Ren Ming walked out of the park, the gravel crunching beneath his sneakers. The echo of the Stray Devil's death scream had long since faded, replaced by the mundane hum of distant traffic.
His mind was already churning. Killing Freed would inevitably change the canon of this world. Kokabiel's plans would shift. The Xenovia and Irina arc would be different.
But Ren Ming didn't give a single shit.
He was instead dissecting the encounter not for its thrill—there was none—but for its data.
"Inefficient," Ren Ming muttered, his breath misting in the cool night air. "Killing fodder one by one is like trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon. I'm gaining strength, sure, but the rate of return is abysmal."
He glanced at his hand, flexing the fingers. The Ancient Ming Bloodline was a gluttonous beast; it demanded high-quality sustenance. Stray Devils were essentially supernatural junk food—empty calories with too much gristle.
The fight had confirmed a hypothesis he'd been toying with since his arrival. The beings in this world—Devils, Angels, Fallen, even the mythological pantheons—were slaves to their own rigid systems.
Devils relied on Demonic Power and the imagination to shape it. Angels were shackled to the Light and the System of Heaven. Dragons brute-forced reality with Draconic energy.
They all had hard caps. Bottlenecks. The "Ultimate Class" was a ceiling for a large majority of them.
"The only ones truly free are probably Ophis and Great Red," Ren Ming mused, turning a corner toward the residential district. "But one is an apathy-filled dragon loli, and the other is just an antisocial protector. Not exactly stable role models."
He stopped under a flickering streetlamp.
"I need allies. A harem is nice—mandatory, even—but a harem that requires me to babysit them every time a villain shows up is a liability. I want queens, not damsels."
He needed to teach them. But he couldn't just inject them with the Ancient Ming bloodline; the predatory nature of his genetics would likely devour their souls from the inside out. He needed a bridge. A translation of the Grand Dao that fit the chaotic, magical framework of the High School DxD universe.
...
Back in his small, sparsely furnished apartment, Ren Ming sat at his cheap desk. The neon lights of the city bled through the blinds. He grabbed a stack of printer paper and a generic ballpoint pen.
"Immortal Soul Bone, activate. Query: Create a cultivation method compatible with the physiology of Devils, Humans, and Fallen Angels of this dimension. Goal: Infinite accumulation, no bottlenecks. Base it on the Nine Worlds cultivation realms, but simplified for the locals."
His eyes glowed with a cryptographic luminosity. The pen moved on its own, faster than human sight, smoke rising from the tip due to friction.
He wasn't writing in Japanese or English. He was drawing diagrams—fractal patterns that hurt to look at if you didn't have a strong soul. He was decoding the Grand Dao and rewriting it into a "User Manual for Dummies."
"The Myriad Origin Scripture," Ren Ming named it, scribbling the title.
It was a masterpiece of simplification.
Most beings in this world wasted 90% of the energy they absorbed or generated. It leaked out of their pores, dissipated into the atmosphere, or was burned off as waste heat. The Myriad Origin Scripture changed that. It turned the body into a closed-loop reactor. It allowed the user to recycle their own "waste" energy, compounding it, refining it, and feeding it back into their core.
He finished the first chapter just as the sun rose, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet.
"Perfect," he yawned, stretching his arms high. His spine cracked with a sound like a flurry of gunshots. "Now, I need test subjects. I guess, in a way, I'm becoming the 'Old Monster' grandpa trope teaching the main cast. Except I'm hotter, stronger, and I'm definitely keeping the girls for myself."
...
The Old Schoolhouse, home to the Occult Research Club (ORC), possessed a classic Victorian aesthetic that screamed 'mysterious supernatural hub.' Under normal circumstances, it had a quaint, dusty charm.
Today, however, the atmosphere inside was heavy enough to crush a normal human's lungs.
The interior was lavish, but the mood was suffocating. Rias Gremory sat at her mahogany desk, her usually vibrant crimson hair looking dull and lifeless. Her eyes were downcast, shadowed by days of sleepless anxiety. Behind her, her peerage stood in a tight, defensive formation. Akeno Himejima's smile was gone, replaced by a cold frown. Kiba Yuuto gripped the hilt of his sword so hard his knuckles were white. Koneko Toujou was tense, like a cat cornered by a wolf.
And Issei Hyoudou? The newly reincarnated devil looked confused, angry, and utterly impotent. He vibrated with rage but had no outlet for it. Beside him, Asia Argento trembled, clutching her hands in prayer.
Opposite them sat the source of the misery.
Riser Phenex lounged in a leather armchair like he owned the building. He swirled a glass of vintage wine, a smug, oily grin plastered across his face. He radiated the arrogance of someone who had never been told 'no' in his entire immortal life.
Behind him stood his peerage—a collection of beautifully dressed women who looked at Rias's group with sneering condescension. Among them stood his younger sister, Ravel Phenex, looking bored.
Standing between the two factions, radiating a cold, absolute authority that kept the room from erupting into violence, was the Silver-Haired Queen of Annihilation, Grayfia Lucifuge.
"So, my dear Rias," Riser sneered, taking a slow sip of his wine. "Stop delaying the inevitable. The Rating Game is a mere formality. A tradition. In the end, you belong to the House of Phenex. You belong to me."
"I will never belong to you, Riser," Rias spat. Her voice was defiant, but there was a tremor in it—the vibration of fear she couldn't suppress. "I will fight. My peerage will fight."
"Fight?" Riser threw his head back and laughed, a grating sound. "With what? A sword user who can't use magic? A tiny Rook? And a Pawn who has been a devil for less than a month?" He cast a dismissive glance at Issei. "Don't make me laugh. It's pathetic."
"Hey! Don't talk about Buchou like that!" Issei shouted, stepping forward, his Sacred Gear flashing briefly.
"Silence, low-born," Riser said, barely glancing at him. He waved his hand lazily.
A burst of heat pushed Issei back, nearly stumbling him into the wall.
"Issei!" Asia cried out.
Grayfia stepped forward, her maid uniform crisp, her expression unreadable. "Lord Riser, please restrain yourself. We are here to finalize the terms of the Game, not to brawl in the negotiation room."
"Fine, fine," Riser scoffed, adjusting his blazer. "But this is a waste of time. Rias knows she can't win. She's just being difficult. It's unattractive in a wife."
The air in the room grew thick with despair. Rias bit her lip until it almost bled. She knew the odds. She was a genius tactician, but tactics couldn't bridge the gap of raw power and experience between her ragtag group and Riser's fully fully-fledged peerage. She was praying for a miracle, but she knew better. Miracles were God's domain, and devils didn't get them.
CRASH!
The heavy oak double doors of the clubroom didn't just open. They exploded.
It wasn't a spell. It wasn't an explosion. It was simply the result of someone knocking with way too much force. Splinters of ancient wood, twisted metal hinges, and dust flew across the room like shrapnel.
"Lord Riser!" Riser's Rook, a tall woman named Ile, stepped forward instantly to shield him from the debris.
Through the cloud of settling dust, a figure stepped into the room.
He wore a loose white t-shirt, grey sweatpants, and cheap sneakers. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed to make a bodega run.
"Yo," Ren Ming said, waving his hand to clear the dust from his face. He looked around the ruined entryway with mild amusement. "Is this the Occult Research Club? Google Maps said this was the spot, but you guys don't have a sign out front. Kinda bad marketing, honestly. How are potential members supposed to find you? Carrier pigeon?"
Silence descended. Absolute, bewildered silence.
Every devil in the room stared. They extended their senses, trying to gauge the intruder's power level.
They felt... nothing.
Ren Ming had no Demonic Energy. He had no Holy Light. He had no Sacred Gear signature. To their senses, he felt like a void—a hole in the fabric of the world where a human should be.
"Who the hell are you?" Riser stood up, his brow furrowing. "A human? How did you get past the barrier? How are you even seeing us?"
Ren Ming ignored him completely. His eyes scanned the room, landing first on Rias, assessing her exhaustion, then on Grayfia. He let out a low whistle.
"Okay, the cosplay is on point," Ren Ming nodded appreciatively at Grayfia. "Maid outfit? Classic. A bit cliché, sure, but you pull it off. You've got that 'ice queen' vibe down pat."
He then turned his gaze to Riser. His expression shifted from appreciation to pure, unadulterated disgust.
"And you," Ren Ming said, pointing a finger at the Phenex heir. "You just have a really annoying face. Like, punchable. Extremely punchable."
Riser's face flushed red. "You dare?! You dare mock the House of Phenex?!"
A ball of swirling orange fire materialized in Riser's hand. It wasn't normal fire; it was the Phenex Clan's signature flames—undying, regenerating, and hot enough to melt steel beams instantly.
"Die, insect!" Riser roared, hurling the fireball.
The projectile screamed across the room. Rias gasped, reaching out to cast a defensive circle, but she was too slow.
Ren Ming didn't move. He didn't dodge. He didn't chant.
He just... swatted it.
Slap.
His bare hand connected with the fireball. There was no explosion. No burn. The kinetic force of his slap was so precise, so overwhelming, that it dispersed the magical structure of the flame instantly. The fire simply ceased to exist, scattering into harmless sparks that fizzled out on the carpet.
"Rude," Ren Ming said, his tone flat. "I walk in, say hello, give some constructive criticism about your signage, and you throw a spicy meatball at me? Have you no manners? Didn't your Mother teach you how to treat guests?"
"What?" Riser froze, his hand still extended. His brain couldn't process the visual data. "You... you deflected my fire... with your bare hand?"
Ren Ming ignored the shock. He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked further into the room.
With every step, the pressure changed. It wasn't an aura of magic. It was mass. The Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique made his body dense—conceptually heavy. The floorboards under his feet groaned and cracked in protest, not because he was stomping, but because he simply was.
"You must be Rias Gremory," Ren Ming said, stopping a few feet from her desk. He looked her up and down, not with lust, but with a critical, appreciative eye. "You look like you're having a rough week, Red. Bags under the eyes, stress lines... you need a spa day. Or a better class of enemies."
"Who... are you?" Rias asked. Her voice tried to maintain her regal dignity as the heiress of the Gremory clan, but her fingers were trembling. Her instincts—her primal devil survival instincts—were screaming at her to run. This man was dangerous. More dangerous than Riser.
"Name's Ren Ming," he replied casually. "Just a passing cultivator. I was walking by, heard a lot of hot air coming from this room, and thought I'd check it out. Turns out, it's just this guy," he jerked a thumb at Riser, "compensating for something. Probably size. It's usually size."
"Kill him!" Riser shrieked, his ego fracturing. "Peerage! Kill him now! Tear him apart!"
Two of Riser's pawns—a pair of martial artist twins—blurred into motion. They lunged at Ren Ming, their fists glowing with demonic reinforcement.
Ren Ming rolled his eyes. He didn't even take his hands out of his pockets.
"So annoying."
He lifted his right foot and stomped.
BOOM.
It wasn't a magic spell. It was physics applied with god-like prejudice.
The Hell Suppressing Immortal Physique channeled the weight of a collapsing mountain into the floor. A shockwave of pure kinetic force erupted from his heel. It didn't spread out spherically; Ren Ming controlled the vector perfectly.
The force slammed directly onto Riser and his peerage.
CRUNCH.
Riser's pawns were flattened. Literally. They were pressed into the floorboards as if gravity had suddenly increased by a factor of fifty. The wood splintered, and the foundation of the building groaned. Riser himself fell to his knees, vomiting a mouthful of blood as the air was forced out of his lungs.
Only Ravel, Riser's sister, remained standing, though she was pale as a sheet. Rias and her peerage were untouched, the shockwave curving around them with impossible precision.
"You... you..." Riser wheezed, trying to stand. His regeneration was working overtime, knitting his crushed organs back together, but the weight on his shoulders was infinite. He couldn't lift his head.
Grayfia moved.
For the first time, the Ultimate-Class Queen looked genuinely alarmed. Her eyes were cold and calculating, scanning Ren Ming for weaknesses. Ice magic, colder than the deepest circle of Cocytus, flared around her hands.
Her eyes were cold, calculating. Ice magic flared around her hands, dropping the temperature in the room by twenty degrees. "Intruder. You attacked a High-Class Devil. By the laws of the Underworld—"
Ren Ming turned his head to look at her. His eyes flashed with a deep, ancient grey light.
"Sit down, maid," he said softly.
He didn't attack. He projected the intent of the Petrifying Immortal Light. He let the concept of eternal stasis wash over her.
Grayfia, the strongest Queen, froze. Her soul screamed. For a split second, she saw a vision of herself turned to grey stone, eroded by time, forgotten by history, helpless. The magic in her hands shattered like brittle glass.
She kept her composure, her face a complete ice mask, but her eyes narrowed slightly. She didn't move. She couldn't.
"He... suppressed Grayfia-sama?" Akeno whispered, her face pale, her hands covering her mouth.
Ren Ming turned his back on Grayfia as if she were of no consequence and walked over to Riser, who was still pinned to the floor by the lingering gravity well.
Ren Ming squatted down, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at the phenex heir like a scientist examining a bug.
"Look, dipshit," Ren Ming said, his voice conversational. "I don't care about your politics. I don't care about your stupid Rating Game or your family crest. But you're being a nuisance. You're bullying someone unprepared, and honestly? It's just bad style. Absolute trash-tier behavior."
"My... family... is... immortal..." Riser gasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. "You cannot... kill me..."
"Cool story," Ren Ming deadpanned. "But you're confusing 'immortality' with 'really good regeneration.' There's a difference."
Ren Ming leaned in closer. The air around him darkened. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch and twist, forming vague, maw-like shapes that snapped hungrily at the air. The Ancient Ming Bloodline roared silently, a predator sensing prey.
"Can you regenerate if I eat your soul?" Ren Ming whispered. "Can you come back if I devour your concept of existence? If I drink your bloodline until you're nothing but a dry husk?"
"Wanna find out?"
The terror in Riser's eyes was absolute. He looked into Ren Ming's grey eyes and saw an abyss that wanted to swallow him whole. His immortality meant nothing in the face of true predation.
"No... No..." Riser whimpered. "Please..."
"That's what I thought."
Ren Ming stood up.
Instantly, the crushing gravity lifted.
Riser collapsed fully onto the floor, gasping for air, clutching his chest. His peerage groaned, peeling themselves off the shattered floorboards.
"Get out," Ren Ming commanded, his voice bored again. "Take your circus with you. If I see you in this town again before the 'game' or whatever, I'm turning you into chicken nuggets. And I'm hungry."
Riser didn't argue. He didn't make a retort. He didn't threaten retribution. He scrambled to his feet with zero grace, grabbed his unconscious peerage members with a shaky telekinetic grip, and summoned a teleportation circle of fire.
He didn't even look back at Rias. He just wanted to be away from the monster in the sweatpants.
WHOOSH.
In a pillar of flame, the Phenex household vanished.
The room fell silent again, save for the settling dust and the creaking of the damaged floor.
Ren Ming turned to Rias and her stunned group. Issei was jaw-dropped. Kiba gripped his sword, knuckles white. Akeno, Koneko, and Asia were staring at him with wide eyes.