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

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As Issei knelt with his shoulders slumped, the rogue priest behind him still yanked his hair harshly, forcing him to watch his friends suffer. His will wavered, teetering on the edge of collapse. One thought echoed in his mind—how? How the hell did this even happen?

1 week earlier.

"Welcome! This shabby old place is our base of operations. That over there is Dil, and that's Doe. Those two are Gob and Blaire—our best priests here. Well, aside from me, of course. But I didn't include myself because, obviously, I'm better than all of them combined."

Freed gestured around as he gave Mahito a tour of the old, abandoned church that the priests were using as their base, introducing him to their men.

"The others are, err... I don't fucking know. Just a bunch of rookies—practically fodder. They were brought here to stall the devils, maybe get a lucky hit in before getting turned to ash or something. Not that it matters. If they die, they die. More room to spare, I guess."

"Hey! We heard that!"

"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it, huh? I'll cut your fucking balls off, turn them into my lil' keychains, and wear 'em around just to remind everyone what happens when some dumbass thinks they can talk back to me! Hell, maybe I'll shove 'em down your throat and see if you can still run your mouth then!"

The other priests just went back to their own devices, deliberately ignoring us. None of them wanted to risk angering Freed, knowing full well that he was completely unhinged. He wasn't just all talk—everyone here had seen him follow through on his twisted threats before, laughing like a lunatic as he did. No one wanted to be the next poor bastard to find out just how creative he could get with a sword and a grudge.

Mahito observed the rogue priests around him—most were unremarkable, either old, scrawny, or just average men with nothing particularly notable about them. Even though he lacked mana or magic himself, he had gotten a sense of it before—when he touched the souls of Viser, the stray devil, the four rogue priests he killed, and that doughnut fallen angel guy.

Magic felt strange compared to cursed energy. It wasn't heavy or oppressive like the malice-infused power he was used to. Instead, it had a fluidity to it, like an unseen force woven into the very fabric of the world, waiting to be tapped into. It was foreign yet fascinating, and Mahito couldn't help but wonder how it might interact with his abilities.

But he still couldn't use magic—not yet. Not without first absorbing a soul that naturally possessed the magic of this world. And even then, he couldn't take in another soul until he fully assimilated Yuki's. It was a slow process, but he was getting there. With time, he'd bridge the gap between cursed energy and magic, and when that moment came, he'd finally be able to twist this world's power to whatever kind of shenanigans he comes up with.

But anyway, back to the main point. With his growing understanding of souls and the way magic felt, he had developed a whole new level of awareness. Now, he could sense anything infused with magic within a 50-meter radius and anything with a soul from as far as 100 meters away. It was like having a built-in radar that made it nearly impossible for anyone to sneak past him or even think about pulling off a stealthy assassination. At this point, trying to creep up on him was a lost cause—he'd sense them before they even got close.

'Except, of course, divine beings, magic-obsessed nerds, yokai, and the occasional weirdo decked out in some niche artifact or enchanted gear that completely blocks my senses. Those types could still slip past me if they were skilled or lucky enough. There were always exceptions to the rule, and honestly, that just made things more interesting. Nothing's more fun than a challenge, right? But for the average assassin, sneaky bastard, or lurking child predator? Yeah, good luck trying to catch me off guard.'

Mahito mused over this as he observed the rogue priests around him. The magic he sensed from most of them was weak, barely worth noting compared to Freed. Only the four that Freed mentioned by name stood out even slightly. They weren't exactly impressive, but they had potential—something he could work with if needed.

Still, it was kind of disappointing. But that was understandable—practically all of them were just disposable grunts, barely scraping by with their meager abilities. They were nothing special in terms of power, but Mahito could see it—the way they moved, the way they carried themselves. These guys had no moral compass. No hesitation. They were all unhinged, completely deranged.

And that? That was something he could work with. Because crazy, in the right hands and given the right opportunity, could turn into something truly dangerous. And dangerous was exactly what he needed.

"So, how do we do this?"

Freed had already filled the priests in on Mahito's plans, hyping him up as the key to unlocking their true power. The news had them all eager, practically buzzing with anticipation.

In their sick, twisted minds, they were already dreaming up ways to abuse their newfound strength—imagining all the horrors they'd unleash, all the indulgences they'd finally be free to take without consequence. They weren't just ready; they wanted this.

"Since this is my first time trying this, there might be a few hiccups at the start. But don't worry—once I get it right, those devils won't even be a real threat to you anymore!"

There were 26 rogue priests in total, not counting Freed. Mahito picked one at random for his first experiment. The results were nothing short of horrific.

The priest's body convulsed violently as his skin warped and sagged, his bones dissolving into a thick, sludgy mass. His screams started strong, full of raw terror, but soon turned into wet, gargling chokes as his throat and lungs liquefied from the inside out.

Flesh sloughed off in globs, pooling at his feet like molten wax. His face twisted in pure agony before it too melted away into an unrecognizable mess. What remained of him was nothing more than a quivering, bubbling, and alive fleshy puddle.

The other priests stood frozen in shock for a moment, their faces pale, eyes wide with horror. Then, panic set in.

Weapons were drawn, aimed directly at Mahito. Fingers trembled on triggers, grips tightened on blades. No one wanted to be the next unfortunate soul to dissolve into a pile of flesh and bone.

"Whoooops! Hehehehehe! Oh, relax, will ya? What, a guy can't make a little mistake? It's all part of the process! Besides, don't you wanna be stronger? Just sit still, quit your whining, and let me touch you. I promise it'll be fun!"

"Stay back!"

"I didn't sign up for this!"

"I don't want it! I don't want it anymore!"

"If this is what I'm gonna turn into, then screw this—I'm out!"

Mahito just watched it all with a wide grin, thoroughly amused by the sheer terror plastered on the priests' faces.

"Oh? You actually thought I was asking for consent? Nah, I'm gonna touch you whether you like it or not. Your cooperation just makes things less messy, hehehe."

Just as Mahito was about to touch all of the priests against their own will, the church doors creaked open, cutting through the tense air. Three new figures stepped inside, their presence immediately shifting the atmosphere and bringing an abrupt halt to the madness.

"What the fuck is going on here?!"

The one who spoke up was the one leading the group—Raynare. Alongside her were the remaining fallen angels, Mittelt and Kalawarna.

Her sharp gaze swept across the room, scrutinizing everyone inside with a critical eye. A deep frown creased her face, a clear sign of her growing frustration.

She had been tirelessly investigating the monstrous rampage that tore through Kuoh, struggling to uncover the culprit behind the carnage.

On top of that, an even more pressing issue loomed over her—the unknown threat responsible for the brutal deaths of one of her subordinates and four rogue priests within their ranks.

And she still had no answers.

"YOU!"

Raynare's eyes widened in shock the moment they landed on Mahito.

She knew for a fact that she had killed him with her own hands. Yet here he was, standing before her, very much alive.

And if that wasn't enough, a dark suspicion clawed at her mind—was he the one responsible for Dohnaseek's death? And the rogue priests as well?

"Hey there, long time no see!"

Mahito turned around and looked at Raynare with a shit eating grin.

"How are you alive? I killed you! Did the devils do this?!"

Raynare was cautious and immediately created a light spear in her hand.

"Nah, but you really should've aimed for the head, y'know? But thanks to you, I now have something even better! This power… oh, this power is intoxicating! It writhes inside me, slithering through my veins, whispering possibilities that send shivers down my spine. The things I can do… the things I will do... just thinking about it makes my balls ache with excitement!~"

Mahito's grin widened, his tongue briefly running over his lips as he took a step forward.

"To repay you for what you've done, I'll give you a gift. I'll touch you. I'll reshape you. I'll mold you into something… better. You'll never have to think, never have to worry, never have to fear ever again. I'll introduce you to a whole new world—one where your only purpose, your only reality, will be pure, endless pleasure.~"

He lifted his hands toward Raynare, his laughter echoing like a melody of cruelty, his fingers stretching eagerly toward her trembling form.

Raynare's breath hitched, her body refusing to obey as an oppressive, suffocating malice radiated from Mahito. It clung to her like a second skin, chilling her to her very core. She trembled involuntarily, every survival instinct screaming at her to flee, to fight, to do anything other than remain frozen before this sick and twisted thing masquerading as a man.

Mahito took another slow step forward, tilting his head with an expression of amused curiosity. His outstretched hands twitched, fingers curling in a slow, deliberate groping motion, his wicked grin widening.

In sheer desperation, Raynare let out a cry and hurled a light spear directly at his chest. The light construct struck true, impaling Mahito clean through. The church fell silent. The rogue priests and fallen angels alike held their breath, their eyes flickering between Mahito and the hole seared through his torso.

Mahito, meanwhile, simply glanced down at his wound, poking at the glowing spear of light protruding from him. His expression remained unchanged—if anything, he seemed more intrigued than injured.

"Oh?"

His voice was honeyed, almost affectionate. He prodded at the weapon again, wincing slightly before breaking into an almost childish giggle.

"That actually kinda stings! You really put your heart into that, huh?"

Raynare took a step back, her wings ruffling.

"S-Stay back! Don't come any closer!"

Mahito sighed, shaking his head.

"Oh, Raynare…"

He crooned, his voice dripping with mock sympathy.

"This really is just adorable! Did you actually think that would stop me?"

Then he moved.

The world blurred, and before anyone could even process what had happened, Mahito was behind Raynare, standing far too close. He leaned down, whispering into her ear.

"Boo."

Raynare's scream was instant, a high-pitched shriek that barely had time to escape before Mahito's cursed energy surged forth. His hand pressed against her back, his fingers sinking into her flesh like putty. The cursed energy flared violently, the sickly purple glow illuminating the church's interior as her very essence was seized, rewritten, and reshaped.

Her wings spasmed, feathers wilting and curling as if melting. Her limbs jerked uncontrollably as if she were having a seizure. Her body shrank in some areas, grotesquely bloated in others. Her screams turned wet and distorted, like a drowning animal, gurgling and choking on words that no longer formed properly.

Her arms shriveled, fingers merging together into an unholy amalgamation of flesh and warped bone. Her once humanoid form compressed, twisted, reshaped in ways that defied nature, a macabre symphony of flesh restructuring itself to Mahito's will. Her body hollowed out unnaturally, internal organs either shifting, vanishing, or becoming something entirely different. Her very essence fought against the change, but it was hopeless, her soul is too weak to resist. Mahito was sculpting her into something new. Something better.

Finally, the sickening sound of wet, pulpy flesh settling into its final shape echoed through the church.

Where once stood Raynare, the proud fallen angel, there now lay a grotesque imitation of a fleshlight.

It was flesh-toned, with a strange, pulsating texture. Veins ran along its length, twitching faintly. Her dark feathers, now small and brittle, poked from the base like a mockery of what she once was. The worst part? It was still breathing.

The church was deathly silent, the rogue priests and fallen angels alike staring in absolute horror. Even Freed, normally excited by anything grotesque, twitched slightly, his grin faltering.

Mahito picked up his new creation with both hands, turning it this way and that, inspecting his handiwork with pure, unfiltered glee. He gave it a few experimental squeezes, watching in delight as it wriggled in his grasp.

"Ohhh, now this—this is art. A true masterpiece. See, Raynare? I told you I'd make you into something better! You're portable, you're efficient, and best of all…"

He grinned wider.

"You'll never have to worry about pesky thoughts ever again! Doesn't that sound like a dream?"

The fleshlight twitched violently in his grasp. A wet, muffled sob escaped from somewhere within it.

Mahito cackled.

"Ahhh, I knew you'd love it!"

He turned back to the rogue priests and fallen angels, his eyes gleaming with boundless enthusiasm. He lifted his newly transformed Raynare high above his head like a trophy.

"So! Who wants to be next?"

Mahito momentarily pulled his pants down, revealing his throbbing erection. He then shoved his cock deep inside the writhing Raynare fleshlight, which squirmed and pulsed all on its own around his shaft. And then he pulled his pants back up.

Mitelt and Kalawarma immediately dropped to their knees, trembling with fear. They held their breath, trying their utmost not to make a sound.

"Aight, listen up, you useless sacks of shit. From now on, you ain't got a say in shit. You breathe when I let you. You move when I tell you. If I say sit, your ass better hit the floor so fast you break your fucking tailbone. If I say die, you drop dead with a smile. And if I walk up to you, look you in the eye, and tell you to get on your knees and suck me off, you do it like it's the greatest fucking honor of your worthless life. No bitching. No hesitation. Just obedience.

'Cause if any of you even think about stepping out of line? Oh, you already know I can do worse than kill you. And I will. Is that clear?"

Mahito grinned wide, his touch unnervingly gentle as he patted both Kalawarner and Mitelt on the head, almost like a proud parent. But there was no warmth in it. No affection. Just mockery. His hands lingered, fingertips barely grazing their scalps, but that was all it took to make their bodies lock up in sheer terror.

They couldn't breathe. Their throats tightened like invisible chains had wrapped around them. Their hearts stuttered, their minds screaming, because they knew—they knew—that at any second, with just the slightest whim, Mahito could twist them into something unrecognizable. Something wrong. Their bodies. Their souls. Their entire existence. It was all his to play with now.

Tears streamed down their faces, silent and uncontrollable. Their knees trembled, and in the next moment, the humiliation hit. The warmth pooling down their legs. The acrid stench filling the air. They had pissed themselves.

Mahito's smirk widened at that.

"Aww, good girls."

He cooed, his voice dripping with condescension. He pulled his hands back, watching them quiver.

"See? That wasn't so bad. Now, since you two are such obedient little pets, I got a job for ya."

He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper.

"Go keep an eye on that dumbass Issei and his little devil pals. Watch 'em from afar. Don't get caught. Don't fuck up. And every so often, you come crawling back to me and tell me everything you saw. Every little detail. Who he talks to. What they plan. How they breathe. Got it?"

The two fallen could barely nod, still too shaken to speak.

Mahito chuckled and flicked his fingers at them dismissively.

"Now, get the fuck outta my sight."

They scrambled away, still trembling, not daring to look back.

Mahito turned back to the rogue priests and Freed, his grin stretching unnaturally wide. The room was dead silent. Not a single one of them dared to move. They stood there like statues, their faces pale, their bodies stiff with terror. The piss-stained floor from the fallen angels only added to the suffocating tension in the air.

Mahito cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing through the church like breaking bones. His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he took a slow step forward, letting the fear sink deeper into their bones. He dragged the moment out, savoring it. The way they flinched at even the slightest movement made his chest tingle with excitement.

Then, with a voice as casual as if he was asking about the weather, he said, "Now, where were we? Oh, right—let's pick up where we left off."

His hands twitched, cursed energy crackling at his fingertips. The priests sucked in shaky breaths, knowing that whatever was coming next was going to be worse. So much worse.

"God help us."

A rogue priest muttered to himself as he prayed as quietly as possible. But Mahito heard it all the same.

Mahito snorted, shaking his head.

"God? Oh, buddy. You poor, dumb, pathetic little shit."

He clapped his hands together, grinning like a madman.

"Lemme spell it out for you real slow—nobody is coming to save your sorry ass."

He stepped forward, eyes glinting with sadistic amusement.

"You think some old bearded dude in the sky gives a single fuck about you? News flash, dumbass—if He ever did, He sure as hell doesn't now."

He cackled, spreading his arms wide.

"But hey, don't feel too bad. You do have someone looking out for you! Someone real! Someone who's actually here!"

His voice dropped to a whisper, dripping with mock tenderness.

"Me."

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning sincerity.

"I mean, come on. Who needs a God who won't even answer your calls when you can have me? I'm hands-on, baby! I'll reshape you, twist you, rip you apart, and put you back together better."

His grin stretched wider, his voice turning sing-song.

"Or maybe I'll fuck it up on purpose! Maybe I'll turn you into something so disgusting, so broken, so wrong that even Hell wouldn't want you!"

Then, his expression snapped back to playful glee.

"Ooooh, that actually sounds fun! Maybe I should do that! What do you think?"

He cupped a hand around his ear as if expecting an answer, then burst into laughter.

"Ahaha, oh, who gives a shit what you think? You're mine now. So shut up, pray harder, and let's see if anyone up there gives a single damn about you before I get really creative."

________________________________________

The sun barely peeked over the horizon when Issei Hyoudou stood in his kitchen, sleeves rolled up and flour dusting his hands. The night before had been long—tossing and turning in his bed, unable to rid his mind of the carnage that had taken place just a day prior.

The monstrous entity had torn through Kuoh with an almost mindless hunger. Though Issei and his peerage had managed to stop it before it could reach the hospital, it hadn't been a victory. Too many had died. Too many lives snuffed out before their time. And one life in particular weighed on Issei's conscience like a boulder chained to his soul—a small child, barely old enough to talk, whose terrified eyes still haunted him. If he hadn't been distracted, if he hadn't let his mind wander to his usual perverted thoughts, maybe, just maybe, that kid would still be alive.

His friends weren't taking it well either. Kiba, ever the composed knight, wore a distant, unreadable mask, but Issei could see the self-loathing in his eyes. Koneko, who usually snarked at him over his perverted antics, was eerily silent, barely eating and keeping to herself. Akeno's smile—once playful, teasing—felt hollow, and even Rias, his ever-reliable president, seemed to carry the weight of failure on her shoulders. The ORC wasn't the same.

And Issei couldn't stand it.

So, in the early hours of the morning, he turned back to an old habit, one buried under years of obsession with girls and dirty magazines—baking.

Back when he was a kid, his mother would always let him help in the kitchen. She'd taught him how to measure flour, how to properly mix batter, and how to tell when something was perfectly baked. Cupcakes had been his specialty. His mom used to shower him with praises, calling him her little pastry chef. But as he got older, his interests shifted, and his childhood hobby faded into the background. Until now.

He worked carefully, pouring every bit of focus and care into the cupcakes, as if somehow, through this small act, he could undo some of the pain the past day had caused. He wanted to do something—anything—to bring back a little warmth to his friends' lives.

By the time he finished, he had a neatly packed box filled with golden-brown cupcakes, each topped with carefully piped frosting. He wasn't sure if this would work, but it was worth a try.

At school, he walked into the ORC with the box in his hands. The atmosphere was heavy, a stark contrast to the usual liveliness of the clubroom. The moment he stepped in, all eyes turned to him.

"Uh... hey, guys," he started, suddenly feeling nervous under their weary gazes. "I, uh, made something for you all."

He placed the box on the table and opened it, revealing the neatly arranged cupcakes.

Akeno raised an eyebrow. "Cupcakes?"

"Yeah... I used to bake when I was a kid. Thought maybe this could cheer everyone up a bit."

There was a beat of silence before Koneko reached forward, grabbing one without hesitation. She took a small bite, her cat-like ears twitching slightly. Then, without a word, she picked up another and continued eating.

Akeno, watching her reaction, smirked slightly before taking one herself. "I never expected you to have this kind of skill, Issei."

"Damn, these are actually good," Kiba admitted, taking a bite.

Rias smiled for the first time in days. "Thank you, Issei. This means a lot."

The rest of the club followed suit, and for the first time since the disaster, the tension in the air seemed to lessen. Issei exhaled in relief. Maybe this wouldn't fix everything, but it was a start.

Over the next few days, he made it a habit. Each morning before school, he baked, bringing different variations of cupcakes to the club. Slowly, his presence became something his friends looked forward to, their spirits lifting bit by bit.

Koneko, in particular, became attached to the routine. She started sitting next to him more often, nibbling on whatever he brought while quietly leaning against him. One afternoon, she even placed one of her own snacks in his hand—an unspoken gesture of appreciation. He blinked at her in surprise, and she simply muttered, "Fair trade."

She also started sitting on his lap. The first time it happened, Issei nearly choked on his drink, but she acted like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You're comfy," she had said simply, before continuing to eat.

Despite the teasing he received from Akeno and Kiba, he didn't mind. If this was what it took to help Koneko feel better, then so be it.

As the days passed, Issei found himself changing. He stopped letting his mind wander to perverted thoughts as often. The guilt over that innocent child's death clung to him, a grim reminder of what could happen when he let himself get distracted. He couldn't afford to be that guy anymore. He needed to be better. Stronger. More focused.

He no longer saw himself as just some pervert chasing after Rias's approval. He had responsibilities now—to his friends, to the people around him. And if that meant giving up his old self, so be it.

By the end of the week, he made a final decision. That night, in the quiet of his room, he gathered every last one of his magazines, every DVD, every stash hidden away in the corners of his closet. Then, without hesitation, he set them alight.

The flames crackled, consuming the remnants of his past self. He watched until there was nothing left but ash.

This was his way of moving forward. Of making sure he never let something like that happen again.

The next day, he walked into the ORC with his usual box of cupcakes, a small but genuine smile on his face. Koneko perked up the moment she saw him, moving to sit beside him as he placed the treats on the table.

Rias noticed the change in him. So did Akeno and Kiba. But they said nothing.

There was no need.

They already knew.

Along with this, these events had also happened within this week for Issei.

Within the first day after the horrific incident, Issei approached Kiba with a determined expression. He had spent the entire night tossing and turning, haunted by the images of the people he failed to save, especially the innocent child who perished due to his momentary distraction. He couldn't let this happen again. He refused to be weak any longer.

"Kiba," Issei said firmly, standing in front of his fellow peerage member. "I need your help. Train me. Teach me how to fight."

Kiba raised an eyebrow, noticing the fire in Issei's eyes. This wasn't the same perverted fool who constantly let his lust distract him. This was someone who was seeking strength, someone who was desperate to change.

"Are you sure about this, Issei?" Kiba asked, crossing his arms. "I can teach you how to wield a sword, but—"

"No." Issei shook his head. "I've tried kendo before when I was little. I was trash at it. I don't want to use a sword. I want to fight up close, with my own fists."

Kiba studied him for a moment before nodding. "Alright. But you're going to need a sparring partner."

Issei grinned. "That's why I came to you."

The next morning, Issei began his training with a grueling exercise routine designed by Ddraig. It was hell. His muscles burned, his lungs screamed for air, and every inch of his body felt like it was being torn apart. Yet, he gritted his teeth and persevered.

Ddraig, the ancient dragon within his Boosted Gear, observed in silent approval. He had seen countless wielders come and go, some powerful, some weak. He had initially deemed Issei as the weakest, the most hopeless of them all. But now, something had changed. This boy was no longer content with mediocrity.

"Keep pushing, boy," Ddraig's voice rumbled within his mind. "Your body will adapt. Your will is strong. Don't falter."

Issei endured, sweat pouring from his body as he continued his training with unwavering determination. After school, he met Kiba at a secluded training ground. Kiba stood there, holding a magic-reinforced training sword, his usual friendly smile present but his stance serious.

"Attack me," Kiba instructed.

Issei hesitated. That moment of hesitation cost him as Kiba lunged forward, smacking him across the chest with the blunt side of his sword, sending him tumbling to the ground. Issei groaned, rubbing the sore spot.

"The hell, man?!" he complained.

Kiba chuckled. "Hesitation is defeat. If you second-guess yourself in a real fight, you die."

Grumbling, Issei got back on his feet. This time, he charged in with full force. He threw punches, sloppy and unrefined, but Kiba effortlessly dodged them. Again and again, Issei was knocked down, yet he kept getting back up.

"You need to learn proper footwork," Kiba explained as he demonstrated. "Your stance is weak. Your movements are predictable."

Despite the pain and exhaustion, Issei absorbed everything like a sponge. Over the course of the week, he trained relentlessly. Each sparring session ended with him being beaten down, but each time, he got better, faster, stronger. He learned to move more efficiently, to strike with better precision.

By the third day, Kiba was no longer going easy on him. Yet, Issei still pressed on, refusing to back down. Then, on the fifth day, something remarkable happened.

During their spar, Issei, now more accustomed to Kiba's speed, anticipated his movement and managed to land a glancing blow. It wasn't much, but it was enough to stun Kiba.

Issei blinked in surprise. "I… I actually hit you."

Kiba chuckled, rubbing his shoulder. "You did."

It was then that Kiba realized something. Issei had no formal training, no years of discipline, yet he was adapting at an alarming rate. His martial potential was staggering. While Issei lacked talent in magic, struggling with spellcasting due to an unknown energy replacing his demonic power, his aptitude for physical combat was undeniable. Kiba kept this revelation to himself, not wanting to inflate Issei's ego.

By the sixth day, their spars had grown more intense. Issei was no longer just defending—he was attacking, dodging, countering. It was as if he had been born for this. Finally, Kiba told him to fight using his Boosted Gear.

Issei hesitated. "But I'm still not strong enough—"

Kiba smirked. "Let's find out."

With his Boosted Gear activated, Issei's strength surged. Their fights became even fiercer, and to Kiba's shock, Issei was slowly pushing him more and more. Finally, on the seventh day, Issei, fully boosted, landed a solid punch on Kiba while the latter was using his full speed and strength.

Kiba staggered back, breathless. "That… was impressive."

Of course, it wasn't a serious fight, but the progress was undeniable. In just a week, Issei had grown from a weakling to a legitimate fighter, his power increasing from Low-tier Low-class to Mid-tier Low-class. He could now sustain six boosts instead of just four.

As they sat down to rest, Kiba suddenly grew serious. "Issei," he began, his expression unreadable. "I need to ask something of you."

Issei wiped the sweat from his brow. "Yeah? What's up?"

Kiba hesitated before sighing. "You've been getting closer to Rias, Akeno, and Koneko this past week. That's good."

Issei tilted his head. "And?"

"They've all gone through things… things I couldn't help them with because I've been dealing with my own trauma," Kiba admitted. "They treat me like a brother, and I'd do anything to protect them, but I need your help. I want you to be there for them in ways I can't."

Issei was caught off guard. "You're making it sound like you won't be around."

Kiba didn't answer. Instead, he simply looked Issei in the eye. "Promise me. If anything happens to me, protect them."

Issei clenched his fists. He thought about how much he had grown, how much he had come to care for his friends. Finally, he nodded, determination burning in his eyes. "I promise."

Kiba smiled, standing up and offering a hand. "Good. Now, let's get back to training."

With that, their final spar of the week began, both fighters pushing each other harder than ever before. It was the beginning of something greater. Issei had taken his first true steps toward becoming a warrior.

And then he eventually met Asia which eventually spiralled into what had happened in the present.

________________________________________

With Mahito within the week before the present.

The church was silent, save for the ragged breathing of the rogue priests who knelt before Mahito. Their bodies trembled, their faith crumbling as they beheld the monstrous figure before them. Freed stood apart, his manic grin never faltering, but even he felt a deep unease at the sheer presence of Mahito.

Mahito stepped forward, placing his hands on the first priest's head. The man whimpered, eyes wide with terror.

"Let's start small, shall we?"

Mahito cooed, his fingers pressing into the priest's scalp. His cursed energy surged, digging into the priest's soul, feeling every fiber of his being.

"This is the foundation… The soul, the core of what you are. What a fragile little thing. But don't worry, I'll make you better."

The priest screamed as his body convulsed. Muscles swelled grotesquely, bones cracked and reformed, stretching and expanding. His robes shredded as his frame grew, his limbs elongating and thickening. But then—something went wrong. The priest's body spasmed violently, his eyes rolling back as his skin darkened and bubbled. With a sickening crunch, his form collapsed in on itself, a grotesque, lifeless husk where a man once stood.

Mahito sighed, shaking his head.

"Tsk. Too much, too fast. Can't rush art."

The remaining priests flinched as he turned toward them.

"That one was a failure. But that's what experimentation is for! Now, who's next?"

One by one, Mahito repeated the process. He refined his technique, adjusting the balance between the body and soul. Some subjects warped into hideous monstrosities, their forms unstable and collapsing under the strain. Others simply died, their souls unable to handle the transformation. He laughed at their suffering, taking mental notes for future attempts.

After hours of gruesome work, Mahito finally achieved success. Fourteen priests remained, their bodies now towering at eight feet tall. Their muscles were dense and corded with unnatural strength, their skin reinforced to withstand blows that would have obliterated their former selves. Their bones were layered with compacted cursed energy, making them as hard as steel. Their senses were heightened, their vision sharper, their hearing more acute. Their lungs expanded, allowing them to function efficiently even in extreme conditions.

Mahito admired his creations, running a hand over the nearest one's chest.

"Beautiful. You were insects before, but now? Now, you are my warriors. My Curse Marines."

Freed whistled, stepping forward.

"Damn, boss, you really went all out! These guys look like they could rip through devils with their bare hands!"

Mahito grinned.

"That's the idea. But some of you… Some of you are special."

He pointed at four of them.

"Dil, Doe, Gob, and Blair. You four… You are different."

These four stood apart from the others, their mutations making them even stronger. They had grown to nine feet, their bodies surpassing the others in durability and power. Their bodies resonated with them at a higher level, their souls more attuned to Mahito's twisted blessings. They were no longer mere soldiers—they were elites.

But Mahito's masterpiece was yet to come. He turned to Freed, who cracked his neck, smirking.

"So, boss, what's the plan for little ol' me?"

Mahito's grin widened.

"Oh, Freed, you're not little. Not anymore."

The process was delicate. Freed's soul was unique—stronger than the others. Mahito took his time, shaping it with precision. The enhancements he bestowed upon Freed were far beyond those of the other Curse Marines. When the process was complete, Freed stood at a staggering ten feet tall. His body was a perfect blend of power, speed, and durability. His physical might unmatched compared to the strength of all the devils here combined.

Freed looked down at his new form, flexing his fingers. His grin widened.

"Holy shit… I feel fucking unstoppable!"

Mahito chuckled.

"That's because you are. And this is just the beginning. With time, you'll grow even stronger. You'll evolve."

Freed laughed, a crazed, gleeful sound.

"Oh man, I can't wait to test this out! The shit I'm gonna do to those devils…"

Mahito clapped his hands.

"But first, one final touch. A binding vow."

He extended his hand, cursed energy swirling.

"You will give up all magic, surrendering it to me. In return, you will receive something far greater—a version of Heavenly Restriction. Your bodies will be completely dedicated to raw, physical might. No magic, no spells, no tricks. Just pure, overwhelming power."

The Curse Marines knelt, one by one, placing their hands in Mahito's. The binding vow was formed, their magic siphoned away, their bodies infused with even greater strength.

Mahito stepped back, admiring his work.

"From twenty-six, only fourteen remain. But what I have now… is perfection."

He walked among them, his fingers tracing along their enhanced forms.

"You will be my sword, my shield. You will tear through those who stand in my way. No devil, no angel, no dragon will be safe. And one day…"

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

"One day, even gods will kneel before us."

Freed laughed, slamming his fist into his palm.

"Hell yeah! Let's get to work!"

Mahito chuckled, turning toward the darkened sky. This was only the first step. He had created warriors beyond anything this world had seen. But there was always room for improvement. And soon, he would perfect them even further.

The age of the Curse Marines had begun.

________________________________________

The standard curse marine is at peak mid class level, at the very boundary of reaching low-tier high-class level.

Dil, Doe, Gob, and Blair is at low-tier high-class in power.

Freed is now at high-tier high-class in power, similar to Mahito's current level of power.

Currently from the previous chapter.

Rias is only at mid-tier high class.

Akeno is at low-tier high-class.

Kiba is at mid-tier mid-class.

Koneko is at low-tier mid-class but becomes mid-tier mid-class if she uses her nekomata form.

Lastly our other protagonist Issei is at mid-tier low-class in base but with 6 boosts he is at high-tier mid-class in power. If he uses explosion he can strike at peak mid-class power for one attack at the cost of all his boosts resetting to 0 and have to wait 60 whole seconds just to get to 6 boosts again.

Next chap would be a continuation of Mahito's week before returning back to the present situation.