The Stray Devil's body dissolved into ash and light.
Issei stared as particles drifted upward through gaps in the abandoned building's ruined ceiling, disappearing into the night sky beyond. The monster had been huge, deformed, strong enough to punch through concrete walls. Now it was just gone. One moment it lunged at them with claws extended, the next it scattered like dust in the wind.
Moonlight filtered through broken windows, casting shadows across debris-strewn floors. The building smelled of mold and decay, years of abandonment heavy in the stale air.
Rias turned toward him, her crimson hair catching the pale light. Blue-green eyes met his as a gentle smile curved her lips. "Issei, do you understand now how the Evil Pieces work?"
He scratched the back of his head, fingers working through hair still sticky with sweat from the fight. "I don't think I can do something like that though." The words came out uncertain, embarrassed. "I mean... I'm just a Pawn, right?"
"You shouldn't underestimate the Pawn piece, Issei."
Rias's expression grew serious. Her voice took on that tone she used when explaining something important. She stepped closer, glass crunching beneath her shoes. "The Pawn is the most special piece among all the Evil Pieces. Do you know why?"
Issei blinked rapidly. "Special? How?"
"Promotion." Rias raised one hand between them, palm open. "When a Pawn reaches enemy territory in a Rating Game, it gains the ability to promote. You can temporarily gain the traits of a Queen, Rook, Bishop, or Knight. Whatever the battle requires at that moment."
The words hung in the dusty air between them. Issei's eyes widened as understanding started to dawn.
Akeno emerged from the shadows near a collapsed wall, her footsteps silent despite the rubble. Long black hair tied in a ponytail swayed as she walked. Violet eyes gleamed with amusement as that gentle smile played across her lips. "Ara ara~ It took all eight Pawn pieces to reincarnate you, Issei-kun." She tilted her head. "Do you understand what that means?"
"Eight pieces..." Issei's voice came out barely above a whisper.
"Most Pawns only require one piece," Rias said, and warmth entered her tone. "Perhaps two at most. You needed all eight. That means the power sleeping inside you is immense. Far greater than ordinary devils."
Eight pieces. Immense power. The words should have made him feel better, but instead they reminded him of someone else.
Motohama.
His friend. Except now Motohama was something more, wasn't he? Rias trusted him with contracts. Sent him to eliminate Stray Devils. Called him reliable enough for dangerous work that could get him killed.
And Motohama wasn't even a devil.
The thought settled heavy in Issei's chest. Here he was. Dead, brought back with eight Pawn pieces, being told about his immense potential. Meanwhile his human friend was out there fighting the same battles without any Evil Piece boost. No devil powers. No supernatural advantages. Just whatever he'd been hiding beneath.
Issei's hands clenched at his sides. "What about Motohama?"
The question burst out before he could stop it. The abandoned building went quiet except for wind whistling through broken windows.
Koneko's golden eyes shifted toward him from where she stood near a support pillar. Her white hair seemed to glow in the moonlight. Her expression remained completely blank. Unreadable.
Kiba stopped examining a section of scorched wall, turning toward them. Blonde hair fell across his forehead as he looked at Issei. His pleasant smile remained in place.
Rias raised one elegant eyebrow "What about Motohama-kun?"
"You sent him to eliminate a Stray Devil too, didn't you?" Issei's voice grew stronger, fueled by confusion he couldn't quite put into words. "But he's not a devil. He doesn't have the Evil Pieces system or... or anything! How's he supposed to fight these things if he's just human?"
"Ara?" Akeno's smile widened, amusement dancing in her violet eyes. "How sweet. You're worried about your friend, Issei-kun?"
"I'm being serious!" Frustration bled into Issei's words. "He's my friend! You're sending him to fight monsters that could rip him apart! What if something happens? What if he gets killed?"
"Motohama-kun is far more capable than you realize." Rias's voice cut through his rising panic. Calm, certain. Her blue-green eyes softened slightly. "He wouldn't have accepted those contracts if he couldn't handle the work. I wouldn't allow anyone under my care to take on tasks beyond their abilities."
"But I..."
"Issei." Rias's tone gentled further. "Your friend has his own strengths. You have yours. Comparing yourself to him serves no purpose except making you doubt yourself."
Koneko remained silent near her pillar. Golden eyes fixed on Issei with that same emotionless stare. She'd only seen Motohama briefly during introductions. Not enough to judge his fighting ability. But she trusted her King's judgment completely.
The reassurance should have helped. Instead it just highlighted the gap. Motohama had impressed Rias enough to earn devil contracts. Impressed the whole peerage enough to warrant their confidence. And what had Issei done? Died on his first date. Needed eight Pawn pieces just to come back. Stood here listening to promises about potential.
He stared down at his hands, flexing fingers that still trembled slightly. Eight pieces. Promotion. Immense power. The words rattled around his head, full of promise but no certainty. He'd been stabbed through the gut, killed, pulled back from death into a world where devils and angels were real. Now this. Vague assurances about future strength while his human friend was already out there proving himself.
"I'll get stronger," Issei said finally. The words came out rough, determined. "I'm going to prove those eight pieces weren't wasted on me. And I'll get strong enough that Motohama doesn't have to risk his neck doing devil work as a human."
Rias's expression softened completely. The aristocratic composure dropped away to reveal genuine warmth underneath. "I know you will, Issei. Both of you will grow stronger in your own ways. That's what I believe."
"Ara ara~" Akeno's gentle smile returned, full force. "I wonder which of you will surprise us more in the end?"
Issei didn't have an answer for that. But as the group began picking their way through debris toward the building's exit, he made himself a silent promise. Whatever Motohama was hiding, whatever made him capable of fighting supernatural monsters as a baseline human, Issei would match it. Surpass it.
He had eight Pawn pieces worth of potential, after all.
---
[ Motohama PoV ]
Morning light stabbed through my curtains like it had a personal grudge against my sleep schedule.
I sat at my kitchen table, staring at breakfast with all the enthusiasm of a death row inmate facing his last meal. Except worse, because at least death row inmates got actual food. Toast. Charred around the edges like it had barely survived a house fire. A glass of milk, lukewarm because I'd apparently forgotten refrigerators existed. I'd made this myself. Every bite tasted like regret took physical form.
I picked up the toast, examining it. The bread crumbled where my teeth had bitten down. No butter. I'd completely forgotten butter existed as a concept until I was halfway through chewing.
I really am trying to improve and learn to cook.
The thought arrived bitter. Self-mocking. I swallowed hard, washing down what tasted like compressed sawdust with milk that somehow managed to taste like disappointment in liquid form.
But I don't know why. I can't taste anything good in my cooked food.
Not entirely accurate. I could taste it. The problem was the vast chasm between what food should taste like and whatever war crime I'd just committed against innocent bread. Store-bought toast had flavor, character, a reason to exist. My toast had texture and the vague suggestion that bread had existed in this form before I murdered it.
Maybe the problem was technique. Maybe it was talent. Maybe some ancient cooking deity had cursed me for crimes against cuisine in a past life.
Probably that last one.
I finished the toast through sheer stubborn willpower. Each bite was a small war between hunger and self-respect where both sides lost badly. The milk followed, chugged too fast because lingering over it meant acknowledging how milk could taste wrong when milk was literally just milk.
I'll keep trying until I get better at this.
The promise felt hollow. Like saying "maybe the meteor will miss Earth." But necessary, because the alternative was admitting total defeat to breakfast food.
Or until the system blesses me with a cooking skill and puts me out of my misery.
That option felt infinitely more realistic. At this rate I'd need divine intervention just to make toast that didn't actively insult the concept of bread.
I shoved the empty plate aside. Wiped crumbs off my fingers with a napkin that already had stains from yesterday's equally catastrophic breakfast attempt. A pattern was emerging. Not a good pattern, but definitely a pattern.
Time to check the gacha. Time to see if Rank 4 would actually deliver something useful, or if I'd somehow pull "Advanced Toast Cremation Techniques" as a reward.
I summoned the familiar blue screen with a thought.
It flickered into existence right in front of my face. Hovering at eye level with that signature ethereal glow. Translucent but somehow solid, occupying space that logically shouldn't contain anything. The interface was all clean lines and minimalist design. Very "I might grant you godlike powers or eternal disappointment, flip a coin."
[ Rank 4 Gacha Ticket Available ]
My heart rate kicked up a notch. Rank 4. The highest tier I'd managed to earn so far. Killing Dohnaseek had apparently warranted serious rewards. The system measured danger with cold mathematical precision, and "Fallen Angel actively trying to murder you" ranked pretty damn high on the threat assessment scale.
Who knew attempted murder paid so well?
This ticket represented potential. Real, tangible, possibly world-altering potential. The kind that could completely shift my power dynamic and survival odds.
Or grant me the ability to psychically communicate with houseplants. That seemed equally possible given my luck.
Don't disappoint me like the JJK ending did.
I thought it with genuine religious solemnity. Gojo and Sukuna's entire conclusion. Those final chapters had carved scars into my soul that no amount of fix-it fanfiction could heal. If this gacha ticket delivered something equally underwhelming, I'd officially lose what little faith I still had in randomized reward systems.
I pressed the ticket icon.
The screen pulsed once, twice. Light erupted from the center, spreading outward in expanding circles that brightened until I had to squint. The glow intensified, building anticipation with the calculated pacing of a slot machine engineered to maximize anxiety. Colors cycled through the spectrum. Blue to gold to white to colors that probably didn't have names. Like the universe was having an identity crisis.
Then everything settled.
[[ You've acquired: DISC Creation ]]
I stared at the text floating in front of me.
DISC Creation?
The words just hung there. Aggressively vague. Mocking me with their complete lack of context. My brain immediately jumped to the worst possible interpretation.
How the hell am I supposed to use that in combat?
Mental images flashed unbidden. Me attempting to drop sick beats while Stray Devils lunged for my throat. An entirely inappropriate techno soundtrack playing during my imminent murder. Raynare pausing mid light spear throw to appreciate my DJ skills before resuming her attempt to kill me.
The absurdity spiraled into full comedy.
I mean, I bet nobody wants to dance in the middle of a battle to the death.
Though honestly, in a world where devils played elaborate Rating Games for entertainment and angels waged literal holy wars, who was I to judge combat strategies? Maybe interpretive dance fighting was a legitimate tactic. Maybe I'd accidentally start the next big supernatural combat trend.
"Death by Disco: A Memoir." I could see it now.
Unless we're talking about Madara Uchiha.
The Ghost of the Uchiha. That man had literally danced across battlefields with the grace of someone who already knew he'd won. But even Madara wouldn't pause mid apocalypse to throw a rave.
Probably.
No. Not even he would pull that.
I pressed the description tab before my brain could spiral further. Please, for the love of whatever passed for God in this universe, let this actually be useful.
The text expanded instantly, filling my entire field of vision.
[[ Description: DISC Creation ]]
[[ Ability: Extract and materialize a person's abilities, memories, and sensory functions as physical DISCs. These DISCs can be removed from the target and inserted into others, or stored indefinitely for later use. ]]
[[ Mechanics:
- Two primary DISC types exist: Stand DISCs (abilities/powers) and Memory DISCs (experiences/knowledge/personality)
- DISCs exist as independent physical objects once extracted and are virtually indestructible
- Removing a Stand DISC renders the target completely powerless; removing a Memory DISC leaves them comatose or severely mentally impaired
- DISCs can be inserted into yourself or other individuals, granting temporary access to command certain actions.
- Multiple DISCs can be stored simultaneously, but only ONE ability DISC can be active in the user at any given time
- Extraction requires direct physical contact with the target's head
- Inserted DISCs can be rejected by incompatible hosts, potentially causing severe harm ]]
[[ NOTICE: Since there are no Stand users in this world, Host can extract SACRED GEAR DISCs instead of STAND DISCs. Memory DISCs function identically to the original ability. ]]
Time stopped.
My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and throat. My hands froze mid gesture. The entire kitchen faded into irrelevant background noise as the implications detonated inside my skull like carefully orchestrated shaped charges.
Sacred Gear DISCs.
I could extract Sacred Gears from people. Just pull them out like removing hardware from a computer. Store them as physical objects. Use them myself. Switch between them based on whatever the situation demanded. Collect them like the world's most overpowered trading card game.
"Holy shit."
The words escaped involuntarily. Whispered into my empty kitchen with the kind of reverence usually reserved for witnessing actual miracles.
This wasn't just powerful. This was completely, utterly, absolutely game-breaking.
Sacred Gears defined this world's entire power structure. Rare, unique, capable of killing literal gods when wielded properly. Boosted Gear. Divine Dividing. Twilight Healing. Annihilation Maker. Dimension Lost. Regulus Nemea. The list went on forever. Each one a reality-warping artifact that entire nations would go to war over.
And I could just steal them.
My mind kicked into overdrive, cataloging possibilities faster than conscious thought could organize them. I could extract Issei's Boosted Gear during a training session. Use it myself to understand its mechanics, then return it before he noticed. I could collect Sacred Gears from defeated enemies, building an arsenal that no single person should logically possess. Ultimate flexibility. Perfect adaptability. The ability to hard counter any opponent by selecting the perfect tool from my collection.
It was beautiful. Terrifying. The kind of ability that either made you invincible or painted the world's largest target on your back.
Possibly both simultaneously.
But reality caught up as my initial excitement cooled. There were always complications. Always catches. Always prices to pay.
Whitesnake's DISCs in the source material didn't just steal abilities. They ripped out memories, personalities, fundamental pieces of a person's soul. Removing someone's Stand could leave them as vegetables. Empty husks with all the personality and awareness of someone in a permanent coma.
Would Sacred Gear extraction work the same way? Would pulling someone's Sacred Gear kill them outright? Turn them into drooling invalids?
The description conveniently didn't specify. Classic system behavior. Hand me incredibly powerful tools, let me figure out the ethics and potential manslaughter charges on my own.
Really appreciated that. Very helpful.
And there was another problem. More immediately practical than ethical.
I can't use multiple Sacred Gears simultaneously.
Hard physical limitations. My body simply wasn't built to channel multiple Sacred Gears at once. The energy strain would literally tear me apart from the inside out. Conflicting power sources ripping through channels designed for one specific type. I'd seen what happened when people in this world pushed beyond their limits. Catastrophic failure. Madness. Death.
Usually all of the above, typically in that exact order.
Sacred Gear overload wasn't theoretical. It was a documented way to die horribly.
So I collect them. Store them. Use whichever one fits the situation best.
Strategic stockpiling as a combat doctrine. Build a diverse collection, rotate through them as tactical needs demanded. Fighting a devil? Equip something with holy damage. Battling a dragon? Use whatever had anti-dragon capabilities. Facing a Fallen Angel? Deploy whichever gear gave me the biggest advantage while minimizing my chances of being skewered.
The approach made perfect sense. It would transform me from a narrow specialist into an adaptable generalist capable of countering virtually any scenario. A supernatural Swiss Army knife, except instead of a tiny knife and useless scissors, I'd have dragon-slaying powers and reality manipulation.
But that raised the question I'd been very carefully avoiding.
Who did I extract these Sacred Gears from?
The answer came immediately. Instinctive. Born from equal parts cold pragmatism and the desperate need to sleep at night without crippling nightmares.
Enemies only. Defeated enemies who already tried to kill me.
No stealing from allies under any circumstances. No experimenting on random innocents to "see what happens." No pulling Sacred Gears just because I could. Only hostile forces. The ones who'd already made their choice to stand on the "murder Motohama" side of the conflict and failed.
The Khaos Brigade employed literal dozens of people with rare abilities they'd probably stolen themselves.
Defeated enemies would become resources. Simple as that.
Harsh? Absolutely. Personal choice? Definitely. This world ran entirely on power dynamics, and sentiment got you killed. Hesitation got you worse than killed.
I could live with that moral framework.
Probably. Maybe. I'd work on refining the ethics later.
I dismissed the screen with a thought. Watched it fade into nothing with the deep satisfaction of someone who'd just won a lottery they didn't even know they'd entered. DISC Creation. The ability to extract and store Sacred Gears like supernatural Pokemon cards with apocalyptic power levels.
Rank 4 had delivered beyond my wildest expectations.
The JJK ending was officially forgiven.
Partially. I still had trauma. But at least the gacha system wasn't actively disappointing me too.
I stood up, stretching muscles gone stiff from sitting too long. My gaze drifted toward the clock mounted on my kitchen wall. Its numbers displayed the time with the cold indifference of something that didn't care whether I lived or died.
7:47 AM.
My stomach dropped like an elevator with freshly cut cables.
Oh no. Oh shit. Oh fuck.
Rias had told me yesterday. And it was definitely telling, not asking, despite the polite phrasing she'd used. Meet at the clubroom. Today. Early. She wanted to introduce me to the other Devil heiress who co-managed Kuoh's territory.
Sona Sitri. Student Council President.
And I was about to be catastrophically late.
7:48 AM.
Damn it all!
I bolted from the kitchen with frantic urgency. Like someone who'd just realized their house was actively on fire and they'd left the stove on. Abandoned my breakfast dishes like a crime scene. Shoes. Where the hell were my shoes? School bag? I grabbed items completely at random, throwing them on while simultaneously cursing my past self for staying up late reading gacha ability descriptions.
7:50 AM.
My front door slammed behind me hard enough to rattle the frame. I sprinted down the street at full speed. My legs pumped with every single ounce of strength that desperation and caffeine withdrawal could provide. The Cloranthy Ring pulsed steadily on my finger, feeding precious stamina back into screaming muscles.
Thank god for magical artifacts. Thank god for...
WHAM.
I crashed directly into something soft.
BaM!
The impact sent us both sprawling across pavement. A suitcase hit concrete with the violence of cheap construction meeting an immovable object. Latches popped open like tiny explosions. Contents scattered everywhere. Clothes, a leather-bound Bible, rosary beads, various traveling necessities exploding across the sidewalk in a disaster radius that would require genuine archaeological effort to catalog.
I hit the ground hard. Palms scraped raw against asphalt, skin tearing. Sharp pain lanced through my shoulder. The exact same one Dohnaseek had grazed with his light spear yesterday, because apparently that specific body part was personally cursed by fate itself.
I bit back several extremely creative curses. Rolled to assess the damage and figure out who I'd just accidentally clotheslined.
A girl knelt beside her completely destroyed luggage.
Blonde hair that caught the morning light. Bright green eyes. Delicate features arranged in an expression of pure distress as she frantically tried gathering scattered belongings with trembling hands.
Asia Argento?
The girl whose Sacred Gear, Twilight Healing, could literally repair wounds that no medical science could ever hope to touch. The genuinely innocent soul whose overwhelming kindness would become simultaneously her greatest strength and most exploitable weakness.
The girl Raynare would manipulate, use, and ultimately murder in a desperate power grab.
And I'd just crashed into her like a runaway freight train with zero regard for pedestrian safety laws.
Perfect. Just absolutely perfect.
Really living up to that protagonist-adjacent luck, aren't I?
. . .
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