My Unique Skill is Fate Gacha(DxD)

The Serafall Memorial Hospital was one of the most respected and well-maintained places in the entire Underworld.

Built by the Maou Leviathan, Serafall, it was located in a tranquil region of the Sitri Territory, surrounded by tall trees and a perpetually clear sky, as if the weather itself respected the place. Unlike some other grim and ancient buildings in the demonic world, the hospital was bright, modern, and even cozy. The corridors were wide, clean, with soft lighting and a calmness that made even the most powerful feel safe there.

Despite its elegant appearance, the hospital was practical. The rooms were quiet and comfortable, with soft beds, heated sheets, and large windows that showcased the icy landscapes outside. Everything was designed so that patients, especially those of high demonic class, could recover in the best possible way, in peace.

The name "Serafall" wasn't just for decoration. Besides being the founder, she was one of the most beloved figures in the Underworld. Many saw the place as a reflection of Serafall herself: strong, kind, and dedicated to protecting others.

In one of the many rooms, or more precisely, in the hospital's finest suite...

The light was soft.

White, translucent curtains fluttered with the breeze from the central air conditioning, casting dancing shadows across the walls of the luxurious hospital room. The air carried that typical sterilized cleaning smell, mixed with something reminiscent of lavender and wildflowers.

Lying in the bed was a man with red hair, completely wrapped in bandages, including part of his face.

Sirzechs opened his eyes.

Or, at least, he tried.

His heavy eyelids felt like they were made of liquid lead. When he finally managed a sliver of vision, all he saw was the white, smooth ceiling. The scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils, carried by the air conditioning, and the realization of his situation hit like a slow punch.

"...Hospital...?" he murmured, his own voice sounding strange, as if it came from someone else.

His limbs ached, but not with that sharp, cutting pain. It was a heavy, dull discomfort, like that of someone who had been buried in quicksand for too long and was only now trying to escape.

Then, his perception shifted from the pain in his body to his demonic power...

He felt his demonic power stirring within him...

That made his body go cold.

Sirzechs closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and focused.

Nothing.

Or rather... there was something, yes. But it was small. Had he lost more than half?! He was certain he had been fully recovered in terms of demonic power, but since when did he possess such a small amount?! Before, it was like an ocean within him, and now it seemed to have evaporated, leaving only a shallow lake.

Panic surged like an invisible wave, hot and cruel, dragging his pride and self-control along with it.

"What the hell happened...?"

His last memory came in disjointed flashes. He vaguely recalled being imprisoned in a dungeon, tortured for information about what had happened to that Celestina, which he refused to answer until the end (he wasn't involved, but he had leaked the information that there was an orphan in the orphanage who possessed a Longinus; from what he knew, the one who ended up destroying the place was one of the Greeks, angered for not finding the "kid"... Or was it a Roman? Considering it was near Rome...), and then... He remembered an excruciating pain coming from his groin—

Sirzechs gasped.

His body tensed on the bed, his breathing quickened, and beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead. A primal anguish, something that ignored titles or past glories, took hold of him.

A fear as raw and cruel as death itself.

Suddenly, an unbearable doubt pierced his mind.

"No... it can't be... no...!"

Sirzechs tried to move his right hand.

His joints protested, but he forced them, his pale, weak fingers trembling as they moved beneath the sheet, sliding over the bandaged skin, struggling down his abdomen, until they reached his groin.

His blood ran cold.

There was nothing there.

Nothing.

The smooth, bandaged skin, the emptiness where his penis had once been...

It was simply gone.

For a moment, the world went silent.

No beeping from the monitor, no sound from the air conditioning. Just a void, an absolute stillness, before the explosion.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" The scream tore through his throat like shattered glass.

Sirzechs sat up abruptly in the bed, his body protesting, the IV tubes being ripped out, the heart monitor beeping furiously, while his breathing turned into uncontrolled gasps, like those of a cornered animal.

His eyes, usually calm and blue like the surface of a lake, were red, wild.

He shook his head in denial, his hands still desperately groping, as if it were a mistake, as if somehow it could reappear if he searched harder.

But it didn't...

"Damn it... damn it... that... bastard... That... DAMNED...!!!"

His chest heaved, sweat dripping in thick beads. Tears came unbidden, blurring his vision, mixed with rage, humiliation, and horror.

"I'll kill him... I'll... make him pay... in a way no story will dare to tell...!"

But when he tried to summon his demonic power to at least break something... only that shallow lake came, and when he tried to use his 'Power of Destruction'—

The worst part was...

Where was his 'Power of Destruction'?!!

It was gone!!!

Sirzechs felt his stomach churn, sweat soaking the pillow. His dry throat let out a weak sound, a shapeless whimper, something between a sob and an insane laugh.

He tried again.

He closed his eyes tightly, his trembling hands clutching the sheets, nails digging into the fabric.

"Come on... come on... I'm Sirzechs Lucifer! How can... how can this...!"

But no matter how hard he tried to use something that had come naturally to him before, nothing came...

A deep anguish, heavier than any pain he'd ever felt, crueler than all wars, more suffocating than centuries of blood and power... consumed him.

Sirzechs began to tremble.

He had lost half his demonic power, his 'Power of Destruction,' and what made him a 'man'...

The humiliation boiled within him.

Like a worm crawling through his flesh.

Then, the door burst open.

"Onii-sama!!"

Rias Gremory's distressed voice cut through the air. She rushed in, her long crimson hair swaying behind her, eyes wide and teary.

Behind her, a woman and a man entered.

The woman was around twenty-three years old. With extreme beauty, her silky brown hair fell to her shoulders, dazzling purple eyes like pools of liquid tourmaline, her face was breathtakingly beautiful. A frown, a smile, a glance was enough to enchant every human soul with her seductive beauty. Her body was even more captivating, enough to turn one's spirit and soul upside down. She had an incredible figure; a bit slimmer would be too thin, a bit rounder would be too plump. Both her features and her figure could be considered divine.

She wore a simple yet provocative dress, made of light scarlet fabric that clung to her voluptuous curves like a second skin, the subtle neckline highlighting her ample bosom and a side slit revealing a creamy, toned thigh. Even in such a sterile environment, her luminous skin seemed to defy the room's pallor, exuding a jasmine fragrance that made the air thick with magnetism.

As for the man, he had the appearance of a handsome middle-aged man, with long red hair tied loosely in a ponytail with a black band. He had bright blue eyes and a short red beard with protrusions resembling fangs or horns.

They were Venelana Gremory and Zeoticus Gremory, respectively. Both wore worried expressions.

Rias crossed the room in three long strides.

"Onii-sama! You—" She stopped abruptly upon seeing the scene.

Sirzechs, curled up in the bed.

Sweating.

Trembling.

The bandages stained with fresh blood.

This was not the majestic, serene, and kind figure she had known her entire life.

Venelana approached, covering her mouth with one hand, her eyes wide, happy that her son had awakened but unsure of what to say seeing him in that state...

The patriarch clenched his fists, his expression rigid. He, the head of House Gremory, known for his calm and diplomacy, for the first time, didn't know what to say.

Rias, her throat tight, tried to approach, extending a trembling hand.

"Onii-sama... it's me... Rias... you—"

"DON'T COME NEAR ME!"

Sirzechs' shout was torn, almost a plea more than an order.

The room plunged into a heavy silence, where only the irregular sound of Sirzechs' breathing could be heard, mixed with the erratic beeping of the heart monitor.

The Maou's face held a calm, morbid expression... but not the noble serenity he usually displayed in meetings and battles. It was a dull emptiness, as if the soul behind those eyes was watching everything from outside his own body.

The blood-stained bandages betrayed the tension.

Venelana couldn't take it anymore.

In a sudden impulse, the woman crossed the distance separating her from her son and enveloped him in a tight embrace, ignoring the torn IV tubes and the fragility of that body.

"My baby… my boy… my Sirzechs."

Her voice broke, her arms tightening around him as if she could shield her son from all the horrors of the world.

Sirzechs didn't react immediately. He only felt the familiar warmth and scent of his mother. Something distant and almost forgotten amidst that chaos.

Then, with a slow gesture, one of his pale hands rested on hers.

But his expression remained the same.

Expressionless.

Dull.

Zeoticus watched everything from a short distance, his jaw clenched. The patriarch was far from his usual composure. His blue eyes had red veins, and his clenched fists trembled.

He couldn't bear to see this.

What had that damned man done to his son…?

Zeoticus' voice sounded hoarse, deep, and laced with venom:

"Who… who did this to you, Sirzechs? Was it… that human?" The word came out as if it were filth in his mouth: "That worm… that bastard… was it he who tortured you?! Most of these wounds you have weren't from the battle, so I can only assume that… right!?"

With each sentence, Zeoticus seemed to lose part of his noble statesman's composure and edge closer to an animal ready to attack.

Venelana, reluctantly, released the embrace, quickly wiping her eyes to maintain some dignity. And, for the first time since waking, Sirzechs reacted.

His body trembled slightly.

He averted his gaze.

And then nodded, very faintly.

His voice came out low, hoarse, filled with contained despair:

"…It was my fault."

The sentence fell like a shard of glass into everyone's chest.

Sirzechs continued, his tone expressionless, like someone who had already lost everything:

"I underestimated… the enemy."

It was the first time in their lives that Rias, Venelana, and Zeoticus heard that man admit something like that.

Young Rias clutched her hands to her chest, her eyes teary.

The silence lasted longer than it should have.

Then Sirzechs raised his gaze slightly, looking at his sister.

"…And Grayfia?"

The question seemed to drain the air from the room.

Venelana and Zeoticus exchanged tense glances, but it was Rias who answered, her voice hesitant:

"She… she's better than you, Onii-sama." Rias forced a trembling smile, trying to sound comforting: "She's taking care of Millicas now. We thought it best not to bring him here to see you for now…"

Sirzechs closed his eyes tightly. His shoulders trembled for a second.

Venelana sighed, and her expression was a mix of pain and cruel pragmatism.

"…Sirzechs." She began, her voice firmer: "The wounds… yours and Grayfia's… cannot be healed with magic."

That was no surprise to him. Just a bitter confirmation.

Venelana continued, her voice lower:

"They'll have to… heal naturally. Which means…"

She didn't finish.

Sirzechs, with a melancholic smile, interrupted.

"…That my lost teeth… and her face… won't return to normal."

He tried to run his tongue inside his mouth, feeling the gaps where his teeth once were.

He sighed.

An empty sound, devoid of humor or emotion.

"I had already figured… from the bandages."

Considering that this hospital had the best doctors in the Underworld, he knew his wounds weren't ordinary; if they were, he'd probably be "fine" by now. And if his mother said that, it was likely that even Ajuka hadn't found a way to heal him and Grayfia…

The atmosphere in the room grew even heavier.

Rias forced a faltering smile, trying to dispel at least some of the shadow hanging over the room.

"O-Onii-sama… you… you can get implants, right?" Her voice came out weak, trembling, as if begging him to cling to this minimal idea of normalcy: "I mean… with the family's resources… and with Serafall… we can get new teeth for you… and Grayfia too… Ajuka-sama must know something to help…"

But as she spoke, Rias herself realized the absurdity of it.

Sirzechs raised his gaze slightly to her.

And then… he smiled.

"Implants…?" The word came as cruel irony in his mouth: "Oh, sure… let's put in some new teeth… fix her face… and there, as if nothing happened. And if Mom said there's not much to be done about it, then it means even Ajuka couldn't find a way to help…"

The smile faded, leaving only emptiness.

"Is that true, Mom?" Rias asked, wide-eyed. She had found it odd that Ajuka wanted to speak to her parents alone earlier; she had been taking care of her brother at the time, so was that what it was about?

"Yes, it's as your brother said…" Venelana said, clenching her jaw: "He said the wounds were caused by an unknown, formidable property, and though he said he'd see what he could do, he wasn't confident in finding a way to help…"

At the end of her words, she closed her eyes.

Rias swallowed hard. Her eyes filled with tears, and the fake smile collapsed completely.

"…I'm sorry…"

She knelt beside the bed, her hands gripping the sheet tightly, her shoulders trembling slightly.

"I'm sorry… it's my fault… all of this… if I hadn't… if I hadn't let you get involved in this… if I… if I had been stronger… you never would have…"

Her voice broke amid the words, drowned in sobs.

Venelana approached, her eyes wet again, and placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

"Rias…"

But Sirzechs shook his head slightly.

"No, Rias." His voice, though hoarse and dry, carried a morbid lightness: "The fault… was mine alone. I underestimated someone I shouldn't have. I was arrogant. And… I paid the price."

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to control the emotional nausea churning his stomach.

Rias squeezed her eyes shut, two thick tears streaming down, while Zeoticus stood still, his expression hard and unmoving, as if his entire body fought against the urge to punch walls or hunt down whoever had done this.

But he sighed.

His gaze, previously hardened by rage and helplessness, now carried something more. It was a heavy, complex look, hard to define. A mix of pain, guilt, frustration… and a question he hesitated to ask but, as the head of House Gremory and father of the broken man before him, knew he had to voice.

He took a deep breath.

His gaze slid, finally, to the lower part of his son's body, where the thick, blood-stained bandages betrayed the extent of that humiliation.

"And… how is it… down there?"

The question sounded harsh, dry, almost crude, but beneath it was something hesitant, as if the voice itself refused to come out.

Sirzechs averted his eyes, letting out a tired sigh through his nose.

"How do you think…?"

The response came low, laced with bitter sarcasm and resigned pain. No need to elaborate. No desire to dwell on it.

Venelana closed her eyes, exhaling a long sigh, and then, after a few seconds, spoke with a firm voice, trying to restore some order to the tension-saturated room.

"Enough… this conversation is going nowhere now."

She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it with an automatic, elegant gesture, before facing Zeoticus and Rias.

"I'll call a nurse to change those bandages… and then, Sirzechs, you need to rest."

Her tone left no room for argument.

Sirzechs merely nodded, without looking at any of them.

"I want to be alone for a while."

It was almost a whisper, but audible enough for everyone in the room to understand.

Zeoticus clenched his fists one last time, his knuckles cracking, and turned, his cape swishing discreetly behind him. Venelana followed, and Rias, with one last look filled with guilt and pain, hesitated before leaving.

The door closed softly behind them.

And Sirzechs was left alone.

In the white, silent room, the sound of the heart monitor filled the space again.

He closed his eyes.

And took a deep breath.

A morbid emptiness settled in his chest; his father hadn't mentioned his loss of demonic power or the Power of Destruction, which he doubted would escape the notice of his friend, Ajuka. So, Ajuka had chosen not to mention it for now, and for that, he was silently grateful in his heart…

---

The waiting room was spacious, quiet, and bathed in soft white light. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, mixed with the characteristic smell of antiseptic. The walls were neutral-toned, decorated with paintings of peaceful landscapes, and the most audible sound was the gentle hum of the air conditioning.

Seated on one of the beige leather sofas, a woman with long, silver hair, now slightly disheveled, sat motionless.

Grayfia Lucifuge.

Half of her face was wrapped in thick, white bandages, covering that entire side and part of the cheek and forehead on the other. The dressing hid the damage the doctors had already tried to contain; the news had come swiftly and cruelly: "The vision cannot be recovered. 98% structural compromise. The ocular structure collapsed when the orbital bone was fractured and pressed against the globe."

The words still echoed in her mind, as if they had been spoken a minute ago.

Her remaining gaze, her single grayish-red eye, stared into the void ahead, not truly seeing the room, the nurses occasionally passing through the corridor, or the decorative paintings.

In her lap, Millicas.

The boy was asleep, his face slightly flushed and his eyelids swollen from crying so much. Small dark circles were forming under his eyes…

Grayfia kept one hand on her son's red hair, stroking it in an automatic, continuous motion, as if it were the last fragment of normalcy she could cling to.

She listened to Millicas' gentle breathing, felt the fragile warmth of his body against hers. It was the only thing keeping her seated there and distracting her mind.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the fist coming toward her.

The sound of bone breaking.

The bitter taste of blood in her mouth.

The sensation of the world spinning and the void where half her face had once been.

She sighed.

Her right hand, the one not holding Millicas, rested in her lap, fingers clenched, knuckles white from so much pent-up tension.

She didn't even notice when a nurse passed discreetly through the corridor, casting her a pitying glance before disappearing in the opposite direction.

But she snapped out of her thoughts due to a spasm.

Suddenly, Grayfia shuddered.

The pain came without warning, a deep, cutting burn that spread through her abdomen like liquid fire, forcing her to clench her teeth and hold her breath. Her fingers instinctively tightened in Millicas' hair before she forced herself to loosen the grip, afraid of waking him.

The stab started in her stomach and radiated to her sides, descending through her lower abdomen and lodging in her back like a buried blade.

It was the physical memory of the blow.

The inhuman fist that had sunk into her torso, crushing her flesh, bones, and organs with such brutal force that, according to the doctors, it was a miracle she hadn't died right there.

Multiple fractures of the lower ribs, partial crushing of the liver and spleen, laceration of the left kidney, perforation of the duodenum, severe compromise of the gallbladder, partial rupture of the small intestine, and collapse of part of the pancreas.

The list was almost comical in its absurdity.

But there was no humor in it.

Every movement, every deeper breath, was a muffled stab. Even with the best potions, elixirs, and demonic treatments the Underworld had to offer, the prognosis was the same as Sirzechs':

Only time.

Grayfia took a deep breath, forcing herself to maintain control.

How was she still there, sitting, and not confined to a recovery bed?

The answer was simple: she needed to care for her son.

She didn't want him to see her in that pathetic state, nor his father. That's why she insisted until she got the doctors' permission to spend the day in the waiting room with him and only return to her bed at night to rest. And, as always, she had to be stubborn to get what she wanted.

That stubbornness came from wounded pride. Because, despite the physical pain, every throbbing stab that made her body tremble beneath the hospital gown, she knew that nothing, absolutely nothing, hurt more than having lost half her demonic power. Especially for someone like her… or her husband, who had surely suffered the same fate at the hands of that true demon.

It was that humiliation that drove her not to give in.

She knew he wanted to see her plunged into despair, but Grayfia was stubborn by nature.

And she wouldn't surrender so easily.

_____________________

Author's Note

Hey, everyone! 👋

First of all, I wanted to let you know that this chapter is a bit longer than usual — in fact, it combines two chapters into one, totaling around 4,000 words! I did this on purpose because I wanted to explain the whole situation at once, without splitting it into parts and risking making the reading experience tiresome or dragged out.

I hope this made the reading smoother and that you enjoyed the pacing and the reveals!

While I'm here, I'd love to hear your thoughts: how are you liking the story so far? Any feedback or suggestions are more than welcome!

In the next chapter, we'll have the meeting in the heavens and the beginning of the Youkai arc! I'm thinking of making it a big one — around 6,000 words — but I could also split it and post two chapters in a row. What do you prefer?

Thanks so much for following along! ❤️🙏