skills of the bow, Doppelganger, as hundreds of arrows assailed him from all sides. No mercy was given as the onslaught continued for minutes on end, never ending as the clones of the Sevria let fly arrow after arrow, each filled with her rage. Her clones vanished as the last of her mana was spent.

Wooden shafts jutted from what seemed to be every inch of Baal's flesh, having pierced his armor-like hide and buried themselves within the softer flesh that laid beneath. The leader of the archers glared at the demon, whom swayed upon its feet.

Then with purpose, Baal steadied himself and lifted one arm and swept it across his body, splintering the shafts that peppered his torso, not caring arrowheads that he left buried in his flesh. He then turned his baleful crimson gaze to the one that had dared to injure the Lord of Terror and before the woman could react, his fist shot forth and impacted the Sevria with a devastating force.

Flying through the air, the Sevria nearly blacked out as back of her head collided with the trunk of the sacred tree. Spots dancing before her eyes, she found it difficult breath-her ribs had been shattered under the unreal force of Baal's blow, and were now digging precariously into her lungs. Suddenly beset upon with a sudden spasm, she tasted the bitter tang of blood on her tongue and watched as a dark spat out a rather dark globule of blood.

Swallowing as best she could, she grit her teeth against the pain. Her lung had definitely been pierced by own shattered ribs. Baal slowly approached, his large form filling her view, but she turned her gaze to the corpses of her children who had stood with her in defense of her village.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, watching as one of the archers who was missing and arm and a leg tried in vain to drag herself to the aid of her lead. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," the Sevria apologized as a tear escaped her eye to trail down her cheek.

Baal had reached her, and uncaring of her sorrow, he lifted his blade in preparation to impale her to the tree. The leader of the archers closed her eyes and awaited the end.

Then the sound of cursing split the air.

"God damnit!" a voice cursed. "How the hell am I supposed to walk in fuckin' snow when all I have are god for legs! I don't even have fingers!" the voice raged.

The Sevria forced her eyes opened and looked towards the source of the swearing and saw-to her amazement-a silver Prinny moving awkwardly though the deep snow towards her and Baal. It looked about at the carnage with blue eyes, seemingly indifferent to the dead and dying.

"Sweet crispy shit!" it swore, and its tone had what might have been a hint of admiration coloring it. "I've found fucking Oompa Loompa Land, village of the lollies!" it exclaimed, wandering over to the one of the lesser maimed corpses and poking what appeared to it as a little girl with its flipper. "Someone opened one hell of a can of whoop-ass, that's for sure," it chuckled.

"Little Prinny," the Sevria called out as loud as she could. "Run!" she urged. "Get word to Overlord Laharl that the Lord of Terror has returned, or else all will be lost!" she pleaded.

The silver penguin-like doll turned to the sound of the voice in shock, and beheld the scene. "Holy hell, I never expected to find a village in this frozen ass crack of the world, and I sure as hell didn't expect to find someone alive in this shit storm," it commented. It started to waddle towards Baal and injured chick.

"No!" the long-haired archer cried. "Run!"

The penguin walked up to Baal and gazed up at the demon. "Holy shit, you're a big one, aren't ya?" he asked. "You know, you remind me of one of my former employees," he commented, "He was a blue asshat, too. I hated him," he said, and would have frowned had he been capable of the expression with a beak. "Anyway," he dismissed, "I'm looking for other people that look like me, have you seen any?" the blue-eyed penguin asked.

Baal simply redirected the aim of his giant blade and sent the silver prinny flying, where it exploded violently where it landed. The leader the archers closed her eyes-all hope was lost; then more swearing filled her ears.

"What the flying fuck just happened!" the penguin cursed as it worked to extract itself from a bank of snow. "This body explodes!" it raged. "That's it! I am not amused! When I get my hands on that mutant pigeon, I am going to pluck every damn feather off of his sanctimonious ass!" the Sevria could not believe her eyes; not only was the prinny sill there after exploding, but it seemed to be no worse for having taken a direct hit from the Lord of Terror.

Hope rising in her breast, the Sevria gazed at the strange prinny closely for the first time. Asides from its unique coloration, its title read, "Prinny God of Death." She had existed for thousands of years, and never had she heard of such a classification of prinny. A Prinny God, certainly, but Prinny God of Death?

"It is on, you blue bastard!" the prinny vowed. "I am having a shitty day, and you just won the dumbass lottery! Congratu-fuckin'-lations because you have just pissed me off!" It then paused its deluge of profanity and observed Baal, who was in turn observing this insignificant prinny and wondering how it still existed. "Holy crap! I've seen some rotten souls in my time," it informed Baal, "but you take the cake. Like a black hole!" The prinny was impressed at sins and darkness that stained the blue Overlord's soul. "Wait a minute!" it realized. "You're cheating!" it pointed at Baal. "You're just a mass of evil souls jerking that meat sack around, aren't you?"

Baal's eyes widened at that revelation; none but the incarnation of the sacred tome knew that truth. Who was this prinny?

The silver penguin chuckled. "You, bub, have shit for luck!" the prinny crowed. "Souls are my area of expertise, and seeing as you've royally pissed me off, well . . ." he commented, holding out a flipper as whirls of red and black energy coalesced into its "hand." With a flash, the energy shifted into a wicked looking scythe with a black shaft and a crimson blade. "Your ass is grass!" the penguin roared and dashed forward at impossible speeds, the crimson blade of its weapon slicing cleanly through the Lord of Terror.

Baal feel to his knees, one gigantic fist clutching the grievous wound that had been dealt to him. It wasn't simply physical-no, those he could withstand easily-this assault injured him to the very core, to his very being. His collective of souls was diminished significantly. Opening its mouth, it let out an inhuman roar that seemed to cause the very earth itself to quake.

"Take it like a man, you pansy," the prinny taunted. "Now then, I'd appreciate it if you stood still and died like the little bitch you are."

Baal turned its head and glared at the prinny, then a rune of magical energy appeared under him as he made his departure. The prinny blinked in bewilderment at the space where its enemy had been seconds before.

"You candy-ass coward!" it swore at the now empty spot. "Get back here and fight me!"

The Sevria could not believe her eyes. Baal, a being who held the ranking of Badass Overlord-who even Zenon, the God of Overlords herself would hesitate to fight-had just been defeated in a single blow by a prinny of all creatures. Said prinny was currently still cursing a rather explicit and creative blue streak at the empty space where Baal had been seconds before.

The leader of the archers could not help it; she began to laugh, despite the agony her broken ribs offered her in return for the action.

The prinny turned its head and glared at the woman. "The hell you laughing at!" it demanded, waving its scythe at her threateningly. "You crazy or something?" it asked. "Because I've already dealt with one whack-job broad before, and I've made it a policy to kill all crazed bitches on sight, simply as a policy now," it warned. "The last time I didn't she whisked my ass through time and space."

The woman against the tree subsided her laughter, coughing up a bit of blood onto the snow. She smiled at the prinny. "You have done us a great service," she told her savior. "The archers of Badre are in your debt."

"You want to help me?" the prinny asked, awkwardly waddling through the deep snow upon the ground; then it paused and the Sevria watched as its mana flared around it several times before it finally levitated off the ground with a cry of triumph and mutter of, "took long enough to figure out how to do that," followed by foul mutterings. "Tell me where I can find other things that look like me," it demanded, trying to cross its flippers across its chest but finding them too stubby to even meet.

"Like you?" The Sevria asked. "Do you mean prinnies?"

"Is that what this body is called?" the silver prinny asked in interest; out of the corner of its eye, it noticed the soul of an archer that had just perished depart its corpse and go to enter the giant tree but fail. Numerous other souls attempted to enter the tree as well, but could not and only one or too entered, with the rest seeming to float off aimlessly.

"Hey," the prinny asked suddenly. "What's the deal with that tree?" it demanded. "Why are the lolli souls trying to enter it?"

The Sevria stared at the prinny in shock. "You can see the souls?" she wondered. Just who was this strange prinny to be able to do such things. She shook her head. "Please tell me, what are they doing?" she requested.

"They keep trying to get into the tree, but there's a traffic jam and the ones that don't make just wander off."

The Sevria let out a mournful sigh and closed her eyes in sorrow. She then felt herself be jabbed by the end of the penguin's weapon.

"No dying until you answer my questions!" the prinny scolded. "What's the deal with the tree! I'm pretty sure most trees-no matter if this is a Netherworld-do not play hotel to souls."

"You are familiar with the Red Moon, are you not, little prinny?" the Sevria asked.

"Moon turns red, sinner gets redeemed, warm fuzzies, yadda-yadda, blah-blah. Your point?" he dismissed.

"That tree is the archers' version of the Red Moon. When all archers are born from its roots and all so return at death," she explained. "But I fear with all the deaths that have occurred on this day, the tree cannot accommodate the vast majority of the souls, and those souls that do not enter its shelter become lost and eventually fade."

"I don't care," the penguin informed the woman, getting a shocked and hurt look from the woman. "Listen, I don't have time to listen to you cry into your teacup, okay? Tell me where I can find more exploding penguins and I will gladly piss off and leave you to your pity party."

The Sevria stared at the penguin; was he so unfeeling? "Rumor tells of a frozen land to the north," she began, "where prinnies from the Netherworld and Celestia flee to live in freedom," she looked up at the penguin, meeting his blue-eyed gaze. "If such a place truly exists, doubtless you shall find what you seek in that place."

The penguin considered her words and then turned and floated off without a word, and the Sevria watched her go, anguish in soul at her inability to help her children who were dying and their souls fading.

Puberty is Hell

"Are you truly going to leave them to their plight?" a cultured voice asked from behind the penguin. "I knew you were a abrasive man, but I did not believe you to be so cold," the stranger commented.

"I don't need any commentary from the peanut gallery," the prinny shot back, turning to face the speak (annoyed that he had no neck in this form with which to look over his shoulder.) "Especially from a mid-level has-been like you," he said. "Besides, it's not my problem," he dismissed.

"Oui, that is true," the purple-haired demon admitted, his wings (which were actually his jacket) flapping once. "But you could have solved that problem, could you not? Your abilities are uniquely tailored to such a task, if I am not mistaken" He shook his head. "I just did not think you would abandon your duties so casually," he offered.

"What duties? This place isn't my world and you know it!" the penguin said before turning and resuming his path down the hill.

The purple-haired demon lord let out a sigh, his breath escaping in a fog of warm fog in the cold air. "Would she be happy with your decision, I wonder?" he asked, and he saw the penguin stiffen, its stubby wings flapping in agitation. Turning around, the purple-haired demon set out to the ruined village to offer what aid he could.

The penguin continued on, his eyes murderous. How dare that aristocratic asshat say such a thing to him! What the hell did he know? Such thoughts continued to go through the prinny's head for a time, until it stopped and its body sagged.

"Damn my bleeding heart," it grumbled.

Puberty is Hell

The leader of the archers was slowly dragging herself to where one of her archers lay suffering; blood leaked from one corner of her mouth. The pain in her chest was immense, as she had firmly lodged a rib fragment into one of her lungs in her attempts at movement.

At that instance though, she no longer found herself on the frozen ground of Badre and instead on the warm sands of a tropical beach with the sound of ocean waves crashing upon the shore reaching her ears. Looking up, she the ethereal figure of a blonde-haired woman appear before her; the Sevria of Badre Village watched as the keeper of the spell being cast, the former seraph Summer, accepted the mana offered by the caster of the spell and bestow upon the injured archer the blessing of the most powerful of healing magic.

The Sevria felt the healing mana enter her wary body and mend her wounds; the fragments of her shattered rib cage aligned themselves within her torso and fused back together, and the holes in her lungs knitted themselves close. Bruised flesh returned to its normal pale tone, and the Severia felt herself cough up the blood that had been pooling in her lungs onto the snow beneath her.

"You should not push yourself so hard, mademoiselle," a voice with a French accent admonished. "I will not always be here to rescue you, and then where would your children be without you?" the voice asked.

The Sevria turned her head and stared at the purple-haired demon in shock; around her, those archers that had been wounded were getting to their feet, having been under the effects of the powerful healing magic as well.

"King Krechevskoy," she began, only for the jacket-wearing demon to cut her off.

"non, non, non!" the demon admonished, wagging a finger. "That person is dead," he gently reminded her. "Besides, you have a new king, I believe," he said with a smile.

"We do at that," she returned with a smile. "Lord Vyers, then," she allowed with nod. "Regardless, it good to you see in any form, old friend," the archer said fondly.

"As it you, Lillian," the reincarnated former Overlord said, using the woman's name. "But now is not the time to catch up on old times, I fear. More lay dying as we chat," he said, seriously, going off into town to save those that he could. Lillian nodded her head at the sobering but true declaration.

"But the souls," she said mournfully, and Vyers-better known as Mid-Boss-could only lower his head in sadness.

Just then the sound of swearing filled Lillian's ears for second time that day, and Vyers's head lifted as a smile came upon his face.

"I knew you would do what is right, my friend!" Vyers said, laughing joyously.

"Shut the help up, you French sissy! I ain't your friend!" the prinny cursed at him. "Make your surrendering ass useful and go gather the dead and bury them among the roots of the tree!" he ordered.

A frown cast itself upon Vyers's face. "I'm afraid that I do not understand," he admitted; Lillian shared his sentiment.

The prinny let out an aggravated noise. "You wanted me to deal with the souls of the damn prepubescent oompa loompas, didn't you!" he yelled. "I have no idea how that damn tree works, so I'm just going to put them back in their meat suits!"

Lillian turned to Vyers, seeing the look of joy that was on his face, but not daring or hoping to believe what the prinny had just said. "I don't understand," she said, frustrated. "What does he mean?" she implored.

Vyers turned to his old friend and put an arm around her shoulder. "We, my old friend, are about to witness a miracle," he told her happily.

Lillian began to allow the allow the tiny embers of hope that had taken seed in her heart be stoked. "He can do that?" she asked, unable to keep her voice from trembling, and around her the other archers looked at the prinny with hope in their hearts and tears in their eyes.

"He can do many things," Vyers assured the woman. "And if he says he can do this, then I believe that he is capable of reincarnating them," he said with a smile.

Tears of happiness spilled down the Sevria's face as she wept in relief, and around her, her children did likewise.

"What the hell!" the prinny cried. "Get your thumbs out of your ass and get moving!" it yelled, and that sent the remaining archers off to gather their dead. Vyers's followed them to heal any who were injured by still alive.

A group of archers did not immediately go off to collect their fallen, and instead surrounded the silver penguin. Without warning, they lifted him off the ground, his peg legs flailing, and hugged his squishy rubberlike body to them.

"Put me down, you jailbait!" the penguin demanded. "I already got a broad, and guess what-she's got a rack!" it cursed at and degraded them in an attempt to make them leave it alone-to no success. "Damn it! I ain't a pedophile and I sure as hell ain't your friends! Put me down, damn it!"

Author's Note: Okay, after nearly a year from its original posting, the reboot of "Puberty is Hell" is now posted. I struggled with thinking of how to get the plot to go where I wanted it to, and I stumbled across this idea!

This fan fiction will be based off of things that are strictly canon and the ideas from there taken to a logical conclusion that could possibly occur. There will not be OC's (outside of generic soldiers that need names such as the various classes) and I will only give characters a name if they don't have one, such as the Sevria, a title mentioned in the official first art book of the Disgaea series, "The World of Disgaea" where the spell keepers, Badre, the fact about the archers' breasts, and former seraph Summer are established in the cannon.

I will admit, I took liberty with given the Sevria breasts, making her the first archer, and giving her a name simply for convenience's sake. I will not create plot elements; only expound upon already existing ones! In fact, I ask you, the readers, to call me out if I just make something up out thin air and scold me mercilessly for it.

So, the rules are I cannot make up elements, but I can play with and flesh out bits of existing elements that are not explicitly stated by Word of God.

Also, fun time now! The penguin is not an OC! He is a character from the Nippon Ichi roster, albeit in prinny form. Bonus points to those who can correctly identify him (I think I have given more than enough hints in his appearance, abilities, and attitude.)