"Alright, let's test the waters. Theory is great and all, but I need to see how my Ancient Ming powers stack up against a real supernatural entity before I start making moves on the chessboard. Too bad I can't fight some of those so-called Gods yet. Too much heat, for my liking"
Ren Ming cracked his neck, the sound echoing like a pistol shot in the empty street. He needed bait.
The night air of Kuoh Town was humid, clinging to the skin, but to Ren Ming, it felt thin. He walked with a casual slouch to an abandoned park near the edge of town, a place reeking of neglect and rusted iron. The swing set creaked in the wind, a lonely, rhythmic groan.
He stood in the center of the sandbox and closed his eyes.
Reaching into his spiritual reservoir, he tapped into his Fate Palaces. He didn't flare his full aura—that would be like setting off a flare gun in a dark forest, attracting the local territory owners, Rias Gremory and Sona Sitri.
Instead, he carefully modulated his output. He released a very specific, irritating frequency of energy. It was a pulse of pure, unrefined vitality that screamed, 'I am a delicious, defenseless meal.'
It was a dog whistle for the greedy.
He waited. Ten minutes. Twenty.
Then, the atmospheric pressure shifted. The scent of ozone and rotting meat washed over the park, overpowering the smell of wet sand.
Silently, Ren Ming cast an invisible barrier over the area.
"Well, well, well," a voice rasped, vibrating from the shadows beneath the slide. "I thought I smelled a lost little lamb wandering where he shouldn't."
Ren Ming opened his eyes, his expression flat.
Emerging from the darkness was a grotesque mockery of life. The upper body was that of a man—gaunt, pale, with frantic eyes—but his waist bloomed into the bulbous, hairy abdomen of a giant spider. Eight chitinous legs clicked against the pavement, gouging the concrete.
A Stray Devil. It wasn't one of the named antagonists from the anime, just nameless fodder who had killed his master and let the demonic power mutate his body.
"Yo," Ren Ming said, keeping his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie. He looked the creature up and down with genuine distaste. "You're ugly as sin, my guy. Did you hit every branch of the ugly tree on the way down to Hell, or was this a conscious fashion choice?"
The Stray Devil hissed, mandibles clicking wetly near his human mouth. "Insolent human! I am Lord Vorkas! I will feast on your marrow!"
"Lord Vorkas? Sounds like a prescription rash cream," Ren Ming deadpanned. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, his joints popping satisfyingly. "Look, I'm gonna be real with you. I'm new in town. I need to calibrate my punches so I don't accidentally vaporize people I actually care about later. You volunteering to be the punching bag?"
"Die!" Vorkas screeched.
The Stray lunged, moving with terrifying speed for his size. Purple magic circles flared into existence around his human hands—complex geometrical arrays that gathered ambient demonic power into volatile projectiles.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Three bolts of concentrated demonic energy slammed into Ren Ming's chest. The impact was deafening, kicking up a cloud of sand and smoke that swallowed Ren Ming's silhouette.
Vorkas cackled, his spider legs twitching in excitement. "Fool! A mere human thinks he can stand against a Devil? You are nothing but ash!"
"Is that it?"
The voice cut through the smoke, bored and unimpressed.
As the dust settled, Ren Ming stood there, casually brushing a speck of ash off his cheap white t-shirt. There wasn't a burn mark. There wasn't even a scratch. The Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique had condensed the molecular structure of his skin to a density that made divine metal look like wet cardboard.
The magical attack hadn't been blocked; it had simply failed to exist firmly enough to hurt him.
"Weak," Ren Ming sighed, shaking his head. "That was barely a tickle. You guys rely way too much on magic circles and flashy lights. Whatever happened to getting swole? Do you even lift, bro?"
Vorkas's eyes widened, the pupils contracting in genuine horror. "M-Monster! What are you?!"
"I'm the guy who's about to ruin your entire life," Ren Ming said.
He vanished.
He didn't use a teleportation circle. He simply kicked the ground. The physics of the Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique applied instant, overwhelming force to the earth, propelling him forward faster than the Stray's eyes could track.
In a microsecond, he was face-to-face with the spider-devil.
"Get over here!"
Ren Ming's hand shot out, grabbing one of the thick, hairy spider legs.
With an effortless heave, Ren Ming whipped the massive creature over his head like a wet towel. He slammed Vorkas into the ground.
CRACK-BOOM!
The concrete foundation of the park shattered. A crater formed, spider-webbing outward for ten meters. Vorkas screamed, a high-pitched, gurgling sound as his exoskeleton fractured.
"Now for the fun part," Ren Ming whispered.
His eyes shifted, the irises glowing with a dark, ominous gray light—the signature of the Ancient Ming. He stepped onto Vorkas's chest, pinning the massive creature down with weight that felt like a collapsing star.
He placed his hand on the Stray Devil's forehead. "I wonder... what does a Devil taste like?"
The Ancient Ming Bloodline roared to life. This wasn't just killing; this was predation. The ability to corrupt and devour energies activated instantly.
Black tendrils, darker than the night sky, shot out of Ren Ming's palm. They didn't just pierce the skin; they burrowed into the metaphysical essence of the devil.
"NO! STOP! PLEASE! IT BURNS!" Vorkas shrieked, thrashing his legs wildly, but he couldn't move Ren Ming a single millimeter.
"You're noisy," Ren Ming muttered.
He pulled.
It wasn't physical matter he was taking; it was the concept of the devil's existence. He drained the Demonic Power, the vitality, the chaotic emotions, and the very bloodline data. The energy rushed into Ren Ming, hot, spicy, and sulfurous. His Fate Palaces spun violently, refining the dirty energy into pure power.
[Insight: Low-tier Demonic Bloodline absorbed. Refining... Discarding impurities. Strength +0.01%.]
Ren Ming released his grip. Vorkas was gone. In his place lay a desiccated husk, like a spider left in the sun for a decade.
"Trash," Ren Ming said, flexing his hand. "But hey, free XP is free XP."
He could feel the devil's fragmented memories flickering in his mind—places he hid, people he ate. Useful intel, processed instantly by the Immortal Soul Bone.
As for feeling anything about taking a life? Ren Ming didn't give a single damn. This was a world of predators; he just happened to be the apex.
"Okay," Ren Ming said. He snapped his fingers.
A burst of Petrifying Immortal Light washed over the corpse. Instantly, the husk turned to gray stone, then crumbled into fine dust that blew away in the wind. No body. No evidence.
"I stand pretty high above the fodder," Ren Ming analyzed, walking out of the park. "I didn't even need to use the Soul Bone to analyze his attacks. Pure stats were enough. But as they say, practice makes perfect. Hopefully, by the time I'm finished grinding, that dumbass Riser Phenex will show up. It'll make everything simple for me."
...
Two months passed.
Ren Ming stood atop a massive high-voltage transmission tower, the cold steel biting into his bare feet. He wore a simple pair of grey sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt he'd picked up from a discount bin. He didn't need armor. He was the armor.
"Another boring night," Ren Ming muttered, taking a sip from a can of cheap canned coffee. "Just small fry. Stray Devils who couldn't organize a pantry, let alone a rebellion against the Satans."
He had spent the last eight weeks culling the herd. He'd devoured enough stray demonic energy to stabilize his Royal Noble foundation completely. His four Fate Palaces were humming, filled to the brim with refined, grey energy—a terrifying amalgamation of demonic power, nature energy, and spiritual essence, all corrupted and unified by the Ancient Ming Bloodline.
Naturally, he had been careful. Rias Gremory and Sona Sitri were sharp, but Ren Ming's bloodline acted as a spiritual void. Unless he wanted to be seen, he was a ghost in the machine.
But tonight, the silence broke.
"Help! Someone! Oh God, please!"
A scream tore through the night, echoing from the industrial district a few miles away.
Ren Ming crushed the empty coffee can in his hand, the aluminum compacting into a dense ball the size of a marble. "Finally. That one sounded... juicy."
He didn't fly. Flight was for birds and mages who needed to chant. Ren Ming simply bent his knees and pushed.
CREAAAK.
The steel beams of the transmission tower twisted like wet licorice under the sudden force. He launched himself into the air. He crossed three city blocks in a single, parabolic arc, a human cannonball cutting through the night sky.
He landed on a warehouse roof with a heavy thud. He willed his density to lighten at the last millisecond, preventing him from punching a hole straight through to the basement.
Below, in the dirty alleyway, a scene of carnage was unfolding.
A group of Stray Devils—mismatched horrors with too many eyes and limbs—were being diced apart. But it wasn't a hero saving the day.
"Amen! Amen! Die for the Lord! Ahahahaha!"
A man in priest vestments, wild white hair flailing like a halo of madness, was pirouetting through the devils. He wielded a sword of pure light in one hand and a modified exorcist pistol in the other. He moved with a manic, jerky speed, his laughter bouncing off the brick walls.
Freed Sellzen. The Stray Exorcist.
"Filthy trash! Scum! Let me purify you! Let me send you back to the pit!" Freed shrieked, slicing a devil cleanly in half. The scent of burnt ozone filled the alley.
Ren Ming watched from the edge of the roof, his expression flat. "Ugh. It's the cringe edgelord. I can smell the unresolved childhood trauma from here."
Freed finished off the last stray, shooting it in the face for good measure, and suddenly snapped his head up. His eyes were manic, bloodshot, and wide with fanaticism. He sniffed the air like a rabid dog.
"Oh? Another sinner?" Freed's grin split his face, revealing too many teeth. "I smell... something weird. Not a devil. Not a Fallen. Just... wrongness! A stain on the Lord's world!"
Freed pointed his light sword at the roof. "Come down and be saved by my blade, trash!"
Ren Ming sighed, scratching the back of his neck. He hopped down, dropping twenty feet and landing casually in a pile of garbage bags.
"Yo," Ren Ming said, hands in his pockets. "You're loud, man. Like, seriously. It's 2 AM. People are trying to sleep, and you're out here screaming like a banshee on crack. Do you have an off switch, or is 'psychotic break' your default setting?"
Freed twitched, a vein bulging in his forehead. "Insolence! Do you know who I am? I am Freed Sellzen! The blade of—"
"Yeah, yeah, the blade of whatever. Look, I'm just here for a snack, and you killed the appetizers," Ren Ming interrupted, gesturing lazily to the dissolving devil corpses. "So, I guess you're the main course. You've got some High-Class energy signatures on you. Borrowed power?"
Freed's grin widened, manic and terrifying. "Borrowed? This is the grace of Excalibur! Die, heretic!"
Freed vanished.
He utilized the speed of Excalibur Rapidly. To a normal human, or even a mid-tier devil, he would have been invisible—a blur of motion that ended in decapitation.
But to Ren Ming, the world slowed down. The Immortal Soul Bone processed the visual data instantly. He saw the shift in Freed's center of gravity, the tensing of his calf muscles, the angle of the blade.
Calculation complete. Trajectory: Left carotid artery.
The blade of light slashed toward Ren Ming's neck, humming with holy power capable of disintegrating lower-tier devils instantly.
Ren Ming didn't dodge. He didn't even blink. He just raised his left hand.
CLANG!
The sound was like a church bell ringing inside a sealed room. The Holy Sword stopped dead against Ren Ming's bare palm. Sparks of holy light flew wildly, illuminating the alley. The ground beneath Ren Ming's feet cracked under the transferred force, but his skin? It didn't even redden.
"W-What?" Freed's eyes bulged, his momentum arrested instantly. "Impossible! This is a Holy Sword! It cuts through sinners! Why aren't you bleeding?!"
"Dude, I ain't a sinner or a saint," Ren Ming said, his voice bored, contrasting sharply with the terrifying strength he was exerting. "I'm just built different. Literally."
He squeezed.
The Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique exerted its dominance. The "Holy" light of the sword began to flicker and whine, suppressed by the sheer conceptual weight of Ren Ming's grip.
"What are you doing?!" Freed screamed, trying to pull back, but his weapon was stuck fast, as if embedded in a mountain. "Let go, you abomination!"
"Hmm... this blade of yours... yeah, too troublesome," Ren Ming noted.
The Immortal Soul Bone analyzed the sword's structure. It was a fragment of the original Excalibur. Powerful, yes, but also a homing beacon. If he kept it, the Church, the Angels, and every other faction would come sniffing around.
While it would be interesting to mess with the Heaven System, Ren Ming didn't want to deal with that level of chaotic bureaucracy just yet. He needed to establish himself properly first.
"Bye-bye," Ren Ming muttered.
He yanked the sword out of Freed's hand with terrifying ease and, in one fluid motion, hurled it straight up.
BOOM.
The sword broke the sound barrier, vanishing into the night sky like a reverse shooting star, likely to land somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.
Freed stared at his empty hand, his brain unable to process the loss. "You... you threw it away? My grace...!"
Ren Ming sneered, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest. "You talk too much."
He casually backhanded Freed.
It wasn't a martial arts strike. It was a slap. The kind you'd use to swat a mosquito that was buzzing near your ear. But backed by the mass of the Ancient Ming, it hit Freed like a freight train loaded with lead.
CRUNCH.
Freed's jaw unhinged. The exorcist flew across the alley, smashing through a solid brick wall, tumbling through the interior of the warehouse, and crashing into a heap of broken wooden pallets.
Ren Ming walked through the hole in the wall, stepping over the debris. Freed was lying in a heap, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, coughing up blood mixed with teeth.
"You... monster..." Freed wheezed, his regeneration struggling to keep up with the damage.
"You guys really need a new vocabulary," Ren Ming said, crouching down beside the broken priest. "It's always 'monster' this, 'demon' that. Boring. Can't you call me 'Fierce' or 'Boss' for a change?"
He placed a hand on Freed's chest.
"Let's see what makes a fanatic tick."
The Ancient Ming Bloodline roared.
This time, the flavor was different. It wasn't the spicy, rotten taste of demonic power. It was sharp, metallic, and burning with madness. Ren Ming ripped the Holy energy, the twisted faith, the insanity, and the vitality right out of the exorcist.
Freed Sellzen, a recurring villain in the script of this world, didn't get a monologue. He didn't get to run away to join Kokabiel. He shriveled up like a raisin, his eyes dimming as his very essence was consumed.
In seconds, he was dust.
[Insight: Holy Energy absorbed. Fate Palace capacity at 100%.]
Ren Ming stood up, dusting off his hands as if he had just finished taking out the trash.
"Tastes like stale crackers and repressed issues," he muttered, glancing at the pile of dust. "But hey, beggars can't be choosers. Now... I'm ready for the real game to start."
He walked out of the warehouse, leaving the silence of the grave behind him.