DxD: The Pale Puppeteer

The past was distant, yet it loomed over him like a shadow.

Three years had passed since his creation—a twisted mockery of life, shaped by the ambitions of madmen.

Now, he stood in his dimly lit quarters, appearing no older than a tenth grader, though his mind had long since outgrown the fragile shell he inhabited.

In his hands, he toyed with a metallic alloy—smooth as gold yet possessing a dark, chaotic hue.

A stolen treasure, one he had risked everything to acquire.

The Death Factor.

A crystallization of supernatural energy.

Not mere magic, nor simple energy—it was the essence of those who stood closest to death.

The lingering power of beings who ruled the boundary between life and the abyss.

The touch of Thanatos, the one fated to guide souls beyond.

The authority of Hades, the keeper of the underworld.

The grasp of Hel, whose dominion stretched over the dying.

Even the feared Shinigami, silent reapers watching from the unseen.

This was the very same existence that had been forcibly woven into him—forming an unnatural fusion of mortality and the abyss.

And tonight, he would use it for something new.

His plan was simple: bring ruin to the laboratory that had shackled him for so long.

But to do that, he needed to act carefully.

The researchers, though arrogant, still took precautions.

Around his neck, a cold metal device pressed against his skin, ready to send out a signal the moment he activated his abilities.

A leash, ever-tightening, ensuring his compliance.

He looked at his hands, feeling the stolen Death Factor's weight pressing against his palm.

It wasn't enough.

He needed something more.

He needed to make sure nothing would go wrong in his escape.

As a servant, akin to a butler, he had seen nearly every room in the facility.

One room, in particular, stood out—the vault containing a crystallized essence of the divine, born from the remnants of beings who embodied absolute power.

It was not just a relic but a fragment of something far greater—an inheritance of the sacred, carrying the will of those who had once defied the natural order.

A Sacred Factor.

His theory was straightforward yet volatile: the Death Factor and the Sacred Factor were opposing forces, one embodying decay, the other the divine.

If the two were to collide... an uncontrolled reaction was inevitable.

The energies would clash and spiral out of control, resulting in an explosion.

As he gazed through the small, barred window of his quarters, he saw the moon at its zenith.

The silent witness to his impending rebellion.

Tonight, it begins.

The door to his room creaked open, his steps calculated, noiseless.

He moved swiftly through the dimly lit corridors, heading toward his destination.

The hallway turned a corner, and then—

"Isn't this Failed Subject No.1?"

He halted, his breath steadying.

Before him stood a devil, one of the 'successful' subjects of the Death Factor integration.

A group of five young devils had survived the process, emerging with terrifying abilities.

This one in particular… Hisame.

Life Span Manipulation.

A single touch from Hisame could age a person by ten years.

Prolonged contact?

A death sentence for any mortal.

Hisame's crimson eyes studied him, curiosity flickering behind them.

"Hisame-sama."

He bowed slightly, keeping his expression blank—a perfected facade, one that had become second nature.

"Why are you still awake at this hour?"

"Conrad-sama requested his laundry be done at night to avoid the noise disturbing his rest."

A blatant lie, but a plausible one.

Hisame's stare bore into him, searching.

Testing.

After a moment, the reached out, his fingers stopping just between his eyes.

...

He scoffed.

"Tch… you're no fun."

Then, he walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Only when silence returned did he exhale, his fingers subtly shaking as he clenched them into fists.

He turned back to his path, his resolve hardening.

'This life isn't for me.'

The destination was within reach.

The vault door loomed before him, its thick, reinforced metal glowing faintly under artificial lighting.

He pressed his palm against it, feeling the faint hum of the energy contained within.

His prize was inside.

As the door creaked open, his gaze landed on the Sacred Factor—an unassuming piece of yellow metal streaked with white energy, cycling in an orderly rhythm.

He stepped closer, retrieving the Death Factor from his pocket.

The moment he reached within five meters of the Sacred Factor, his entire being reacted.

The Death Factor pulsed violently, unstable, desperate to consume.

A tug echoed in his very soul, despite the restraints of the device at his neck.

He could feel it—his power resonating, reaching, struggling against its invisible chains.

This reaction… it's real.

A grin crept onto his face as he stared into the swirling light before him.

This was the proof he was looking for.

And now, the real game began.