3 The Abandoned Church

Kuoh Town, Japan.

Along the edge of Taiheiyo Forest was a large, white building atop of a small hill. This building was notoriously known as Kuoh Town's abandoned church.

Towering against the night sky, the church's stone walls and stained-glass windows seemed to radiate in the moonlight. Its front doors were locked and boarded, and the windows were broken and coated in cobwebs. The surrounding yard was unkempt, with weeds and wildflowers overtaking the grass, and the nearby graveyard was abandoned and uncared for.

Despite its state of disrepair, the abandoned church still had a certain majesty and beauty about it. The steeple reached up towards the sky, and the arched windows and doors seemed to beckon the viewer inside. The moonlight danced across the stained glass, casting a soft, ethereal radiance over the interior.

It was rumored that in the past, this church had once been a lively place. However, following the death of a priest, this area had been mysteriously abandoned.

Creak, creak.

A large, girthy branch of a nearby tree shook up and down as a slender blonde girl grabbed onto it. She was dressed in a full, flared skirt with layers of ruffled lace and a corset-style top with ribbon lacing up the back.

The blonde effortlessly swung her body up and over, perching on top of the branch.

"Hooray…" She spoke out with a yawn, her expression emotionless and stoic.

Glancing down at the landscape below, her face was unreadable as she surveilled the forest around her.

However, as the minutes ticked by, she grew continuously irritated. She sighed heavily, and her demeanor completely collapsed as she gazed down at the ground beneath her.

"Aaahhh! Who am I kidding, acting like this is so soulless!" Restlessness was evident on her face.

She fidgeted on the branch, her legs swinging more frantically as she looked for something to distract her.

"Standing guard," the girl tilted her nose upward and blasted her voice into the night sky, "is the most boring thing ever!"

Chirp, chirp, chirp.

Only the night sounds of crickets and katydids could be heard.

"Ugh, this really is the worst. Why am I even doing this anyway?"

Within the next few seconds, the sound of giant wingbeats filled the air. A large shadow swiftly flew by, coming to a stop in front of the blonde girl.

"Mittelt, what the hell are you doing?" The figure's irritated voice hissed, "You're supposed to be watching over the premises in a stealthy manner."

In front of her was a tall, buxom woman in a skin-tight red dress. She was hovering in the air, keeping afloat with her giant, feathered wings.

"Hmph!" Mittelt snapped back at her, "It's not like we get any visitors anyway."

The woman's expression contorted with annoyance. The gentle night breeze uplifted her navy-blue hair that covered her left eye.

"Just shut up and stop complaining! You need to follow Miss Raynare's orders."

"No way!" Mittelt complained, "That means I'll have to sit around in one spot, doing nothing for the entire day!"

"I don't care," the blue-haired woman curtly replied with her arms crossed.

"Just remember," she continued in a stern voice, "we need to stay undercover, so don't act rashly. Take note of anyone who comes, but only kill if necessary."

"Isn't there a better—or rather more fun way of doing things?" Mittelt's eyes flashed with a spark of bloodthirsty excitement. She was seemingly fantasizing about a vile and devious idea.

"We can kill everyone who comes," Mittelt gave the woman a bright smile. She then viciously uttered, "I'll only rip out their bones and feed their flesh to the pigs!"

"Stop rambling and only do as you're told," the woman tensed her mouth. "Our scheme is destined to succeed on the condition that everyone does their part properly."

Before Mittelt could start complaining again, the woman made a powerful wingbeat. Her figure quickly turned into a black dot, swiftly disappearing into the night sky.

Whoosh!

The windy current from the aftershock rushed into Mittelt, intensely blowing through her blonde hair and frilly dress. However, despite the raging winds, she was unmoved. She was seated on a lonely branch; her blue eyes were full of spite and boredom.

"This self isolation is low-key torture," she muttered.

"Which idiot can withstand being motionless in one place for so long…"

. . . . .

As the sun rose from the east, a young man with short, black hair could be seen standing at the top of a giant clock tower. His sharp eyes closely surveilled the city as it was becoming more and more crowded.

Kuoh Town's Plaza was visible below, with its bustling crowds of people, street performers, and colorful storefronts. Beyond the plaza, the city stretched out in all directions, with rows of houses, apartment buildings, and office towers dotting the landscape.

'Hmm… this "Kuoh Town" sounds familiar. Was that a city from my past life? There's something about it on the tip of my tongue, but I just can't quite pinpoint it.'

Pondering for a while, Chekhov found that there were too many blank spots of information related to the authority figures of this world. No one seemed to question it, and it was almost as if something was intentionally hidden to the public.

Having seen enough, Chekhov walked back into the tower's enclosure and descended to the ground floor using the elevator.

Looking back at the events from Taiheiyo Forest, why did Chekhov devour the boy, Kurou? Wouldn't this cause unnecessary troubles with law enforcement?

Perhaps, it did have a slight risk — but Chekhov evaluated his benefit to be far more worthwhile.

In his previous life, murder would provide far less benefit and would be generally difficult to cover up. Moreover, the strength of one man could never surpass hundreds. Acting recklessly for little to no gain would be akin to suicide.

However, this time Chekhov had the support of a growth-type supernatural power. With a limited amount of lifespan on his biological clock, he was determined to seize all opportunities of knowledge and discovery that he could get. Of course, this was as long as the benefit-to-risk ratio was high enough.

As Chekhov strolled through the tree-lined walkways of the plaza, he came to a crowded outdoor enclosure.

'Good place to test my audio perception.'

He decided to pose as an edgy teen with his arms crossed and back leaning against a wall.

This particularly busy area was a food court. It was a relatively large area filled with tables and chairs, where numerous people could be seen stuffing their faces with Japanese delicacies and foreign food.

It was a little noisy and chaotic at this time, as almost all the tables were filled up. Some people were sharing tables with strangers to find a spot to eat.

"You little sh*t! You've spilled chocolate milk all over my limited-edition Dragon Boy Z comic!"

One such table consisted of a skinny brown-haired otaku with glasses and a short, blue-haired boy.

'It seems that sound waves can bounce off my dark energy. I can partially eavesdrop by redirecting any stray waves toward me.'

"Wahhh! Auntie!" the boy cried while pointing to his side. "This weird, ugly man is yelling at me!"

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Large footsteps could be heard as a muscular woman approached the table. Her thick eyebrows, large stature, and double chin gave her a frightening look.

"Uhh…" the otaku's mouth opened in fear. His face showed signs of paleness as a large shadow loomed over him.

"How dare you!" the woman roared with bulging eyes. She raised up her large, brown purse. "No one speaks to my nephew like that!"

She swung the purse at full speed, pounding the otaku at the center of his jaw.

Puff!

The otaku was sent flying out of his seat, landing shoulder-first onto the harsh ground.

Chekhov expressionlessly spectated this scene, his gaze occupied in deep thought.

'At first glance, this technique seems very useful, but it's only practical for eavesdropping. It requires time and precision to construct and maintain the tunnels, otherwise the sound waves will be distorted.'

Rumble, rumble.

This scene had caused a large commotion among the surrounding tables. Chekhov withdrew his dark energy as his senses were starting to get congested with indescribable noises.

'In theory, if my soul power is strong enough, I could separately decode these vibrations into an interpretable language.'

Eventually, after the commotion died out, Chekhov went back to eavesdropping. He stood motionless for the next thirty minutes, not making the slightest sound.

However, he still couldn't find any information that he was looking for. At least, not until a peculiar sight caught his eye.

'Isn't he…?'

A group of peculiar, young teenagers were sitting and chatting at a table. They were no older than 13 years of age.

"Anyone know where Kurou's at?" a scrawny boy asked.

His short, black hair was shaped into a bowl cut.

"Ni**a's prolly getting laid." One of the other boys snickered, "On God, he's got way more rizz than you."

"You finna say on God?" the boy with the bowl cut retorted. "Shut your atheist ass up."

Hearing this, Chekhov's eyes narrowed.

'He's Ryo, that same boy from those memories.'

Chekhov knew that Ryo's family was an avid follower of Christianity.

Normally, Chekhov wouldn't care about this. But according to his inherited memories, Ryo's grandmother—who was suffering from a chronic illness—was magically cured after visiting a nun a few weeks ago.

He considered this as a clue concerning the existence of other supernatural entities.

Listening further, Chekhov noticed that the boys' conversation was getting into a heated religious debate.

'They're not going to give me any valuable details at this rate. Everyone's just spewing nonsense and slurs every three seconds.'

Eventually, after 15 minutes, the group bitterly started to disperse. Everyone was leaving the table on a sour note.

'Hmm… the existence of God is an interesting topic. This world must have supernatural powers hidden in the dark.'

Regardless of whether God existed or not, Chekhov's plans would be the same. He considered God as just another entity in the universe—nothing more special than a human, animal, or rock. Perhaps this God could be an obstacle, but it could just as easily be used as a benefactor or ally. In the end, if Chekhov needed to, he wouldn't hesitate to burn the entire heavens down for his own ideals.

Chekhov uncrossed his arms and took out his phone. Through an internet search, he found a datasheet containing Kuoh Town's bus routes and timings.

'I might have to take a small road trip today.'

. . . . .

One hour later.

A medium sized public bus was moving through the streets of Kuoh Town. Posing as an inconspicuous passenger, Chekhov was taking mental notes of significant landmarks and eavesdropping over conversations.

A few seats in front of him, a girl with long brown hair and a slender figure was talking quietly on the phone.

"Murayama. Please tell the instructor that I'll be late for kendo practice."

"What??! …You're going to be late too?"

'Murayama. That name sounds familiar, I feel like I've heard it in my previous life.'

Chekhov looked at the back of the girl's head again, but he couldn't quite remember where he heard that name from.

'It might be a coincidence. I've read and watched countless amounts of manga and anime when I was in my early teens. Furthermore, I had lived in Japan for years.'

Chekhov tried listening into other people's conversations, but as expected, he didn't find any valuable information.

Fifteen minutes later, the bus arrived at a seemingly quiet and peaceful neighborhood. The houses were all similarly rectangular shaped, painted white, and made up of two stories.

This was Chekhov's stop. Within sight was the entrance to a small but verdant forest consisting mostly of broadleaf trees.

After stepping down from the bus, he began slowly treading toward the forest.

Unlike the Taiheiyo Forest, this one had many signs of human activity. Many trees were neatly cleared, creating a wide path that faintly sloped upward for several kilometers, leading directly toward the abandoned church after a few twists and turns.

Although the sun was still high up in the sky, there was something unsettling about the forest. It exuded an eerie and chilling atmosphere.

'What a cozy and relaxing landscape, it is indeed a spectacle.'

Without warning, Chekhov suddenly released an immense amount of dark energy from his soul. This time, he was utilizing his echolocation skill at full force. It was powerful enough to pick up objects within a 500-meter radius.

Furthermore, one of the biggest advantages to Chekhov's soul was that it could generate dark energy extremely quickly. He estimated that he could repeat this 500-meter scan every 5 minutes without too much of a problem.

'Nothing unusual spotted.'

Stepping over a small pothole, he proceeded cautiously, taking measured steps along the forest path. After covering a distance of 400 meters, he performed another extensive scan.

For an entire hour, he repeated this process, undisturbed, until he reached a point where he could directly see the base of the abandoned church. If he walked up a little further, he could peer inside and observe the entire nave.

While examining the church's weathered stone walls, he noted, 'Hmm... The architectural style of this building resembles the neoclassical designs of the 18th and 19th centuries. The surrounding area is also somewhat clean and well-maintained, which is strange for a place that has been ostensibly abandoned for decades.'

Proceeding toward the front doors, Chekhov started to release his dark energy one last time.

All of a sudden, his eyes narrowed in full alertness. He could faintly detect a narrow airstream and multiple high-intensity vibrations in the air.

'Something is approaching me from behind, and it is moving very fast. With that speed, it seems likely to be hostile.'

Preparing to fight, Chekhov was planning to abruptly turn around and catch his attacker by surprise with a continuous barrage of concentrated dark energy waves.

This was best employed as a mid-range attacking technique. From afar, the waves would be too dispersed to deal any significant damage, and from point blank he would be susceptible to any melee skills.

'Once he moves into the range of my concentrated waves, I'll immediately attack multiple times without giving him any chance to breathe.'

However, Chekhov noticed something unusual. Instead of speeding up, his attacker was slowing down while approaching him.

He decided to act as if he didn't notice any movement.

Chekhov stood still for a while and then feigned an innocent expression as he stepped toward the church's nave.

At that moment, he heard a sweet, high-pitched voice.

"Are you looking for someone?"

Chekhov turned around, pretending to be surprised.

However, he froze for a couple seconds when he saw her appearance. Standing in front of him was a short blonde-haired girl with blue eyes, clothed in a Gothic Lolita dress.

'Twin tails, black frilly outfit, blue eyes, blonde hair…'

Realization came to him as today's events were beginning to clear up: the girl on the bus, the nun with healing magic, the abandoned church, and the name of this town.

'There's no doubt about it. She's that throwaway villain from High School DxD.'

"High School DxD" was a series of the light novels that Chekhov had read in his past life. If it was his previous self, he would instantly recognize the world when he heard the name "Kuoh Town".

Yet, this time, Chekhov needed a jolt of remembrance. Although his transformed soul prevented memory deterioration, he couldn't shuffle through his vast number of memories all at once.

'This fierce tangerine in front of me should be Mittelt. If I recall correctly, she was a Low Class Fallen Angel with mediocre strength.'

Standing motionless, Chekhov decided that his best option was to leave. He didn't want to risk getting encircled by multiple Fallen Angels or their leader, Raynare.

"Uhm... Y-yes, I'm looking for a priest," Chekhov put on an act of nervousness. "My mother had fallen ill a while back. I was hoping there would be a priest here that could bless her."

Coincidentally, this statement was true. His mother had adopted him when she was already at an old age. At the present, she was even older. It wasn't uncommon for people in their 70s to fall ill.

For a moment, Mittelt's expression showed slight curiosity, but then she responded back with a stern and neutral face.

"Sorry, but there's no priests in this church anymore. This area has been closed for years."

Chekhov stuffed his hands in his pockets and started walking back with his head slightly lowered.

"Yeah, I figured. This place looks deserted."

'I should be able to leave just like this.'

As he walked past her, Mittelt asked one last question.

"What's your name?"

Chekhov was about to give her a fake name, but he stopped himself at the last moment. The faint embers of a newborn scheme had begun to form in his mind.

He turned to his right, facing her with a friendly smile.

"Chekhov Serebya."

. . . . .

Mittelt stood in her place as she observed the black-haired young man turn around and continue walking.

'I hate guard duty. The one time I look away some ignorant kid wanders in.'

Although Mittelt thought of Chekhov as an ignorant kid, she was inwardly cautious when talking to him. She could faintly feel a sense of danger from him.

'His aura is super weird. I can feel his Sacred Gear, but I've never felt anything like it before. But he's fully human, so he can't be from one of those Devil households. I hate those Devils and their stupid, ugly faces.'

As Chekhov almost disappeared from her view, Mittelt gazed at his back one last time.

'Chekhov Serebya… I've never heard of him. Hmph, now I have to write up a dumb report about today's events.'

. . . . .

Chekhov had walked for two kilometers with his hands in his pockets and head slightly lowered. He wanted to keep his guise until he was completely sure no one was watching.

'One more wide-scale scan to ensure my privacy.'

He had executed multiple echolocation scans over the course of 20 minutes, as Chekhov was extra cautious for what he was planning to do next.

'There was no abnormal movement in four consecutive attempts. I should be alone now.'

Chekhov's walking speed slowed down to a halt. He removed his hands from his pockets and reverted his posture back to normal.

'Sacred Gears—also known as God's Artifacts—are powerful magical items bestowed by the God of the Bible. Every human soul in this world should have a chance to possess a Sacred Gear, but does this even apply to me?'

Chekhov's soul was originally from a different world, and he also wasn't even sure if it was still classified as a human soul. This made the likelihood of having a Sacred Gear very slim.

Furthermore, humans couldn't sense their own Sacred Gear until it was awakened. In order to forcefully awaken his Sacred Gear, he had to use his desire as the key.

'Hmm, how should I go about this… eh?'

He strangely tilted his head up and gazed directly into the bright sky. His surroundings appeared to blur, and ripples formed in the air. Taking one step forward, Chekhov had unexpectedly found himself in a land of fire.

'What's going on? Is this a lucid dream… or a stray memory…?'

The ground was made up of compact dark gray soil, stained with the blood of countless corpses. Screaming could be heard from every direction, only to be drowned out by the black sky.

Unlike the replay of a memory, he could freely move within this place. Moreover, he had never even attempted to push a memory into his brain. It really seemed like he had really been transported to a different place.

Hearing a loud scream from beside him, Chekhov turned to the direction of the voice. Within ten meters, there was a man impaled to a cross by rivets on both his hands and ankles. Blood was trickling down the left side of his face from a dark red stub where his ear should have been. He seemed to be hallucinating, his eyes looking upward as if he had seen a ghost.

The man was crying and pleading, only to be inexplicably set on fire by an invisible force. The man's shrieking could be heard for a few minutes before it eventually died down. All that was left was his charred black body.

A ghostly red face appeared in front of Chekhov, staring at him with a bloodthirsty smile. It was the size of a small house, floating 4 meters into the air.

"This is the place where all corrupt souls shall perish!" The floating red face spoke with a rigid and stentorian voice.

"You sinners who have fallen to your animalistic urges will suffer the ultimate price. However, since I'm feeling a little merciful today, I can give you the chance to take back your sins for a quick death."

"Mr. Ghost," Chekhov replied while glancing upward with a smile. "You may have captured the wrong person. I am just a humble flower who seeks a trivial path along the ordinary road."

"What!" The floating voice angrily boomed throughout the sky, "Who do you think you are, sinner!?"

Chekhov's relaxed eyes didn't reveal a trace of fear. He spoke with a casual movement of his hands. "If you're still doubting me, why don't you confirm for yourself?"

The floating face snorted in response. It had never been faced with such an arrogant and carefree individual like this before. As the ghost took a moment to peer into Chekhov's soul, its bloodshot eyes opened wide in shock.

"Impossible!" The floating face's muscles tensed up. With an ugly expression, it screamed out, "I cannot detect even a trace of malice, anger, nor hatred within you! Even a blessed newborn child does not have this level of purity! This must be fake…! You must be a FAKE!"

Blood started trickling out of the ghost's eyes, nose, and ears. With a shrill scream, a large spiritual hand materialized from the air and slammed down toward Chekhov at a high speed.

'How unfortunate… I was looking to get some more answers out of this buggy ghost.' Chekhov mused.

A thin, golden ring with a majestic and imposing aura appeared on Chekhov's index finger. While raising his right arm above his shoulder, he pointed his finger at the incoming giant palm.

'Disintegrate.'

Within an instant, the palm shattered into millions of pieces. Behind it, long purple cracks were also forming in the void black sky.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The sharp pieces of the sky intensely smashed into the ground, creating large pits that were dozens of meters wide. However, Chekhov was not in a state of trepidation. He calmly took one step forward, causing his surroundings to blur yet again.

A few seconds later the blurring ceased, and Chekhov was back in the forest.

'Hmm? Did something happen to me just now…?'