DxD:BattleFront

The cold pavement hit my back hard as I fell on my ass, my twin sister Mizuki landing right beside me with a startled yelp. My heart pounded in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Before us loomed an entity that defied comprehension.

Its towering form was draped in a flowing purple cloak, concealing much of its grotesque body. Four arms sprouted from its torso—two large, almost muscular, while the other pair was lean, adorned with golden bangles. Its massive, bulbous head lacked a mouth, yet a single, unblinking eye sat nestled within a gaping maw. Two wing-like protrusions jutted from its back, each lined with spiraling, aimless eyeballs.

The creature's voice was soft, indifferent, as if completely detached from our terror.

"Who will see the end, and who will face the void?"

Mizuki, trembling but defiant, pushed herself up and shouted, "If you want to take something, take it from me!"

The entity's smaller hands twitched. Suddenly, eyes formed in its palms, gazing at us with eerie serenity. It moved without hesitation, reaching out and pressing those newly manifested eyes against my sockets.

I braced for pain.

But there was none.

Instead, my vision sharpened beyond anything I had ever known. The world unfolded before me in vivid, surreal clarity. I could see each particle of dust suspended in the air, each minuscule crack in the pavement, the very threads of existence weaving the reality around us. The sensation was intoxicating—overwhelming. Euphoria surged through me. I could see.

Then Mizuki screamed.

The sound was raw, a visceral agony that shattered my moment of clarity. I turned sharply, my elation evaporating in an instant.

Mizuki was clutching her face, her fingers digging into her eye sockets as if trying to claw something out. Her body trembled violently, her breath coming in broken gasps.

"Mizuki! What's wrong?!" I grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently, panic rising in my throat.

"It burns! My eyes—my brain—it's like lava's being poured into my skull!" she wailed, her voice cracking with the sheer intensity of her pain.

Slowly, hesitantly, she pulled her hands away and opened her eyes.

I felt my breath hitch.

Void. That was all I could say.

Her eyes were still there, yet they were not. The light did not touch them. It was not darkness, nor emptiness, but something far worse—an absolute void, as if her eyes led to an abyss beyond existence itself.

A primal horror rooted itself deep in my gut.

We stumbled to our feet and rushed home. The moment our parents saw us, their expressions twisted into something between shock and horror. But they weren't looking at Mizuki.

They were looking at me.

I rushed to a mirror and felt my stomach drop.

Gone were my old, normal eyes. In their place were intricate, clockwork-like structures that gleamed with an ethereal blue glow. Mechanical. Alien. Wrong.

We told our parents what had happened, but they wouldn't—couldn't—believe it. The rational mind seeks rational explanations, and so they searched for one, grasping at straws.

Maybe it was a disease. A rare disorder. An unknown affliction.

Doctors were called. Tests were run. Nothing made sense.

And when science failed them, they turned to faith. Prayers were whispered. Holy water was poured. Churches and temples became our second home. But no god, no priest, no blessing could undo what had been done.

One Year After the Incident – Vatican City, Italy

The wheels of Mizuki's wheelchair creaked softly against the cobblestone streets as I pushed her forward, the rhythmic sound blending with the distant hum of the city. The air was thick with the scent of old stone and burning incense, yet I barely noticed it. My mind was elsewhere—burdened, suffocated by guilt that hadn't lessened even after all this time.

Why?

Why hadn't I been braver that night?

Why hadn't it been me instead of her?

Our parents were in the grand cathedral ahead, speaking with clergymen, trying—begging—for an audience with Vasco Strada, one of the Church's cardinals, a man rumored to perform miracles. They knew nothing of his true nature, only that he was a man of faith with the power to heal. That was all that mattered to them.

I, however, knew better.

Not about Vasco Strada himself, but about the world.

I knew miracles came with a price.

Mizuki remained silent in her chair, her once-bright personality dulled by the weight of her condition. Her hands rested on her lap, fingers lightly curled inward. She didn't complain, didn't cry, didn't lash out. That made it worse. If she were still angry, if she still fought, then maybe I could believe that everything would turn out okay.

But she had stopped fighting.

And deep down, I had stopped hoping.

It wasn't because I didn't believe in supernatural powers—on the contrary, I believed too much. More than anyone. Even now, walking through these streets, I could see them.

The hidden ones.

Supernatural beings lurking beneath veils of illusion, disguising themselves among the crowds. Ordinary people wouldn't notice them. But me? Even with my eyes shut, I could feel their presence.

Because my eyes… they were not normal anymore.

I had long since learned to keep them closed in public. The glowing, intricate gears within my sockets made me stand out too much. But even shut, they allowed me to perceive more than any normal human should.

With them open, I could see everything.

The strings of existence, the invisible threads binding reality together. Every illusion, every hidden truth. The fundamental structures that made up the world.

But with them closed?

That perception was drastically weakened. I could still see through illusions, still sense the auras of the supernatural, but the depth—the true essence of things—eluded me.

And I had grown too comfortable in this muted state.

That was why I didn't notice it immediately.

The shift.

The sudden, unnatural silence.

A faint chill ran down my spine, subtle but unmistakable. Mizuki stiffened slightly in her seat.

"Onii-chan," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't feel so good… It's getting chilly all of a sudden."

I froze.

Slowly, I raised my head, my senses sharpening. The streets had become too quiet. The bustling sounds of Vatican City—footsteps, distant conversations, the murmur of tourists—had faded into an eerie stillness.

I opened my eyes.

And immediately, I saw it.

A massive dome hung above us, stretching across the city.

Not physical. Not something normal humans could perceive.

No—this was a barrier. A supernatural construct designed to repel ordinary people. To keep them out.

Except… Mizuki and I were still inside.

That meant we weren't classified as normal anymore.

My breath hitched as realization sank in.

This wasn't just an ordinary spell.

It was a selective ward.

Supernaturals could leave. But us? Normal humans caught in the web?

We had to hope the caster didn't find us first.

Kenji ran.

He ran harder than he had ever run before, his legs screaming in protest as he pushed Mizuki's wheelchair forward with every ounce of strength he had. The cobblestone streets were uneven, each bump threatening to send them both tumbling, but he couldn't stop.

Something was here.

Something was hunting them.

His lungs burned. His vision blurred. But he forced himself forward—until he felt it.

A sharp, unnatural grip latched onto his back.

Claws.

A yelp tore from his throat as cold, razor-sharp fingernails pressed against his neck. His body went rigid, a foreign weight holding him down.

Is this it?

The thought flashed through his mind. Was this how he died? Would Mizuki be next?

Then—

ブ

レ

ン

グ

リ

ド

流

血

闘

術

"Buren Gurīdo-ryū Kettō Jutsu 

じ

ゅ

う

い

ち 

式

・

旋

回

式

連

突

Jūichi Shiki – Viruberushuturumu."(Brain Grid Blood Battle Technique-Pattern 11 - Wirbelsturm

A shockwave erupted. as 12 blood red crosslike shurikens flew towards him 

The force ripped him free from the claws, sending him crashing onto the cold pavement. The sharp sting of impact barely registered as he gasped for air.

"Onii-chan!" Mizuki's scream rang in his ears. "What happened?!"

Kenji forced himself to look up, his breath catching at what he saw.

A boy stood there.

His age.

His height.

Yet—he wasn't normal.

The boy's knuckles were adorned with a weapon shaped like a cross, its gem-like center glowing with a menacing crimson light. His short black hair was unremarkable, his frame thin—almost malnourished. But despite his frail appearance, Kenji felt it.

A presence.

A pressure.

It was like standing before a massive bear, its primal instincts locked onto its prey, ready to fight at a moment's notice.

Then, the boy grinned.

Revealing two fangs on his lower jaw.

"There is no need to fear," the boy said. "For I am here."

Kenji blinked.

What?

What kind of corny-ass line—?

Yet, for some reason, he believed him.

A strange sense of ease settled over him. The panic didn't fade completely, but it dulled, like the presence of this boy alone was enough to assure him they weren't completely doomed.

Then, reality snapped back into place.

"Wait!" Kenji shouted, eyes widening. "It's not dead yet!"

The thing that had grabbed him—

Now that he had a moment to process, now that he could see—

It was a woman.

A beautiful woman.

Her appearance was almost divine—her features ethereal, her movements otherworldly. Any normal person would be enchanted by the sight.

But Kenji's eyes were not normal.

His eyes showed him the truth.

And what he saw—

Was wrong.

The woman was not one person.

She was many.

A grotesque amalgamation of various human forms overlapping with reality. Faces upon faces, shifting endlessly, limbs emerging and dissolving as if her body could never decide what it wanted to be.

Kenji's stomach lurched.

He barely held back the urge to vomit.

The boy in front of him, however, showed no reaction. No disgust. No hesitation.

He merely nodded, tightening his grip on his cross-shaped weapon, his glowing red knuckle-dusters humming with latent energy.

His stance lowered—ready to strike.

Then, in a quiet, composed voice, he spoke.

"Practitioner of Brain Grid Blood Battle Technique."

"Victor von Reinherz."

"I humbly seek advice."

Pin-drop silence.

No one dared to breathe, let alone make a sound.

The tension in the air was palpable, like an invisible force pressing down on everything, holding the world still as the two monsters faced off.

Well—almost.

Mizuki, for one, had no concept of the moment's weight.

"You pushed me over!" she whined, her voice an indignant hiss. "I could've broken something, you know!"

Kenji sighed, hastily helping her back into her wheelchair. "Just—just shush, alright?"

"But—"

"Shh!"

They weren't about to die just so she could rant about getting tipped over.

The creature lunged.

Fast.

Too fast.

To a normal person, it would've been imperceptible—nothing more than a blur. The sheer force of her dash split the air, sending a sonic boom rippling through the Vatican streets.

Kenji's cursed eyes allowed him to see it.

And yet—

It didn't matter.

The twelve blood-colored, cross-like shurikens—the very ones that had saved Kenji earlier—were already in motion.

They sliced through her mid-dash.

The creature never had the chance to land her attack.

She was diced apart, her once beautiful form reduced to nothing but bloody chunks in an instant.

It was gruesome.

It was horrifying.

And yet—

She wasn't dead.

The pieces of flesh twitched.

Shifted.

Desperately attempted to stitch themselves back together—only for the shurikens to shred them again before they could fully regenerate.

The cycle repeated. Over and over.

The boy—Victor—grumbled.

"Tch. If only the surgery had been completed," he muttered. "If I had the power of incarceration and destruction in my blood, this would've been over already… That, or if I knew her true name."

Kenji perked up at that.

"Name?"

Victor barely spared him a glance.

"Names have power," he said simply. "To know a being's true name is to hold dominion over them. If I had it, I could end this properly."

Kenji frowned.

His eyes burned.

The universe unraveled before him, the very seams of reality shifting at his command.

He saw it.

Her name.

Her truth.

"Dreil Vasarno Veldracze Orpheil."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

Kenji nodded.

Victor exhaled. "Well—there's no harm in trying."

The clump of flesh finally reformed, taking its previous, beautiful shape.

She smiled—mocking, taunting, eyes filled with superiority.

"You're just an immature Fang Hunter without attributes," she sneered. "What can you possibly do to me? My regenerative abilities are—"

Victor moved.

Faster than a blink.

He drove his cross-knuckles deep into her side.

Blood surged forth—his blood—injecting into her body like a curse.

"Dreil Vasarno Veldracze Orpheil," Victor murmured.

His voice was quiet.

Almost gentle.

"I humbly put thee to rest."

She froze.

"My… name?"

Her voice trembled with utter horror.

Victor exhaled slowly.

His eyes were calm.

His words, however, carried a finality that was absolute.

"Despise me. Forgive me. Resign yourself."

"I willingly shoulder this act of brutality… for the sake of the human world."

き

ゅ

う

ひ

ゃ

く

き

ゅ

う

じ

ゅ

う

き

ゅ

う

式

"Kyūhyakukyūjūkyū-shiki 

久

遠

棺

封

縛

獄

 Ēvihikaito Gefengunisu."(Pattern 999 - Eternity Prison)

It was not a fight.

It was a ritual.

Her body was flipped upside down—forced into an inverted cross-like position.

From every inch of her being, thousands upon thousands of blood threads emerged, wrapping around her, compressing her, breaking her down into something smaller.

Something containable.

Until—

All that remained was a steel cross.

Palm-sized.

Etched with a skull motif.

Victor caught it with ease, holding it between his fingers as he examined it briefly.

Then, he turned to Kenji.

For the first time since their encounter—he smiled.

And with quiet amusement, he said:

"Seems the world isn't so helpless after all."

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author here terribly sorry i deleted the chapter i tried to edit it but it just don't work sometimes u know