High School DxD: Fate's Error

I ran, panting hard, my body pushing itself beyond its limits—yet somehow, I was faster than I ever expected. The church was in sight now, only a short distance away, and I had time to spare. It was almost quarter to 8. I'd managed to run farther than I had at the beginning, all in under an hour. My body was incredible.

In the first 20 minutes, I'd started to struggle. My breath became jagged, labored—but then, without thinking, my body instinctively adjusted. My breath steadied, and I found a rhythm that kept me going. I could hardly describe the feeling, but it was sublime—an almost supernatural awareness of my own body's power. I was amazed at how quickly it adapted, how easily I could push myself further.

Slowing my pace, I finally approached the gates of the church. It stood silent and imposing, its iron gates closed, the cemetery lifeless—a perfect contradiction to the eerie feeling that prickled my skin. The church had holes in the roof, like some forgotten relic of a past that had moved on. It looked at me solemnly, almost as if it were judging me.

Then, the gate creaked open.

I stepped through it, my feet crunching against the gravel. But before I could take another step, something in the air shifted. A primal chill shot up my spine, and I froze. Cold sweat trickled down my neck as a wave of terror slammed into me, gripping my lungs. I felt like I was choking, gasping for air I couldn't catch. My chest tightened. I staggered backward, instinctively trying to escape the force that seemed to emanate from the very walls of the church.

"What... what is that?" I managed to whisper, voice shaking, but there was nothing around me. No one in sight. Still, the fear gripped me like a vise.

It wasn't the church itself. It wasn't even physical. No—it came from inside. From somewhere in the church, something dark, something malevolent, was reaching out, not targeting me specifically but just… attacking everything in its wake. And unfortunately, that included me.

My body tensed, but the feeling slowly began to subside. I didn't dare relax. My mind was alert, every instinct warning me not to move too quickly, not to trust my surroundings.

"One, two. One, two…" I muttered to myself, feeling foolish but safe in the routine. My words were a mantra now, a rhythm that helped keep my panic in check.

As I approached the door, my heart pounded. Every step felt heavy, but I couldn't stop now. I had to know what was inside.

Knock, knock.

The sound echoed loudly, but there was no response. No voice called back.

"It's not 8," I mumbled, almost laughing at myself. The church looked abandoned, decaying—no one came here, not by the looks of it. The building was falling apart. Was it even open?

With a frustrated grunt, I gripped the door handle. Every muscle strained as I yanked, using all my strength. I could feel the adrenaline flooding through my veins.

Creak... creak... BOOM.

I took a deep breath, sweat beading on my forehead as the door finally gave way. It was like the church itself didn't want me inside, as if it were fighting me every step of the way. I stepped in, cautiously scanning the room.

The air was thick with dust. Cobwebs clung to the corners like forgotten memories. I thought I heard a rat scurrying, but I wasn't sure. The strangest thing, though, was the altar—the candles were burning. The Bible lay open, but there was no one around.

Behind the altar, another door stood ajar. Maybe the priest was back there, preparing for Mass.

But I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something wasn't right. My skin crawled. The terror from before had faded, but that only made me more suspicious. I didn't trust the calm.

I moved cautiously toward the door behind the altar, gripping the handle. Slowly, I pulled it open. Inside was a small room, filled with priest's robes and a cabinet. Nothing out of the ordinary. The disappointment hit me like a weight.

No one. How the hell could there be no one? "God forgive my language," I muttered under my breath. But something still gnawed at me. That feeling. The fear, the sensation that this place wasn't just a church. It was something else. Something more sinister.

"Was I wrong?" I whispered, unsure if I was talking to myself or to the church. But then, as I turned to leave, I almost slipped on the carpet. It had shifted, and beneath it, an outline of a door appeared.

"Jackpot," I muttered, a small grin pulling at my lips. This was it. Whatever had caused that terror earlier—it was down there. I could feel it.

I yanked the rug off the floor, revealing a hidden door. My heart raced. I gripped the handle and paused, my mind racing. If that feeling from before was connected to whatever was down there, then I stood no chance unless I could adapt to it.

Taking the knife from my jacket, I held it in my right hand, taking a deep breath. "Come on, Oscar. Don't falter now. Carpe diem." I whispered the words like a prayer, trying to steady myself.

I opened the door slowly, revealing a narrow ladder that descended into the darkness. A torch hung on the wall nearby. I grabbed it with my left hand and, with the knife still in my right, descended carefully.

The dust kicked up with every step, and I felt my nerves tightening. When I reached the bottom, there was only one door—right in front of me. The door between me and whatever lay beyond. I could feel the weight of it, the way my breath quickened and my hand trembled.

Fear.

The reality of what I was about to face crashed over me. I was just a 14-year-old kid, and I had walked into this blindly. No one else was here to help me.

I tried to smile, to joke myself out of it, but my mouth was dry.

"If I don't do this… then I'm…...gay" I trailed off, trying to lighten the situation with a self-deprecating laugh. It didn't help.

I gripped the door handle with my left hand, the torch now resting on a stand beside me. The moment of truth.

Twist.

The door creaked open.

For a moment, the world stood still.

Time seemed to slow, and as my eyes began to focus, the room around me became painfully clear. It was vast and empty, its walls covered in strange writings—symbols I couldn't understand, like a seal of some sort.

My eyes widened as I took it all in, my body trembling. A deep, primal fear gripped my chest as I fell to my knees. In the center of the room, a dark weapon lay—its shape unmistakable. A scythe. But it wasn't just the weapon that caught my gaze; there, looming behind it, stood a figure. A shadow. The Grim Reaper. Death itself.

Purple sparks radiated from the weapon, crackling with energy. And then it happened—those sparks turned into something far worse. They lunged at me, tearing through the air.

I couldn't move. I couldn't react. My body froze as the weight of the presence in the room crushed down on me. The oppressive force intensified until I couldn't see the weapon anymore, only the feeling of its deadly aura bearing down on me.

I was powerless.

I can't adapt fast enough, I thought desperately. My body was failing me, unprepared for this. The crushing force squeezed tighter and tighter, suffocating me. My vision blurred, my thoughts scattered, and all I could feel was the unbearable pressure of terror. The Reaper's presence felt like it was slowly unraveling me.

Cough! Cough!

I gasped for breath, but the air seemed to vanish, my lungs burning as if they were being crushed from the inside.

Adapt...adapt... I thought frantically, but the words wouldn't form. Why isn't it working? My adaptation was supposed to kick in when faced with danger, but this was beyond me. The force before me... it was too much. Far too much. Adaptation was designed for foes like this, yes, but only when they were weaker. This entity, this... thing, was far stronger than anything I had ever faced.

Please, please let it work, I prayed silently, desperately. My body trembled, caught between the desperate urge to survive and the reality of the overwhelming force pressing in on me.

Come on, come on! I screamed in my mind, but my voice faltered. It felt like gravity itself had turned against me. My body, weak and exhausted, was failing under the weight of the terror. The crushing force twisted my face, darkening it with streaks of gray as if it was draining the life from me.

I couldn't breathe.

I could feel my consciousness slipping away, the edges of my vision fading to black.

If this happens... I thought, I'm dead.

The fear of that certainty, the cold grip of doom settling over me, made it harder to fight. The terror wasn't just physical anymore—it had become a suffocating darkness, one that would swallow me whole.