Disgaea Gatcha Customization Part 6 (Laharl)

There was a bit of outrage brewing in the Pocket Netherworld. Not your standard "someone forgot to restock the sardines" outrage, but a full-on, capital letters, background-fire-and-dramatic-music kind of outrage.

The rumor of the Prinny kidnappings had been making its rounds. And after Usalia’s smooth infiltration and a whisper-thin tip-off to Justice Gallop Etna, all hell had finally broken loose.

And that's when even someone like… Laharl caught wind of it.

Yes. The Laharl. Overlord Supreme. Short, shouty, spike-haired, nap-hating royalty. And he was not amused.

Back in the comfort of the control room, SecPrinny blinked at the monitor as a dozen troops under Lahrals name were mobilizing. The Portal starting to get overloaded with how many people this guy was sending out to battle. And all for his kidnapped Prinnies.

“…Okay, dood. That’s… new,” SecPrinny muttered.

Nestled deep into Fuka-PTP’s thighs like a sardine-slathered pharaoh, he munched absentmindedly on a rice cracker while watching Laharl shout war declarations from atop a literal flaming skull throne. The screen even had a subtitle generator struggling to keep up with how fast he was yelling.

“HOW DARE THEY KIDNAP MY PRINNIES!? THAT’S AN AFFRONT TO ME! TO MY PRIDE! TO MY EVIL NOBILITY! I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO GETS TO MISTREAT MY UNDERLINGS, UNDERSTOOD! NOW GET OUT THERE AND KICK THEIR ASSES!!!”

SecPrinny’s flipper paused mid-cracker.

“Oh.”

He scrolled back five seconds, replayed it.

“...Does not care about the Prinnies themselves. Just the principle of taking what's mine…”

Another pause.

Then a deep, soul-weary sigh.

“I mean… that makes sense. Thats who he is. But still, guy had my hopes up for a second, you know, dood?”

The spark of hope had been brief, like a birthday candle in a hurricane. He really wanted to believe Laharl was leading this operation out of genuine care. Out of justice. Out of even a little affection for the army of bumbling, hardworking Prinnies under his command.

But no.

Of course not.

This wasn’t a rescue mission. This was a revenge campaign. A very loud, very on-brand one.

“Darnit, Laharl…” SecPrinny mumbled, slumping further into his plush lap-throne. “I really thought you were growing, dood.”

From somewhere in the UI, Nagisa popped into frame, sitting cross-legged on the corner of the screen with a teasing grin. “Aww Did you want the tiny demon boy to have a redemption arc?”

“I just thought,” SecPrinny muttered, “maybe… he could’ve mellowed out a little, dood.”

Nagisa giggled, rolling midair like a gossip-loving bat. “So I guess this means he’s your next target?”

SecPrinny blinked.

Tilted his head.

Then slowly smiled.

“…Yeah. Yeah, I guess it does.”

SecPrinny cracked his neck with a tiny pop, flippers hovering over the customization console like a maestro about to compose a very unlicensed opera.

“Alright, dood. If Laharl wants to play the ‘I don’t care’ card, then I guess I’ll have to make her care.”

He dove headfirst into the customization menu, tabs flinging open like dramatic curtains. Names, costumes, classes, and evilities all glittered across the screen in a chaotic buffet of possibilities.

But the second he hit the Costume tab, his flipper stopped cold.

There it was.

Highlighted in ominous pink.

“Sexy Nurse.”

He stared at it.

Then burst out laughing.

“Oh my devils, dood. Laharl-nurse? There could literally not be a more cursed fit! It’s perfect!”

Nagisa zipped into frame with sparkles and judgment. “Ohoho Turning the Overlord into a medical waifu? You’re either a genius or a war criminal”

“Why not both?” SecPrinny grinned, already imagining Laharl’s face when the cleavage appeared. “And besides, it’s Laharl-chan now. The female alt version. Gotta play by the rules.”

The nurse costume loaded on the preview window with a shwoomp! of magical pink haze. Short skirt. Tight waist. Heels sharp enough to kick a Prinny through a wall. The hat perched at a sassy angle like it had its own attitude.

SecPrinny rubbed his chin. “Now, let’s see… if I’m making her a nurse, I could just go full seductress again. Sexy curves, seductive voice, bunny bounce, yada yada…”

He hesitated.

Then slumped. “But I just did that with Usalia, dood…”

Nagisa nodded solemnly, twirling a chibi IV bag like a maraca. “True. Two seductive bombshells in a row might dilute your artistic vision~”

That’s when a voice rumbled above him.

“Why not make her scary sexy?”

SecPrinny blinked.

Then slowly looked up.

Fuka-PTP was still there, supporting him like the silent throne she prided herself on being. She smiled up at him, her massive thighs unwavering in plush perfection.

Fuka raised a finger, like a student answering a question with thighsight.

“Make her sexy, but in a ‘I will break your spine and then treat your spine’ kinda way! The kind of woman that makes guys sweat, not swoon! That’s super lap-pillow-worthy logic, right?”

SecPrinny’s eyes widened.

“…That’s it, dood.”

He slammed the Class Boost tab open like it owed him money.

Class: Sadistic Dark Angel Overlord.

The image on the screen updated: Wings shadowed in violet flame. Thigh-high dominatrix boots. A halo like a cracked surgical mirror. A presence that screamed “You will be healed and you will not like it.”

SecPrinny’s grin stretched from ear to ear.

“A healer who makes men cry and demons beg? That’s peak punishment for Laharl. But now I just need one last thing…”

He flipped through his Evility collection. One after another flew past the screen.

“Not this… no, too soft… too weepy… too huggy—AHA!”

Evility Heart: Sadistic Caretaker.

“Knows the fastest way to heal a wound. And if it hurts? Even better.”

“Oh-ho-ho yes, dood,” SecPrinny whispered like a man discovering forbidden candy.

Nagisa gasped. “It’s perfect~! She’ll have to help people, but also get to bully them in the process! It’s so twisted, it loops back around to being practical!”

“Exactly. This way, she’ll still be Laharl in spirit. But now she’ll also be… helpful. In a horrifying, trauma-inducing way.”

He leaned back, raised one flipper skyward like a dramatic anime rival, and tapped the screen. 

[Update Reality Activated.]

Pink-orange ripples shimmered across the control room, swirling like cotton candy made of chaos and poor life choices. Fuka-PTP shifted slightly beneath him to allow for optimal button-pressing posture, smiling up at him like the loyal thighbed she was.

SecPrinny licked a sardine crumb from his beak and whispered:

“Time to give Laharl-chan a checkup, before she’s the one giving terminal diagnoses with a smile, dood…”

—

The skies above the CertainSchooling Netherworld boiled with educational doom. Buildings shaped like oversized report cards trembled as battle cries echoed across the campus-like battlefield. Fires blazed, Prinnies screamed, and somewhere a bell kept ringing as if recess would save them.

At the heart of the chaos was one very loud, very spiky demon.

“OUTTA MY WAY, WANNABE TEACHERS! YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST TAKE MY STUFF AND GET AWAY WITH IT!?”

Laharl, Overlord of all Overlords (according to him anyway), carved a path through enemy lines like a lawnmower through a field of terrified students. His blade sang with every swing, his laughter echoed like a boss theme on loop, and his arrogance radiated hard enough to cause a minor charisma quake.

But something strange was happening.

With each devastating slash, his silhouette shifted slightly. Just a fraction. A whisper of a change. A tiny height gain here. A little hip curve there.

With every slash, he became just a little bit taller.

With every punch, his cheekbones sharpened, his jaw softened.

And after just a few kicks, he had thighs that didn’t just kick, but strutted their way to victory. Even if still covered in dirt and demon blood.

“YOU CALL THIS A DEFENSE!? I’VE SEEN STRONGER OPPOSITION FROM A PRINNY BAKE SALE!”

No one noticed the changes. Not the enemies. Not the allies. Not even the poor Prinnies caught in the crossfire. It was like everyone’s memory had already been overwritten by SecPrinny’s Update Reality button… or perhaps their survival instincts had decided “don’t question the angry Overlord” was a higher priority.

And Laharl didn’t notice either.

He was too busy kicking down lecture halls and punting supply closets into orbit.

“RAAAAAH! OVERLORD COMING THROUGH!”

His… well, her… “armor” adjusted mid-air after a particularly fancy aerial spin-kick. What little clothes she wore before now clung tighter, an extra fabric appeared around her chest. It became more form-fitting, as her hips flared, her waist narrowed, and her chest… bounced.

Laharl landed in a three-point pose of fury, completely unaware of the considerable jiggle that now accompanied her post-landing shout.

“BRING ME THE PRINCIPAL OF THIS STUPID NETHERWORLD OR I’M GONNA FAIL EVERYONE BY FIRE!”

She stood tall, much taller than before, with cascading wild blue hair now brushing the middle of her exposed back, her battle top stretched precariously over a pair of suddenly very present assets.

Still, not a single demon flinched at the sight. Everyone responded to the same terrifying voice, the same wild energy, the same world-ending confidence.

Laharl-chan pointed a now-gloved finger at the central tower of the school-shaped Netherworld, chest heaving with barely-contained battle energy and not at all noticing the dramatic neckline her tunic had chosen to adopt.

“I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME, NERD LORD! GET OUT HERE BEFORE I FLATTEN YOUR WHOLE HONOR ROLL WITH MY BOOTS!”

And she meant it. Those boots were now high-heeled and sharp enough to grade papers in blood.

The battlefield froze.

Wind howled.

Somewhere, a chalkboard cracked from sheer intimidation.

And Laharl, standing in all her accidental feminine glory, radiated menace, wrath…

…and a dangerously short skirt that no one dared comment on.

The battlefield smoldered with the leftover heat of Laharl’s rampage, slain resistance members twitching under chunks of rubble as the sky cracked with magical static. And then, in a puff of red tape and fear sweat, the Principal of CertainSchooling materialized at the epicenter of it all.

Clutching a clipboard and trembling behind Prinny-sized spectacles, he straightened his tie with a shaking flipper and tried very hard not to die.

“G-Greetings, Miss Laharl— Overlord Laharl, ma’am! I am the Principal of this institution, dood! P-please state your demands, dood!”

Laharl didn’t stop walking.

Her boots changed and shifted, striking the ground with surgical, metallic rhythm and at the same time unnervingly clean. Her newly lengthened legs carried her forward like an executioner doing rounds, hips swaying with militant purpose.

She tilted her head, smirking with a fang-bearing grin that promised nothing short of organized carnage. “Simple. Return every Prinny you kidnapped, or I’ll repurpose this entire school into a crater with good lighting.”

The Principal gulped. “R-Reconstruction?! Y-Yes, of course! J-Just… for the records, how big of a—uh—‘crater’ are we talking, dood?”

The air shifted. With each word, Laharl’s body adjusted.

What little clothes she had on slithered tighter against her curves, the fabric softening into black and white leather-trimmed cloth. A red cross flickered to life on her now-emerging nurse cap, which settled on her blue hair like it belonged there all along. Wings, once jagged and wild, now curved in precise surgical arcs, shadowed in flame-tinted light.

She stopped just a few feet from him, eyes glowing with quiet, angelic menace. “Let’s just say…” she purred, voice now lower, smoother, unnervingly calm, “...no desks, no chairs, no tests. Just beds. Beds… and recovery. This entire facility will be repurposed for Prinny care and discipline.”

The Principal was visibly vibrating. “I-I see! R-right! L-Like therapy, yes!? Structured, peaceful, non-invasive therapy, dood?!”

Laharl’s hand lifted. A long syringe-shaped pointer clicked into her gloved fingers with a sharp, sterile snap. She dragged it lazily down the length of her clipboard, eyes gleaming beneath her now glowing, red halo. They cracked, tilted, like they were divine in the most unholy way.

“Therapy’s too soft,” she cooed. “These Prinnies need treatment. Bandages. Ice packs. Bed rest. And if it hurts…” Her tongue flicked across her lips, just once. “Good. Pain is proof the healing’s working.”

The poor Principal tried not to whimper. “V-Very proactive! H-high intensity, dood! A-And you’ll be the one doing all the… healing!?”

With her wings unfurled behind her in the silhouette of a fallen seraph, Laharl stepped even closer, so close that her breath tickled the edge of the Prinny’s beak. Her outfit was fully transformed now. It was a short skirt, tight blouse, long gloves, and heels so sharp they could draw blood just from being looked at. The air buzzed with the smell of sterile cleanliness… and pure dread.

“I'll be personally ensuring each and every Prinny receives the care they deserve,” she whispered, leaning in. “And if you don’t cooperate immediately, then I guess I just have to start… with you.”

The Principal squeaked like a deflating balloon. “I-I-I ACCEPT YOUR TERMS, DOOD!! FULL CUSTODY RETURN!! PLEASE DON’T NURSE ME!!”

Laharl finally stopped, flipping her syringe pen with effortless flair before clicking it back into her cleavage holster. Her lips curled into a dark, satisfied smile.

“Excellent decision. You’ve avoided the deluxe treatment… for now.”

And as the Principal Prinny fainted into a twitching pile of trauma, Laharl turned, the heels of her medical dominatrix boots echoing through the ruined halls like a judgment passed.

—

CertainSchooling didn’t stand a chance.

Within hours of Laharl-chan’s glorious conquest, the institution had been swiftly, if reluctantly, rebranded. New signage was slapped over the gates in searing pink gothic font, glowing with demonic flair:

“Laharl-chan’s Hospital of Reeducation, Love, and Care”

The “Love and Care” part was... ironic at best.

On the surface, the hospital operated with the same core mission as its predecessor: bad Prinnies go in, good Prinnies come out. But the methods had shifted from droning lectures and forced writing assignments… to something far more terrifyingly effective.

Electrotherapy lectures. Blood pressure truth-or-dare. Punishment stretching. Ice pack interrogations. And worst of all? Complimentary sponge baths. Laharl-chan administered each with a grin sharp enough to bisect a Prinny’s soul.

Back in the comfort of the control room, SecPrinny was having the time of his unlifetime. Lounging in the plush divot between Fuka-PTP’s thighs, he flipped through hours of surveillance footage with the giddy glee of a kid watching horror movie bloopers.

“Dood, look at this one. He’s begging not to get sent there! And then, five hours later…boom! Sparkling clean apron, posture straight, says ‘sir’ and ‘dood’ unprompted! She’s a miracle worker~!”

Nagisa fluttered past, covering her mouth with a snort. “A sadistic, bloodthirsty miracle worker, dood~”

“Exactly,” SecPrinny chirped, licking a sardine chip off his flipper. “We don’t just train our Prinnies. We trauma-bond with ‘em.”

But fate, like Laharl-chan’s injections, always had a needle to spare.

SecPrinny leaned down to grab a stray report sheet from the floor… and misjudged the edge. A tiny paper cut sliced across his flipper.

“Ah. Ouch, dood.”

He barely had time to process the sting when a cold shiver ran down his spine.

A sultry, bone-chilling voice oozed into the room from nowhere and everywhere at once.

“Hmm! I smell… blood!”

SecPrinny froze.

Then—

BAM!!!

The control room doors exploded open like a war crime. Smoke poured in. A red light flared. The temperature dropped and rose at the same time.

And there she was.

Nurse Laharl-chan.

Halo cracked and glowing like a surgical warning sign. Nurse outfit form-fitting to her sinful silhouette. Syringe baton twirling in one hand, clipboard of doom in the other. Thighs like iron. Eyes like judgment. Wings curled like scalpels ready to cut hope itself.

“Oh my~” she purred, licking her lips as she strode inside with a predator’s grace. “I never imagined I’d get the honor of treating our Lord SecPrinny personally”

SecPrinny scrambled back into the crook of Fuka-PTP’s thighs, flippers flailing.

“I-It’s just a scratch, dood! A nick! A nick at most!  Like… 2 HP, tops.”

Laharl-chan loomed closer, each step echoing with high heels and promise. “Nonsense! All injuries must be addressed properly. Infection spreads, my lord. And I do not permit sloppy vitals in my jurisdiction!”

Fuka-PTP smiled sweetly, not moving an inch.

“Be brave, Master! You’ll get a lollipop if you survive~”

SecPrinny's scream echoed across the Pocket Netherworld.

Some say it could be heard for days after the treatment ended.

And some whisper that it never truly ended at all.

—

Finally going for Laharl, huh? I hope you don't turn him… I mean her, into something more dangerous than she was before…