High School DxD: Fate's Error

Three fucking weeks. That's how long I'd been stuck in this goddamn nightmare. What started as this exciting treasure hunt for forbidden knowledge had turned into a goddamn slog. Every page was a mountain, every sentence felt like an anchor around my neck. It was supposed to be thrilling, right? But it didn't take long for it to go from 'epic adventure' to 'I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon.'

At first, yeah, I was curious. Who wouldn't be? These books promised power, the kind of secrets that could turn a nobody like me into a goddamn legend. But after weeks of magical theory, species-specific mechanics, and history that was older than dirt, I realized I'd vastly underestimated what I was getting into. No more quick reads like The Art of War, all concise and to the point. Nah, this was magical theory—the kind of shit that made my brain feel like it was going to explode from sheer boredom.

Magical theory was cool in theory, but after reading about Valkyries channeling runes, devils bending reality with imagination, and humans using spreadsheets to do magic like a bunch of mystical nerds? I was done. And don't even get me started on angels. Those assholes probably fart divine light.

For someone like me—normal as hell, with no magic to speak of—it felt about as useful as teaching a goldfish how to walk. Sure, I understood it, but what the hell was I supposed to do with it? Clap from the sidelines like a sad fan?

Six weeks had passed, and when I finally finished the original stack of eight books the old man shoved at me, I thought I'd crossed the finish line.

I was wrong.

Two Weeks Ago:

"Old man!" I stormed into the kitchen, a grin so wide on my face I probably looked like a maniac. "I did it! I'm a goddamn scholar!"

He didn't even look up from the stove, just raised an eyebrow like I was some circus freak. "Oh? Done already?"

"Already?!" I nearly choked on my own excitement. "It's been weeks! My eyes hurt, my brain hurts, my soul hurts! I've had more existential crises in the last month than in my entire life, and trust me, that's saying something!"

The old man chuckled. That chuckle—the one that told me he was about to mess with my head. "Alright, Mr. Scholar. Let's see if you've actually learned anything."

I puffed out my chest, feeling like I was on top of the world. "Bring it on. I'm ready."

He set down his spoon and turned to me, dead serious. "Alright. First question. What's the weakness of angels?"

I didn't even hesitate. "Easy. Angels rely way too much on their light magic. It's powerful, yeah, but rigid. They're strongest when they stick to their divine mission, but that makes them predictable. Once they fall and become fallen angels? They lose all that divine glow and become just another bunch of whiny assholes."

He gave me a nod of approval. "Good. What about devils?"

I grinned, feeling on fire now. "Devils are cocky as hell. They use their imagination to warp reality, but their biggest weakness is their own damn egos. They get so wrapped up in their own power that one little disruption in their focus can screw them over. Oh, and don't forget their obsession with bloodline politics. Half of them care more about family drama than actual power."

The old man smiled, clearly impressed. "Vampires?"

"Sunlight, fire, holy crap—everything hurts them," I said, rolling my eyes. "They're like nocturnal killing machines, but even the ancient ones have limits. Starve them and they go batshit crazy."

He chuckled. "What about gods?"

I froze. For real. "Uh... gods don't have weaknesses? I mean, come on. They're gods. What's gonna stop them?"

The old man's smile vanished like it was never there. "Wrong."

I blinked, feeling like I'd just stepped on a landmine. "Wait, what?"

"Even gods bleed," he said, his voice dropping low. "Even gods die. Never forget that. Every being has weaknesses. Angels. Devils. Vampires. Gods. Pride. Hubris. Greed. They're all cracks in the armor. If you think anyone is untouchable, you've already lost."

I swallowed hard. This was getting heavy.

He leaned back, looking smug. "Alright, last question. What do you do when you're up against someone stronger?"

"Run," I said instantly, no hesitation. "Why the hell would I fight a battle I can't win?"

He grinned. "Good. But what if there's no escape?"

I smirked, my confidence returning. "Do whatever it takes to survive. Fight dirty. Mock them. Crawl if I have to. Anything that gets me out alive."

"Excellent," he said with a sinister grin. "I think you're ready for the next stage."

"So we can finally get to combat training?" I practically bounced in my seat.

His grin turned wicked. With a flick of his wrist, another eight books slammed onto the table.

"Not yet," he said, clearly enjoying my horror. "Read these first."

Present Day:

Okay, fuck this. I was done. Finished. No more books.

I slammed the new stack of books onto the table with enough force to rattle the damn plates. The old man didn't even flinch, just raised an eyebrow like I was some kind of joke. "Go on, then," he said without missing a beat. "Time to start your physical training. And bring the scythe."

I barely contained my excitement. "Finally! Thank fuck! I thought you were gonna throw more books at me."

I grabbed Gravebinder—my scythe—and felt it practically vibrate with anticipation. It had been way too long since it saw any real action. Hell, I could practically hear it begging for a fight.

We stepped outside into a field that looked like it belonged in a damn postcard. The green fields stretched out in every direction, mountains looming in the distance like something out of a fantasy novel. Trees swayed in the wind, making the whole scene look peaceful as hell.

"Alright," the old man grunted, stretching his back with an audible crack. "Stretch first."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, already doing some basic stretches. Stretching's important—he said. "We've gotta warm up so we don't get hurt."

"I'll take your word for it," I said, not particularly interested, but trying not to look like a total lazy ass.

"Alright," he said, cracking his knuckles, "Spar with me. I want to see what you've got."

I narrowed my eyes. "What? After you almost killed me last time you ballbag?"

"What'd you call me?" he growled, the vein on his head twitching. I could tell he wasn't kidding.

I quickly backpedaled. "Nothing! Nothing! I'm just saying, I'm not fully healed. I'll be like a walking punching bag for you."

"If I'm your enemy," he said, voice low and dangerous, "that's exactly the kind of weakness I'll exploit."

Goddammit. Why couldn't he just let me complain for once?

I charged him without another word, swinging Gravebinder with everything I had. My scythe swung down hard, aiming for his head. But he simply sidestepped it, the blade slamming into the dirt with a loud thud as he casually kicked me in the ribs and sent me flying a few yards away.

I gasped for air, clutching my side. "You bastard! I'm not even fully healed!"

"That's your weakness," he said with that damn smug smile. "I'll exploit it."

I gritted my teeth, getting back to my feet. Gravebinder flew back into my hands, and I wasn't about to let him get away with this. I hurled it at him with everything I had. The blade was inches from decapitating him when, in one smooth motion, he leaned back, letting it whiz past his face. The scythe crashed to the ground again, harmless.

"Not bad," he said with that annoying chuckle. "But you've gotta do better than that."

I glared at him. "You're a fucking freak. How do I compete with that?"

"Give it time," he said, crossing his arms. "The young always outshine the old."

"Yeah, well, if you keep throwing me around like a ragdoll, I'll never get the chance," I muttered.

"Enough talking," he interrupted, outstretching his hand, fingers wiggling like he was summoning me. "Come at me."

I launched myself at him again, throwing punches and kicks, but every time I thought I had him, he dodged or blocked without even trying. It was like fighting a goddamn ninja. I threw a high kick at his head, and just before it landed, he caught my leg with his forearm, holding me in place with a smirk that made me want to strangle him.

Then, before I could do a damn thing, he grabbed my leg and flung me across the field like I weighed nothing. I landed hard, my back slamming against the trees.

"Prick," I muttered under my breath, rubbing my aching ribs.

"I heard that," he called back, grinning. "Good to know you're paying attention."

"Yeah, well, it's the truth," I grumbled, not bothering to get up right away.