Max
After ensuring the cat guy wasn't pursuing me—his presence growing fainter as the elves continued their assault in the opposite direction—I turned my attention to the two things bugging me as I leaned against the dune in the shade, grateful for even the slight relief from the scorching sun.
First, the injury itself.
I'd expected anything holy or light-based to be catastrophic for a devil. In DxD, new devils like Issei screamed like they were being unmade on a molecular level when hit by Fallen Angel light spears, their bodies rejecting holy energy as if it were combined poison and fire. The wounds didn't just hurt—they corroded, continuing to burn and break down tissue even after the attack ended.
But me? Aside from burns that still throbbed and a slightly dislocated shoulder, my body was... fine. Not dissolving. Not being consumed by divine retribution. Just injured in the way any powerful magical attack would injure someone. The Light Lance had hurt like hell—felt like being struck by a truck made of solidified sunlight—but it wasn't the existential threat I'd braced for.
And the real kicker? My injury was healing.
Not infinite regeneration like Rimuru casually regrowing limbs, not ultra-high-speed healing like Ichigo bouncing back from near-death in seconds, but more like Naruto's healing factor—steady, reliable, distinctly supernatural but not instantaneous. I could feel my shoulder muscles melding back into place with a sensation like warm honey spreading through torn tissue, skin reforming slowly over the burns with an itching, tingling quality that was somehow both soothing and maddening.
Probably some Phenex blood mixed into whichever clan generations back—noble families loved consolidating power through strategic marriages after all. Not true Phenex regeneration that could regrow limbs, but enough to matter.
That's the second thing though: the light-inflicted wounds were healing normally. No continued burning. No tissue breaking down. No corrosive divine energy eating away at me from the inside out.
That shouldn't be possible if this world's holy/light magic worked like DxD's. Which meant either this world's light magic worked fundamentally differently, or my devil nature wasn't as vulnerable here as it should be.
Either way, the implications were significant.
I think I'm onto something here, I thought, settling more comfortably against the dune as my shoulder continued its steady healing. The initial fatigue I'd felt when I landed—that bone-deep exhaustion that had made even breathing feel like work—was substantially less now as I grew more accustomed to this devil body's capabilities. My body now. The distinction felt important somehow, like I was finally starting to truly inhabit this form rather than just borrowing it.
As the healing finished—the burns fading to pink new skin, the muscles knitting back together with one final pulse of warmth—I braced my back firmly against the dune, used the rock formation as leverage, and with a sharp twist and push—
SNAP.
It hurt like a bitch—white-hot pain that made my vision go starry for a moment and forced a hissed curse through my teeth—but it was worth it as I felt the joint snap back into place with a satisfying click. The relief was immediate, the grinding discomfort replaced by normal mobility. I gave it a few test twists and turns, rotating my arm through its full range of motion, flexing my fingers. Everything moved smoothly, no grinding, no resistance.
Good as new, I decided with satisfaction. Better than new, actually, considering I never had devil-level regeneration before.
But physical recovery was only part of the equation. I'd done a quick scan earlier, just enough to confirm no immediate threats were charging up attacks nearby. Now that I was healed and out of pain, I could afford to be thorough.
I closed my eyes and expanded my magical senses outward properly this time, feeling for any concentrated sources of power in my vicinity. My devil body's awareness spread like invisible ripples through the air, pushing deeper and farther than before—searching not just for immediate dangers but for that specific signature I'd felt earlier. That vast, predatory magical presence that had radiated contempt. The process felt like extending invisible fingers into the darkness, probing carefully for threats lurking just beyond sight, feeling the contours of the landscape around me with deliberate precision.
Nothing in the immediate area. The desert felt empty, devoid of significant magical presences except for a few scattered weak signatures that probably belonged to low-level monsters.
I exhaled slowly, relief washing through me. At least I'm not being actively hunted. For now.
With that confirmed, my mind turned to the things that had been bugging me since the healing. I leaned more comfortably against the dune, using the shade to shield myself from the lingering heat radiating from the sand.
First—and this was the weird part—when I'd been thinking earlier about the "Isekai gods," I'd expected pain. Divine terminology should hurt a devil, right? That's how it worked in DxD. But... nothing. No burning, no discomfort, just normal thoughts.
Curious.
I extended one finger and drew a cross in the sand beside me, the symbol taking shape with careful lines. Then, almost experimentally, I reached out and touched it with my palm.
Nothing. No searing pain, no rejection, no feeling of wrongness. Just sand under my skin.
Very interesting, I thought, my analytical mind kicking into high gear. On impulse, I clasped my hands together and bowed my head. God, if you're listening, uh... thanks for the second chance? I held the pose for a moment, half-expecting divine retribution or at least some discomfort.
Still nothing. Just me, sitting in the sand, praying without consequence.
The rules that governed Devils in DxD don't seem to apply here, I realized with growing excitement. This world has different mechanics, different restrictions. Or maybe no restrictions at all when it comes to divine symbolism.
That realization opened up possibilities I hadn't considered. If divine power wasn't inherently toxic to me, if holy symbols didn't cause rejection, then maybe—just maybe—getting a Falna wouldn't be the agonizing process I'd feared. It might still hurt, but perhaps not the soul-destroying torment I'd been dreading.
My attention shifted to the small puddle of water nearby—not really a puddle, more like moisture that had somehow collected in a depression in the sand. I looked down at my reflection, studying the face that was now mine.
A mature-looking thirteen year old stared back—blue hair that caught the fading light with almost unnatural vibrancy, amethyst eyes that practically glowed with inner power, and a face that was... well, objectively charming. Sharp cheekbones, symmetrical features, the kind of beauty that would turn heads in any world.
Must be a Devil Heir, I thought, examining my features more critically. Bael? Gremory? One of the major clans for sure. The Power of Destruction is hereditary—Bael has it naturally, and the Gremory line inherited it through marriage. Blue hair though... that's unusual for either clan.
Either way, the Isekai designers—whoever or whatever they were—had clearly redesigned my avatar with care. I was super grateful for the opportunity. Not many people got a genuine second chance at life with actual superpowers included. 11/10. Definitely recommend.
Now, what are my actual options here?
Hiding in some corner was out. I'd already decided that. If I cowered somewhere, I'd never get stronger, and when someone eventually found me—because protagonists and important NPCs always stumble into hermits—I'd die as a forgettable nobody.
NEVER! I'M NOT GOING TO DIE AS A NOBODY!!
Becoming an adventurer made the most sense. Dive the dungeon, gain experience, build strength, and maybe find a deity willing to grant me a Falna without too many questions. And if the divine restrictions from DxD didn't apply here—if I could receive a blessing without my body rejecting it violently—then that path was even more viable than I'd thought.
The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Early evening, with hours of usable light left. Since I'd confirmed no one was pursuing me and the desert felt empty of significant threats, this was the perfect opportunity.
Time to actually understand what this body can do, I decided, standing and brushing sand from my clothes. I've tested the Power of Destruction briefly, but there's so much more in these inherited memories. Magic circles, elemental spells, barriers, teleportation, contracts...
I cracked my knuckles, feeling crimson energy already beginning to gather around my hands with eager warmth. The desert stretched out before me—vast, empty, perfect for training without witnesses.
"Alright," I said aloud, grinning despite everything. "Let's see what else is in this devil starter pack."
I centered my thoughts and dove deeper into my memories. As I scanned, two aspects in particular made my eyes light up with genuine excitement—abilities that would make me an incredibly coveted asset to any Familia willing to overlook the whole "demon guy" thing.
Wings and Teleportation Circles.
Oh hell yes.
But before I could experiment with either, the sand beneath my feet shifted with an unnatural vibration. My magical senses spiked—multiple signatures closing in fast, possibly drawn to my magic.
Monsters.
Three Sand Serpents burst from the dunes first, each easily twenty feet long with scales that gleamed like polished brass in the fading light. Their mouths opened to reveal rows of crystalline teeth, and they moved with surprising speed for creatures so large.
Perfect training dummies.
I raised my right hand, letting crimson energy gather in my palm. "Let's test precision control," I muttered, releasing three concentrated beams of Power of Destruction in rapid succession. Each beam struck a serpent's head with surgical accuracy—no explosion, no drama, just instant erasure. The bodies collapsed mid-lunge, headless, already dissolving into ash as magic stones clattered onto the sand.
One down. Magic proficiency confirmed.
The ground erupted to my left as two massive Sand Worms surfaced, each one easily the size of a bus. Their segmented bodies writhed as they oriented on me, circular maws lined with grinding teeth that could pulverize rock.
"Alright, physical stats test," I said, dismissing my magic and dropping into a combat stance that felt instinctive. My devil body's months of training kicked in as the first worm lunged. I sidestepped with speed that would have been impossible in my old body—agility check—then drove my fist into its exposed side with everything I had.
The impact was devastating. My fist punched clean through the worm's armored hide, and the shockwave from the blow rippled through its entire body. The creature convulsed once, then exploded into chunks that rained down around me, leaving behind a large magic stone.
Strength—definitely superhuman. Way beyond what a Level 1 should have.
The second worm tried to catch me from behind, but I was already moving—dexterity test time. Instead of punching, I leaped high and drove my heel into the sand with pinpoint precision, calculating the angle based on combat instincts I didn't know I possessed. The ground shockwave traveled through the sand like a targeted earthquake, catching the worm mid-burrow. The vibrations disrupted its movement, forcing it to surface—right where I wanted it. A follow-up kick to its exposed segment shattered its body like glass.
Dexterity and technique—check.
But the real challenge announced itself with a thunderous BOOM that shook the dunes. A Sand Golem emerged from the desert itself—easily fifteen feet tall, humanoid in shape but composed entirely of compressed stone and sand. Its eyes glowed with faint magical light, and each footstep left craters in the ground.
"Now that's cool," I breathed, genuine excitement flooding through me. This was peak isekai material—a proper monster that looked like it could level a building.
The Golem raised one massive fist and brought it down where I'd been standing. I rolled aside, feeling the impact send tremors through my bones even from several feet away. Time to test everything together.
I decided wings were the answer. Closing my eyes briefly, I visualized the limbs extending from my back. The mental image solidified, became intent, became command—
A pair of bat-like wings erupted from my shoulder blades with zero fanfare. No pain, no tearing of fabric—my clothes simply accommodated them as if they'd been designed for exactly this transformation. The wings were magnificent, deep crimson membranes stretched between obsidian bone structures, each easily spanning eight feet from base to tip.
SWEET!
The sudden addition of two new limbs threw off my balance for a heartbeat—like someone had grafted giant arms onto my back—but the muscle memory was there, buried in my body's instincts. I gave an experimental flap and my feet left the ground.
The Golem swung again, and I shot upward, the wind rushing past my face as I climbed fifteen, twenty, thirty feet in seconds. The motion felt right, intuitive in a way that made my heart soar. Another flap carried me higher, and suddenly I was genuinely flying—not gliding, not falling with style, but actually soaring under my own power.
"WOOOOO!" My delighted shout echoed across the desert as I banked left, then right, testing my maneuverability while the Golem below tried to track my movement. The wings responded to my intent before I consciously formed thoughts, making flight feel as natural as walking.
From above, I had the perfect angle. I dove, building speed, then unleashed a concentrated blast of Power of Destruction at the Golem's core. The crimson-black energy punched through its chest, and the entire construct collapsed into rubble, leaving behind three large magic stones that glinted in the fading light.
I landed smoothly beside the remains, breathing hard but grinning like an idiot. "They were perfect training dummies," I said aloud, already gathering the magic stones. A few from the Serpents, one impressive one from each Worm, and three beauties from the Golem. I pocketed them all, feeling their warmth and the raw magic thrumming inside them.
Within minutes, I discovered something even better about the wings: I didn't need to constantly flap them. Once deployed, they consumed minimal magic, allowing me to glide effortlessly or simply float. Way more efficient than the water-walking trick I'd used at the lake.
This is going to change everything. Mobility, scouting, emergency escapes—these wings are absolutely broken.
I took to the air again, this time just for the sheer joy of it, soaring across the desert as the sun continued its descent. The high of being isekai'd, the adrenaline of using my abilities, the pure freedom of flight—it all combined into euphoria that made me want to whoop and spin through the air like some protagonist on a victory lap.
But eventually, reality reasserted itself. My stomach growled—loud, insistent, reminding me I hadn't eaten since... actually, had this body eaten at all since I'd arrived? The adrenaline was wearing off, and with it came the crash of genuine hunger.
I scanned the horizon and spotted a small point of light in the distance on the bank of a river. Civilization? I angled toward it, gliding forward with my wings spread wide.
As I flew, I took a moment to check my clothes properly—they'd held up surprisingly well considering I'd been launched across a lake, tumbled through a forest, crashed into a desert, and fought monsters. The fabric was dark, practical, distinctly "adventurer-y" in aesthetic with reinforced seams and what looked like enchanted durability.
More importantly, I found pockets. Several of them. Two in the front, easily accessible, and when I reached into one, my fingers closed around something that made my heart skip—a small bag that felt bigger on the inside than it should have been.
Is this... an item storage bag? Like an inventory?
The other front pocket had coins—I could feel their weight and hear them clink. Not many, maybe a handful, but enough for a meal and maybe lodging if I was lucky.
But the discoveries only strengthened my suspicion: there was a missing link between dying and coming here. Between Max the weeb college student and Max the Devil Heir with months of combat training and years of magical study. The gap felt intentional, like someone had edited out that section of the story and dropped me into the middle of an already-running narrative.
Questions for later, I decided as the light grew closer and resolved into an actual village. Right now, I need food, information, and maybe a proper plan beyond "don't die."
The sun had fully set by the time I reached the village, stars beginning to emerge in the desert sky. I descended as I approached the entrance, landing smoothly and dismissing my wings with a thought. They folded back into non-existence seamlessly, leaving my clothes intact and un-ruffled.
Time to see what this world had to offer.
As I closed in toward the entrance under the cover of darkness, several disheveled men stood near the gate—guards, clearly, though they looked more exhausted than intimidating. They were scanning the darkness with the nervous energy of people who'd been on watch too long and seen too much.
One of them spotted me approaching and immediately straightened, hand moving toward the sword at his hip. "Halt! Who's there?!"
I caught the tremor in his voice, saw the fear flickering in his eyes and those of his companions. Their pupils were dilated, shoulders tense, bodies coiled for fight or flight.
Oh right. My aura.
Even with my wings dismissed, my demonic presence was probably radiating outward like an invisible fog, setting off every survival instinct these normal humans possessed. To them, I probably felt like a predator approaching in the dark.
I immediately plastered on my most placating, friendly smile and raised both hands in a non-threatening gesture, palms forward. "Hey there! Just a traveling mage passing through. Saw your lights from pretty far out and figured I'd stop for a meal and maybe some information about the area."
I kept my tone warm, welcoming, deliberately channeling every "harmless wanderer" trope I'd ever seen in anime. The guards exchanged uncertain glances, clearly debating whether to believe me or sound an alarm.
The apparent leader—an older man with a graying beard and tired eyes—studied me for a long moment before finally nodding. He gestured for his companions to stand down, though their hands remained close to their weapons.
"Alright, traveler. You can enter, but be careful out there in the desert. Monsters have been going rampant lately—more aggressive than usual. Lost two caravans just this week."
"Appreciate the warning," I said with a grateful nod. "I'll keep my guard up."
The guards stepped aside, and I entered the village proper. As I walked down the main street, I noticed the pattern immediately: people would spot me, their expressions tensing with suspicion or outright fear as my aura washed over them, but when I met their eyes with a friendly wave and genuine smile, they visibly relaxed.
Note to self: work on suppressing the demonic aura. Constantly smiling at people to not freak them out is going to get exhausting.
Finding a place to eat didn't take long. A modest establishment that was part tavern, part inn stood near the village center, warm light and the smell of cooking meat spilling from its open door. My stomach growled appreciatively.
I entered and found a seat at the bar. The establishment was moderately busy—locals unwinding after long days, their conversations a low murmur. A tired-looking middle-aged woman managed everything with practiced efficiency.
She approached me with a professional smile that only slightly wavered when she got close enough to sense my aura. "What can I get you, traveler?"
"Whatever's hot and filling," I replied, setting one of my gold coins on the bar. "And information, if you've got time to chat."
The woman's eyebrows rose slightly at the gold—apparently it was more than enough for a meal—but she pocketed it smoothly and called out an order to the kitchen. "Information, huh? What kind?"
"Where am I, for starters?" I asked sheepishly. "I kind of got... lost."
"River Village," she supplied, leaning against the bar. "Named for being near where the River Nile originates. Not much to it—farming, fishing, occasional trade caravans. Or at least, there used to be trade caravans before the monsters started acting up."
"The guards mentioned that," I said, genuinely curious. "What's going on?"
Her expression darkened. "Sudden spike in monster attacks over the past two weeks. They're more aggressive, bolder, attacking in larger groups during daylight even. Our village leader—Stan, Level 2 adventurer, good man—took a group of fighters out three days ago to investigate and clear out the nests. Haven't heard back yet, which is why everyone's so on edge."
She glanced around the tavern, and I followed her gaze. The tension was visible—stiff shoulders, hands that strayed toward weapons, nervous glances toward the door.
"Hence the increased security," I murmured.
"Exactly. We're just hoping Stan and his group come back soon with good news." She straightened as a server brought out my meal—hearty stew with chunks of meat and vegetables, fresh bread, and roasted root vegetables. "Anyway, enough doom and gloom. Eat up, traveler. You look like you've had a long day."
I thanked her—Stella, I learned her name was—and dug in. The food was surprisingly good, rich and warming with unfamiliar spices. As I ate, my mind worked through the implications.
Monsters going rampant. A Level 2 leading an expedition. Nervous villagers. Classic quest hook.
After eating, I slid a coin across the bar to Stella. Her eyes widened in surprise.
"You already paid for the food!" she protested, pushing the coin back toward me.
I appreciated the honesty and nodded my thanks, then fished through my pocket and found a lighter coin, offering that instead.
"How about a place to stay for the night?" I asked.
She examined the coin, then looked up with a small smile. "This would cover you for a few days, actually. I've got a spare bedroom upstairs—nothing fancy, but the bed's clean and it's quiet."
"Perfect. Thank you, Stella."
I was already turning toward the stairs when her voice stopped me. There was a nervous quality to it that made me pause.
"Hey, um... if something happens. If there's an attack while you're here..." She twisted the cleaning cloth in her hands. "Would you help? Protect the village? I know it's asking a lot from a stranger, but—"
I turned back, studying her worried expression. The request made sense—she'd clocked me as someone with power. And with their village leader still out dealing with the monster problem, they were vulnerable.
It wasn't going to hurt me to get some early experience with proper monster hunting. Plus, building goodwill could be useful. And honestly, helping people survive felt like the right thing to do.
"Yeah," I said simply, meeting her eyes. "If something happens, I'll help."
The relief that flooded her face was immediate and profound. "Thank you. Really, thank you."
I nodded and headed upstairs to the small but comfortable room. Despite my exhaustion, sleep wasn't my first priority.
My aura control was a mess. Every person I'd encountered had reacted to my demonic presence with fear until I'd actively worked to seem non-threatening. That wasn't sustainable long-term.
I sat cross-legged on the floor, back straight, hands resting on my knees, and dove into my memories, searching for techniques to suppress my magical output. If the memories didn't have anything specific, well, I was a weeb. I'd watched enough anime to improvise something through meditation.
--> Devil in a Dungeon <--
AN:
Well Max found a village and finally began his 'training'. Nothing will interrupt him, right? But he should be careful as there are monsters and a catman lurking around. How much do you think Max could learn about his abilities by the time something happens?? Let me know your thoughts in a comment/review.
Next update will be on Tuesday.
Ben, Out.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.