It was late at night, and I had just teleported outside an ordinary house—not a mansion, not a fancy high-rise apartment. Just a typical, aging two-story home tucked into a quiet suburban neighborhood.
A strange assignment. Devils like me were usually summoned to locations of significance—mansions of desperate aristocrats, back alleys where deals were whispered in fear, or rooms thick with negative emotions. But this… this place felt different. Familiar, even.
I stared at the small building under the moonlight, the silhouette hazy under the pale glow. I'd seen this house before. Somewhere. Anime? Manga? Memory blurred the details, but the unease was tangible. Something was wrong.
I wasn't supposed to teleport *outside* either. Gremory familiars usually brought us directly into the summoning circle or inside the contract holder's room. Was this a mistake? A prank?
Unlikely. The Gremory crest doesn't malfunction. Not like this.
Still, I was here now. Might as well do what I came for.
I moved to the front door, hand hovering above the bell when I noticed—it was open. Not ajar. Open. A dark gash in the frame, leading into shadows.
I paused. *Middle of the night and leaving the door wide open? This isn't normal.*
A familiar tension settled in my chest. Not fear—anticipation. Like the moment before a storm breaks. Like a hunter knowing something's waiting in the tall grass.
But I stepped in anyway.
The air inside was colder than it should've been. No sound. No hum of appliances. No ticking clock. Just silence, and the scent of burnt wax and iron.
The hallway was dark, shadows swallowing the floor and climbing the staircase that led to the second floor. Nothing stirred above. No human presence. No heartbeats. Just a dim, flickering glow bleeding out from a door at the end of the hall.
One room.
One light.
I made no sound as I walked forward. Devil's grace. Not quite a thief, not quite a ghost.
The door was slightly ajar, letting warm light spill out in flickers. Candles. That's what lit the room. I pushed the door just a little, enough to see inside.
A living room.
A simple one: a low table, a worn-out couch, an old television sitting silently in the corner. Everything was normal—*too* normal.
I stepped in, letting the shadows swallow me until I was fully inside.
"Hello," I said softly. "I'm a devil from the Gremory Household. Is the client here?"
No answer.
The only response was the soft crackle of candle flames.
Then I saw it.
My breath caught—not in fear, but in still, quiet disbelief.
There, on the wall across the room, was a corpse.
Human. Male. Mid-thirties, maybe. He was nailed—no, *screwed*—to the wall in an inverted crucifixion. Massive, industrial-grade screws pinned his hands, feet, and torso to the drywall like he was some grotesque piece of artwork.
Blood trailed down in dark rivulets. Dried. He'd been dead for hours.
The man's face was slack, mouth open in a silent scream. His eyes bulged, glassy and lifeless. I couldn't feel anything from him—no soul, no lingering aura.
A corpse.
But that wasn't what caught my eye the most.
It was the writing above him.
Painted in blood, etched into the wall with jagged strokes:
"Punishment, who did bad deeds!"
I blinked.
Then, a voice slithered out from the shadows behind me.
"It's written as *'Punishment for those who did bad deeds!'* I just borrowed the sentence from someone important."
I turned.
He stood near the hallway entrance, half-shadowed by candlelight. Dressed in a priest's uniform, torn and stained. His hair was wild, his grin wider. His eyes—unnatural.
No.
Unhinged.
Freed Sellzen.
Now I remembered the house.
This was *his* scene.
In the original timeline, Issei had encountered him later.
"I knew you devils had no manners," Freed sneered, sauntering closer with that broken-glass smile. "But walking in without an invitation? Shame, shame."
I didn't reply immediately. My eyes narrowed as I took in his stance. Loosely balanced. Armed, though I didn't yet see his weapon. Mana thrummed faintly around him. Not divine—but desecrated holy energy.
"Was he your client?" I asked, tilting my head toward the corpse.
Freed let out a barking laugh. "Client? Oh no, no, no. He was just filth. A sinner. He was a regular criminal who has been summoning Devils." His voice dropped into a mocking tone. "So I helped him. Cleaned his soul."
I took a step forward. "By killing him."
He shrugged. "He's in a better place now. Or a *hotter* one."
My eyes flicked to the blood pooling on the floor. "And what about me?"
"Oh, you? You're the *bonus prize.*" Freed's grin stretched. "A little birdie told me devils were sniffing around this area. And guess what? You showed up—alone."
He reached into his coat.
I didn't wait.
In a flash, I surged forward. Not the panicked lunge of an amateur, but a clean, practiced step. He was fast—his pistol already in hand, a blessed bullet chambered.
The gun fired.
I twisted, letting the holy bullet graze past my side, singeing my uniform and searing the edge of my ribs.
Freed laughed. "Oooh, nice dodge!"
His other hand came up with a light sword, formed from stolen divine energy.
"Let's see if your guts match your new act, devil-boy!"
Steel and flame clashed as I summoned a demonic blade in my palm, intercepting his swing. Sparks flew as our weapons met, but my strength outmatched his. With a grunt, I pushed him back.
~~~
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