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—⧬⧭⧬—
The first thing I notice is that the ceiling is wrong—not unfamiliar, but completely wrong. Smooth white plaster instead of rotting wood beams. No cracks spider-webbing across it like battle scars, no water stains mapping out the slow decay of another safehouse.
I sit up too fast, and the world tilts sideways. My hands grip sheets so soft they feel like liquid. The room around me is cramped but clean. Walls covered in posters of half-naked women in poses that would make even the most debauched Imperial nobles blush. There's a shrine in the corner dedicated to some kind of figurine, and my stomach churns with recognition I don't want.
Issei Hyoudou. The name brings with it a flood of memories that aren't mine. A boy obsessed with breasts and panties and dreams of a harem. And then I remember Yuuma. The fallen angel with dark wings and a sweet smile, who killed me on our first date.
His first date. Him. Not me. I'm not dead. Or I am, but I didn't die the way he did. I died on a battlefield in the Capital, with the Emperor's Imperial Arms moments away from grinding me into the earth. The last thing I saw were Akame's eyes. Sad and certain that I'd broken my promise to her.
I hadn't intentionally tried to die, but regret was something I thought I wouldn't feel for long. Our efforts and sacrifices—my life—saved the world from an eternity of tyranny.
But this isn't my body. Its feelings are Issei Hyoudou's. He's dead, and all that remains are his memories… and me. At least I saved those civilians from being crushed to death by that puppet emperor before I went out.
I drag myself out of bed. My legs are unsteady for the long moment that it takes me to recalibrate. I'm softer around the edges and untouched by the years and years of training I've been through.
But the body moves when I tell it to, so it'll have to do.
The mirror in the corner shows me brown eyes instead of green. No scars on me either. Despite being close enough to me in age, Issei lived in a world soft enough that his greatest concern was whether girls might someday find him attractive despite his slightly twisted personality.
It's adorable, in a pitiful kind of way. Until it reminds me of the woman who exploited his naïvete. Perversion aside, I can tell Issei Hyoudou's desire for love got him killed by the first girl who smiled at him.
This body's instincts guide me through the motions, where my knowledge seems consumed by Issei's manner of death. I know where his clothes are, that he has breakfast with caring parents who'll summon him downstairs for food soon, and nearly flinch when an angry girl's voice threatens to kill me if I don't wake up.
Then, I remember that it's an alarm clock and turn it off.
Breakfast is a surreal experience. Two concerned parents are easy to deal with compared to Esdeath. As much as one part of me notes the absurdness of my circumstance, the other swells with affection for these people who've committed themselves to raising me.
"Have a good day at school, son," Issei's mother says.
I stand at the door with his back slung across my shoulders. His father meets my gaze and smiles.
A swirling guilt takes its place somewhere between my chest and stomach.
School is a maze of corridors and classrooms. My peers worry about tests and crushes and strange social hierarchies that I'm not used to yet. I sit through lessons on subjects that mean nothing to me and listen, because this normalcy is precious.
Normal…
This couldn't be further from my normal. The suspicious, half-lidded stares from the girls towards me in the breaks between classes, the useless quizzes and worksheets spread around the class.
Homework.
Then lunch comes, and Matsuda and Motohama—Issei's friends, though they remind me of Lubbock—drag me toward the sports field to watch the kendo club girls changing out of their uniforms.
"Come on, Issei!" Motohama says as he pulls at my sleeve. "We've only got fifteen minutes here if we want enough time to grab something to eat before the canteen closes!"
"Actually," I say, pulling away. "Maybe we shouldn't—"
"What?" Matsuda stops to turn and stares at me like I've grown a second head. "Are you feeling okay? You're telling me you don't want to catch a glimpse of the kendo girls' hot bodies?"
"I just think… it's not right, you know?"
Both of them gape at me. Matsuda reaches out to feel my forehead. "Dude, are you running a fever? Since when do you care about—"
"Forget it!" Motohama pulls me by the wrist. "He'll feel alright once he sees Murayama's abs."
Matsuda wrinkles his nose. "Dude, wipe your chin. You're drooling."
"Oh." Motohama pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and dabs at his jaw with a tissue. "My bad."
I want to argue. I really do. But something in me flickers—a dull echo of Issei's memories—and I realise resistance might look suspicious. So I follow, not because I want to, but because letting their current pull me is easier than explaining how I'm not the who they think I am.
We crouch behind bushes near the side of the gymnasium. The girls of the kendo club are just finishing up drills, stretching and chatting casually in the late sun while they get changed. Half of them are down to their underwear.
My stomach churns as I step away. This isn't like watching for patrols or scouting for ambushes.
It's pathetic.
"Move, dude!"
Motohama and Matsuda jostle over the view through the shutter.
"H-Hey!" Motohama pushes his head against Matsuda's. "This is the best angle to see Katase's jiggling—"
"Can we not be so loud?" I ask. "You're going to get caught."
"Only if we're slow—like you." Matusda throws me a look over his shoulder as he barges Motohama out of the way slightly too hard.
Motohama yelps as he falls. My curse cuts the silence. One of the girls turns and looks through the open shutter window.
"There!" someone yells.
They scramble for their skirts and shirts. Wooden swords are already in their hands before I can process what's happening.
"Run!" Matsuda shouts, diving left.
Motohama bolts right.
I rise to move, so damn slow—
"Hyoudou, you perverted bastard!" A wooden practice sword whistles through the air. I duck, but the second strike clips my shoulder.
Reflex takes over. I pivot, grab the shaft mid-swing, and twist. Not enough to break it—but enough to knock the girl off-balance. She stumbles and lands hard. Winded. Her teammates rush to her side, glowering at the sword in my hand.
"Hyoudou tried to make a pass at her!"
"No—I—" I try to explain, but my voice dies in my throat. There's no point.
I didn't want to be here, but I am. That makes me guilty by association. I'm not even Tatsumi anymore, I'm Issei Hyoudou.
There's no convincing them.
A pink-haired girl steps forward and taps her wooden sword against her shoulder. "Club rule number five: perverts get paddled."
"Hold on—" I backpedal, raising both hands. "I didn't even see anything."
"Oh, so you just happened to be crouched under the gym window? With your rep?"
Another girl joins her. Then another. The circle tightens.
"C'mon, don't beat him up too hard," the pink-haired girl says, clearly enjoying this a bit too much.
The first swings.
I sidestep, barely. "Hey, this is excessive—"
Another practice sword cracks through the air toward my ribs. I twist, catch, and pull. Her foot tangles with mine, and she goes down hard.
"Kaori!" someone gasps.
The wood splinters in my grip. A sharp edge nicks my palm.
"You… you hurt her," one whispers.
Kaori groans, clutching her side. I freeze. The other girls' eyes are wide. My stomach twists. It's not like I killed her, but there's no point explaining. No way to fix this either, so I run. Let them think what they want. I'll make it right eventually. Somehow.
But even as I leave, I glance back at the girl I knocked over. She's nursing her side, jaw clenched, glaring daggers. I sprint around the gym and through the side gate, lungs tight—not with exhaustion, but shame.
Motohama and Matsuda are sweating when I arrive.
"Why were you so slow?" Matsuda asks before shrugging. "Ah, well. Them's the rules. If you get caught peeping and don't escape, you get hit."
Motohama pats me down for injury. "You alright?"
I don't know what to say, so I shrug in reply.
"Oh my," says a voice like silk. "What interesting friends you have, Hyoudou."
I turn to see a girl that my memories confirm to be Rias Gremory walking past. She's something of a role model to students here, as well as the object of their affection because she's from abroad and wealthy.
Her crimson hair catches the daytime light like liquid fire. Her blue eyes meet mine, and the weight of a mountain descends on me. She blinks, and the feeling fades. I'm not sure whether the sensation is an effect of my resurrection or if it's some strange power of hers.
Amused recognition flickers in her gaze, though I'm certain we've never met. She smiles, a small, knowing curve of her lips, and continues on.
"Holy shit," Matsuda breathes in her fading floral scent. "Did Rias Gremory just talk to you?"
"Dude, she knew your name!" Motohama adds.
I shake my head, still staring after her retreating figure. "...I don't think I know her."
"Man," Matsuda says, abandoning all thoughts of peeping. "Rias Gremory. If she knows you exist, maybe we have a shot with someone who isn't inflatable."
Their crude jokes fade into background noise.
Whatever that pressure was couldn't have just been a trick of my mind, and yet I can't think of any other explanation for it. Nothing except the remembrance of Yuuma driving a spear of solid light through Issei's stomach.
The rest of the day passes in a haze of distracted thoughts. That encounter with Rias Gremory replays in my mind. The pressure I felt reminds me of the aura that surrounded the strongest Imperial Arms users. A power so overwhelming it became a physical weight.
Murayama, the girl I accidentally hurt, and the pink-haired one, unfortunately, are my classmates, but it's easy to ignore their stares.
When the final bell rings, I'm ready to head straight home and rest. The walk should take twenty minutes, but as the sun begins to paint the sky in shades of gold and crimson, something strange happens.
Energy courses through me instead of the exhaustion I should feel after a day as draining as this.
Without thinking, I break into a run.
The streets blur past me faster than they should. My legs pump with a familiar rhythm despite this body's lack of conditioning. The burn in my lungs never comes. I surpass even that rhythm soon enough. Instead, the power building inside me grows stronger with each step, like I'm drawing strength from the dying light.
By the time I reach my neighbourhood, the sun has nearly set, and I'm not even winded. More than that, I feel incredible. Energised in a way that doesn't make sense for someone who's just run at a breakneck pace that should have left me gasping.
Instead of going inside, I turn around and head back out, this time taking the longer route through the town's outer districts. As full darkness falls, the sensation only intensifies, as if the night itself fills me with strength enough that my endurance is beyond human.
So, I run as far as my legs will take me until I realise I'm being followed. I make three left turns at top speed to make sure my suspicions aren't unfounded before looking over my shoulder.
How has he managed to keep up? There's a wrongness to the way he holds himself despite his unassuming workman's attire. Bloodthirst hidden behind a civilised exterior. When he gets close enough for me to see his face, his lips curve into a smile.
"Well, well," he says, loud enough for the words to reach me. He tilts his head back and seems to sniff the air. "What are you doing so far from home, little devil. Why so weak? Have you no master to protect you?"
I slow, but don't stop walking. "I think you have me confused with someone else."
"Do I?" He tilts his head back and inhales. "No, your stench is unmistakable."
This man's demeanour sets me on edge. I move to cross the road instead of having him directly at my back, but he crosses the road with me.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say.
He laughs, and the sound is like breaking glass. Dark, feathered wings burst free from his back. The words to summon my Demon Armour form on my lips before I remember I no longer possess Incursio.
I reach for it anyway because to do nothing is to accept death, and to do that is to break my promise to Akame. Even if it's useless in this new world, I don't plan on doing that a second time.
Besides, my superhuman strength inspires some hope that Bulat's treasured weapon is still with me somehow.
"Incursio," I mutter words laden with expectation. The winged man frowns at the words for a moment before a swell of heat races up by torso.
A red claw materialises over my left arm in a burst of emerald light, and power floods through me.
"BOOST!"
My attacker's eyes widen. "A devil with a sacred gear? What master do you serve, you—"
I don't let him finish. The so-called boost narrows the gap between my mind and body. He lunges, and I counter his swipe with a punch that catches him on the jaw. Surprise and a stagger replace the predatory confidence on his face.
The principles of fighting superior opponents are the same. Balance. Timing. Wait for the enemy to make mistakes. He comes at me again, faster this time, claws extending from his fingertips like silver knives.
I slip his attack, and lean an elbow into his ribs that makes him grunt in pain. His follow-up is too wide, and when I kick his right leg, he doubles over. For a moment, I think this might be easier than expected, but then he gets angry.
His wings flare wide, and light erupts from his hands. Purer than the glow of sunlight and hot enough that it burns white and makes my skin crawl. It crackles with power that strikes familiarity in me even as I steady my feet to escape. The light that killed Issei Hyoudou forms in his grip.
When he thrusts it toward my chest, I try to dodge, but the point tears through my shirt and into flesh before I can twitch. Blood runs down my chest, hot and sticky. The strength the night had given me plummets, replaced by the cold weakness of approaching death.
This is how Issei died, I realise as I fall to my knees. The emotions that run like sludge in my veins aren't wholly mine. When put in the same situation that Issei Hyoudou had been in the night before, my body remembers the shock, the pain, and the desperate wish that someone, anyone, would save him.
In my mind's eye, I see hair like liquid fire. The spear comes down and stops inches from my heart. Crimson light blazes around me and paints the world in shades of blood.
The winged man staggers, and his weapon dissolves in his grip like smoke. "What—"
Rias Gremory stands even more beautiful and terrible in the darkness than she was in daylight. The power from earlier radiates from her in waves, making the very air tremble.
"Fallen," she says. "You certainly overstep."
The so-called Fallen takes another step back. "This doesn't concern you, Gremory. The is a stray that's wandered too far. He's—"
"No stray. Did you think you could kill one of my servants without consequence?"
I want to protest the label, but the blood loss is making everything fuzzy around the edges. The world tilts sideways, and I realise I'm falling—or rather, dying.
Her arms catch me before I hit the ground. The man she called Fallen seems to have escaped.
Rias kneels beside me. "Sleep," she whispers, one hand pressed against my chest where the spear went through. "You're safe now."
Darkness claims me, but not before I feel the warmth of her power washing over me. Mending what was broken and calling me back from the edge of death.
—⧬⧭⧬—
I dream of a sea of red and a mountain of moulting scales that glint like wet blood under the sky. They rise and fall like waves, each one larger than the last, until I realise I'm not standing on anything—I'm floating, or maybe drowning, in an ocean of armour and sinew.
My throat is parched. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth like it's been baked dry. I try to breathe, but the air here is heavy with the stench of iron and fire.
"Is this hell?" I mutter.
"No," says a deep voice. It comes from the mass of red scales before and all around me. I look up at a slitted green eye, larger than any man. "Though I'm not offended by the comparison."
The rest of him rises from the sea slowly: a second eye joins the first, and then the curve of a brow, the suggestion of a snout. Each scale is as broad as a shield and marked with old battle scars.
This dragon is by far larger than Shikotauzer—the Emperor's Imperial Arms—and the weight of its gaze presses the air from my lungs.
"Why can you talk?" I ask, but then I find the question silly. To return from death and ask why a dragon can talk is silly, so I hurry to ask, "Who are you?"
"That depends," the dragon replies. He isn't cruel, but his voice holds an old, amused disdain. "Who are you? You look nothing like the boy whose body you command."
I hesitate and then look down at my body. My body, not Issei Hyoudou's, is as ghostly as the reflection in the murky red waters below. But very clearly not Issei.
"I'm Tatsumi. Issei Hyoudou is dead, and it seems I took his place.
The great head lowers, nostrils flaring to smell me. "You are a soul with revolution in your bones."
"...How would you know?"
"I've seen it all through your eyes," the dragon says. "The corrupt Empire and your revolution. You died an honourable death."
"Thank you," I say, failing to say anything else. There's nothing honourable about bringing a dear friend to tears with my death… but at least those innocent people didn't die.
"My name is Ddraig, Tatsumi." A flick of his tail sends a massive wave crashing across the red sea. "The Red Dragon Emperor of Domination. My being resides with the gauntlet you summoned against the Fallen Angel. It is a Sacred Gear, not unlike the Imperial Arms of your world, except I am bonded to your very soul. Or rather, the strange amalgamation of you and the dregs of Issei Hyoudou that remain."
I blink with realisation. "You're the voice I heard. The one that… boosted me? And a fallen angel? I thought 'Fallen' was the man's name."
Ddraig chuckles. "No. I believe he called himself Dohnaseek. Then he fled. There is much for you to learn, which I'm sure you will soon. We will talk again, Tatsumi."
"How is all of this happening? I'm an ordinary human, aren't I?" I ask.
The red sea begins to churn violently, frothing with energy. The sky above cracks open with green fire that consumes my vision.
"Not since that Gremory girl brought you back to life. You're a devil now," Ddraig says, though it sounds like a roar amidst the blaze around us. "And know this, Tatsumi: you have a duty you must fulfil now that you possess this body. That fallen sow must pay for killing Issei Hyoudou. Perversions aside, he was fated to wield my power. Swear it to me."
A devil—that's the same thing that Dohnaseek guy called me. Maybe it's more than metaphorical.
"I promise," I say. "He didn't deserve to die."
Then, green flames consume the world.
—⧬⧭⧬—
I come back to heat pressed into my skin and a breath against the back of my neck. Then the light, thick and golden, hits my eyelids. I breathe, and the air sticks to me. My ribs rise too easily, like my chest was never run through, so I force my eyes open.
Everything smells like flowers and heat.
A mass shifts beside me. I turn my head, and there she is. Rias Gremory, naked and reclining on her side like a queen sculpted out of soft light, one leg draped over the sheets, the other pulled in just enough to catch the eye.
She's watching me with an interest that sets me on edge. The sheet barely covers her hips. Her chest rises with a slow breath. I let my gaze rest on her for a moment. One heartbeat. Two. Then I sit up moments before realising I'm also naked.
She still hasn't said a word. Maybe she wants me to speak first. Perhaps she's waiting to see if I crack a joke, or stare too long at her breasts, or if I flush and stumble and ask where I am like a lost child, as Issei would.
I don't, though, because I recognise the manipulation for what it is. She's not the first who's tried to own me with sensuality and softness. It's easier to pick up on now… not that it's any less distracting.
I let the silence stretch and grow heavy between us before I say anything. She shifts again, just slightly—enough to tilt her hips, enough to catch the light in the hollow between her thighs.
Issei Hyoudou was a pervert who took any opportunity to exercise his lust. But I look up at the ceiling and release a quiet exhale.
Ddraig said she resurrected me after I died in Akame's arms, but for what purpose? To be her servant? What would being a devil's servant even entail?
"How did I get here? Wasn't I bleeding out?" I ask her.
Her eyes narrow, just slightly. Interesting. She shifts again to sit up. One leg folds beneath her, the other slides forward with casual elegance, baring even more than before. Her arms stretch behind her, arching her back just so as she yawns.
Her smile touches the corner of her mouth. "You're very much alive, aren't you?"
"What are you doing here? Why am I not dead? I'm certain that winged bastard stabbed me… it definitely felt real."
"May I use your bathroom?" Rias Gremory smiles at my frown. "Last night left me in quite the state. To heal you, I had to sleep naked beside you. Doing so was quite taxing on my body, you know."
I stand up with my back to her to hide the heat on my face and to hopefully curtail the heat flowing downward. "...Stay here. I need to bathe too, but if you go, my parents will wake up once you're done. You'll have to wait until you go back home."
Parents. It's still a strange word on my tongue.
"I suppose we'll have to wash ourselves together then," she says.
I turn in shock. Her blue eyes swell with triumph at my lack of a retort. In one fluid step, she clears the bed and is so close to me that I can feel the barest press of her chest against mine. Heat burns in my gut, and I spin to reach for a towel.
As uncomfortable as this entire situation is, if I give an inch, I know she'll take a yard instead. This Rias Gremory is like all the worst and best parts of Esdeath and Leone. She doesn't seem malicious, but she's obviously aware of the effect her body has on people.
Though I should probably stop thinking of her as harmless when she's trying to seduce me.
"I-It's alright. Just be quick," I say, and take a seat on the bed, throwing the towel at her.
She smiles. "Oh? How gentlemanly of you. Don't worry, I'll be out before you know it."
Rias Gremory keeps her promise, and I slip into the bathroom before Issei's parents can beat me to it.
The water runs too hot and pours out of the ceiling. I let it scald.
Despite saving me, her seduction fills my mouth with a bad taste. What did she bring me here for? Her way of going straight for seduction while hiding her motivations reminds me of the girl who cruelly murdered Issei Hyoudou after taking advantage of his innocence.
I brace one hand against the tiled wall, lower my head beneath the spray, and exhale. He didn't deserve his death. Tricked and then killed with his heart in his throat, still hoping the girl he loved wasn't a monster.
I remember having that kind of naïve, dangerous, but beautiful hope in people when I first arrived at the Capital. And now it's mine. His body. His heart. His name.
Even if Ddraig hadn't asked, I would have avenged him. Because it's as close a purpose as I might have for now.
Rias ambushes me as soon as I return. Water drips down between us. Her body presses deliberately close again. Long red locks stick to my face until I brush them away, and push their owner away more gently.
She hides behind an amused giggle.
Maybe I'm being too harsh with her and, like Leone, she enjoys teasing people with her body. She saved me from dying to that winged man, after all. But at the same time, I have the feeling Rias Gremory seems to think she's gained a pawn.
But I know better. The moment I felt the weight of someone else's sacrifice behind my second heartbeat, I knew better. The debt she thinks she's bought with my life is not hers to spend. It is one I owe to Issei Hyoudou—as perverted as he was—that didn't come for free.
And before anything, I intend to pay it back in full.