DxD: Curse Devil

Two weeks later, Alexander finally uncovered the truth.

The curse that bound him had a name—Heaven's Curse.

It was not just any curse. It was a masterpiece of cruelty, crafted by an angel consumed by vengeance.

The one responsible? Gadreel.

A name lost to time, a figure barely remembered even among the supernatural. But his story was one of tragedy and spite.

Gadreel was once the guardian of Eden's gates. He had stood watch over paradise itself—until the day he was deceived.

Lucifer tricked him.

The Morning Star whispered lies, wove illusions, and led Gadreel into error. And because of that mistake, Lucifer walked freely into Eden, corrupting the first two humans—Adam and Eve.

Heaven did not forgive.

For his failure, Gadreel was cast out, becoming the first Fallen Angel after Lucifer himself.

But he did not fall into despair—he fell into hatred.

If he could not strike down Lucifer, then he would curse Lucifer's creations.

Thus, Heaven's Curse was born.

A malediction that crippled the bodies of devils, forcing their own power to endlessly heal the inflicted wound—an unseen parasite, a slow, insidious drain that left them weak without explanation.

Lucifer, in his final act of defiance, created a countermeasure. A spell to block Gadreel's curse from affecting devils. But nothing was absolute.

Sometimes, in rare cases… like Alexander's… Lucifer's protection failed.

And Alexander had been suffering ever since the day he was born.

Unfortunately for Alexander, the truth was cruel.

If he succeeded in removing the curse—he would go blind.

The very thing that had been draining him for years was also the only reason he could see. The curse stole from him, fed on his power, but it also kept his eyes intact.

Without it, his sight would be lost forever.

For the first time in years, he hesitated.

He had finally found the root of his suffering, the parasite that had shackled him since birth. But to destroy it… was to condemn himself to darkness.

Could he do it?

Would he?

Alexander clenched his fists, his mind racing.

Was freedom worth the price of his sight?

One month later

Over the past month, Alexander delved deeper into the study of curses.

He scoured every book, dissected every fragment of knowledge he could find, trying to understand the core of Heaven's Curse.

Through relentless experimentation within his mindscape, he attempted to interact with it—only to find himself completely unable to touch it.

It was then that he realized why.

The curse was laced with holy magic.

That alone should have been a death sentence. A devil's soul and holiness were like fire and dry parchment—one touch, and they would be reduced to nothing.

And yet… he was alive.

Instead of destroying him, the holiness coexisted within him, woven seamlessly into the curse itself.

For the first time, Alexander saw the true artistry of Gadreel's work.

A curse was, at its core, merely a spell—an arrangement of magic designed to bring harm or misfortune. But this? This was something more.

It was not a single spell but a network of different spells, interwoven with intricate precision, forming something greater than the sum of its parts.

Four key components made up the curse:

1. A protective spell, shielding the devil's soul from destruction by the very holiness embedded within it.

2. An ancient holy healing spell, one powerful enough to sustain the afflicted body part indefinitely.

3. A spell to inflict harm, ensuring the affected body part would remain damaged.

4. A binding spell, forcing the curse to remain anchored by feeding on the host's demonic reserves.

It was cruel. It was insidious. It was… beautiful.

A masterpiece of suffering. A work of vengeance given form.

And Alexander intended to break it.

As Alexander's understanding of the curse deepened, a harsh reality set in.

There was no way to remove the curse without sacrificing his eyes.

No matter how much he analyzed its structure, no matter how many theories he tested, the conclusion remained the same.

If he forcefully severed the curse, his eyes—sustained only by its constant healing—would wither into darkness.

That left him with only one option.

He had to modify it.

If he could strip away its negative effects while keeping the healing intact, he could turn the curse into something beneficial. But to do that, he needed to touch it.

And that was where he hit an impossible wall.

The curse had been designed with cruel irony.

It protected his soul from being destroyed by its own holiness—yet at the same time, that very holiness prevented him from interacting with it.

It was untouchable. A lock with no key. A prison where the prisoner couldn't even see the bars.

It was almost funny.

Almost.

But Alexander wasn't laughing.

He had to find a way.

Weeks passed, and Alexander's relentless pursuit of knowledge led him to a clear path forward.

If he couldn't remove the curse, he would reshape it.

He compiled a list—a precise, methodical plan to achieve the impossible.

1. Build a resistance to holiness.

If holiness was the barrier preventing him from touching the curse, then he needed to overcome it. Somehow, he had to train his body to endure holy energy without being burned away.

2. Master spell creation.

The curse was a network of interconnected spells. If he modified even a single part incorrectly, it could collapse—and take his soul with it. He had to learn how to weave magic at an advanced level, ensuring that he could alter the curse without catastrophic failure.

3. Study soul manipulation magic.

The curse was bound to his soul, meaning any change he made would directly affect his very existence. Without knowledge of soul magic, attempting to modify it would be like disarming a bomb blindfolded.

It was a daunting path—one filled with dangers no sane devil would dare tread.

But Alexander?

He had nothing to lose.

But there was a problem.

To build resistance against holiness, he needed a holy item.

And that was something nearly impossible to obtain in the Underworld.

The Gremory Clan's treasure room undoubtedly held artifacts imbued with holy energy, but Alexander?

An "unworthy" Gremory like him would never be granted access.

The Fallen Angels' territory was another option—but the moment they sensed his presence, they would tear him apart. He couldn't defend himself against them, not yet. Even if his magic control had improved, he was still physically weak, and the spells he could cast weren't powerful enough to save him in a real fight.

For the first time in a while, frustration gnawed at him. He had the plan, but not the means to execute it.

Then, an idea struck him.

The Human World.

Unlike the devils, humans didn't hoard their holy artifacts in well-guarded vaults. Churches, cathedrals, forgotten relics—there had to be something out there with even a trace of holy power.

And if he could find a strong enough artifact, he could do more than just build resistance.

He could bind the curse to it.

If successful, the curse would feed on the mana of the artifact instead of draining his demonic reserves.

Two problems solved in one move.

A small smirk crossed his lips.

He had found his path forward. Now, he just needed a way to reach the human world.

This would be his first time stepping beyond the Gremory estate.

Unlike Rias, who was constantly taken to important gatherings, meetings, and even the human world for small trips, Alexander had never left.

Not once.

He wasn't allowed.

Whether it was because of his weakness, his lack of the Power of Destruction, or simply because they didn't see a reason to bring him along, he didn't know.

But he did know one thing—he was forbidden from leaving.

The Gremory estate was a gilded cage, one he had never been meant to escape.

But now?

He had no choice. If he wanted to fix the curse, to take control of his own fate, then he had to leave.

One way or another.

It wasn't like he enjoyed staying here anyway.

There was nothing for him in this place—no love, no warmth, no family.

Just cold stares, dismissive glances, and the ever-present reminder that he did not belong.

So why should he stay?

Would they even notice he was gone?

Would they care?

No.

They had never cared before, and they wouldn't start now.

So he would leave this gilded hell behind.

And he would never look back.

But first, he needed to train.

There was no way he could step into the human world in this pathetic state.

He was weak. His body was frail, his muscles underdeveloped, and while his magic was improving, it was still too unreliable. He couldn't rely on spells alone. He needed another way to fight.

Swordsmanship.

The elegance, the precision, the deadly grace of the blade—it had always fascinated him. A sword didn't need overwhelming power to be lethal. With skill and technique, even the weak could cut down the strong.

But his body wouldn't last in a fight, not like this. He needed to become stronger.

First, he would start eating properly. His body couldn't grow if it remained malnourished. He couldn't rely on the servants—they barely did the minimum for him.

But that was fine. He would learn to cook.

Fortunately, being cast aside had its benefits. The entire west wing of the estate, where he lived, was practically abandoned. Unlike the grand, bustling east wing where his so-called family resided, no one came here except the servants when they cleaned.

And in this forgotten part of the estate, there was an unused kitchen.

Perfect.

His path to freedom began now.