Madness: DxD

Expansion: Celestial Rehearsal

The iron gates slide open. Gravel crunches under the tires of my car. Summer heat presses down like it's got a personal grudge. Cicadas hum somewhere in the trees.

Y/N: Damn. I miss Hell.

I step out of the car, coat slung over one shoulder.

Y/N: Place used to be packed. Now it's just a collage of memories.

I shut the car door behind me. The cicadas keep buzzing. Too loud. Just enough to remind me I'm alive.

Y/N: I should hire someone to tidy up the place.

I walk toward the mansion. Stone and wood. Old American architecture reinforced with steel. Solid. Permanent. A lie, but comforting.

I unlock the door and step inside.

Mail hits me. Bills. Of course. Amber used to take care of these for me.

For a moment, I see them.

Akeno in the kitchen. Koneko watching TV with Asia. Rias arguing with Rossweisse.

Issa: Hahaha! You're the best!

Right. Memories. A curse and a blessing.

Y/N: I'm sorry.

I pass the staircase without looking at it. Too much trauma there. I'll find solitude in the kitchen.

Fridge opens. Light spills across the room. Cold air hits me. Steak. Milk. Some beer I don't remember buying. Most of it expired.

Y/N: Good enough.

I take the steak. Eat. Chew. Swallow. Silence presses, but it's manageable. Better than their voices.

I reach for the milk. The medallion vibrates. I stop. Look down.

Y/N: Well now.

The vibration grows harder. I set the food aside and wipe my hands on a towel.

Y/N: I just got home, damnit.

I walk toward the front door. The medallion pulses harder. Recognizing. Warning. Reacting.

I open the door. Warm summer air rolls in. Silence. Cicadas have stopped. Too quiet.

Down the drive, beyond the iron gates are people. Dozens. Shoulder to shoulder wearing yellow masks. Blood staining their chests. All identical. All swaying slightly, like they're waiting.

I start walking toward them. Hands loose at my sides.

Y/N: This is private property.

No response. I stop about twenty feet from the gate. My vision sharpens the details. No heartbeats. No breath. But they're standing. That's curious.

Y/N: You're all leaking pretty bad. That's generally not ideal for survival.

One tilts its head. Too slow. Too delayed. Smell hits me. Copper, rot beginning, and something familiar.

The medallion vibrates harder. I fold my arms.

Y/N: Alright. Who's driving this operation?

One of them lifts a hand, points at me. The rest follow in perfect synchronization. Dead bodies don't coordinate like this.

Y/N: Don't get squirrelly.

One slams into the gate. Metal rattles. Another follows. Not frantic. Deliberate. Persistent. I step closer. Not in the mood for this.

Y/N: You're denting my property.

Not good. something clatters in my house. Not echoes. Not HVAC. Something alive.