Damn, this one's upload is late as hell. I got a bit sidetracked helping give ideas and writing a different fic with other authors. Anyways here's the new chapter at only 9k words this time Bruzzahs. Praise the Kenjussy.
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Mahito stretched his arms, letting out a contented sigh as he took in the view.
The once-sterile hallways of Kuoh General Hospital were now painted in filth and blood—its pristine white walls smeared with red handprints, its polished floors littered with shredded bodies and twisted limbs.
The hospital had fallen in minutes.
Dil and Doe led the sweep—moving through the floors with cold, mechanical efficiency.
The Gorehounds ran ahead, sniffing out every hiding nurse, every trembling patient, every doctor who thought they could cower in a supply closet.
Bodies were dragged from beneath beds, behind curtains, inside bathroom stalls.
No one was left unseen.
No one was left untouched.
Blair and Gob took charge of the march's survivors—herding the broken, half-dead humans inside the hospital's lobby.
The Gorehounds nipped at their heels—biting down on ankles, dragging those who fell.
Some humans tried to resist—clawing at the doors, sobbing for mercy—but Gob's hooked staff yanked them back into line.
Every act of defiance was met with a swift, merciless punishment.
Bones shattered.
Flesh was peeled.
Hope was crushed.
Outside, Freed stood at attention—his grin wide, his sword resting lazily across his shoulder.
He paced along the front entrance, flanked by the massive, bloated Corpsebrutes—monstrous mounds of stitched-together bodies, each step causing their flesh to bulge and squelch.
The remaining Gorehounds sniffed the air, prowling through the darkened streets—on the hunt for any pathetic little devil rats that might be snooping.
With order established, Mahito clapped his hands together—his voice bright, sing-song.
"Alright, my little lambs! Time to spread the gospel!"
His stitched grin widened.
"We need more Curse Marines! More brothers and sisters to carry my will!"
Blair took the lead—his soft, honeyed voice whispering into the ears of the wounded, the desperate, the dying.
"You've already lost everything… But Lord Mahito can give it back."
His pale fingers brushed against a doctor sobbing over his shredded legs.
"He can make you stronger…"
He stroked a cancer patient's bald head, cradling her trembling face.
"He can make the pain stop…"
He caressed a grieving father who had lost his wife in the march.
"All you have to do is believe."
And many did.
Desperation turned to devotion.
The sick, the weak, the lost—they knelt, they prayed, they offered themselves to Mahito.
And one by one…
They were transfigured.
After a while...
Mahito sat cross-legged on the floor of a darkened hospital room—his fingers absentmindedly twisting a small Rubik's cube in his lap.
A very special Rubik's cube.
It was what Ruruko was turned into—her face had a horrified expression if you managed to complete it.
Mahito barely paid her any mind.
His mismatched eyes flicked between her shifting, fragile soul and the batch of fresh test subjects lined up before him.
He didn't care about their screams.
He didn't care about their pleas.
Their souls were all that mattered.
Each one a puzzle.
Each one filled with secrets just waiting to be discovered.
His pale fingers reached forward—pressing into a trembling woman's chest.
Her body arched violently—her eyes rolling back as Mahito's cursed energy wrapped around the very essence of her being.
"Ohhh, this one's soft~"
Mahito giggled—his head tilting.
"Like a warm marshmallow! I wonder what happens if I pull just a little bit…"
The woman convulsed—her body collapsing inward as her soul was compressed into something smaller, tighter—squeezed until her entire form crumpled into a twisted, fleshy ball.
Mahito sighed dreamily—rolling the squirming lump of flesh in his palm.
"Not very stable… but interesting!"
He discarded the ruined experiment—tossing it to the floor like trash.
Then his mismatched gaze flicked to Ruruko's Rubik's cube.
Mahito grinned.
"But YOU, little devil… you're different."
His fingers twisted the cube—watching as her flesh shifted and warped beneath his touch.
Such delicate balance…
Such fragile duality…
A giggle bubbled up from his throat.
"Ooooh, Ruruko-chan… I think I'm gonna have somuch fun playing with you~"
His fingers tightened around the cube—a sharp, unforgiving squeeze.
Ruruko's body spasmed violently.
Her soul screamed.
And Mahito just smiled.
The hospital had become his playground.
And the real fun was only just beginning.
Mahito sat comfortably in the hospital's blood-streaked administrator's office—legs propped up on the stolen desk before him, fingers idly twisting his Ruruko Rubik's Cube in his palm.
The distant echoes of screams and distorted prayers hummed like background music through the hospital halls. .
Mahito let out a sigh, rolling his shoulders with satisfaction. Then a thought crosses his mind.
"Magic, huh…?"
His stitched lips curled into a slow, thoughtful smile.
"I really should've played around with this sooner."
His fingers drummed against the cube in his hand, eyes half-lidded with amusement.
"This whole world is built on magic… the devils, the angels, even those silly little humans playing at power with their sacred gears."
He giggled softly.
"And me? Well… I'm a fast learner."
Mahito tapped his temple—his grin twitching wider.
"Using magic with my Idle Transfiguration..."
He licked his lips.
"Ahhh~ truly what a beautiful discovery!"
Mahito then recounted the events that happened before now.
________________________________________________
"The desperate lined up for me. Kneeling. Praying."
His fingers twisted in the air, as if puppeteering invisible strings.
"Begging for salvation, begging for power…"
His grin split wider.
"So I blessed them."
The first batch of Curse Marines had been messy, unstable—strong, yes, but not quite perfect.
Their souls had needed… refinement.
So now here he is to make a new batch.
But this time?
He let magic seep into his cursed energy.
He let it weave into their flesh, let it meld into their souls, let it coax out something even greater.
And the results?
Marvelous.
The new batch of Curse Marines weren't just stronger.
They were perfectly stable.
Their bodies held together effortlessly, their strength breaching low-tier High-Class levels with ease.
But Mahito wasn't done.
Oh no, no, no.
He wanted his first children to keep up.
So he called the first batch—lined them up before him once again.
And he remade them.
Every.
Single.
One.
Now, they too matched the second generation.
But, of course…
There were those who stood above the rest.
Mahito's mismatched eyes flicked toward four familiar figures standing at the front of his growing army.
Dil. Doe. Gob. Blair.
His grin widened.
"My favorites."
They had always been stronger, more resilient, more ruthless.
And with this upgrade?
They had breached high-tier High-Class levels. Along with 72 others who had surrendered to Mahito.
Mahito clapped his hands together—voice brimming with mock reverence.
"Congratulations, my little darlings~!"
His stitched grin split wider.
"You've been promoted."
His fingers flicked upward—his voice turning almost ceremonial.
"You are no longer just Curse Marines."
His eyes gleamed.
"You are now my Curse Custodes."
The hospital walls rumbled with the roars of the newly ascended warriors.
Dil grunted lowly, adjusting the thick chains hanging across his massive frame.
Doe twitched, his grin widening beneath his hood.
Gob wheezed out a harsh, broken laugh—his hook staff and cleaver dragging against the floor with a loud scrape.
Blair stood silently while whispering prayers to Mahito under his breath—his piercing, intelligent gaze locking onto Mahito, waiting.
Then Mahito's gaze shifted.
To Freed.
Ahhh, Freed…
So devoted, so loyal, so utterly, deliciously unhinged.
Even now, he grinned—his bloodshot eyes locked onto Mahito with worship.
Mahito giggled softly.
"You, my dear Freed… you are something special."
He spread his arms wide.
"You're not just any soldier. Not just any Custodes."
Mahito's grin sharpened.
"You, my mad dog, are my Cursed Primarch."
Freed's breath hitched—his twisted grin stretching even wider.
Mahito tilted his head, his voice turning almost fond.
"Not quite Ultimate-Class… no, not yet. But right at the edge. Right at the border of Peak High-Class."
His stitched fingers traced the air, as if shaping something unseen.
"Just a little more… just a few more fights… and who knows? Maybe, just maybe… you'll be something more."
Mahito giggled—his eyes gleaming.
"But only if you don't break first, hm?"
"YES LORD MAHITO! I WILL MAKE YOU PROUD! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Freed threw his head back, laughing—loud, unrestrained, utterly crazed.
His faith was absolute.
His devotionunshakable.
He would gladly burn himself away in Mahito's name.
________________________________________________
From m the shadows, came a low, garbled series of grunts, clicks, and noises.
Doe stepped forward.
A twisted, hunched figure—his frame wrapped in his transfigured robes, his wide grin never fading.
"Kkihjjg, hkyhjhj heyyjhhjjh hiyvsjkejolkwpldk hxhdhsjsj wqkababsvsjp fpflmflññslm"
His fingers tapped against his chest—his voice a collection of distorted sounds, incomprehensible to all…
Except Mahito.
Mahito's ears perked up.
He listened intently.
His stitched grin widened.
"Ahhh~! So you've been keeping track, huh?"
His fingers tapped against the desk, humming thoughtfully.
"Let's see, let's see…"
Doe's report, translated:
- 685 killed while capturing humans
- 3123 captured initially
- 323 killed during the march
- 1864 transfigured into weapons, bolters, gorehounds, corpsebrutes
Survivors of the march: 936
Current forces:
- Gorehounds: 652
- Corpsebrutes: 116
- Curse Marines: 659 (including first batch)
- Curse Custodes: 76 (including Dil, Doe, Gob, and Blair)
- Cursed Primarch: 1 (Freed)
Munitions:
- Bolters: 142
- Gorenades: 67
- Transfigured Weapons: 139
Hospital Captives: 744
- Surrendered: 719 (patients, hospital staff, and march survivors)
- Became new CurseMarines: 647
- Became new Curse Custodes: 72
Leaving 900+ people still undecided…
They will now serve as Mahito's toys or be used for experiments until Mahito felt inspired.
Mahito leaned back—his stitched fingers lacing together behind his head.
He whistled.
"Now that… is a beautiful army."
He flashed a sharp, hungry grin.
"And we're just getting started."
The hospital had become a cathedral of transfiguration.
And Mahito…
Was its God.
The remaining 900+ captives lay scattered throughout the bloodstained halls—huddled in groups, some sobbing, some silent, all waiting for whatever fate their new god had in store for them.
Mahito tilted his head, thinking.
He had gained so much from his little experiments with magic.
It was efficient.
It made his work cleaner, smoother, better.
And he was nothing if not a perfectionist.
His first revelation had been simple yet game-changing.
Previously, he had needed to meld three souls together to create a single transfigured bolter.
Inefficient. Wasteful.
But with magic seamlessly woven into his transfigurations, the process had become... better.
Mahito clapped his hands together, giggling.
"One soul, one bolter~! Now that's a steal!"
His fingers flicked outward, and screams erupted down the hall as his followers dragged victims forward—their pleading voices quickly swallowed by the wet, sickening sound of bodies reshaping.
Bone and sinew twisted into grotesque barrels.
Muscle tissue coiled into pulsing, living mechanisms.
Screaming mouths became magazines, their choked sobs muffled as they were plugged into freshly made weapons.
Next came the Gorenades.
Before, he had only been able to craft one per human.
Pathetic.
But with magic assisting his touch?
Six.
Six Gorenades from the body of a single soul.
Mahito let out a soft whistle as he twirled a fresh batch of twitching, grotesque orbs in his fingers—each one pulsing, each one whimpering softly as if still aware of what they had become.
"Much better~"
He casually tossed one over his shoulder.
The explosion of wet, bone-shredding carnage behind him sent a shudder of delight down his spine.
Then came the melee weapons.
Swords, cleavers, axes—each one crafted from living, writhing flesh.
The hilts were formed from twisted spinal columns, the edges sharpened bone.
Some blades even had twitching, still-blinking eyes embedded in them, as if forever aware of their suffering.
Each weapon moaned faintly—begging to be let go.
Mahito pressed a finger to his lips, grinning.
"Shhhh~ Weapons shouldn't talk so much~"
And just like that, the whispering ceased.
Lastly, came the clothing.
Mahito sighed dramatically, stretching.
"Ahhh, and of course… the little details~"
His fingers flicked through the air, touching human flesh and reshaping it into stitched-together robes, coats, and veils.
The new garments fit perfectly—breathing, pulsing faintly with life, the faintest of sobs escaping from the seams.
All of these were made to fit the new batch of Curse Marines and Curse Custodes.
Everything was so much more efficient now.
So much more beautiful.
Mahito sighed in satisfaction, admiring his work.
"But now…"
His grin sharpened.
"Let's get to the good part."
Mahito's eyes gleamed with inspiration.
The Gorehounds were efficient hunters—ruthless, fast, and relentless.
The Corpsebrutes were walking walls of flesh, soaking up any damage coming their way.
The Curse Marines? His perfect soldiers.
But something was missing.
Something... stealthy.
Something that would hunt in silence, unseen, unheard.
A predator.
A Stalker.
Mahito giggled as he ran his patchwork fingers across the quivering flesh of his next batch of victims.
This creation...
Would take more effort.
More care.
More souls.
Six humans for a single Stalker.
He dragged his fingers down their trembling bodies—feeling their fear, their terror, their broken spirits.
His touch sank into their skin, into their bones, into their very souls.
And he reshaped them.
At first, the bodies twitched violently—limbs fusing together, bones snapping, skulls collapsing into themselves.
Then...
Something new emerged.
Something wrong.
Something deadly.
The first Stalker rose from the bloodied floor—its smooth, pale flesh glistening under the hospital lights.
Nine to ten feet tall.
A towering predator, its wiry, speed-focused frame coiled like a tightly wound spring.
Its featureless face lacked eyes, lacked a mouth—its very existence screaming of something unnatural.
But its true horror lay in its weapons.
Two mantis-like scythe arms—long, razor-sharp, capable of slicing through steel and magic barriers alike.
Below them, a second pair of human-like arms twitched—long, wiry fingers designed for grabbing, for snatching, for abducting.
Its legs were digitigrade, its bat-like wings folded against its back—ready to launch it into silent flight at a moment's notice.
It had no armor.
It didn't need any.
Its rapid regeneration made it nearly impossible to kill.
But the best part?
The most beautiful part?
Mahito grinned.
"It makes no sound~"
No footsteps.
No breathing.
They moved in absolute silence—invisible, undetectable, unstoppable.
Mahito stepped back, admiring his creation as it vanished from sight—melting into the shadows like a phantom.
A shiver of delight ran through him.
"This… this is art."
His forces had grown immensely.
With his Curse Marines, Curse Custodes, and his new Stalkers,Mahito now had the manpower to lock Kuoh Town down completely.
Three-fourths of his army had already been sent out.
Hundreds of Curse Marines, accompanied by Gorehounds, Corpsebrutes, and some packs of Stalkers spread across the town, sealing off every road, every alley, every possible exit.
No one was leaving Kuoh Town.
No one was escaping his grasp.
Yet, despite all of this...
Mahito wanted more.
More experiments.
More souls to mold.
More knowledge to uncover.
His mismatched eyes gleamed as he pondered.
His experiments had been efficient so far.
But he needed to accelerate.
Needed to bring more captives in faster.
Needed to study their souls at an even greater scale.
A soft giggle escaped his lips.
He already knew exactly what he needed.
Something massive.
Something that could swallow the weak whole.
Something that would carry his prey back to him—alive, fresh, helpless.
Mahito stood, stretching his arms before running his hands across the quivering flesh of the latest batch of sacrifices.
Their pleas for mercy barely registered in his ears as his fingers curled into their flesh, his cursed energy sinking deep into their very essence.
Their souls shrieked as he twisted them—reshaping them into something greater, something monstrous.
At first, the bodies convulsed violently, twisting and fusing together in a nightmarish ballet of flesh and bone.
Limbs melted, torsos elongated, bones snapped and reformed, creating something grotesquely inhuman.
The entire hospital shook as the newly created mass slammed against the walls, writhing, reshaping, reforming.
Until finally…
The first Harvester rose.
A massive, segmented abomination, stretching 20–30 meters long and 4–5 meters wide.
Its entire body was an unholy fusion of twelve human souls—their distorted faces frozen in silent, eternal agony across its stitched-together flesh.
Though massive, the creature moved with unnatural fluidity—slithering across the ground with an eerie, snake-like grace.
Its thick hide was reinforced with jagged, bony armor plates, layered like grotesque scales, providing immense durability against attacks.
At its front, a gaping, toothless maw yawned open—a black void lined with writhing, pulsing muscle, ready to consume anything in its path.
Above its mouth, dozens of blind, hollow eye sockets stared into nothing—the remnants of the souls it had absorbed, their empty gazes forever locked in silent suffering.
The Harvester made no sound.
No growls.
No shrieks.
No roars.
Its only sounds were the sickening sloshing of its insides, the grinding of bone against muscle, and the muffled screams of those who would become trapped within.
Unlike his other creations, the Harvester was not a killer.
It did not shred its prey apart.
Instead, it captured.
It stored.
Anything caught in its inescapable maw is going to be immediately sucked into its massive body, disappearing into the pitch-black, pulsing tunnels within.
Inside, Mahito made it so that victims that were swallowed are submerged in a thick, paralyzing slime—rendering them completely immobile yet fully conscious.
The fluid preserved both humans and supernatural beings alike, keeping them in a fresh, untouched state until Mahito decided their fate.
Each Harvester could hold up to thirty victims at once, crafted to slither effortlessly through the streets, swallowing entire groups of people before returning to the hospital.
With them, gathering more test subjects would now be faster, easier, and far more efficient.
Mahito stepped back, admiring his newest masterpiece.
His stitched grin stretched wider, his fingers twitching with excitement.
"Now this... this is progress~"
The Harvesters slithered forward, their grotesque bodies disappearing into the streets of Kuoh, beginning their silent, relentless hunt.
Soon…
Mahito would have more souls to study.
More puzzles to figure out.
And his power would grow even further.
His army was nearly complete.
The streets of Kuoh belonged to him.
His Corpsebrutes blocked every road.
His Curse Marines stood sentry over every roof.
His Gorehounds patrolled every alley.
His Stalkers abducted in silence.
His Harvesters devoured and delivered.
Through his magic, he created a connection to all of his transfigured creatures to their souls. With it, he can sense their location at all times and telepathically communicate and command them from afar.
And yet…
There was still a flaw.
A gapin his vision.
Mahito let out a soft sigh, tilting his head.
"I see so much… but not everything."
His fingers drummed against the writhing mass of half-formed flesh on the table before him.
"It's inconvenient. A god should have no blind spots."
His stitched grin twitched wider.
"Let's fix that."
Mahito reached deep into the screaming souls of his latest batch of captives. Courtesy of his Harvesters bringing back hundreds of people after every hour.
Instead of reshaping them into warriors, instead of turning them into my monsters or mere weapons…
He shattered them.
Not destroyed—no, no.
Just split apart.
Each soul, once whole, was torn into fragments—stitched together with Idle Transfiguration, magic, and binding vows.
What remained was a swarm of floating, mindless eyes.
Gray, fleshy masses hovered soundlessly in the air, featureless except for the countless, unblinking eyes covering every inch of their grotesque forms.
Each eye moved independently, watching, observing—never closing, never resting.
They had no mouths.
No voices.
No thoughts beyond observation.
But beneath their pulsing flesh, Mahito had hidden sensitive, unnatural ears, capable of picking up even the faintest whispers.
They could see through walls, through illusions, through stealth techniques.
They could hear every heartbeat, every breath, every trembling word.
Mahito called them Seekers. For they will be his eyes and ears—to seek those who would dare to hide from his touch.
And they were all connected to him.
He sent them to span out all across the entirety of Kuoh.
Mahito closed his eyes for a moment—then opened them again.
Except this time, it wasn't just his vision.
It was hundreds of perspectives at once.
From every street.
Every building.
Every hiding place.
Everywhere.
He let out a soft, content sigh.
Mahito contacted his curse marines who were out and about around Kuoh. He told them to coordinate with the seekers, stalkers, and harvesters to work in tandem to bring in more and more of the people in Kuoh to the hospital to speed up the process of turning the whole town into his transfigured army.
His stitched grin widened.
"No more running."
Mahito then turned, his gaze falling on Mittelt.
She had been quiet this whole time, standing off to the side—watching in paralyzed horror as he created abomination after abomination.
She had once been a spy.
A tool.
A means to gather information.
But now…
Mahito had better eyes.
Mahito had better ears.
Mahito had better spies.
Her usefulness was over.
He chuckled, voice mockingly sweet.
"Well, well, Mittelt-chan~"
He tilted his head, his gaze lazily trailing over her trembling form.
"It seems like I don't need you anymore."
Mittelt flinched—her wings trembling, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
She knew.
She knew what that meant.
Mahito's smile didn't fade.
If anything, it widened.
"But hey~ Maybe I should give you a promotion instead?"
Mittelt's breath hitched.
Her legs felt weak.
Tears welled in her eyes.
"Pl—Please…"
She whispered.
She knew it wouldn't change anything.
But fearmakes people beg anyway.
"Aww c'mon! It won't be so bad~ You'll be taking Raynare's spot!"
Mahito pulled down his pants and there she was. Raynare—back to being a quivering fleshlight wrapped around Mahito's cock.
He pulled Raynare off him with a wet pop.
"Man~ This one's all loose now and the grip has gotten so weak that I barely even notice it anymore!"
Mahito snickered as he twirled around the quivering Raynare in the air.
"YO FREED!"
Freed walked into the room—his signature manic grin plastered on his face.
"Lord Mahito! Is it time to kill some fucking devils?"
Freed said with excitement as he knelt in front of his God.
"Not yet my bloodthirsty dog~ I called you here to give you a gift for all your loyalty towards me."
"There is no nee—"
"I insist "
Mahito then held the Raynare fleshlight in between his hands—presenting it like a sacred treasure.
"BEHOLD! THE FIRST EVER FALLENUSSY FLESHLIGHT EVER CREATED!"
"It's beautiful "
Freed whispered with reverence as a tear fell from his eye.
Mahito looked at Freed with serious eyes and spoke to him in a solemn tone.
"Freed. My loyal hound. I bestow upon you this fleshlight of mine. Not like the fleshlight of Kalawarna that was made to be used by all. But a fleshlight to call as your own—to be used by you and only you."
Mahito gave Freed a moment to process his words.
"I accept My Lord"
"Then by the power of my own creation. I name thee Sir Freed, The Mad Hound of The Unborn God!"
Then—
As if knighting him, Mahito tapped Freed's right shoulder and then the left with the fleshlight before handing it to Freed.
With trembling hands Freed accepted the gracious gift of his God.
"Thank you... thank you... I shall treasure this with my life."
"You may go now and use it to your heart's content Freed."
Freed walked out of the room clutching the quivering Raynare to his chest.
"I PROMISE TO USE IT THOROUGHLY MY LORD!"
Seeing that, Mittelt fell to her knees sobbing.
"Heheh, or maybe you want to take Kalwarna's place?"
In response to that Mittelt just cried harder.
Mahito lifted a hand—his palm hovering just inches from her face.
His voice was soft, almost comforting.
"Shh~ Just let it happen"
His fingers twitched.
Mittelt screamed.
With a new fleshlight wrapped around him, Mahito decided to check a specific room.
His gaze drifted toward the last remaining humans in the room.
They were small, shaking figures, huddled in the farthest corner of the hospital.
Children.
The only ones he had left untouched.
Not because of mercy.
Not because of restraint.
But because of a deal.
Mahito tilted his head, his grin widening.
"Ahhh, right~"
His voice was mockingly sweet, filled with amusement.
"The only reason you little brats are still breathing… is because of big sis Rias."
He laughed softly, stepping forward as his mismatched eyes gleamed with twisted delight.
"She was so desperate to keep her precious super-sibling out of this… that she let all of this happen instead."
He let his words sink in, watching the children tremble.
"Then when she finally realized she wasn't built for this she tried to call not only one but two super-siblings. Of course I wasn't just gonna let the that happen so I am using you guys as my hostages and in exchange I promised I wouldn't hurt you all."
His grin stretched wider, teeth flashing.
"She really thought that would save you lil shits hehe! Adorable~"
His hand stretched wide as he approached them. Making them all break down crying and trembling in fear
"Don't worry~ This won't hurt a single bit"
After that Mahito continued on studying, transfiguring, and experimenting on the hundreds and hundreds of new victims being brought to him by his harvesters by the hour.
His army growing with every batch.
Their weapons are now abundant and overflowing.
More Gorehounds.
More Corpsebrutes.
More Stalkers.
More Harvesters.
More Seekers.
More Curse Marines.
The rate of which of the people got slaughtered or turned into abominations only grew faster and faster.
Mahito did this nonstop for eight hours.
Eight hours of warping, twisting, and reshaping soul and flesh alike.
Eight hours of perfecting his creations, sculpting his ever-growing army.
It was then that Mahito decided to take a break for now and recover some of his cursed energy and magic.
Mahito lounged lazily in his bloodstained office, idly twisting a flesh-warped Rubik's Cube between his fingers.
His mismatched eyes gleamed with amusement as he let out a contented sigh, his grin twitching wider.
"Y'know… I've been thinking."
He kicked his feet up onto the desk, rolling his head back with a dramatic groan.
"This whole thing has been fun—locking down Kuoh, gathering new toys, making some killerupgrades."
He tapped his chin.
"But something's missing… something crucial."
His smile flickered sharper.
"I need to farm more hate XP."
His fingers drummed against the desk, his voice turning almost mockingly thoughtful.
"Don't get me wrong. All these experiments with soul stuff had helped me greatly! Hell, I'm already at peak high-class power by my estimate in just around 2 weeks since I've been here when I just started as a wee lil mid-class fodder!"
Mahito said with his face right up close to Ruruko—looking at her directly in one of her eyes on one side of the rubik's cube.
"I just REALLY want to reach Ultimate class soon y'know? While I could probably win against a low level ultimate class being if I fought them with my army but the moment I fight one on the higher end of that class level? I'm cooked!"
His fingers drummed against the desk, his voice turning almost mockingly thoughtful.
"That's why I need to grind to that level of power quick before I get my ass whooped. And what better way to level up than messing with the guy who makes me stronger the more he suffers?"
Mahito's eyes gleamed.
Issei Hyoudou.
The so-called Red Dragon Emperor.
The boy who, when pushed far enough, unlocked new power-ups like a gacha game protagonist.
Mahito giggled, rolling his shoulders.
"Let's get him nice and pissed, shall we?
But first, Mahito has to finish his preparations. You can't call yourself a professional hater if you don't even plan for your opps' downfall.
"Hmmm, if that mf pulls out some op bullshit I need something that I could bring with me so that I could counter by pulling out my own bullshit against his bullshit."
He scratched his head trying to think of what he should do. He only wants to bring in a small group of his monsters with him as he doesn't want to disrupt his army's collection and culling of the Kuoh Town people.
"Bazinga! I just have to follow Kenjussy and become a Throat Goat!"
Mahito quickly went up to the storage room and transfigured 50 people into small orbs. He then held one of the orbs up to his face—looking at it's pulsating flesh and the weeping eyeball on it's surface.
"Well, down the hatch you go lil buddy~!"
He then swallowed it all the way down to his stomach with ease. Then he repeated this process with the other orbs until he finally gulped them all down after reshaping the inside of his stomach to fit them all comfortably.
After that he set out to go to Issei—his seekers already telling him their numbers and what condition they are in as well as specific locations.
His grin stretched wider as he traced the mental map of Kuoh in his head.
And then he found it.
The last safe zone.
Kuoh Academy.
Hundreds of evacuees had gathered there—humans, devils, all huddled together like scared little rats.
A perfect, ripe target.
They had nowhere left to run.
Their so-called sanctuary was a lie.
Mahito let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest.
"A last bastion of hope? How tragic~"
He giggled, his fingers twitching with excitement.
"We can't have that now, can we?"
He snapped his fingers.
A dozen Curse Marines stepped forward—bolters cradled in their hands, gorenades twitching at their belts.
Their stitched grins were already wide with anticipation.
They were accompanied by a small swarm of Gorehounds and Corpsebrutes.
Near a hundred Seekers hovered up above unseen—already fully surveyed the area.
Then came the Stalkers.
Three of them cloaked from the shadows—nine-foot-tall horrors, their scythe-like arms twitching, their featureless faces tilting ever so slightly.
Mahito clapped his hands together, voice filled with mock excitement.
"Alright, boys, you know the drill!"
His eyes glowed.
"Go break them."
________________________________________________
After calming down from his nightmare thanks to Koneko consoling him—he suddenly felt it.
His entire body ached, the lingering echoes of his last battle crawling through his bones.
But something was wrong.
Something was very, very wrong.
A deep, numb tingling spread through his left arm—a creeping sensation that felt both alien and familiar, as though his own flesh no longer belonged to him.
A slight throb of pain pulsed beneath his skin, dull yet persistent.
For a moment, he hesitated—his mind screaming at him not to look.
But he did.
And the moment his eyes landed on his arm, his breath caught in his throat.
His left arm was not his own.
Gone was the familiar shape of his human limb.
In its place was something grotesque, monstrous—a draconic abomination fused to his body.
Thick, jagged red scales covered every inch of it, glistening faintly under the dim light.
The fingers had elongated, sharpening into talon-like claws that twitched slightly, as though moving on their own.
Dark veins pulsed beneath the scales, radiating a strange, burning energy—an energy that felt both powerful and deeply unnatural.
Issei's chest tightened.
His hands shook as he reached out to touch it—only for a sharp, searing pain to rip through his shoulder.
He gritted his teeth, his entire body tensing as a deep, primal dread settled in his gut.
"What… the hell… is this?"
A heavy rumbling voice filled the room, cutting through the suffocating silence.
["The price of sacrifice."]
Ddraig's voice was calm, yet there was an unmistakable weight of sorrow behind it.
The others, who had been watching in stunned silence, finally stirred.
Rias' eyes were wide, her fingers twitching as though unsure whether to reach out or pull away.
Koneko's ears flattened against her head, her eyes flickering with something dangerously close to fear.
Even Akeno—normally composed—looked visibly shaken.
Ddraig continued.
["This is what happens when you offer a piece of yourself for power. To sacrifice part of your body in exchange for its strength… is to invite a dragon's essence into your very being."]
His voice darkened.
["This is the fate of every wielder who has done what you did, partner."]
Issei's stomach churned.
His fingers dug into the sheets beneath him, his mind struggling to keep up with what he was hearing.
"You mean… this is permanent?"
Ddraig hesitated.
And that was all the answer Issei needed.
["Dragonification is an unavoidable outcome for those who wield dragon-based Sacred Gears. For most, it is partial—subtle changes, a few draconic traits. But for those who sacrifice… it is unnatural. It is unstable."]
A heavy pause.
["And it always ends in suffering."]
Issei felt sick.
His breathing shallowed, his pulse hammering in his ears.
But Ddraig wasn't finished.
["The arm will not stop at this. It will spread. Slowly at first, then faster. The pain will grow unbearable. And when it reaches a certain point, the transformation will force itself upon you."]
Issei swallowed hard, a faint tremor running through his body.
"And then what?"
Ddraig's next words were like a death sentence.
["Then you will become a dragon. A twisted, broken parody of one. My past wielders who went through this… they all died. None of them survived the process."]
Silence.
A suffocating, oppressive silence that pressed down on the room.
Rias' lips parted slightly, but no words came.
Kiba's eyes flickered with something close to horror, his gaze locked onto Issei's arm.
Akeno's fingers tightened into a fist.
Issei felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs.
But then—
["But. There is one thing you could do to make the pain and the arm go away. You will require the help of someone else to do this."]
Koneko moved.
"I'll do it. I want to help"
The small nekomata girl stepped forward without hesitation, her ears twitching slightly.
She knelt beside Issei's bed, reaching for his arm.
["You have to remove the excess dragon aura."]
Ddraig told Koneko the specifics of how she can remove the excess dragon aura by sucking it out through the transformed limb.
Issei blinked, before blushing uncontrollably.
Without another word, she took his clawed, transformed finger and brought it to her lips.
Her mouth closed around the sharp tip, her small tongue pressing against the scaly surface.
A soft, warm sensation spread through his arm, and almost immediately, the burning pain dulled.
Issei let out a shuddering breath, his muscles slowly relaxing.
After several more minutes.
The red scales began to shrink back, retreating as the unnatural energy bled out of his body.
The claws dulled, the talons receding.
For the first time since waking up, the pain was gone.
But Ddraig's voice returned with a heavy reminder .
["This is only a temporary fix, partner. The dragonification will not stop. You will need to do this again… and again… and again."]
A pause.
["And the longer it goes on, the more often you will need it. Until one day, it won't be enough."]
Issei felt cold.
The relief that had barely begun to settle in was ripped away by those words.
His gaze fell to his arm—now normal again, for now—and his jaw tightened.
So this was it.
He wasn't just dying.
He was becoming something else.
And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Koneko finally pulled back, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. A slight blush tinted her cheeks.
She could feel the excess the dragon aura mixing with her own inside her and infusing itself all throughout her body.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't have to.
Because in that moment, they all understood—
This was only the beginning of Issei's suffering.
And the end was already waiting for him.
Issei sat in silence, the weight of his new reality pressing down on him like a suffocating fog.
But that wasn't what was bothering him now.
He lifted his gaze, his amber-brown eyes flickering with uncertainty.
"…What happened while I was out?"
His voice was hoarse, weaker than he would've liked.
He remembered his last moments of consciousness—the burning wreckage, his body pushed beyond its limit, the final, desperate Dragon Shot that should have ended everything.
He remembered watching the beam directly hit Freed's body, remembered thinking…
That was it.
That the fight was over.
Koneko shifted beside him, her ears twitching slightly.
"…You didn't kill him."
Issei's breath caught in his throat.
His fingers instinctively tightened around the bedsheets.
"…What?"
Koneko's golden eyes locked onto his, unwavering.
"I saw him."
Her voice was quiet, but firm.
"He was supposed to be dead. Burnt to nothing. But he wasn't."
She swallowed, her ears flattening.
"He was still regenerating."
Issei's stomach twisted.
He felt like something ice-cold had just crawled up his spine.
Freed… was still alive?
Even after everything?
Even after that final attack?
He wanted to deny it.
Wanted to say that was impossible.
But Koneko's expression told him all he needed to know.
"…Shit."
His body tensed, but before the dread could take hold, Akeno's voice broke through the tension.
"Ara ara~"
Her usual teasing lilt was there, but beneath it was something softer.
"You really should be thanking someone before worrying too much, you know~"
She gave a pointed glance to the side.
Issei followed her gaze—and his eyes landed on Asia.
She was curled up on the couch, her small frame rising and falling softly as she slept, her face pale with exhaustion.
She looked…
Drained.
And yet, even in sleep, her hands were still slightly outstretched, as if she had kept healing until she physically collapsed.
Akeno smiled, resting her cheek against her palm.
"If it weren't for sweet little dear Asia~, we'd all be dead."
She closed her eyes, humming.
"She kept on healing us as well as Sona and her peerage even when she could barely stand."
Her voice dropped slightly, filled with something close to admiration.
"…She really is something special, isn't she?"
Issei felt his chest tighten, but this time…
It wasn't out of fear.
He looked at Asia fondly, his expression softening.
"…Yeah."
Then Rias spoke, pulling his attention back.
She was watching him closely—her usual composed expression tinged with something deeper.
"…Thank you, Issei."
Her voice was quiet, but heavy with emotion.
"You gave everything you had… even your ownarm… to protect us."
Her fingers tightened slightly at her sides.
"We would've…"
She hesitated, then sighed.
She didn't need to finish.
Issei knew.
They would've died.
Akeno chimed in, her smile turning warm.
"Mmm, she's right~"
She leaned in, brushing soft lips against Issei's cheek before lightly nibbling his ear with a teasing chuckle.
"Such a reckless pawn~"
Issei flushed, his face heating up as he scratched the back of his head.
"A-Ah—come on, you guys don't have to make such a big deal about it…"
But before he could say anything more—
Kiba stood up.
His face was hard, almost unreadable.
His right sleeve hung empty, the wound now closed, but the loss still felt.
Yet despite everything, despite the weight in his eyes…
A small, genuine smile curled his lips.
He placed his remaining left hand on Issei's shoulder.
"…I knew I could count on you."
His voice was steady.
Strong.
And for the first time since Issei met him…
He sounded proud.
"You've come a long way in such a short time."
Issei felt something in his chest tighten again, but this time, it was something warm.
A sense of acceptance.
Of belonging.
Of being seen.
Then—
Koneko moved.
She didn't speak.
She simply wrapped her small arms around him, pressing her face into his chest.
Her ears twitched slightly, and her soft breath fanned against his skin as she mumbled, almost too quietly to hear:
"…I'm just glad you're alive."
Issei's heart stilled for a moment.
Then a small, genuine smile spread across his face.
His body relaxed, his tension melting away.
"You guys can count on me no matter how many times you have to. I swear that I'll do anything to protect you all."
He chuckled lightly.
The warm feeling deep in his chest bloomed.
Thefear, the dread, the lingering horror of his transformation—
For just a moment…
It all eased.
His gaze drifted toward Asia, still peacefully asleep.
His smile softened.
"She really passed out, huh…"
The room fell into a brief silence, the warmth of the moment lingering in the air.
But then—
Issei blinked, his brow furrowing slightly.
"…Wait."
He glanced around, realization dawning on him.
"…What happened to Kaichou?"
The entire mood shifted.
The warmth from before vanished, replaced by an almost palpable tension.
Rias' expression darkened slightly.
Akeno's usual playful smile faded.
Kiba's fingers tightened at his side.
Koneko's tail flicked, but her ears remained low.
The silence that followed was heavy.
And in that moment…
Issei knew.
He wasn't going to like what he was about to hear.
Rias took a slow breath before speaking.
"Right after we were being healed, Sona arrived with her peerage."
Her sapphire eyes darkened.
"She had questions."
As they explained what happened, the sounds of gunfire, screams, and explosions echoed from the town.
Sona made the call—she went to investigate.
Then, after what felt like hours of chaos, magic blasts, and destruction, she returned.
But she wasn't the same.
"When she came back…"
Rias' voice faltered.
"She and her entire peerage were barely standing."
Bloodied.
Broken.
Defeated.
They had seen hell.
Sona told them everything.
The streets were painted in blood.
Men, women, children—slaughtered like cattle.
A squad of hulking, monstrous priests.
Hundreds of abominations, tearing people apart.
They never stood a chance.
"They were toying with her."
Rias said quietly.
"They weren't even fighting seriously."
Her hands clenched.
"Before she passed out, she said Ruruko was probably dead."
A pause.
"And Tsubasa and Tomoe… were brutally killed."
Silence.
A suffocating, agonizing silence.
Issei couldn't breathe.
They were dead. People that he used to see daily. Now gone just like that.
Then, Rias said the name.
The one behind all of it.
"His name is Mahito."
Issei's stomach turned to ice.
And then, the final blow.
"He's holding hundreds of children hostage at Kuoh Hospital."
Rias' voice was firm.
"And that's why I can't call for backup."
Hopelessness settled in.
They were trapped.
With no one coming to save them.
Kuoh was lost.
And Issei could do nothing.
But Issei refused to accept that.
His fists clenched, his heart hammering in his chest.
"I won't just sit here."
He said, his voice firm, unwavering.
The others looked at him, their expressions filled with doubt.
"Maybe we can't beat them… but we can still save people."
His eyes burned with determination.
"We don't have to win. We just have to try."
At first, no one spoke.
They remembered how easily they were overwhelmed before.
They had barely survived six of those monsters.
Now, they faced a dozen—alongside abominations that ripped through entire streets.
The fear was real.
But so was the fire in Issei's words.
Slowly, one by one…
They agreed.
They met with Sona and her remaining peerage.
Reya didn't join them.
She sat in her room, clutching the space where her arm used to be, unwilling to face another battle.
But Saji and Momo stepped forward.
They wanted to help.
Tsubaki chose to stay with Sona—her loyalty unwavering.
Sona herself could barely stand, her body still suffering from the backlash of her failed magic formation.
But even if she couldn't fight, she could lead.
A strategy was formed.
Sona, Rias, and Tsubaki would stay behind at Kuoh Academy, using their magic comms to guide the group from afar and prepare to receive evacuees.
Asia would remain as well, ready to heal the wounded when they returned.
They chose to stick together.
Splitting up would be suicide.
The more of them there were, the better their chances if they encountered Curse Marines.
They weren't going to win this war.
But if they could save even a few lives—
Then it would all be worth it.
They moved quickly and quietly, shadows slipping through the ruins of Kuoh.
The streets were haunted—filled with the sounds of distant screams, wet tearing, and the relentless, methodical march of an army that had already won.
Every step was taken with caution, every breath held as they moved under cover, avoiding the open as much as possible.
What they saw shook them to their core.
The first horrors they encountered were the Gorehounds.
Twisted beasts sniffed at the air, prowling through the ruins on all fours, their unnatural bodies rippling with grotesque muscle.
Their empty eye sockets burned with an unseen hunger, their jagged maws twitching as they searched for prey.
Sona's enchanted cloaks kept them hidden—masking their scent, presence, and even muffling their sound.
But as they passed through the streets, they witnessed unspeakable horror.
A young woman tried to run.
She never made it far.
A Gorehound lunged, its fangs sinking into her leg, dragging her screaming into the dark.
Another man fought back, swinging a pipe wildly—
Until three Gorehounds tackled him at once, their claws ripping into his flesh like paper.
Blood sprayed.
Screams turned into gurgled chokes.
But the beasts did not feast.
They dragged the bodies away—toward something else.
Then they saw it.
Something new.
Something they had never seen before.
A massive, segmented worm-like creature, its grotesque stitched-together flesh writhing under the small bone-like plates that covered its body like scales as it slithered silently through the ruins.
It plowed through buildings effortlessly, its massive form moving with an unnatural grace.
Then—
It swallowed an entire group of people in one motion.
A sickening wet slurp, a muffled chorus of screams—then silence.
Their bodies didn't crunch.
They weren't chewed apart.
They were simply gone, sucked into the creature's toothless, gaping maw.
Their eyes widened in horror as they saw Gorehounds dragging people toward the beast.
Delivering them.
Like offering them as sacrifices.
They reported everything back to Rias and Sona, their voices shaking.
As they moved deeper into Kuoh, what they found next made their blood run cold.
Curse Marines.
Hundreds of them.
One on nearly every rooftop.
Squads patrolling the streets.
Dragging people to be swallowed by Harvesters or simply executing them on sight.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
No care for the destruction they caused.
Corpsebrutes at their sides.
Gorenades lobbed carelessly into buildings, the explosions ripping through homes like paper.
A town drowned in death.
Next thing they saw—
A flicker of movement in the distance.
They spotted another group of survivors.
A few dozen people—hiding in the wreckage of a collapsed shop, desperately clinging to life.
They moved, ready to save them.
But then—
A blur.
A whisper of movement.
And in the next second—
The survivors were gone.
Sliced cleanly into pieces.
Their group froze, hearts hammering in their chests.
They frantically looked around.
Searched for whatever had done this.
But there was nothing.
No sound.
No figure.
No trace of movement.
Just bodies.
Shredded in an instant.
A silent execution.
They swiftly retreated, fear burning in their veins.
They didn't dare linger.
Didn't dare wait to see if it would happen again.
Whatever that thing was—
They don't wanna find out.
Despite the horrors, they continued.
They found survivors—frightened, injured, barely clinging to hope.
Each time, they cloaked them, with the extra enchanted cloaks that they brought and hid them under its enchanted magic, and rushed them back to Kuoh Academy.
Rias and Tsubaki received them, guiding them to the gym, where Asia worked tirelessly to heal them.
Then—
They took the cloaks back.
And went out again.
Over and over.
Saving as many as they could.
They had many close calls.
They saw unspeakable horrors.
But through caution, through stealth, through sheer will—
They were never discovered.
Or so they thought.
________________________________________________
A Curse Marine knelt on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, the glow of distant fires reflecting off her twisted, bloodstained transfigured robes.
Her stitched mouth curled into a grin, her grip tightening around her bolter, the weapon's grotesque, flesh-bound magazine twitching in anticipation.
Down below, she could see them.
A group of devils, moving through the ruins, guiding frightened, exhausted survivors toward Kuoh Academy.
Her finger hovered over the trigger.
She could kill them now.
End them before they even realized they were being watched.
But she hesitated.
Not out of doubt.
Not out of mercy.
She was waiting.
Waiting for the voice of her God.
Her twisted, transfigured soul reached out—linking, stretching, connecting to the one who had blessed her existence.
Her voice, though silent, carried through the bond.
"Lord… I see them. The devils you spoke of. They're escorting the unblessed to Kuoh Academy. Shall I strike them down?"
Far away, in the depths of Kuoh Hospital, Mahito's fingers were buried deep in living flesh, reshaping yet another screaming victim into his growing army.
The moment her words reached him, his smile curled wider.
A devious, knowing grin.
He didn't even have to pause his work.
He simply chuckled, his mismatched eyes gleaming.
"Let them be."
His voice was casual, almost amused.
The connection snapped.
The Curse Marine staggered slightly, her breath shuddering.
A rush of pure ecstasy flooded her nerves, a burning, almost painful pleasure surging through her mind and body.
Her God had spoken to her.
She had felt his presence within her very soul.
For a moment, she simply stood there, quivering, overwhelmed. Her juices soaking through her pants and pooling into a puddle under her on the rooftop.
Then, slowly, she steadied herself.
A deep breath.
A trembling, reverent smile.
Her hands moved, cleaning herself up, her devotion unshaken.
She resumed her watch, ever-loyal, ever-faithful.
Her God's will was absolute.
________________________________________________
Issei and his group moved swiftly, guiding another small group of tired, injured survivors toward the academy.
Hope flickered in their eyes—thin, fragile, but real.
Issei felt it, that sense of purpose, of victory, of saving even a fraction of lives in this nightmare.
And yet…
Something nagged at him.
Something felt off.
It felt like it was… too easy.
They had too many close calls—but they had always managed to slip away, always barely avoiding disaster.
As if someone was letting them.
He shoved the feeling aside, for now.
Looking at the relieved faces of the people they had saved, he forced himself to smile.
They were alive.
That was what mattered.
High above, unseen through their camouflaged skin, the Seekers hovered.
Floating winged masses, their grotesque bodies covered in multiple of watchful, unblinking eyes.
They did not move.
They did not blink.
They only watched.
Every step.
Every whisper.
Every saved life.
All of it was being fed back to Mahito.
Because this was never a battle.
This was a game.
And they were all playing right into his hands.
After hours of continuously saving people again and again, they reluctantly decided to rest before going out again.
Saji, Momo, and Reya were together in the ORC club room. They were both working hard to console their friend who didn't want to get up from her bed—kicking and screaming whenever they tried to drag her out.
Sona, Rias, Akeno, and Tsubaki were together in the student council room discussing about how they could survive this horror. While Tsubaki and Akeno are there to guard them and also assist with their strategies.
The gym was filled with quiet murmurs, the hushed voices of survivors clinging to their fragile sense of safety.
Issei, Kiba, and Koneko stood watch, their eyes scanning every shadow, every flicker of movement beyond the doors.
They had saved so many people.
They couldn't afford to fail them now.
Asia moved among the wounded, her gentle touch radiating a soft, green glow as her Twilight Healing worked tirelessly to mend torn flesh and broken bones.
Her smile never wavered.
Even as exhaustion weighed on her small frame, she held firm—offering warmth, comfort, hope.
She was their light in the darkness.
And then—
That light was shattered.
Impact.
A deafening BOOM tore through the night, shaking the very foundation of the school.
Then another.
And another.
Explosions rocked the gym, the walls trembling as dust rained from the ceiling.
Screams erupted from the survivors, panic spreading like wildfire.
Issei's heart pounded violently against his ribs.
He knew.
He didn't even have to look.
They were here.
He exchanged a look with Kiba and Koneko.
No words were needed.
Together, they rushed out into the open.
And what they saw made Issei's blood run cold.
The Enemy Has Arrived.
A dozen Curse Marines stood outside Kuoh Academy, their grotesque bolters raised, their monstrous laughter echoing through the ruined streets.
In their hands, twisting, writhing Gorenades were hurled without care, detonating against the academy walls, ripping through windows, and sending debris flying.
Before them, the Corpsebrutes stood—a wall of stitched, grotesque flesh, they shambled forward, unyielding, unstoppable.
The Gorehounds sprinted ahead, their jaws snapping, growls filling the air, their eyes locked onto one target.
Them.
Issei's Boosted Gear was summoned immediately, his boosts coming to life with each chant.
Kiba's demonic blade flashed into existence—held in his left hand.
Koneko's fists clenched, ready to fight.
And then—
A presence like a noose tightening around their throats.
Their eyes snapped toward the rooftops.
And there he was.
Perched atop a ruined house, bathed in the glow of raging fires, stood a figure too relaxed, too casual, as if this wasn't a battle—
But a spectacle.
A show.
A game.
Mahito.
His grin stretched wide, his mismatched eyes gleaming with amusement.
His patchwork hand lifted in a casual, almost playful wave.
Then, his voice cut through the night—mocking, light, as if he had just stumbled across old friends.
"Yo!~"
Issei's breath shook.
Mahito was here.
And the nightmare was only beginning.