It will be a massacre!
________________________________________
Amidst the ruins of the collapsed mansion, the air was heavy with dust and the acrid scent of scorched stone. The once grand estate was reduced to a graveyard of shattered walls and jagged debris, its silence only broken by the distant crackle of lingering flames.
Bodies lay scattered among the rubble—some buried beneath crushed masonry, others exposed in the dim moonlight, battered and broken.
At the heart of the devastation lay Issei Hyoudou, the Red Dragon Emperor—the very one who had unleashed the cataclysm.
His crimson Scale Mail armor was shattered, its once vibrant luster dulled and fractured. Cracks splintered across its surface, with entire chunks missing, revealing the bruised and bloodied flesh beneath. His right gauntlet lay twisted and bent. His chest heaved faintly, labored breaths escaping from bloodied lips, his face pale and smeared with grime.
Slowly, the remnants of his Scale Mail began to flicker and dissipate into glowing embers, leaving only his broken body behind. He was still—broken, battered, and teetering on the edge of death.
Slowly, painfully, a small figure crawled toward him, her delicate frame trembling with every motion. Koneko Toujou—the nekomata girl, one of Issei's closest friends—dragged herself through the debris, her white hair matted with blood and dirt.
Her torn uniform clung to her bruised body, while her cat ears twitched faintly, betraying the pain that wracked her every limb. Her golden eyes flickered with exhaustion, but determination burned behind them as she forced herself closer.
Relief flooded her heart as she reached him, her small hands brushing against his chest. He was alive—barely. Her breath caught in her throat, a strangled sob threatening to escape, but she swallowed it down. There was no time for weakness. Issei had fought with everything he had—for her, for their friends.
"Senpai... you're... still breathing..."
She whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. Tears welled up in her eyes, falling silently onto his face.
She clenched her fists, cursing her own weakness. She had been powerless to help him—to protect him. Even now, her body screamed in protest, every muscle aching from the beating she'd endured at Freed's merciless hands.
Yet she endured. Because Issei had endured.
With great effort, Koneko pressed her forehead against his bruised chest, listening to the faint, irregular rhythm of his heart. Her small body shook, both from pain and relief.
"Thank you... Senpai... Please... don't die..."
The night stretched on in silence, broken only by the distant echo of crumbling ruins and the faint whisper of the wind carrying their fragile hopes into the darkness.
Hhrrkk... Khhggll...!
A loud, hacking wet cough shattered the fragile silence, making Koneko's ears flick and her tail bristle in alarm. Her head snapped toward the sound, heart hammering painfully in her chest. The lingering smoke began to clear, and what she saw made her breath hitch—a cold, paralyzing dread seizing her small frame.
Freed.
He stood amid the wreckage, a grotesque mockery of life. His body was a scorched ruin—most of his flesh burned away, leaving behind charred blackened muscle and exposed bone.
His left side was the worst, entire chunks of meat missing from his ribs, leaving a gaping cavity where his organs should have been. His left leg had melted into a twisted mass of fused muscle and bone, while his right leg was stripped down to skeletal remains with blackened sinew barely clinging to it. His left arm was gone entirely, reduced to nothing but a scorched stump, but his right arm still gripped the hilt of his massive great sword, the charred blade buried into the rubble to support his mangled form.
Despite the ruinous state of his body—despite standing on the very edge of death—he grinned.
That same wide, twisted grin stretched across what was left of his face, with molten pieces of skin still peeling away and falling from his skull like flakes of ash.
His one remaining eye—bloodshot and wild—locked onto Koneko with an unsettling, manic glint. The edges of his burnt lips twitched, his breath a rattling, wet wheeze as if he were still laughing beneath the suffocating silence.
Koneko's heart pounded harder, panic clawing at her chest. She wanted to believe what she saw was impossible—that no one could still be alive in such a mutilated state. Her mind screamed in denial, but the raw terror in her gut told her the truth.
He was still standing.
Still grinning.
Her small body trembled uncontrollably, the image searing itself into her mind—a living nightmare dragged out from the depths of hell itself. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears, feel the cold sweat on her skin. Her breath quickened, panic rising. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her legs wouldn't move.
Freed's grin widened, his head tilting slightly to the side as if savoring her fear. His chest convulsed with another wheezing cough, thick black blood dripping from his cracked lips.
"Kitty... kitty... still alive, huh...?"
He rasped, his voice a guttural mockery—half laughter, half death rattle.
Koneko's golden eyes remained locked onto him, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs. For the first time in her life—Koneko had felt a terror that she never known, a terror that engraved itself on her very soul.
And Freed knew all about it.
Her wide golden eyes stayed fixed on the horror unfolding before her.
Impossible...
Her mind whispered it again and again—clinging to the only truth that should have made sense.
Issei's final attack—using up his very last ounce of strength—had reduced the entire mansion to rubble. The maximum output Dragon Shot—an attack fueled by every shred of energy the Red Dragon Emperor had left—should have obliterated everything in its path.
No high-class being could have survived that... not even a peak high-class devil could.
No one hit by that directly should have survived that.
And yet—he was still standing.
Koneko's breath caught in her throat as she watched the gruesome spectacle unfold.
Freed's charred, ruined body began to stitch itself back together—flesh bubbling like molten wax, sloughing off in thick, wet chunks before knitting back over blackened bone.
Torn muscles slithered and coiled beneath the surface—pulsing like something alive. Jagged shards of white bone pushed out of exposed ribs, sliding back into place with sickening cracks.
Every breath he took rattled through the hollow cage of his chest—a wet, sucking wheeze—as though death itself clung to his lungs. Black blood oozed from his wounds, hissing as it met the cold night air, pooling beneath him in viscous puddles.
Koneko's heart hammered painfully against her ribs—her vision narrowing as the world blurred at the edges.
This isn't happening...
His chest convulsed again—another wet, hacking cough spilling black ichor onto the rubble. His twisted frame twitched—bones shifting beneath half-melted flesh—until the charred stump of his missing arm began to grow back. The sight made Koneko's stomach lurch.
Regenerating... he's regenerating...
Her mind reeled against the impossible sight—every shred of logic collapsing beneath the sheer, nightmarish reality.
"No... no... that's... that's not... possible..."
She whispered the denial under her breath—her voice trembling, cracking.
Freed's one eye snapped toward her—his grin splitting even wider, the skin at the corners of his mouth tearing into fresh, bleeding gashes.
"Ohohoh...? Not possible...? Heh... heheheh... what's the matter, little kitty...? Your precious Senpai couldn't kill me...?"
Koneko's breath caught.
Issei.
Her gaze flicked behind her—where Issei's battered, bloodied body lay motionless.
He had fought with everything—given every ounce of his power... Risking his own life for them.
And it hadn't been enough.
He'd protected her. Protected all of them.
And now... he was dying.
Her small hands trembled—tears threatening to spill down her dirt-streaked face.
I can't... I can't fight him... I can't win...
Every muscle in her battered body ached—every inch of her bruised flesh screaming under the weight of fear. The terror pressed down on her like a suffocating vice—leaving her paralyzed beneath the shadow of something she couldn't possibly defeat.
She could feel it—her mind spiraling into helplessness, into the same dark pit that had always haunted her since she was a child.
Weak.
Powerless.
Nothing but a small, fragile girl pretending to be strong.
Freed's wheezing laughter echoed through the ruins—low and mocking.
"You little shits... always thought you were so high and mighty... Heh... your precious Red Dragon Emperor... nothing but a fucking loser... Just like you... little kitty..."
Koneko's heart clenched—her breath catching in her throat.
No.
No...
Her small body trembled harder—her golden eyes flickering.
She couldn't beat him.
She couldn't fight him.
But she could still run.
Issei had fought to the death to protect her.
Her small fists clenched tighter—her sharp nails biting into bloody palms.
With a choked breath, she forced her legs to move—dragging her trembling body toward Issei's broken form. Every step sent jolts of pain ripping through her muscles, but she bit back the cries clawing at her throat.
"Senpai... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
Her voice cracked as she knelt beside him—small hands clutching at his bloodied body.
Issei's breathing was faint—shallow. His armor was gone, his bruised chest rising and falling in weak, uneven rhythms.
Koneko squeezed her eyes shut—tears spilling down her cheeks.
I can't fight... but I won't let you die here...
With a pained grunt, she hooked Issei's arms around her small shoulders—his dead weight nearly crushing her battered frame. Her legs buckled beneath the strain—her aching muscles screaming in protest.
Still—she forced herself forward.
Step by step.
Stumbling through the rubble.
Run... run... run...
Freed's wheezing laughter echoed behind her—his ruined body still slowly mending, inch by inch.
"You can run, little kitty... but I'll find you... I'll carve you apart... piece... by... piece..."
The wreckage stretched around her—each step sending white-hot pain lancing through her limbs.
Koneko's heart pounded—her breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
Almost there... please... just a little more...
Through the choking dust and flickering flames—she spotted them.
Asia knelt a distance away from the destruction outside the mansion. Her golden hair streaked with sweat and dirt. Her soft, glowing hands moved feverishly over Rias's still body—sacred light weaving across her unconscious form. Beside her, Kiba and Akeno lay crumpled in the dirt—barely clinging to life.
"Akeno...!"
Koneko's broken voice barely made it through her cracked throat.
Akeno's violet eyes flickered open—her face pale, her arms shaking as she struggled to rise.
"K-Koneko...?"
Freed's distant laughter echoed through the ruins.
He's coming.
He's coming.
Koneko's small chest heaved—tears streaking her bloodied face.
"Akeno... please... teleport us... now..."
Akeno's breath caught—her violet eyes flicking toward the distant wreckage.
She could feel it too—that same overwhelming, suffocating malice closing in.
With shaking fingers, Akeno traced a trembling circle into the air—magic flickering to life beneath her hands.
"...Hold on..."
Koneko's knees buckled—her small body finally giving out as she collapsed to the ground, clutching Issei tight against her chest.
Freed's laughter echoed through the darkness—growing louder.
Closer.
"Run... run... little kitty... I'll never let you go..."
The magic circle flared brighter—warm light flickering against the cold night.
Koneko's breath caught.
Please...
Please...
Let them make it.
The last thing she saw before the light swallowed them was that single, bloodshot eye—burning through the smoke.
Still grinning.
Still alive.
________________________________________
The moment the teleportation light faded, the battered remnants of the Occult Research Club were flung back into the familiar warmth of the clubroom. The scent of aged wood and incense lingered faintly in the air—a fragile reminder of the sanctuary this place once was.
But now... that sanctuary felt broken.
Asia immediately collapsed to her knees, her delicate hands clutching her Twilight Healing Sacred Gear against Issei's mangled chest.
"Senpai... Senpai, please—please... don't die...!"
Her soft voice cracked beneath the weight of desperation—each word shaking as she poured every ounce of power she had left into the faint, flickering light of her sacred healing. Her green eyes brimmed with tears, streaking down her dirtied face as the faint glow washed over Issei's ruined body.
His breathing was shallow.
Barely there.
Koneko sat slumped beside them—her small frame trembling uncontrollably, clutching Issei's limp, bloodied hand in both of hers. Her cat ears flattened against her head, eyes wide and hollow—still haunted by the nightmare she'd left behind.
She couldn't stop shaking.
He should be dead.
Freed should be dead.
How...? How can something like that still be alive...?
Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs—cold sweat clinging to her pale skin as the phantom echoes of Freed's wheezing laughter gnawed at the edges of her mind.
"Koneko...?"
A faint, trembling voice broke through the haze.
Akeno.
She sat against the wall, her body half-slumped in the corner—dazed, her violet eyes distant and glassy. Blood streaked down the side of her face, her long black hair tangled and matted. Her arms had been partially healed by Asia's light—just enough for her fingers to move—but her legs still lay twisted and broken, useless beneath her.
Koneko's heart clenched as she glanced at the older girl.
Akeno was always strong.
Always smiling.
But now... she just looked lost—like her mind was still trapped in that torture chamber, reliving every shattering moment at the hands of Mahito's curse marines.
Her delicate fingers traced faint lines over her own arms—touching places where bones had been shattered—her breath hitching every time her fingertips brushed a tender spot.
Koneko's ears twitched at the sound.
Even now—Akeno could still feel her bones breaking.
None of them had made it out of that hell unscarred.
Asia's trembling voice broke the silence again.
"Please... please work... please work..."
Her glowing hands moved feverishly over Issei's chest—sweat pouring down her pale face as she tried to keep him tethered to life.
But Koneko could see it.
Her power wasn't enough.
Issei was dying.
"No... no, no, no..."
Koneko squeezed his hand tighter—her small body trembling.
"You can't... you can't die... Senpai... you can't..."
Her voice cracked into a choked whisper.
"You saved us... you... you can't leave us..."
The sound of quiet footsteps made her ears flick.
Kiba.
He stirred slowly from his place against the wall—his face pale, smeared with dried blood and grime. His blond hair hung messily over half-lidded eyes. The once-proud Knight of the Gremory Peerage looked like a man who had been broken down to nothing.
His right arm was gone—severed at the shoulder, leaving behind only a bloodstained stump wrapped in hastily applied bandages.
Asia's light had closed the wound... but it couldn't bring back what had been lost.
Kiba stared down at the empty space where his arm used to be—his face utterly blank.
Silent.
Numb.
Koneko's heart squeezed painfully in her chest.
Even he had been broken.
"I couldn't protect anyone..."
His quiet, hollow voice shattered the silence.
"I couldn't protect... Rias-buchou... I couldn't protect Issei... I couldn't protect... anyone..."
His golden eyes flicked toward his missing arm.
"...How... am I supposed to fight like this...?"
No one answered.
There was nothing to say.
They had all lost something tonight.
A faint groan broke the stillness.
Rias.
Her crimson hair spilled over the couch where Asia had laid her, her eyelids fluttering weakly. Slowly, she stirred—her deep blue eyes hazy with confusion and lingering pain.
"Akeno...? Kiba...?"
Akeno's breath caught—her violet eyes flicking toward her King.
"Rias... you're awake..."
Rias's gaze swept across the room—taking in the wreckage of her peerage.
Her heart clenched.
She'd never thought she'd see them like this again.
Broken.
Scattered.
Her eyes fell to Issei—his bloodied body lying motionless beneath Asia's shaking hands.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"...Issei...?"
Koneko's small shoulders shook.
"He... he saved us..."
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"He fought... until there was nothing left..."
Tears welled up in Rias's eyes—her heart twisting painfully.
Issei.
Her foolish, perverted, selfless Pawn—who always charged headfirst into battle without ever thinking of himself.
He had fought with everything he had to protect them.
And now he was dying.
Time passed in suffocating silence—broken only by Asia's soft, panicked murmurs as she worked.
Then—
A sudden, blood-curdling scream ripped through the room.
Issei.
His body jerked violently—his back arching off the couch as an inhuman howl tore from his throat.
Asia screamed—nearly stopping her healing light.
"I-Issei-senpai?!"
His muscles spasmed uncontrollably—blood spraying from reopened wounds as his body thrashed.
"No... no, no, no—!"
Asia scrambled to hold him down—her small hands gripping his shoulders as Issei's head snapped back, his mouth open in a silent wail of pure agony.
Koneko's heart stopped.
Something was happening.
"What's... happening to him...?!"
Rias gasped, panic flashing in her glassy blue eyes.
A wet, sickening crack echoed through the room.
Issei's left arm.
It began to shift—his skin stretching and bulging grotesquely as if something beneath was trying to claw its way out.
His fingers elongated—nails peeling away as jagged black claws burst from the tips.
Scales.
Dark crimson scales erupted along his forearm—spreading in patches up toward his shoulder as the flesh beneath writhed and twisted.
Bones snapped—reforming.
Muscles split—growing thicker.
Issei's screams never stopped.
He thrashed—his eyes still squeezed shut, unconscious... yet trapped inside some unseen torment.
Asia's face went white—her entire body trembling.
"No... no..."
Koneko's heart hammered painfully in her chest.
She'd seen this before.
Once.
In books.
Legends whispered among those who wielded the Boosted Gear and Divine Dividing.
Dragonification.
The price of wielding the power of a Heavenly Dragon.
But this wasn't natural.
This was wrong.
Asia's panicked sobs filled the room—her trembling hands struggling to hold Issei down as his twisted, draconic arm spasmed violently.
"H-He won't stop...! I-I don't know what to do...!"
Issei's breath came in ragged, broken gasps—his face contorted in agony.
Koneko's heart pounded in her chest—her wide golden eyes locked onto him.
Her small body trembled. She couldn't lose him.
Not Issei.
Not the one who always smiled at her. Not the one who fought for her—even when she was too weak to fight for herself.
Before she even realized what she was doing, Koneko's hands moved on their own—pressing down gently on top of Asia's glowing fingers against Issei's chest.
Asia's breath caught.
"Koneko...?"
Koneko's golden eyes stayed fixed on Issei—her small frame shaking.
"I... I can't just watch..."
A faint, shimmering glow flickered around her fingertips—soft and pale, like moonlight.
Her nekomata abilities—her life force—flowing into him.
Koneko clenched her teeth, she kept pouring her life force into him—ignoring the way her own heartbeat faltered, ignoring the cold sweat dripping down her pale skin.
"Senpai... please..."
Her voice cracked.
"...Don't leave us... don't leave me..."
For a long, agonizing moment—nothing happened.
Issei's breath remained shallow—his body still twitching beneath her hands.
But slowly... painfully...
His thrashing began to still.
His harsh breaths softened—his heartbeat, faint and fragile, began to steady beneath her trembling fingers.
Asia's green eyes widened—tears streaking down her face.
"K-Koneko... you're... you're helping...!"
Koneko's breath caught—her chest tightening painfully.
Her small body swayed—exhaustion threatening to pull her under.
But she didn't stop.
She wouldn't stop.
Issei had given everything to protect her.
Now... it was her turn.
Her small hands clutched tighter against his bruised chest—her golden eyes shimmering with tears.
"...Senpai... you're... always protecting everyone..."
Her voice trembled—barely above a whisper.
"...Let me... protect you... just this once..."
Finally—after what felt like an eternity—Issei's body fell still.
His breathing slowed.
The crimson scales on his left arm stopped shifting—settling into an eerie, unnatural stillness.
Asia let out a choked sob—her hands trembling.
"...He's stable..."
Koneko's small shoulders sagged—her head hanging low.
Her chest ached—her vision blurred from the toll she'd just taken on herself.
But Issei was alive.
He was alive.
Koneko's ears flicked faintly—her golden eyes still locked on him.
"You idiot..."
She whispered weakly, her small fingers brushing against his bloodied cheek.
"You better wake up... or I'll kill you myself..."
His left arm had fully transformed—a grotesque, draconic limb ending in black claws and crimson scales.
None of them spoke.
None of them could.
The door suddenly burst open—the air crackling with magic.
"Sona Sitri and Peerage—reporting in."
Sona stood at the threshold—her sharp violet eyes narrowing as she scanned the wreckage before her.
"What... happened here?"
Rias's voice trembled.
"...We were attacked."
Sona's eyes flicked to Issei's motionless form.
"...By who?"
Koneko's small voice whispered from the shadows.
Koneko's voice was steady, but her cat-like eyes flicked toward the window as if expecting one of those... things to come crashing through it at any second.
Koneko's ears flicked—her breath catching.
She opened her mouth... but the words caught in her throat.
She didn't know.
What were they...?
She squeezed Issei's hand tighter, her small nails biting into his bloodied skin as if holding onto him was the only thing keeping her grounded.
"...I... I don't know... they... they weren't devils... or fallen angels... or exorcists..."
Her eyes flicked toward Sona—wide and haunted.
"They looked like... priests... but... wrong. They also carried rifles... not like normal guns. Bigger. Heavy."
She paused
"They almost killed me."
Her small hand clenched around the hem of her skirt. The image of that night was still fresh — the hulking figures wrapped in warped priest robes, their rifles roaring like thunder as they spat out rounds that crackled with curses.
Rias folded her arms beneath her chest, red hair framing her sharp features. There was no trace of her usual composed smile.
"They were massive. Hulking. Strong... too strong for something to be human. Hell, they barely even looked human at all!"
She glanced at Sona.
"We would have died... if not for Issei and Asia."
Asia flinched at the sudden attention, shrinking in her seat. The blonde nun fiddled with the hem of her modest dress, green eyes darting down.
"I-I'm Asia Argento."
She said softly.
"I was... excommunicated. Freed was... he was supposed to protect me, but..."
Her voice cracked, the memories still fresh.
"Issei saved me. He... he's my friend now. I have Twilight Healing. I healed everyone after the fight. I... I wanted to get away from Freed... so I came with them."
Sona's sharp gaze softened briefly at the girl's timid confession, but her fingers remained steepled under her chin, analyzing every word.
Akeno's voice suddenly broke the silence—soft, distant.
"I remember..."
Everyone turned.
"...Their clothes... they were unnatural..."
Her violet eyes flicked to Rias.
"Warped. Stretched. They all bore the same symbol on their backs— a mouth with two pairs of arms reaching out from inside it, forming two different hand signs."
Her breath caught—her voice trembling.
"They were... laughing... while they hurt us..."
Kiba's eyes remained locked on the floor.
Silent.
His remaining hand slowly clenched into a tight fist.
"...Their weapons..."
His voice was hollow—empty.
"They weren't normal. They looked... alive."
Everyone stiffened at that.
Kiba's eyes flicked toward his severed stump—his breath catching.
"The one who cut off my arm... his sword... it was squirming... like something was trapped inside the blade."
A cold shiver ran through the room.
Kiba's throat tightened.
"I... I think..."
He swallowed hard.
"I think they were humans once. They screamed when I broke them."
Before anyone could speak again—
A distant explosion rumbled through the air.
Screams.
Chaos.
The sound of buildings collapsing.
Everyone's eyes snapped toward the window.
The night sky flickered with distant flames.
Koneko's heart clenched—her ears twitching at the faint, familiar sound.
That haunting manic laughter.
Still grinning.
Still alive.
________________________________________
Just after Koneko and the others teleported away.
The scorched ruins of the mansion stood in eerie silence—nothing but the distant crackle of dying flames breaking the stillness.
The moon hung pale and cold above the wreckage.
Then—
A soft, playful clap echoed through the rubble.
"Bravo... bravo... what a performance~"
Out of the shadows, he appeared—gracefully stepping over broken stone and scattered bodies.
Mahito.
His patchwork face split into a wide, delighted grin—stitches tugging at the corners of his mouth. His pale, slender fingers laced behind his back as he strolled toward Freed's scorched, broken body.
Freed's single bloodshot eye flicked toward him—his cracked lips still stretched into that same manic grin, even as his body twitched weakly, locked halfway between life and death.
Mahito chuckled—a light, airy sound that didn't belong in this place.
"Oh, Freed... you almost had him~"
He crouched beside the mangled exorcist, resting his chin in his hands like a child watching his favorite cartoon.
"If it weren't for that meddling little kitten—"
His grin widened, his mismatched eyes glinting with amusement.
"You would've painted this whole place red with that dumbasses' guts by now."
Freed let out a wet, rasping wheeze—half a laugh, half a death rattle.
Mahito's grin never wavered.
"But still... that fucking bitch... I didn't expect him to pull out that kind of power out of his ass"
His eyes flicked toward the scorched crater where Issei's final Dragon Shot had been unleashed.
"A protagonist... through and through."
Mahito's grin sharpened—his voice dropping into a low, sickly-sweet murmur.
"Plot armor is a bitch ain't it?"
Freed suddenly spoke, despite his vocal chords still being ruined he spoke clearly.
"That damn lizard... he thought he'd killed me... He thought he could snuff me out like some nameless little dog..."
His cracked lips peeled wider—blood trailing down his chin.
"But thanks to you... I was chosen."
Mahito's grin sharpened.
Chosen.
Yes...
He could work with this.
He reached out—his cold fingers brushing over Freed's burnt scalp.
"Ohohoh... so you've finally figured it out, huh?"
His voice dropped into a low, honeyed murmur.
"I'm not just some wandering curse to you... am I, Freed?"
Freed's bloodshot eye locked onto him—gleaming with something fierce.
Devotion.
"No... you're a god."
Mahito's stitched smile stretched wider.
He could feel it now—that fragile little human soul reshaped beneath his fingers.
Cracked.
Warped.
Perfect.
Mahito's hand sank into Freed's back—his cursed energy bleeding into the exorcist's half-dead flesh.
Freed's body twitched violently—his blackened muscles bulging and twisting beneath his skin.
Burnt flesh melted away—reshaped into something thicker, stronger.
His lost arm regrew—pale, sinewy muscle crawling down into clawed fingers.
By the time Mahito pulled his hand away, Freed stood whole again.
Stronger.
Sharper.
His pale skin stretched tight over corded muscle—his body bulkier, built to kill.
His lost arm had regrown—clawed fingers flexing beneath moonlight.
Freed knelt on one knee—head bowed.
"...Thank you... Lord Mahito..."
"That's a good boy~"
He patted Freed's head—like a master rewarding his loyal pet.
Freed's bloodshot eyes flicked toward the distant skyline—toward Kuoh Town.
"I'll carve that little kitten apart next time... I'll make her watch while I break the Red Dragon Emperor piece by piece..."
Mahito's grin stretched wider.
"Oh, I know you will... but not yet~"
He waggled a stitched finger.
"We're not quite done playing with them... are we?"
Freed's smile mirrored his own.
"No, Lord Mahito."
He strolled through the wreckage, hands tucked behind his back, humming some childish tune as if he'd simply stumbled into a playground.
His mismatched eyes flicked over the crumbled mansion—over the blood-soaked bodies of his fallen Curse Marines.
Four dead.
Useless trash.
Mahito's grin twitched—his stitched lips curling with annoyance.
"Tch... worthless sacks of meat... I spent weeks molding you little shits... and you all just dropped dead at the first fight against some magical teenagers?"
Mahito then heard some groans under a different pile of rubble.
With lazy steps, he made his way to the rubble—digging out the two surviving Curse Marines.
One still wheezed weakly—the one Issei had blasted away with his Balance Breaker.
The other lay slumped with his chest still caved in—barely clinging to life.
Mahito's pale blue eyes flicked between them—his grin stretching wider.
"Two out of six... not bad for a first batch~"
He crouched beside them, his cold fingers brushing against their warped, trembling bodies.
"You little shits fought hard... but you're still not... quite... perfect."
His hands sank into their flesh—Idle Transfiguration warping them from the inside out.
Their bones snapped.
Muscles rippled.
By the time Mahito stood back up, the two Curse Marines were fully restored.
He clapped his hands together—grinning from ear to ear.
"Ready to play again, boys~?"
The curse marines kneeled and bowed their heads.
"Yes, lord Mahito!"
Mahito's grin widened.
"Good little puppets..."
He stretched his arms above his head, yawning.
"Alright then~ Phase Two, kiddies!"
His mismatched eyes gleamed beneath the moonlight.
"We're gonna spread this little curse party all through Kuoh Town... nice and slow... until every last one of those devils is squirming..."
His grin sharpened.
"...Especially that little shit Issei."
________________________________________
The abandoned church stood like a rotting corpse beneath the moonlight—its broken cross hanging limp, casting long, jagged shadows over the cracked stone floor.
Inside, the stench of old blood, rotting flesh, and stale breath soaked into every wall.
Mahito stood at the front—cracking his neck with a slow, deliberate roll. His pale fingers flexed—twitching in anticipation.
Behind him, twelve Curse Marines lined up like obedient dogs—still wrapped in their transfigured robes.
Mahito's stitched smile twitched as he ran his fingers through his hair.
"Ahhh... the best part about playing God... is that I can always make better toys."
He stretched out his arms, breathing in the scent of misery that clung to every inch of the ruined church.
"You brothers fought hard tonight... but this made me realize something. You're all still too...soft."
Mahito licked his lips.
"Don't worry... Daddy's going to make you all so much better."
He cracked his fingers—one by one—before his grin widened.
"Line up, little piggies... it's upgrade time."
He reshaped them from the inside out.
At the base of the Marines' spine, he upgraded their regeneration gland—a small, writhing organ buried deep within muscle.
It would pump more life through every inch of them—knitting wounds faster, thicker.
Cuts would close in seconds.
Bones would rebuild even stronger.
Limbs would regrow.
But Mahito didn't stop there.
He crafted a second heart—tucked deep behind the ribcage like a hidden ace.
Two hearts—pumping blood independently.
Even if one was destroyed... the other would keep them going.
No bleeding out.
No lucky kills.
No mercy.
Mahito's grin twitched wider as the Curse Marine convulsed beneath his hands.
"You could squirm for hours and you won't die now... isn't that beautiful?"
The Curse Marines giggled.
"Y-Yes, lord Mahito... beautiful..."
One by one, he broke them down—only to rebuild them stronger.
By the time he finished, the whole line stood stronger, better... more unkillable.
Mahito stepped back, admiring his creations.
"Perfect little cockroaches..."
He giggled softly.
"You'll keep crawling even when they rip your guts out."
Finally...
Freed stepped forward—his grin never wavering.
He knew what was coming.
He wanted it.
He lived for it.
Mahito's fingers pressed against Freed's chest—feeling the raw muscle and bone he'd already reshaped once before.
"Ahhh, Freed... you really are my favorite little mongrel."
His grin twitched wider.
"But you're still holding back, aren't you?"
Freed's bloodshot eyes flicked upward—burning with fanatic devotion.
"I want more."
Mahito's grin split wider.
"I know you do..."
He dug deeper in his soul this time—his cursed energy curling around the regeneration gland he'd already built inside Freed.
His touch twisted the organ—rewiring it, pushing it harder.
Faster.
Freed's body would heal faster than any Curse Marine—but only for as long as his mind could hold itself together.
Then, Mahito crafted something new.
Buried deep behind Freed's adrenal glands—he molded the Berserker Trigger.
A small, fleshy knot—pulsing beneath.
A gland Freed could activate at will.
With a single thought, it would flood his bloodstream with volatile chemicals—boosting his strength to peak high-class nearing ultimate-class levels.
Fast enough to blitz through devils.
Strong enough to rip through Issei's armor with his bare hands.
But there was a price.
It would tear him apart.
His muscles would rupture.
His bones would crack.
His nerves would burn out—one by one—until his own regeneration couldn't keep up.
Mahito leaned close, his breath hot against Freed's ear.
"You'll only stop when there's nothing left to kill... or nothing left of yourself."
Freed's breath quickened—his bloodshot eyes locked onto Mahito's mismatched gaze.
"I don't care."
Mahito's stitched grin twitched.
He loved when they said that.
"That's why you're my favorite..."
When Mahito finally pulled his hand away, Freed dropped to one knee—his whole body trembling with newfound power.
His grin stretched wide... but there was something different now.
A flicker of something... rabid just beneath the surface.
Mahito's voice was soft.
"Now stand up, Freed..."
Freed slowly rose—his body humming with potential.
"You're not just a mad dog anymore..."
Mahito's grin stretched wide.
"You're my fucking wolf."
Freed bowed his head low.
"You are God."
Mahito giggled softly—his eyes flicking toward the others.
"Say it with him."
All twelve Curse Marines spoke in unison—grinning wide beneath their stitched robes.
"You are God, lord Mahito."
Mahito shivered.
This...
This was how the world was supposed to be.
He turned toward the shattered window—his stitched grin wide beneath the pale moonlight.
"Go now, my children..."
His voice dropped into a soft, venomous whisper.
"Let the whole town hear the gospel."
Freed stepped forward—his voice steady.
"What is your will, lord Mahito?"
Mahito's grin split wider.
"Phase Two begins now. Hehehehe, it will be a massacre!"
________________________________________
The moon hung low over Kuoh Town—smothered behind thick clouds.
The neighborhood streets lay quiet.
Until...
Crack.
The first rifle shot rang out—splitting the silence like a blade through flesh.
A woman collapsed in her doorway, clutching her bleeding leg.
Her screams were quickly swallowed by the night.
The Curse Marines flooded the streets—twelve robed figures marching in perfect formation, their transfigured weapons clutched tight against their bodies.
The Curse Marines moved block by block—their robes dragging behind them as they emerged from the shadows like a pack of hunting dogs.
Their heads twitched side to side—glass-eyed and grinning beneath their stitched hoods.
Each one clutched a grotesque weapon—rifles made from transfigured flesh and bone—resembling something pulled straight from a fever dream.
Their barrels were rib bones—stained yellow with old blood.
The stocks fused vertebrae.
The magazines...
The transfigured children.
Their small, half-formed faces stretched across the front of each magazine—locked in expressions of frozen terror.
Every time a bone fragment was fired, the magazine would shudder—flesh twitching as muffled, broken sobs echoed from within.
They didn't attack like rampaging beasts.
They attacked like disciples performing a ritual.
They broke into homes with calm precision—shooting anyone who tried to run.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Bone rounds punched through windows—shattering glass, sending civilians screaming out into the night.
By the time anyone thought to call for help, every phone line in the district had been cut.
The outside world would never know what happened here.
The whole neighborhood was awake now.
Lights flicked on behind shuttered windows.
Terrified faces peeked through curtains—only to be dragged out minutes later by the Curse Marines.
One by one, they dragged the wounded out onto the streets—forcing families to carry their bleeding loved ones at gunpoint.
Mothers dragged screaming daughters.
Fathers dragged sons missing legs.
Children staggered beneath the weight of half-dead parents.
If anyone fought back—they were shot in the stomach... then forced to march anyway.
Those who couldn't walk...
Were turned into bombs.
Dogs.
Mindless abominations.
The Curse Marines carried the ones turned to munitions, strapped to their belts—flesh grenades crafted from transfigured bodies.
Each one still barely alive.
Eyes wide.
Mouths stitched shut.
Their bodies packed with bone fragments and acidic bile—wired to detonate the second they hit the ground.
The hounds moved along the flanks—human-shaped beasts warped into four-legged horrors.
Bloated abominations stumbled forward—dragging wounded humans into the column, their swollen bodies pulsing with half-formed organs.
The whole neighborhood became their hunting ground—every house emptied with surgical precision.
They took their time.
Enjoyed the fear.
Among the line of robed figures, four Curse Marines stood taller than the rest—stronger, faster, crueler.
Dil—wrapped in barbed wireall over his robes. His bolter rifle had three child-shaped magazines strapped together—two still alive, the third already reduced to a sagging sack of drained flesh.
He shot without blinking—each bone fragment shattering legs with surgical precision.
Doe—the bulkiest one, his robe tight against his body. His rifle pulsed in his hands—its barrel lined with gnashing teeth that clicked with every shot.
He giggled softly beneath his hood—chewing on chunks of human flesh whenever no one was looking.
Gob—a gaunt figure wrapped in chains, carrying two bolters strapped to his arms and a massive transfigured cleaver across his back.
He shot with both rifles at once—cutting down those who ran and then dragging the bodies behind him with his chains like trophies.
Blair—the only one who still spoke.
He walked with his bolter slung across his back, carrying a sack full of flesh grenades—each one a twisted human torso fused into a ball of muscle and sinew.
He tossed them lazily into windows, giggling as the bombs shrieked and begged for death right before they detonated—spraying bone shrapnel across walls and ceilings.
These four were different.
They weren't just monsters.
They were Mahito's apostles.
Freed walked at the rear—his new sword slung across his back.
He didn't speak.
He just grinned.
His body hummed with the power Mahito had gifted him—the Berserker Gland still dormant beneath his skin.
But he could feel it now—pulsing with every heartbeat, begging to be set loose.
Soon.
Not yet.
And in the center of it all...
Mahito walked calmly with his hands tucked in his pockets—his mismatched eyes narrowed beneath the moonlight.
His small smile never wavered.
He didn't even spare a glance at the screaming families or the bodies piling behind him.
He only looked forward—toward the hospital on the horizon.
He was the conductor.
The Curse Marines were his choir.
And this night was their symphony.
A man broke from the crowd—screaming, charging with a kitchen knife clutched in both hands.
Dil shot him in the knee—dropping him face-first into the pavement.
The man clawed forward—sobbing, cursing.
Mahito stepped over him without even looking down—his eyes fixed forward.
The man grabbed at his leg—desperate.
"P-Please... please stop..."
Mahito's stitched smile flicked wider.
"Shhhh... Not yet."
He kicked the man's hand away—never breaking stride.
Behind him, Gob's cleaver crashed down—splitting the man's head clean in two.
Mahito didn't need to give orders.
They knew his will.
They were closer to God than any human would ever be.
He had twisted their very souls into worshipping him.
He had made them love him.
Every shot.
Every grenade.
Every scream.
It was all for him.
Sona Sitri and her peerage came to stop them once.
They formed their lines at a crossroads—magical barriers flaring beneath the dim moonlight.
"STOP RIGHT THERE!"
Her voice rang out—shaking through the cold night.
The Curse Marines didn't stop.
Mahito's smile twitched—his eyes flicking toward the devils without breaking stride.
A single nod.
Dil opened fire first—his bolter letting out thick, echoing thumps.
Bone fragments shredded through the barrier—cracking it in seconds.
The others followed—flesh grenades tossed lazily over the barriers.
The air filled with the sound of screaming organs—as bodies burst open in wet, meaty explosions.
Sona's peerage fought—desperate spells crackling into the night.
They barely lasted three minutes before they began to retreat—dragging their wounded behind them as the column continued forward.
The march continued.
Mahito never even glanced their way.
He only kept walking.
Hands in his pockets.
Eyes forward.
He left the devils alive on purpose.
They needed to see this.
They needed to understand.
The march was slow.
Deliberate.
Not a massacre. Not yet.
But a procession.
By the time the first hint of dawn broke over the horizon, the Curse Marines had gathered nearly a thousand humans.
Another two thousand lay dead behind them—riddled with bone fragments, turned into ammo, or reshaped into mindless abominations.
When the sun finally rose—its first rays breaking over the bloodstained streets—Mahito's mismatched eyes flicked toward the distant hospital.
His smile stretched wider.
"...Almost there."
Dil grinned beneath his hood—his barbed wire twitching over his robes.
Doe giggled.
Gob rattled his chains.
Blair whispered a quiet, reverent prayer beneath his breath.
Mahito finally flicked his eyes toward the civilians.
Half of them were limping.
Half of them were crawling.
All of them were crying.
He clicked his tongue softly.
"You're all so lucky..."
His smile sharpened—just a little.
"...You get to be the first ones in the whole world to join me and become liberated. I'll change you, remake you, and show you your true forms, to become what you were always meant to be in my hands. That is my gift to you. To all of you! To this whole world!"
Mahito's voice was soft.
Calm.
Divine.
"All will be transfigured."
No one answered.
They just marched.
Bleeding.
Sobbing.
Waiting to die.
Mahito's grin never wavered.
His hands never left his pockets.
His mismatched eyes flicked back toward the hospital on the horizon.
This was only the beginning.