High School DxD: Fate's Error

Oscar stared out the bus window as the countryside slowly slipped away behind him. His mind was a mess, spinning like a top—everything felt too surreal. A few hours ago, he'd been in a small, cozy room, and now here he was, riding a bus, heading straight for something he couldn't quite wrap his head around. He wasn't even sure if he was looking for answers anymore. Maybe he was just hoping something would make sense.

The bus rumbled to a stop, and with a grunt, the driver handed Oscar his ticket.

"1.50, kid," the driver grumbled, offering the ticket along with the change.

Oscar nodded, grinning tightly. "Thanks."

He made his way down the aisle, sliding into a seat near the back. The bus wasn't exactly crowded, and he didn't mind the peace, even though the air felt thick with something he couldn't name.

"Well, no turning back now," he muttered under his breath, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

It was around 4 PM on Saturday. He was heading into town, to the closest church. He couldn't really explain why, but something about it pulled him there. If he didn't find anything useful there, he'd move on to the second church about 15 minutes outside the town center. And if that turned out to be a bust, there was one last church on the outskirts of Cork—a place he had always felt a strange, uneasy pull toward. A gut feeling, maybe.

The bus jerked to a stop, and Oscar mumbled a quiet thanks to the driver before stepping off. The town was bustling, filled with the hum of Saturday shoppers. He glanced around, catching sight of a few classmates. They waved energetically at him, calling out his name.

"Hey, Oscar!" one of the girls shouted.

Oscar waved back with a small nod but quickly turned and walked in the opposite direction. They would be confused by his choice of destination—after all, a church wasn't exactly where most teenagers hung out on a Saturday afternoon.

"Where's he going?" one of the girls asked, frowning.

"Maybe he's going to Saturday night mass?" another girl mused.

"No," someone else replied. "That doesn't start until later. Plus, my grandma goes there, and I've never heard her mention Oscar."

"Who knows?" they muttered, heading off toward the clothes shop.

Oscar let them be. His destination was clear now, and it wasn't a store.

The church was small but ancient. The gravestones surrounding it gave it an eerie but oddly peaceful vibe. He paused for a moment outside, running his fingers through his messy dark hair, wondering if this would be a waste of time. But the doors were open, and he found himself stepping inside, drawn by something he couldn't explain.

The place was quiet, the scent of old wood and burning candles lingering in the air. Father McCann was at the altar, preparing for something, and when he turned to notice Oscar, he seemed puzzled.

"Oscar? Is that you, my boy?" the priest asked, his voice a little shaky. "Well, I never took you for the mass-going type."

Oscar shrugged, his usual blank expression on his face. "Not here for that, Father. Just need to ask a question."

"Oh? Well, I'm happy to answer whatever you need, son."

Oscar watched the older priest—Father McCann was in his sixties, round in the belly, and sporting glasses that seemed too small for his face. He looked exactly how Oscar had imagined a priest would look: a little too tired, a little too grumpy.

"I need to know... do you know anything about the supernatural?" Oscar asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet somehow it echoed in the church like the walls themselves were waiting for an answer.

Father McCann blinked, taken aback. "Supernatural? My boy, I think you've been watching too many horror films. But, if you're talking about our Lord and Savior, I can certainly tell you about that."

Oscar's lips twitched with frustration, but he kept his face neutral. "Never mind, Father. Thanks for your time." With that, he turned and walked out, a flicker of disbelief crossing his mind. Was that the best he could get? Was he really chasing ghosts here?

Outside, he let out a small groan. One down, two more to go.

The next church was a lot more modern, and as he approached, he saw Father Shay, the younger priest, outside tending to some potted plants. Oscar approached him, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"Father," he greeted, his tone respectful but direct.

Father Shay looked up, a smile spreading across his face. "Ah, if it isn't the rising star of Cork! What brings you here, Oscar?"

"I need to ask you something," Oscar replied.

Father Shay tilted his head, the light from the setting sun catching his glasses in an almost comical way. "Well, now, I didn't expect this! Please, come on in. Let's sit."

They made their way into the church, and Oscar was led to a couple of empty seats. The younger priest seemed a lot more... energetic. He was in his thirties, a little on the chubby side, but still maintained himself. The vibe was different here. Less old-world stuffiness, more community.

"Go ahead, lad," Father Shay said, settling in across from Oscar. "What's troubling you?"

Oscar hesitated for a moment, trying to read the priest's face. "Do you know anything about... the supernatural?"

Father Shay paused, eyes wide behind his glasses. "Supernatural? You mean like ghosts? Or something to do with Christianity?"

Oscar's stomach twisted. That wasn't it. "Never mind," he said, standing up and heading for the door. "I'm sorry to bother you. Thanks, Father."

"Wait," Father Shay called after him, standing up quickly. "How about you stay for mass? It might help."

Oscar shook his head. "My last bus is leaving soon. Maybe next time."

He left the church with a sense of frustration that grew with each passing minute. Another dead end. Maybe he was wasting his time, but it didn't feel like it. Something wasn't right in this town—he could feel it. And his search wasn't over yet.

The journey back to his house was a little longer than Oscar anticipated. It was nearly 6 p.m., and he needed to get to the church before 8, as churches on Saturdays either closed or were open for mass. But something told him this church would be closed by the time he got there.

He entered his house quickly, grabbing only two things: a ham and cheese sandwich—his dinner, as he was starving—and a knife. He wasn't foolish enough to ignore the gut-wrenching feeling that had been simmering inside him ever since he'd decided to head to this church. He wouldn't walk into danger unarmed.

"Is this the way?" he muttered to himself, looking at the road ahead. But as he glanced left, right, and then straight ahead, he was lost.

Where the fuck am I? he muttered angrily, scanning the area for signs, but there were none.

Three roads. One destination.

Choices, choices... He grumbled, repeating the words as he tried to calm his mind. Right is always right, he muttered to himself like some great revelation.

"Yes!" he said suddenly, as if the stars had aligned. He was sure of it.

Right is always fucking right. With a burst of misplaced confidence, he took off down the short road on the right-hand side.

Thirty minutes later, Oscar stood at the top of a small hill, his breath ragged as he took in the view. He had spent the last half hour believing he was heading in the right direction, but now, in front of him, there was... nothing.

"Fuck's sake!" he yelled, his frustration growing as he stared out at the endless stretch of countryside. The church was nowhere in sight.

Oscar checked his watch—just after 7 o'clock. Panic started to set in.

I'm not going to make it, he thought, his heart racing.

He turned on his heel and began to run back the way he came.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" The words escaped his mouth in a huff as his legs pumped faster than he thought possible.

He didn't know why, but something told him that if he didn't get to that church soon, it wouldn't just be the doors that would be closed—it'd be the whole damn town.

And he was already running out of time.