𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍│[M!Reader x Highschool DxD - Jeanne D'arc/ Jalter]

-[S.1]-[C.16]-> [Oh, The Misery]

    [Y/N] - Your Name
[M/N] - Middle Name
[L/N] - Last Name
I
["Talking"]
["SCREAMING"]
["Whispering"]
["Thinking"]

<<<<<< I >[---]< I >>>>>>

["Do not disturb me"]

The man said before the door behind him locked, and he was left all to himself. Inside that dark room with wine-colored wooden floors and walls. A gigantic space, and a behemoth of a roof, tall enough to support his equally-massive height. But it didn't matter now. He just merely reached forward, picking up something from within the table. He looked at it, and his expression remained the same. Cold, dark, empty.

His eyes focused purely on that picture.

His towering height, almost like a castle whose roots are buried deep underneath into the core of Earth itself. His cold eyes remained motionless, cold and lacking any sort of visible emotion in them. Dark, literally black all around. Even the countless bags under his eyes were dark, having a barely-noticeable purple color in them. Unlike always, he didn't wear his ghastly outfit which made him seem like a businessman.

Instead, nothing covered his body, allowing for the world to see his haggard, disfigured and twisted flesh. All around, from his heels up to his neck, his entire body was purple, pierced with countless holes and melted skin. Decaying, and seemingly that they were barely able to retain themselves. Decomposed like the carcass left for the vultures to feast, and rotten like the flesh of a corpse buried deep within his grave.

It was vile and disgusting to look at.

The thousands of pins stabbed into his skin that instead of having a natural color such as the rest from his upper-chest and up, was purple. A dark, dark purple mixed with black and a rotten, putrid, and horrendous smell. A nauseating look for any and all who saw him in this state, but they knew that even if his flesh was dead, it retained more strength than countless beings. It retained the strength to end the very world.

A repulsive sight of flesh from his fingers up to his shoulders, and down his chest, as the man still glanced down. He remained unmoving as he always did. Never once moving a single muscle in his body, and standing so perfectly still, that he seemed to not even be real. Unpalatable, unappetizing, vomitous, disgustful, sickening, off-putting, stomach-turning. All of those were words to describe his dead body.

He was but a dead man walking...

A sack of rotten flesh that still moved.

What would be surprising to many, he moved. His head glancing at himself in the mirror that stood in front of the man, covering the entire wall, and showing all of his body. As he took a glance at himself, he noticed the bags under his eyes, and the question slipped inside his mind: When was the last time he had slept? Maybe 20 Thousand years ago? Or was it 50 Thousand? He just couldn't remember it anymore.