A True Curse in DxD: I'm Gonna Touch You

Sorry for the late update. Been busy, but anyways here's a longer chapter at 11,000 words to compensate. Might be rough on some parts, I haven't fully edited it yet. I'll do it when I wake up later. See ya on the next update Bruzzahs.

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The sun peeked over the horizon—its golden light spilling over the bloodstained streets of Kuoh Town.

What should have been a symbol of hope...

Was nothing more than a spotlight on despair.

Mahito stood at the head of the procession—his hands still deep in his pockets, his stitched smile lazy and content.

His mismatched eyes flicked upward—half-lidded beneath the warm glow.

He closed his eyes...

And breathed in the suffering.

"Aahhhh... what a wonderful day..."

His voice was soft—like someone waking from a pleasant dream.

"The birds are singing..."

His mismatched eyes flicked toward the side of the column—where Mitelt knelt in the dirt, clutching Kalawarna's warped, wriggling body in her trembling arms.

Kalawarna—once a proud Fallen Angel—was nothing more than a quivering mound of twisted flesh now.

Her wings—small and black—flapped uselessly beneath the folds of pink, pulsing muscle.

Her mouth was gone—fused shut into smooth, featureless skin.

But she screamed—muffled, wet sobs pushing out from somewhere deep within the reshaped mass of her throat.

Mitelt's face was streaked with tears, her whole body trembling.

She couldn't even bring herself to look at Mahito.

Mahito's grin flickered wider.

"Such a lovely song..."

"The flowers are blooming~"

He plucked a small bouquet from the arms of a sobbing woman—flesh warped into writhing child-shaped blossoms.

Tiny, half-formed hands stretched toward the sky—mouths gurgling silently where petals should have been.

Mahito brought them to his nose—taking a deep, satisfied sniff—sighing dreamily.

"Nature really is... beautiful, isn't it?"

He tossed the bouquet over his shoulder—letting the whimpering mass splatter wetly onto the pavement.

"And everybody..."

His mismatched eyes flicked across the broken people marching in broken lines before him—

"...is crying for help!"

It was a parade of suffering.

Near a thousand souls—men, women, children—dragging themselves forward beneath the guns of the Curse Marines.

Fathers carried their wounded sons.

Mothers held the corpses of their babies.

Old men stumbled forward—clutching torn-open guts with trembling hands.

The ones who couldn't walk were forced to crawl.

Their broken legs left long red smears across the cracked asphalt.

Those who couldn't keep up were torn apart by the transfigured abominations—screaming as bloated, fused-together creatures ripped the flesh from their bones.

The hounds ran along the edges of the column—four-legged beasts made from twisted human torsos with jaws that never stopped snapping.

Others were dragged to Mahito—offered up like broken sacrifices.

He would briefly touch them—his hands reshaping their screaming bodies into weapons, ammo... tools of slaughter.

A man begged at his feet.

"Please... my wife... she's pregnant, she's—"

Mahito's fingers brushed his cheek—turning the man into a new flesh grenade without breaking stride.

The grenade twitched in his palm—letting out faint, gurgling sobs as he tossed it lazily into one of the Curse Marines.

It should have been three thousand souls marching to the hospital.

But the Curse Marines were hunters, not herders.

They thinned the flock as they marched—picking off the slow, the weak...

The defiant.

Bodies were ripped apart at random intervals—legs devoured by hounds, heads crushed beneath heavy boots.

Some were forced to carry the dead—dragging their own loved ones forward beneath the weight of the corpses.

Every few minutes, one of the Curse Marines would grab someone at random...

And drag them back to Mahito.

By the time they reached the hospital, the original three thousand had been reduced to barely a thousand.

The rest had been transfigured.

Killed.

Or eaten alive.

By the time they reached the gates, the sun had fully risen—its light casting long shadows across the blood-soaked street.

The thousand remaining humans stood broken and silent—their eyes hollow, their legs trembling.

They had walked through hell itself...

And hell had followed them.

Mahito finally pulled his hands from his pockets—stretching his fingers wide.

His stitched smile stretched just a little further.

"We're here."

Behind him, the Curse Marines lined up on either side—bolters clicking, flesh grenades twitching.

Dil cracked his knuckles.

Doe licked his yellow teeth.

Gob giggled softly.

Blair whispered in a mother's ear until she bashed her own head on the road till she died.

Mahito's mismatched eyes flicked toward the hospital's pale walls—so clean... so sterile...

A temple of life...

Waiting to be defiled.

"Aahhh... I've always loved hospitals..."

He tilted his head back—letting the sun warm his pale face.

"So many sick little people... all waiting to be healed..."

He raised a hand—as if reaching out to all of the poor souls within the hospital.

His grin turned soft and kind.

His voice like a mother singing a lullaby.

"Don't worry..."

His eyes narrowed.

"...I'll cure all of you."

________________________________________

Just after Rias, Sona, and their peerages heard of the chaos brewing within Kuoh, Sona and her peerage decided to deal with it without Rias' help, due to the latter still recovering from their previous encounter — ignoring their warnings.

Sona soared through the pale sky—her violet eyes narrowed behind the glint of her glasses, scanning the town below.

Her peerage followed close behind—silent, shaken.

None of them spoke.

There was nothing to say.

The trail of destruction stretched across the district—a butcher's path carved straight through Kuoh Town.

The trail of destruction stretched across the district—a butcher's path carved straight through Kuoh Town.

Homes stood gutted, their windows shattered—bloodstains smeared along cracked walls.

Bodies littered the road—whole families torn apart.

They lay discarded in the streets—riddled with deep puncture wounds, half-eaten by something that hadn't even bothered to finish its meal.

Fathers with their faces caved in.

Mothers clutching their children—their heads missing.

Children impaled on rusted poles—their mouths frozen in soundless screams.

The copper tang of blood thickened the air—clinging to her tongue with every shallow breath.

Men. Women. Children.

No distinction.

No mercy.

Reya Kusaka's breath trembled—her fingers tightening around her spell tags.

"This... this can't be happening..."

Tsubaki Shinra remained silent—her sharp eyes scanning the ruins from behind her glasses, knuckles white against the shaft of her naginata.

Even she seemed tense—her usual calm brittle beneath the weight of the massacre.

Momo Hanakai clutched her staff close—pale, sweat-slicked fingers clutching tighter with every corpse they passed.

Tsubasa Yura's fists were clenched—her teeth grinding audibly behind gritted lips, struggling to bury the rising panic clawing at her chest.

Tomoe Meguri's sword hung loose in her hand—her eyes flicking from corpse to corpse, trying not to look too closely.

Ruruko Nimura hovered close to Saji, trembling—her tiny body barely keeping pace, her voice a weak, choked whisper.

"What... what kind of monsters would do this...?"

Even Saji—normally loud, brash, and reckless—flew in silence, his sacred gear, Absorption Line summoned along his arm.

His eyes flicked constantly toward Sona—waiting for her to explain.

Waiting for her to make sense of all of this.

"Kaichou... what are we dealing with?"

But for once...

Sona had no answer.

Sona's violet eyes narrowed.

"I don't know."

Her voice was steady, but inside she felt that cold gnawing fear clawing at her throat.

None of her information and knowledge had ever mentioned anything like this in her studies.

Who were they?

Her sharp mind raced—ruling out every possibility she could think of.

Devils? No.

Stray devils? No.

Exorcists? No.

Fallen Angels? No.

Nothing she knew—nothing that belonged to the supernatural world—killed like this.

Not in such brutality.

Not with such... purpose.

What she saw wasn't chaos.

It was methodical.

A procession of slaughter—carving straight toward a single destination.

Sona's violet eyes flicked down at another pile of corpses—husbands with their legs and arms twisted while their wives and daughters are splayed dead after being brutally raped.

Her stomach twisted.

She forced the nausea down.

They flew farther—following the trail of death.

Then they saw it.

The march.

A thousand and more souls staggered down the road—barefoot and bloodied—dragging their wounded behind them.

Children dragging their dying pregnant mothers.

Brothers carried limbless sisters.

Old men collapsed under the weight of corpses...

Only to be hauled back to their feet by long hooks dragging through their flesh.

Tsubasa's breath caught—her whole body locking up in the air.

"W-What the... hell is this...?"

Sona's violet eyes locked on the column—her heart hammering beneath her composed exterior.

Even her brilliant mind froze—refusing to process what she was seeing.

Twelve figures walked behind the line—wrapped in bloodstained robes.

Their backs bore the same grinning mouth symbol—with two pairs of hands inside forming unknown hand signs.

They were tall and hulking. They looked human. But Sona could immediately tell that they were not.

And in their hands—

Guns.

Sona's breath caught.

She had only seen exorcists use them before—but these... these were something else entirely. They were wrong.

Massive. Brutal. Alive.

Weapons built from flesh and bone.

Every few seconds, one of the robed figures would raise their bolter and pelt bone fragments into the line—blowing out kneecaps, shredding legs, forcing the humans to crawl.

Others tossed writhing bombs into the crowd—flesh grenades that burst into clouds of blood and bone shrapnel, turning whole families into pulped meat.

Momo's voice broke—high and thin.

"They're using... people... as weapons..."

It got worse.

The abominations followed close behind—walking butcher's shops of transfigured flesh.

Some were bloated, pulsating sacks of muscle—dragging themselves forward on half-formed limbs, their bellies swelling and deflating with every breath.

Others crawled along the rooftops—naked, human-shaped things with dozens of arms branching out from their spines.

The hounds were twisted monsters—dog-shaped creatures made from human bodies, their mouths stretched into permanent snarls.

Sona's hands trembled—her mind racing.

What... are you...?

Her violet eyes flicked toward the largest figure at the rear—towering above the others.

A massive, muscular body wrapped in the same robes and carrying a massive great sword of twisted flesh—the mouth on it's cross guard is still screaming soundlessly.

It was Freed.

But they didn't know his name.

Sona's lips parted...

But no answer came.

Her mind hit a wall—every logical pathway closing in on itself.

Nothing fit.

Nothing fit.

All Sona saw was something that shouldn't exist.

Reya's breath caught—tears spilling down her cheeks.

"This can't be real... this can't be happening..."

Sona's heart pounded harder beneath her cold mask.

Focus.

Analyze.

Calculate.

"They're heading somewhere..."

Her voice was steady—desperate for control.

"They're not attacking at random... they're... marching."

She traced the path in her mind—mapping every street, every block.

Her eyes widened.

"...The hospital."

Saji flinched—his breath catching.

"They're going to... slaughter everyone inside..."

Sona's nails dug into her palms.

No.

Not while she still stood.

"We'll cut them off."

Her voice was cold—final.

"We have to stop them... whatever they are."

Nobody answered.

They were all looking at her.

Waiting for her to lead.

But Sona couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't hunting monsters tonight.

They were standing at the edge of something far darker.

Something they couldn't understand.

The smoke hung heavy in the air—thick, black, suffocating.

Sona stood—her voice steady, her sharp mind pushing down the instinctual panic clawing at the edges.

"We'll intercept them at the main road before they reach the hospital."

Her peerage exchanged uneasy glances—none of them fully understanding what they were about to face.

But they followed.

They always followed.

They set up two blocks ahead.

They secured the area first, bending the minds of any lingering civilians—guiding them to evacuate toward Kuoh Academy under the illusion that it was their own will.

After factoring in the twists and turns along the road, potential obstacles, and other possible variables, Sona calculated the estimated speed of the march towards the hospital—reaching a clear conclusion.

She had approximately 5 minutes.

Sona's mind was a machine—laying out formations, assigning roles, turning fear into strategy.

Momo raised earthen barricades along the wide street, blocking off escape routes and narrowing the battlefield.

Each wall was placed with precision, creating a chokepoint that would funnel the enemy exactly where they wanted—while leaving a single, carefully hidden escape route open, known only to her allies.

Reya cast illusions along the buildings, creating dozens of lifelike apparitions to give the illusion of greater numbers—both to intimidate the enemy and serve as distractions to tip the battle in their favor.

They then began setting up traps and magical formations across the wide street, carefully weaving spells into the ground like an unseen minefield.

Each formation was layered with delayed activation triggers, designed to detonate only when an enemy stepped too close. Some were set to explode with raw magical energy, while others would bind their targets in place, leaving them vulnerable to attack.

The traps were placed strategically—hidden along natural chokepoints and likely paths of movement, ensuring that once the enemy advanced, they would be walking straight into a battlefield already rigged against them.

They would funnel them. Divide them. Wear them down. This was how a proper devil fought in Sona's mind—with strategy, precision, and control.

Trap them.

Overwhelm them.

Crush them.

They had done everything right.

It was the perfect plan—a textbook ambush laid out by one of the greatest tactical minds in the Underworld.

Tsubaki stood at the front, her naginata gripped tightly in both hands as the cool night air brushed against her skin.

The polished steel of her blade glinted under the faint moonlight, but her heart beat heavier than she'd ever admit.

The traps were in place, the formations set —everything according to Sona's plan—but the weight of being the first line of defense still pressed on her chest.

Her eyes flicked down the empty street, imagining the coming storm—the twisted march of those 12 figures and the monsters breaking through the traps one by one. She could already picture the ones who would make it through—the ones she'd have to cut down herself.

Her fingers trembled around the shaft of her weapon, but she quickly squeezed them tighter, forcing her breathing into steady rhythm.

'Trust Kaichou. Trust the plan.'

The barricades behind her were her safety net—her last retreat if the enemy became too much. But until that moment, she would hold the line alone.

No one would cross without tasting her blade first.

With each slow breath, the fear sank deeper beneath the surface—replaced by the cold calm of duty. Her heterochromatic eyes narrowed, locking onto the distant shadows at the edge of the battlefield.

No matter how much her heart pounded, no matter how many enemies came—

She would stand.

Momo and Reya perched on the rooftops. The stone beneath their feet felt harder than usual as they traced their Amplification Circles. Despite it increasing the power of their spells thrice over and making their magic more efficient to let them spam magic for longer without running out of demonic power, it still felt like it wasn't enough.

The weight of the coming battle pressing down on them. Their hands hovered over their spell circles, fingers twitching as they traced the final sigils into place.

Momo's mind raced, calculating which spells would deal the most destruction without damaging the barricades or hitting Tsubaki below. Fire? Lightning? Ice? Each choice carried risks—risks she couldn't afford to miscalculate.

Her breathing was steady, but her fingers fidgeted around the edges of her magical staff, betraying the tension building beneath her calm exterior.

Reya crouched beside her, setting up small illusion circles along the edge of the rooftop—decoys meant to throw off any ranged attacks.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she whispered spells under her breath, laying down a thin magical barrier beneath their feet—a safety net in case the enemy retaliated.

They could feel their own hearts pounding in sync with the magical energy thrumming around them—the anticipation making the air feel heavier.

'Trust Kaichou.'

That thought repeated in both their minds—an anchor against the fear threatening to creep in.

Their roles were clear—support from above, rain hell when the time comes, and retreat only when ordered.

Momo glanced at Reya, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Ready?"

Reya swallowed hard but nodded, forcing a small smile.

"Always."

Both of them returned to their spells, waiting for the signal—waiting for the night to erupt into fire and death.

Tsubasa and Saji crouched inside one of the buildings on the left flank. The air was thick with dust and tension, the distant flickers of magical circles still illuminating the rooftops where Momo and Reya stood watch.

Tsubasa's heart pounded steadily in her chest, but her breathing remained calm—eyes locked on the empty street ahead.

Her athletic build tensed under her uniform, she gripped her enchanted gauntlets strapped to her arms tight—the metal creaking faintly under her strength.

Beside her, Saji shifted, clutching his sacred gear, Absorption Line—the black bracer wrapped around his forearm.

His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a rare stillness. He kept his voice low, eyes flicking toward Tsubasa.

"You nervous?"

Tsubasa whispered, her voice low.

Saji's eyes flicked toward her before quickly looking away.

"A little."

He paused, swallowing hard.

"But Kaichou's plan will work... It has to."

Tsubasa smirked, rolling her shoulders.

"It will... and if it doesn't, we'll just beat the bastards down ourselves."

Saji couldn't help but chuckle softly at that —a little bit of the edge easing off his nerves.

Despite the banter, both of them knew the weight of their role—the first strike once the enemy reached within range.

Saji's lines would drag their main targets inside the building, which were the Curse Marines. Then Tsubasa would move in to break their bodies apart before they could retaliate. A brutal combination—if they got it right.

Across the battlefield, Tomoe and Ruruko crept through the buildings on the right flank—moving silent as shadows. The shattered glass crunched softly beneath their steps, but neither flinched.

Tomoe gripped her sword tightly—a simple katana, enchanted with magic to amplify her strikes.

Her eyes scanned every corner, her mind calculating the best ambush points with cool precision.

Beside her, Ruruko followed in near silence —her petite frame making her even harder to detect. Her legs tensed and ready, she wore her reinforced leg armor to enhance the strength of her kicks.

"Stay close... don't get ahead of yourself."

The words of Sona's plan echoed in Tomoe's mind, but she could feel the nervous energy rolling off Ruruko.

She knew how badly the younger girl wanted to prove herself—to show she could stand with the others.

Ruruko bit her lip, nodding quickly but not meeting her gaze.

They weren't just there to flank the enemy— they were the cutting edge of the ambush. The moment the traps went off and the enemy was disrupted, they'd strike from the shadows—overwhelming whatever survivors broke through.

She glanced at Tomoe, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You think they'll really fall for all this?"

Tomoe didn't look back, her voice calm but firm.

"They'll have no choice."

Despite her composed tone, Tomoe's heart was pounding beneath her uniform. They all trusted Kaichou's plan, but that didn't make the waiting any easier.

Both flanks were ready—hidden, waiting— with the wide street stretched out between them like the mouth of a trap.

Sona stood behind the earthen barricades, her heart pounding beneath the crisp fabric of her Kuoh Academy uniform.

Her mind burned with relentless calculation. Every breath she took felt measured— every second ticking by as another piece of her plan fell into place.

The battlefield was her chessboard, and she had arranged each piece with meticulous precision. The traps, the formations, the positions — everything was laid out exactly as she envisioned.

Yet even with every angle accounted for, she couldn't stop her mind from running through every possible outcome, searching for cracks in her own strategy.

Beneath her feet, glowing magical formations flickered faintly—intricate geometric patterns etched into the surface with her limited time of preparation.

They connected into a larger spell circle that spread to link every magical formations around the battlefield back to her—a more powerful and complex version of the standard Amplification Circle that most long range casters use, the Amplification Field.

The formations enhanced her magical power tenfold, allowing her to cast stronger, more complex spells with greater effect and giving her a much more potent magic efficiency boost—but at a cost.

Just like the Amplification Circle—she couldn't move from this spot without breaking the entire array.

'Stationary formations... the highest risk, but the most efficient.'

She could also feel the entire field through those lines. Every trap, every barrier — like threads woven into a vast web with her mind at the center. If the enemy tried to break through, she'd know the second they touched the outer layers.

With a slow breath, she raised one hand, summoning a defensive barrier formation in front of her — a shimmering wall of magic that rippled like glass. Then another. And another. Layer after layer, each barrier crafted with different properties.

The outermost layer shimmered faintly — a reflective mirror to bounce back whatever hit it.

The second layer pulsed with shock absorption, ready to absorb blunt force and explosions.

The third layer shimmered with anti-ranged enchantment—a direct counter to the guns she saw the enemy wielded.

The final layer remained nearly invisible, woven from her most intricate spellwork— a fortification enchantment that would reinforce the whole barrier and increase it's structural integrity so that even if one fell, the others would hold.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she carefully maintained each layer, channeling her magic through the amplifying formations beneath her feet.

With a final wave of her hand, the last formation locked into place—a hidden barrier buried beneath the barricades, designed to collapse the street itself if the enemy pushed too far.

'This is my battlefield.'

Everything was set.

Her peerage was positioned exactly where she needed them—hidden, ready, waiting.

It should have worked.

It was a flawless ambush.

On paper...

But nothing could have prepared them for what came out of the smoke.

As soon as they appeared from view, Sona made her final warning.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!"

Sona's voice rang out, laced with authority. Her violet eyes burned with confidence.

They didn't stop.

The Curse Marines never broke formation, they didn't even break stride.

Sona's heart pounded painfully against her ribs.

"They're not stopping..."

Reya whispered from the rooftops—her voice trembling.

Sona's mind raced—trying to analyze, trying to understand.

Why weren't they stopping?

Why weren't they reacting?

Why weren't they afraid?

What Sona didn't know was that the Curse Marines had already seen through the illusions—their burning red eyes flicking across the battlefield with cold, inhuman precision.

The false apparitions lining the rooftops meant to intimidate them were nothing more than flickering lights to their sharpened senses.

They had felt the faint tremors of magic pulsing beneath the ground long before stepping into the ambush—the subtle vibrations of traps and formations crawling along the street like invisible veins.

Their heavenly restriction-altered bodies, stripped of magic, had instead been gifted with senses beyond human limits—able to feel the thrum of magic from afar, their instincts screaming where danger lurked.

They mapped out the traps in their minds — counting each hidden spell circle, each faint ripple of magic.

Then the gorehounds came.

Twisted beasts of warped human flesh—grotesque abominations bound in screaming skin. Eyes glowing with starving hatred. Mouths stretched wide, locked open in endless, mindless hunger—snapping madly with jagged, broken fangs.

They didn't howl.

They wailed.

They charged ahead without instinct or fear — driven by hunger, with no thought of self-preservation.

They triggered every trap.

Every mine.

Every formation.

Lightning crackled, flames roared, and jagged spikes of ice erupted from the ground—turning the street into a killing field. The first wave of gorehounds was ripped apart—limbs severed, flesh scorched, bodies frozen mid-scream.

But the monsters never slowed.

They threw themselves into the slaughter without hesitation—they didn't flinch as they were torn to pieces, their shattered bodies paving the way for those that followed.

"Attack!"

The Sitri Peerage moved like clockwork.

From the rooftops, Reya and Momo unleashed hell.

Arcs of jagged lightning crackled from Reya's fingertips — lances of white-hot fury that ripped through twisted bodies, leaving charred husks convulsing on the ground. The air hummed with each bolt, the stench of burning flesh thick in the night.

Beside her, Momo's hands carved sigils into the air—waves of sharp wind howling down into the horde. The gale tore through flesh like razors, peeling skin from muscle, scattering limbs into the blood-soaked streets.

Fire then bloomed from her staff—spiraling infernos that swallowed the abominations whole, turning their shrieks into crackling embers.

For a moment — just a moment — it felt like they could hold the tide.

But the gorehounds kept coming.

Even burned black or split in half, they crawled forward—snapping, wailing, dragging themselves across the blood-slick streets.

One lunged at Tsubaki—its lower body gone, entrails dragging behind it—jaws clicking inches from her throat before her naginata carved its head from its shoulders.

They didn't fear. They didn't feel pain.

They only hungered.

By the time the last traps detonated...

More were pouring from the smoke.

Snapping.

Clacking.

Wailing.

They were never meant to break the formation.

They were only there to drown it.

Wether it be with their own bodies and blood or their enemies'—it didn't matter.

Tsubaki danced through the carnage.

Her naginata carved through the gorehounds with ruthless precision, its silver blade sweeping in wide, perfect arcs. Limbs severed. Bodies split open.

But the abominations did not fall—their warped forms refusing death. Even as they were hacked to pieces, they dragged themselves forward—snapping, snarling— their molten crimson blood spilling onto the cracked stone.

Tsubaki's magic flared beneath her skin, reinforcing every muscle, every bone—a thin, invisible armor against the searing heat.

But even then, droplets of acidic blood hissed against her uniform, burning through fabric and threatening to melt through flesh. She gritted her teeth, twisting her body with desperate grace to avoid every spray — always moving, never stopping.

One hound lunged low — jaws stretched wide. Tsubaki spun, slicing through its neck in a blur — but before its severed head could hit the ground, another monster was already leaping at her from behind.

Mirror Alice shimmered to life behind her—a flawless pane of glass that split from empty air. The gorehound crashed against it, it's acidic blood splattered against the mirror's surface—only to snap back with twice the force, shredding the gorehound mid-pounce.

More came.

They surrounded her—endless, writhing bodies snapping and lunging. Tsubaki's blade whirled, cutting through the tide—but for every one that fell, more clawed forward.

Above, lightning streaked down—Reya's spells ripping through the beasts, sending scorched bodies tumbling into the street. A blast of wind howled from Momo's position — slicing through the swarm, buying Tsubaki precious moments to breathe.

They were holding.

But the gorehounds were relentless.

One broke past her defense—limbs scrambling toward the barricades behind her, where Sona stood with cold focus, weaving a powerful spell. Tsubaki's eyes sharpened—her foot slammed into the ground, body twisting as she flung her mirror into the path of the hound.

It's body crashed against it, making it's blood spray on the mirror. The creature's own acidic blood reflected back at it—cutting through its body in a red spray before it could reach the barricade.

Another flash of lightning from above. Another wave of slicing wind.

Tsubaki's breath came heavy — sweat soaking through her uniform, every muscle screaming — but her movements never slowed.

They could not break.

Not here.

Not yet.

Then after a couple more seconds of slaughtering the transfigured beasts.

"Now, Tsubaki!"

Sona's voice rang out through their magic comms.

At last, Sona finished casting her spell. With a final, fierce surge of her demonic power through her Sitri bloodline of water manipulation magic, she summoned a colossal torrent of water imbued with demonic energy.

Tsubaki reacted in perfect sync, her wings unfurling as she shot into the air just as the tidal wave roared forth.

The street shattered beneath the crushing weight of the water—a massive flood crashing through the horde. It wasn't just raw force—the current cut like countless blades, slicing through transfigured flesh. Gorehounds were torn apart mid-lunge, some were dragged under, their bodies became battered and crushed.

The massive wave surged forward—one of Sona's most powerful spell made manifest, the flood carved through the battlefield with crushing, lethal force. It was only moments away before it reached the curse marines—until the Corpsebrutes emerged.

They lumbered out from the throng of transfigured monsters—hulking walls of grotesque, fused flesh.

Towering masses of bloated muscle and warped bodies, their pale, stretched skin bulged with unnatural strength. Limbs jutted out at random, twitching and flailing, while blank, soulless faces were half-sunken into their swollen bodies. They moved in sluggish unison, dragging their monstrous bulk forward.

A barricade of living meat.

Sona's eyes widened from her elevated position, her heart pounding. The wave smashed into the front line of Corpsebrutes with deafening force, crushing the first few under its weight. Limbs snapped. Flesh burst.

The front ranks were obliterated—but more stepped forward to take their place. The water surged and roared, splitting around them. The combined mass of the Corpsebrutes held.

"No..."

Reya's voice cracked through the comms, disbelief creeping in.

Sona clenched her fists, sweat beading down her temple. Even at near full power, her magic couldn't break through all of them—not fast enough.

Tsubaki hovered above as the wave began to lose momentum. Her eyes narrowed, watching the monsters weather the onslaught. The crushed and mangled bodies of the front line were already being trampled underfoot by the ones behind. They simply didn't stop.

The floodwater parted, breaking uselessly around the tide of flesh.

Then the hounds came again.

Gorehounds surged forward, their twisted forms bounding over the ruined corpses. Snapping jaws. Burning eyes. This time, the Corpsebrutes followed—slow, relentless, an unstoppable wall of bodies shambling forward behind the faster beasts.

Tsubaki landed hard on the cracked pavement, gripping her naginata tightly. Acidic blood still sizzled on the blade's edge. Her breathing was now steady—but she could feel the weight pressing down. The numbers. The sheer, suffocating inevitability of the march.

Momo and Reya readied their spells from above, but their earlier confidence was starting to waver. Sona's violet eyes flicked toward behind the barricades—toward the hospital behind them.

No matter what, they couldn't break through.

They wouldn't.

Sona gritted her teeth, raising her hand to cast again.

"Hold the line."

Everything was still going according to plan.

At least, that's what Sona kept telling herself—forcing the thought to repeat over and over in her mind to drown out the gnawing pressure building in her chest.

Tsubaki, Reya, and Momo were fulfilling their role. Their teamwork was flawless—each spell, each strike carving through the transfigured tide. If they just kept cutting them down... if they just bought her time... she could end this.

Her fingers trembled as she carved another complex magic circle into the air—layers upon layers of equations and formulae spinning within the glowing construct. This was her strongest spell—her absolute trump card. The one that would wipe out every last monster in one decisive blow.

But it took time—too much time.

Her sharp mind was already calculating the battlefield, running every scenario, every contingency. The curse marines were marching closer behind their living wall of meat—right into the perfect position.

Almost there.

Just a little more.

Tsubasa, Saji, Ruruko, and Tomoe were waiting—hidden in the buildings on both sides of the street. The ambush was coming. They would break the enemy's formation, and Sona's spell would finish them.

It was all going according to plan.

So why did the anxiety digging into her chest refuse to leave?

Her violet eyes flicked to the curse marines—those wretched bastards walking nonchalantly with their hulking forms, shuffling behind the Corpsebrutes.

Their faces hidden under their stitched hoods but she saw a glance of one them looking like they were about to burst out laughing.

Their bolters were clutched tightly in their hands.

Sona's mind flicked through every prediction, every possible move.

They hadn't fired yet.

They hadn't fired once this entire battle.

Why?

Sona's eyes flicked across the battlefield, searching—calculating—desperately trying to understand why they hadn't fired yet.

Then, her gaze was drawn—almost as if guided—toward the heart of the marching horde.

Amid the writhing mass of suffering bodies and grotesque abominations, a patchwork face emerged.

Stitched skin. Dead eyes.

Staring directly at her.

He grinned—slow, mocking—and with deliberate cruelty... he winked.

That's when she realized.

Her breath caught.

They were never waiting.

They were toying with her.

Her heart skipped a beat—realization crashing through her mind like ice water.

She'd been so focused on her spell, on the monsters, on holding the line—so caught up in her own plan—that she'd forgotten.

And then curse marines moved.

Sona's blood froze.

No—

The thunder of gunfire shattered any confidence she had winning this fight.

The first hail of cursed bullets screamed toward her peerage—toward Tsubaki still holding the front.

The others aiming straight for Momo and Reya—ignoring all the illusions set up.

Sona's spell wavered—the delicate circles flickering as panic clawed at the edge of her mind.

She had miscalculated.

Everything was still going according to plan.

Until it wasn't.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

Momo and Reya's barriers crumbled in seconds—their protective spells ripped apart like paper.

Reya's scream tore through the comms as her shoulder exploded, blood spraying against the stone. Her severed arm flopped to the rooftop—twitching—before she even realized it was gone.

Momo barely had time to react before a bolt punched through her thigh—flesh and muscle nearly ripped clean off—sending her crashing to the rooftop, biting back a scream.

They dragged themselves behind cover—shaking, bleeding—as bolter rounds pounded against the building, chewing through the stone and walls all around.

The curse marines kept firing—uncaring, relentless—laughing between bursts.

"Is that all, little devils?"

"Scream louder! Let's hear you beg!"

"Run! Run! Hide! We'll cut you open when we're done!"

They didn't care if their shots ripped through the gorehounds in front of them. The twisted beasts were nothing but meat—shredded apart in the crossfire as they fired relentlessly at Tsubaki.

She spun through the storm—nagitana flashing in arcs of silver, slicing bolts out of the air. Mirror Alice shimmered again and again—summoned in frantic intervals—shattering with every impact as it hurled bolts back with twice the force.

The curse marines barely flinched. They simply laughed—letting the corpsebrutes soak the punishment. Bullets carved into the bloated masses of flesh—tearing through layers of muscle and skin—but the monsters just shambled forward, silent and unfeeling.

Tsubaki's breath tore through her throat—ragged, shallow—as she weaved through the hail of bolter fire.

Every shot sought to kill, each explosive round too fast, too powerful—her magic reinforcement struggling to keep her alive, not enough to protect her, but to simply hold her broken body together.

A round grazed her side, then another round blasted through her ribs and searing deep into her lung—black smoke rising from the molten wound. She bit back a scream, blood pooling in her mouth.

Another clipped her thigh—flesh and muscle ripped apart—her legs buckling for half a second before she forced herself upright, staggering backwards. Acid blood from the gorehounds she killed splattered onto her clothes, eating through fabric, blistering her skin underneath. The stench of burnt flesh clung to her.

Mirror Alice flickered into existence, catching a burst of shots that she was too late to dodge—shattering—sending the rounds screaming back into the horde.

Her vision blurred—blood streaming down her face, breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps.

She had to fall back.

Tsubaki's legs trembled as she vaulted over the barricade—crashing hard into the ground beside Sona—barely able to push herself back up, her body burning, her vision swimming.

Sona watched—helpless—her spell still incomplete.

Her hands trembled around her casting sigil, sweat running down her brow as the pieces of her grand spell slowly fell into place.

The earth trembled beneath Sona's feet—each bolt impact sending cracks splintering through the barricade.

Her hands shook as she carved the final sigils of her spell into the air, her demonic power swirling around her in fragile, shimmering currents.

The barrier flickered—each crackling shot against it making her heart lurch. The anti-ranged enchantment was failing—she could feel it, the delicate layers of magic peeling away under the relentless barrage. When it broke, her barrier itself would have to take the brunt of the damag.

A round smashed into the barrier right in front of her face—she flinched, teeth gritted—her fingers almost faltering in their delicate gestures.

Sweat rolled down her temple, her breath ragged as she forced herself to focus—to trust the plan.

Just a little more.

Her mind raced—calculating the distance, the timing. They were almost there—she could see it—the curse marines marching forward, arrogant in their slaughter.

They were close enough.

It was time.

Her voice crackled through the magic comms, sharp and commanding—barely masking the tremor beneath.

"Now!"

The flanking team struck next—a perfect pincer attack.

On the left flank.

Ruruko broke first—eager, reckless—hurling herself forward with a flying kick aimed at the nearest curse marine's head. She was supposed to wait—supposed to let Tomoe strike first—supposed to work together.

But she wanted to prove herself.

The curse marine didn't even flinch. His hand shot out, catching her leg mid-air like a toy. Ruruko's heart froze as cold, red eyes glinted beneath his hood—lips peeling back into a jagged, hungry grin.

Then he slammed her into the ground.

The pavement cracked beneath her body—her lungs emptying in a choking gasp. Before she could even scream, his massive boot rose over her head—ready to cave her skull in like rotten fruit.

Tomoe saved her.

Her sword flashed—a clean, perfect arc that made the curse marine stagger back. She grabbed Ruruko by the arm, pulling her up with a snarl.

"Idiot! What the hell are you doing—"

Ruruko's eyes widened.

"Tomoe—LOOK OUT!"

Tomoe turned—too slow.

Gob was already there.

His cleaver was a slab of fused flesh and metal—jagged, grotesque. The first swing shattered Tomoe's sword like glass. The second carved her open—shoulder to hip—like she wasn't even there.

Her scream was wet and broken, cut off as blood filled her throat. She collapsed to her knees, clutching at her own spilling guts—before Gob's cleaver came down again—hacking her apart piece by piece.

Arms.

Legs.

Head.

He left nothing whole.

Ruruko saw everything.

Her breath caught in her throat—her legs moving on instinct—running—even as she heard the Curse Marines laughing behind her.

They didn't chase.

They never chased.

They raised their bolters instead.

The first shot took her knee—bone and flesh exploding in a spray of gore. She screamed, collapsing face-first into the blood-soaked street. She tried to crawl—fingers clawing at the cracked pavement—sobbed apologies spilling from her lips.

Another round blew her other leg apart—leaving her dragging herself forward by her hands, sobbing, begging—

"Please—please—please—"

Gob sauntered forward.

He crouched down—his face leering into hers. His massive fingers pried her eyelid open—thumb digging in—

He dug her eye out with a sick, wet squelch.

Ruruko's screams shattered the air.

The gorehounds came next—tearing into her with slavering jaws—dragging her screaming into the sea of flesh.

Gob put the eye in his mouth and licked it like candy.

The Curse Marines never stopped laughing.

Meanwhile on the right flank.

Saji's Absorption Line lashed out—coiling around the towering curse marine's arm. He clenched his teeth, using the power of his Sacred Gear—trying to drain the monster's power.

Nothing.

No magic. No energy. Not even a flicker.

What... what the hell?!

He pulled harder, panic rising—trying to yank the curse marine off balance so Tsubasa could finish him from behind.

The giant didn't even budge.

Saji's confusion spilled into the comms, voice shaking.

"I—I can't drain them! They're empty! They're—"

The curse marine turned—menacing red eyes locking onto him beneath the hood. It flexed—muscles rippling—snapping the Absorption Line like a thread.

Before Saji could even react, the monster grabbed the broken cord—wrapped it around its fist—

And pulled.

Saji screamed as he was ripped from his cover—dragged across the ground like a ragdoll, nails scraping against the pavement trying to stop himself.

The curse marine stomped down—his massive boot caving in Saji's ribs with a sickening crack.

Saji howled—spitting blood, his vision blurring from the pain.

The boot came down again.

And again.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

His screams echoed through the comms—filled with agony—filled with fear.

Tsubasa roared—throwing herself at the monster like a cannonball. Her shoulder smashed into the giant's side, barely making it stumble.

She reared back—her gauntlet-clad fist lashing out with all the crushing strength of a Rook—

Bone crunched.

The curse marine's head barely tilted.

It smiled.

Tsubasa's heart froze.

She punched again—her other gauntlet-clad fist swinging with all her strength.

This time, the curse marine caught her mid-swing—fingers clamping around her forearm.

It squeezed.

Tsubasa's scream tore through the air as the gauntlet on her arm was crushed like tin can and the bones in her hand snapped like dry twigs.

The curse marine twisted—grinding shattered bone beneath his grip—then yanked her arm behind her back so hard her shoulder dislocated with a sick pop.

She wailed—thrashing in his grip, tears streaming down her face—until he finally let her go, letting her crumple to the ground.

Her body twitched—writhing—barely able to move.

Three more curse marines loomed over her.

Bolters lowered.

Saji saw it from where he lay—lungs burning—eyes wide.

He ran.

He heard Tsubasa screaming for him.

He didn't look back.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK

They fired until there was nothing left—just chunks of bloodied flesh splattered across the pavement.

The curse marines laughed—grinding what was left of her into the street beneath their boots.

Saji stumbled into the shadows—clutching his broken ribs—guilt choking him harder than the blood in his throat.

He kept running.

He didn't stop.

He never stopped hearing her screams.

Sona's heart slammed in her chest—every second stretching into a lifetime.

Her peerage—her family—were breaking.

Tsubaki wavered beside her, leaning on her naginata—she used ice magic, freezing all open gashes across her arms, legs, and body.

Her breaths were shallow—her magic reinforcement flickering—barely holding her torn body together.

Saji stumbled through the buildings, dragging himself forward—blood pouring from his mouth, one hand clutching his cracked ribs. His comms crackled with weak, pained gasps—panic bleeding through every breath.

Momo and Reya fired desperate spells from the shattered windows as they moved along the buildings—their magic weaker, slower without their amplification circle.

Reya's shoulder was cauterized with fire magic to stop it from bleeding, her remaining arm trembling with every blast of wind she fired. Momo's leg hung limp beneath her—her ice magic barely keeping it from falling apart— her face pale, streaked with sweat.

They were losing.

Sona could hear their fear—choked sobs— the quiet terror beneath their forced composure.

It was slipping through her fingers.

No. No, this was supposed to work.

"RETREAT!"

Her voice cracked through the comms—panic ripping through the icy mask she always wore.

They fell back farther into the buildings, scrambling through the crumbling walls—thinking they'd bought time—thinking they were safe behind cover—

The Curse Marines didn't stop.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK

Bolter fire ripped through the walls — shredding stone and steel as if it were paper.

The buildings became death traps— nowhere to hide—nowhere to breathe.

Sona's comms filled with screams.

Reya's breath hitched as another bolt tore across her side—blood splattering across the walls—her guts almost spilling out.

Saji's voice broke in—panicked, coughing—

"I— I can't—! I can't—!"

When the buildings refused to fall fast enough—

Blair stepped forward—his patchwork face stretched in a wide grin.

His sack of flesh grenades squelched as he reached inside—pulling out wriggling masses of cursed organs—a face stitched onto each one, alive with pulsing veins—crying as they begged for death.

He threw them without pause.

SPLUTCH. SPLUTCH. SPLUTCH.

The grenades popped—spraying black acidic bile across the ruins—melting stone, steel, and flesh alike. Bone fragments blasted through walls—impaling bodies hiding behind cover.

Saji's comms cut out in a choked scream—bone fragments impaling his back and then he got buried beneath rubble.

Momo's voice broke into sobs as some of the bile splashed to her other leg—flesh and muscel melting— she used reinforcement to barely hold her mangled limb together.

Reya cried out—the wall beside her shattered—bone shrapnel embedding deep into her shoulder.

Tsubaki collapsed beside Sona — her body trembling, her blood pooling beneath her knees.

One by one, they reached her—crawling, bleeding, staggering—

Half-dead.

Barely alive.

The Curse Marines laughing as they advanced through the smoke—dragging the massacre forward inch by inch.

The barricades were crumbling.

Her barrier was cracking.

Her family was breaking.

And then finally her spell was completed.

Her whole body trembling. But her violet eyes burned with cold, unyielding focus—every ounce of fear, grief, and fury boiling beneath her cold composure.

Sona's hands clapped together—a sharp, echoing sound that cut through the chaos. From her fingertips a magic circle flared to life—blazing blue—intricate sigils spinning as her power surged to its peak.

This was everything she had.

All her strength.

All her pain.

All her rage.

"PIERCING WATER!"

Her voice ripped through the battlefield— sharp and commanding—echoing through the chaos.

A beam of pure, compressed water erupted from her fingertips — a thin, gleaming line of death. It screamed through the air with a sound like a thousand knives cutting at once — the pressure so intense the very air around it shivered.

The first corpsebrute in its path split clean in half—flesh and bone sheared through without resistance. Then another. And another.

Dozens of the towering abominations were carved apart—bodies crumpling—acidic blood spraying into the air like ruptured arteries.

The cursed tide halted.

For one brief, frozen second—the battlefield belonged to her.

Blair stood at the front—his sack of flesh grenades clutched in both hands, still laughing between half-whispered prayers to Mahito.

He turned—that patchwork grin still stretched wide —

Then the beam ripped through his waist.

The laugh caught in his throat.

His upper body slid off his hips—intestines spilling like wet ropes as he crumpled to the ground.

Her magic raged on—cutting through the street—a line of death tearing straight toward the remaining curse marines.

Then he stepped forward.

Dil.

His massive, hulking frame silhouetted by the smoking ruins—his sick grin stretched beneath his hood.

Strapped to his chest...

The girl.

A tiny child—no older than four—black hair tied into messy twin-tails, pink eyes wide and red from endless crying.

Barbed wires dug into her small limbs— wrapped tight around her fragile body— every rise and fall of Dil's breath made the barbs bite deeper, drawing thin lines of blood down her pale skin.

The girl sobbed, her tiny voice cracking through the battlefield.

"Onee-chan... help me... please... Onee-chan..."

Sona's whole body locked up.

Her magic faltered—the circle sputtering.

Her eyes widened—breath caught in her chest—because for a single, agonizing second...

She saw Serafall.

Not as the powerful Satan Leviathan—but as a little girl. Small. Crying. Reaching out for her sister's hand.

"Onee-chan... help me... please..."

Her vision blurred.

Her heart twisted.

She could kill him.

She could kill them all—the curse marines, the monsters, every twisted abomination.

But she would kill her too.

Her trembling fingers flexed—trying to force the spell to keep going—to cut through this nightmare.

But she couldn't.

Her heart was screaming at her.

Her hands shook.

The circle died out—flickering into nothing.

The girl's cries echoed through the ruined street.

Dil's grin stretched wider—his yellowed teeth showing as he gently patted the child's head—the gesture almost tender.

"Good girl..."

He licked his lips—and stared straight at Sona.

Her knees buckled.

Her stomach twisted.

The taste of bile rose in her throat.

The curse marines started laughing—low, cruel chuckles echoing through the ruins.

They knew.

They always knew.

There was nothing more fragile than hope.

Blair groaned as he dragged his upper half off the ground—the two halves of his mutilated torso stitching back together with thick, pulsing cords of flesh.

His patchwork face twisted in ecstasy as his organs slithered back into place beneath his exposed ribs.

"Lord Mahito... bless me... let me be whole again..."

He whispered the prayer with fevered devotion—black saliva dripping from his lips. His blood-soaked hands reached for the bloated sack of flesh grenades still hanging from his waist.

Tsubaki's breath caught in her throat as she saw him winding up—her eyes widening in horror.

"No—!"

With a final whispered prayer, Blair heaved the entire sack towards the barricades—his yellow teeth bared in a manic grin.

The flesh grenades burst in unison—a chain of wet, perverse explosions. Acidic bile drenched the barricades. Bone shrapnel ripped through the magic infused stone.

Sona's barrier collapsed instantly—the protective circle shattering apart under the combined blast.

Sona barely had time to scream before the backlash of her own broken magic slammed into her. The destruction of her amplification field caused surge of power that burned through her circuits, sending waves of agony tearing through her entire body.

She was launched backward from the shockwave—crashing hard into the rubble—blood streaking down her face from the jagged bone shrapnels that embedded in her limbs.

Her mind was swimming—her thoughts barely clinging to consciousness.

The spell...

She had been so close.

"Kaicho—!"

Reya's panicked voice cracked through their comms.

"Sona!"

Momo's choked cry followed.

Saji crawled out of the crumbling ruins, his chest heaving—blood pooling from the shrapnel wounds peppering his back.

Tsubaki staggered—her naginata clattering to the ground as she forced her mangled body to move.

They had no choice.

They had to run.

With shaking arms, Tsubaki hoisted Sona's limp body onto her back—biting down a scream as the movement cause d her wounds to widen up.

Saji stumbled toward Reya and Momo— dragging them up as their wings unfurled.

They launched into the air—bodies bleeding, limbs trembling—the last shreds of their demonic power pushing them forward.

Tsubaki's vision blurred with blood and exhaustion—but something made her glance back.

Her heart clenched.

They weren't shooting.

They weren't even watching.

The Curse Marines simply marched on— stepping over the ruins.

Insignificant.

That's what they were.

Nothing but flies in the face of the slaughter still to come.

Mahito stood at the center of the horde— spinning his new Rubik's Cube between his fingers.

Each twist contorted Ruruko's remains— flesh bending and folding in impossible ways—a muffled scream from it with every move.

He glanced toward Dil, his patchwork grin widening.

"See? I told you that would work."

Dil gave a toothy chuckle—his fingers idly stroking the sobbing child's hair still bound to his chest.

Her cries had gone quieter now—broken whimpers leaving her trembling lips.

Tsubaki's stomach twisted—bile rising in her throat as she made a realization.

It wasn't a child.

Not really.

Mahito had transfigured her—warped some poor, random soul into that mockery.

Made her look just like Serafall.

He'd studied them.

He'd known exactly where to cut.

Sona's eyes fluttered open on Tsubaki's back—her glassy gaze locking onto the girl in the distance.

Her heart shattered.

Tears rolled silently down her bloodstained cheeks.

Mahito caught her staring.

He winked.

"Onee-chan... help me... please..."

His voice was soft — perfectly mimicking the girl's cries.

Then he laughed.

He laughed like this was all some beautiful, perfect little joke.

The Sitri heir— the proud devil heiress— was nothing more than another toy.

Just another heart to break.

They kept marching.

This whole thing was just a minor 3 minutes pit stop for Mahito—barely an inconvenience.

________________________________________

When they stumbled into the ORC club room—bloodied, broken, barely alive—the room froze.

Rias's eyes widened in horror.

Gasps filled the air.

Asia's hands flew to her mouth, stifling a sob at the sight of them.

Momo collapsed to her knees the moment they crossed the threshold—sobbing uncontrollably into her bloodstained hands.

Saji crumpled beside her—his whole body shaking violently—eyes wide, still hearing the gunfire in his head.

Reya staggered to the corner, curling into a ball—clutching the cauterized stump where her left arm used to be. Her whole body trembled as she bit down her sobs, her mind shattered by the pain.

Tsubaki stood in the center—her legs barely holding her up.

Her face was streaked with blood—her wounds where the bolter shots grazed her and the one that pierced her lung is still bleeding. The burns across her body were still smoldering—her skin blackened and cracked.

But her voice was steady—cold and hollow.

"They're dead..."

The words barely came out.

Rias's breath caught in her throat—her heart sinking into her stomach.

"Who... who did you lose?"

Tsubaki's lips trembled.

"Tsubasa... Tomoe... Ruruko..."

Her voice cracked on the last name—the weight of it crushing her composure.

She fell to her knees—the pain, the exhaustion, the grief—all of it finally breaking through.

"They killed them... they tore them apart... they played with them like they were toys... and we... we couldn't do anything..."

Her shoulders shook as she sobbed into her hands.

Asia ran to Sona first—her Twilight Healing bathing Sona's broken body in warm golden light.

But the wounds were deep—the shrapnel had pierced her lungs, lacerated her stomach, and torn through her organs. Blood pooled beneath her body.

Asia's hands trembled.

"S-She's... she's so hurt... I don't know if I can—"

"You can."

Rias's voice was sharp—but she was shaking too.

"Focus, Asia... please... she needs you."

Akeno moved next—gathering first aid kits and bandages with trembling fingers.

Kiba knelt beside Reya—carefully wrapping the stump of her missing arm.

Reya didn't even flinch.

Her glassy eyes just stared at the wall— empty.

Saji's head snapped up—his eyes bloodshot, his face twisted in self-loathing.

"I ran..."

He croaked.

Nobody said anything.

Tsubaki's sobs filled the silence.

"I ran... I left her... I left Tsubasa to die... and she... she..."

He couldn't finish.

He broke down—wailing into his hands.

Asia sobbed quietly as she worked— pouring everything she had into closing Sona's wounds, but the golden light could only slowly mend the damage.

It wouldn't take away the pain.

It wouldn't erase what they had seen.

Sona's eyes fluttered open—her breath rattling.

"..."

She whispered—barely audible.

Rias leaned in closer.

"What did you say?"

Sona's fingers twitched—weakly clutching at Rias's sleeve.

"He's... he's playing with us..."

Her bloodshot eyes glazed over—flashes of the child strapped to Dil's chest burned into her mind.

Serafall's face.

Her sister's face.

Twisted in mockery.

Tears slipped down her pale cheeks.

"He knows us... he knows everything... he studied us... he knew exactly how to hurt us..."

Her voice broke.

"He made me stop... he made me stop my spell..."

Saji's sobbing grew louder.

Momo screamed into her hands—rocking back and forth.

Reya curled tighter—trying to disappear.

Tsubaki couldn't speak—her throat raw from crying.

Rias clutched Sona's trembling hand—her own eyes shining with unshed tears.

"I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry..."

Akeno knelt beside Momo—wrapping her arms around the sobbing girl—holding her as tightly as she could.

Kiba kept working in silence—his jaw clenched—but tears streamed down his face.

The whole room was drowning in grief.

Asia's healing light flickered—her voice trembling through her own sobs.

"Why... why would anyone... do this...?"

Sona's glassy eyes locked onto her.

"Because they think... suffering is beautiful."

Nobody spoke after that.

Only the sound of sobbing filled the room.

The curse marines never chased them.

Because they never needed to.

They had already won.

Koneko watched.

Her small body trembled against the cold floor of the ORC clubroom—eyes wide, reflecting the distant sunrise bathing Kuoh Town in soft, gentle light.

It was supposed to be morning.

It was supposed to mean they had survived the night.

But all she saw was death.

The distant echoes of gunfire cracked through the air—the faint, muffled thuds of explosions shaking the earth beneath her.

She had seen Sona and her peerage fly off—so confident, so composed—like they always were.

But now here they were or atleast was left of them.

Broken.

Bleeding.

Barely alive.

She held Issei's hand tighter as he lay unconscious on the couch, hoping he could wake up soon and maybe she could see his smile again.

Rias' crimson hair clung to her sweat-dampened face—her eyes narrowed, after everything she had heard.

Her voice was steady—too steady—masking the storm roiling beneath.

"I'm going to call my brother."

Her trembling fingers began to weave the magic circle—desperation flickering behind her composed mask.

Then came the knock.

Soft.

Faint.

But in the dead silence of the room, it might as well have been a gunshot.

Everyone went rigid.

Akeno's hands crackled with electricity.

Kiba's remaining hand curled around the hilt of his sword.

Koneko's ears raised in alert—her small body instinctively shifting in front of Issei, fists clenched.

Rias' hands glowed with the Power of Destruction—her mind already preparing atomize whatever dared approach them.

Slowly...

Mitelt's form appeared through the window—her bloodshot eyes wide, her breath ragged.

Her trembling hands shot up—palms open in surrender.

"I—I come in peace!"

Her voice cracked—barely above a whisper.

Everyone froze.

For a single breath, Rias' power flared brighter—her fingers twitching, ready to reduce the fallen angel to ash.

Then the name spilled from Mitelt's cracked lips.

"I have a message... from Mahito..."

The power of destruction in Rias' hands flickered—her heart pounding in her chest.

That name.

Freed had said it too.

Her sharp eyes locked onto Mitelt—piercing straight through her trembling form.

"...Come inside."

Her voice was cold.

Commanding.

Mitelt stumbled through the door—shaking and broken.

Everyone's eyes remained fixed on her—waiting...

Dreading what she would say next.

Mitelt shakily raised her hands—muttering the incantation for a projection spell. A shimmering screen flickered to life in the middle of the room, casting a pale glow across the cracked walls.

The projection spell flickered to life—a shimmering, unstable window floating in the middle of the dim room.

The air felt heavier the moment it appeared.

The faint orange glow of the rising sun bathed the twisted procession in warm light—like dawn mocking the suffering beneath it.

At the center of the image, Mahito smiled.

His patchwork face stretched wide—stitched lips curling unnaturally.

Behind him, the endless march of broken sobbing humans trudged forward down the bloodstained roads—herded by the the Curse Marines.

Kalawarna stood to his side—her body trembling in fear.

"Apapapapapap~!"

Mahito's voice rang out—high and lilting, like a nursery rhyme played over a massacre.

His mismatched eyes sparkled with childlike glee.

"You should stop right there, little princess~"

He wagged a finger at the screen—like a parent scolding a naughty child.

"Don't go crying to big brother Lucifer now... or anyone at all... or else..."

The room in the ORC club went deathly still.

Rias' eyes narrowed—her fingers twitching with crackling crimson power due to her anger.

He reached down—fingers curling into someone's hair.

When he stood up again, he was holding a small boy—no older than eight—by the scalp.

The child's feet dangled limply above the ground—his face streaked with dried tears, eyes wide and empty.

"Say hello to little Timmy!"

Mahito's voice was bright, musical.

The boy's lips quivered—his wide, glassy eyes flicking to the projection.

"P-Please... h-help me..."

Mitelt looked away, biting her lip to stifle a sob.

Rias' breathing quickened—her heart pounding painfully against her ribs.

"You... you wouldn't..."

Her voice stuttered—the confidence cracking as she wasn't she sure of her answer.

Mahito's grin flicked wider—his stitched lips curling at the edges.

"OHHHHH?"

He leaned in—his mismatched eyes locking onto Rias through the screen.

"You wanna pull the 'You wouldn't' card with me?!"

His voice turned shrill—mocking, childish.

He giggled uncontrollably—his whole body shivering like he could barely contain the joy bubbling inside him.

"Bet."

He crouched—right on top of a writhing couch made from the transfigured bodies of Timmy's own parents.

Their melted faces stretched in frozen screams—limbs fused together into twisted lumps of living flesh.

His fingers stroked the boy's tear-soaked cheek—soft, almost tender.

"Awwww... look at him! He's just a little guy~"

Mahito's grin flickered wider.

"Hey, Timmy... why don't you tell the nice devils your big dream?"

The boy sobbed—his small body shaking in Mahito's grip.

"I... I w-wanna be... a p-pilot... s-so I c-can f-fly..."

Mahito's whole body shuddered—his grin splitting wider as if the boy's trembling voice had just whispered something sacred into his ear.

"Ohhhh, you hear that, everyone?! Little Timmy wants to fly!"

Mahito sighed contently—like a proud father hearing his son following his footsteps.

"Such a noble little dream... How could I possibly say no?"

He giggled—clapping his hands together like a child about to unwrap a birthday present.

"Don't worry, champ! I'll make your dreams come true!"

Mahito's palm pressed against the boy's chest—his cursed energy slithering inside his soul.

His small hands clawed at Mahito's arms—his wide, terrified eyes locking onto the projection as if begging someone, anyone, to save him.

Nobody moved.

Nobody could.

Timmy's screams tore through the projection—high-pitched and helpless—as his small body began to twist and warp beneath Mahito's hands.

Flesh rippled—bones snapped—his arms stretching into paper-thin wings of muscle and sinew.

His legs melted together into a fleshy tail fin.

His mouth sealed shut—leaving nothing but wide, terrified eyes staring from the front of his warped, winged body.

The whole process took only a few seconds—leaving behind a grotesque mockery of an airplane made entirely of human flesh.

Mahito beamed—his eyes shimmering with pride.

"Look at him! He's soaring already!"

Timmy's glassy eyes rolled wildly—locked in silent agony—his warped body twitching uncontrollably.

Mahito's grin sharpened—his fingers wrapping around the fleshy plane's body.

"Alright, Timmy... here's your maiden flight..."

He stood up...

Reared back...

And with a flick of his wrist—

"YEET!"

The fleshy plane sailed through the air—its twisted wings flapping weakly—before crashing straight into a nearby billboard.

It splattered on impact—leaving nothing but a streak of red pulp across the sign.

Mahito doubled over laughing—his giggles echoing through the projection like a chorus of nails on glass.

"Oh my GOD! Did you see that?! He fucking flew!"

The room was deathly silent.

Koneko's whole body shook—her eyes wide with barely suppressed terror.

Mitelt sank to her knees, covering her mouth with both hands.

Rias' nails dug into her palms—drawing blood—her head bowed as her whole body trembled.

Mahito's giggling finally died down—his stitched smile settling into something softer.

Almost... kind.

"Now... let's all be smart little devils, hmm?"

His voice was gentle—mocking.

"You don't call big brother... You don't call anyone... And maybe... just maybe... I won't make this whole town into my own little flying circus."

Rias opened her mouth—her breath shaking.

But she decided against it and kept her mouth, her lips trembling—she wanted to say yes but she hesitated.

"Oh? You're not gonna answer? Well that's just rude! Hmph! Because of you I'm gonna throw a tantrum!~"

Mahito rose from the couch, his eyes roaming around the column of humans. Then he heard the sound of a group of youthful voices talking to each other.

He suddenly spun around—his grin flicking wider.

"Ohhhh! What's this? A mother hen protecting her little chicks?"

The projection shifted—showing a woman surrounded by several children clinging to her sides.

She was a mother—one who had lost her own son in the chaos. His blood had splattered across her face, staining her skin as he was shot in the head by one of the hulking giants.

Yet even in the face of such horror, she hadn't broken. Instead, she became a guiding light for the other children taken in the march—protecting them, shielding them from the brutality of the monstrous brutes or becoming turned into something grotesque by the patch-faced, grayish-blue-haired monster.

But now, as Mahito approached with slow, deliberate steps, her worst fears materialized.

She pushed the seven children behind her, spreading her arms wide to shield them with her own body—a mother's final act of defiance.

"My, my... what a bunch of cute kids,"

Mahito cooed, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.

"Too bad I'm feeling a little... botanical."

Without warning, his hand lashed out—a casual backhand sending the woman sprawling to the floor.

All of a sudden, Kalawarna appeared in front of him—a glowing light spear clenched tightly in her hand.

"I won't let you harm any more children!" she declared, her golden eyes burning with defiance.

Kalawarna had always harbored a deep love for children—a soft spot carried from her time as an angel. Even after her fall, that love never faded. Unlike most fallen who were cast down by lust, her sin had been wrath.

She could still remember the day she fell— the day she watched a father mercilessly beat his own child. The boy had been no older than five. Helpless, Kalawarna stood by, bound by the laws of heaven, unable to intervene. By the time the father was done, the child lay lifeless—killed by the very hands meant to protect him.

That was the moment something inside her snapped. Consumed by righteous fury, she broke heaven's laws—decapitating the man and mounting his head on a pike.

From that day forward, Kalawarna fell... but she never stopped looking out for children. Whether by secretly donating to orphanages or delivering death to abusive parents, she made it her mission to protect the innocent.

Mahito clicked his tongue, amusement flickering in his mismatched eyes.

"Sigh... all you had to do was be a good little birdy. Now you're suddenly being rebellious—all for a bunch of brats?"

Kalawarna steadied her spear, its radiant light illuminating her sharp features.

"Don't take another step."

Mahito simply shook his head, disappointment dripping from his grin.

"It seems... I'll have to teach you birdies a lesson."

With a flick of his finger, the light spear shattered into fragments—dissolving into the air. Kalawarna's eyes widened, but before she could react, his cold fingers brushed against her face.

In an instant, her body twisted—her flesh writhing and reshaping into a grotesque mass. Small, feathered wings flapped uselessly from the quivering heap, a cruel mockery of what she once was.

Mahito crouched beside her, his grin stretching wider.

"You should have just been a good little pet."

He stood, leaving the twitching mass behind and walked towards the kids.

The children's terrified screams filled the air as Mahito's twisted technique took hold. Their small bodies convulsed, reshaped, and bloomed into a grotesque bouquet of living flowers made of flesh—petals twitching, stems trembling—their souls trapped within.

Mahito grinned at his creation, admiring his work.

"Beautiful."

Their faint, muffled cries still echoed from within the writhing petals.

"STOP! I WON'T CALL FOR HELP! I SWEAR!"

Mahito leaned in close—his grin nearly splitting his face in two.

"Do we have a deal?"

Rias' head hung low—tears dripping onto the floor.

"...Yes..."

Mahito's grin flicked wider.

"That's what I thought."

He spun on his heel—clapping his hands together.

"We're gonna have so much fun this week! Ooooh! Let's play Devils vs Abominations! Grrrr! Wave one! The abominations are coming! Hehehehe! Buh-bye!"

The projection flickered out—leaving behind only silence...

And the distant screams echoing through Kuoh Town.